Like when her dad died when she was three. Aortic aneurysm when he was only twenty-nine. Twenty-nine. Who did that fucking happen to? It was like winning the world’s worst lottery. And Madeline reminded herself at least once a week not to dwell on her dad’s death, not to think about the alternate timeline that could have been her life. A life where she grew up with him, in a normal house, and her mom was happy.

Was all of that too much to ask?

Don’t think about it.

“Yes, she was a good friend.” Madeline looked down at her stained threadbare carpet. “Is it true what they said online? That someone strangled her in her car?”

“It’s true,” Wallace said.

Something rose in Madeline’s throat, the feeling that came right before she threw up. She lifted her hand to her mouth and was about to run for the bathroom when the feeling started to pass.

“Are you okay?” Wallace asked.

“I think so.”

“Do you want me to get you some water?”

“I’m okay,” Madeline said. “It’s just . . . How could someone get so close to another human being and kill them? It seems so—”

“Personal?”

“Yes. I was going to say ‘intimate.’ ”

“Strangulation is a very personal, intimate way to kill someone. But it doesn’t mean the killer knew Sophia. Some killers just like doing their business a certain way. It gives them a sense of control to put their hands on their victims. Especially if the victim’s a woman.”

“That’s so sick.”

“Or a killer may use another item to strangle a victim. Sometimes that gives them the thrill they’re after.”

“Is that what happened?”

Wallace shrugged and stayed quiet.

Madeline felt tears rising inside of her, stinging her eyes. She pressed her lips tight, tried to hold it together.

But Wallace was no dummy. She saw it. She saw how upset Madeline was.

“I’m sorry to bring all this up,” Wallace said. “Do you have someone you can talk to about this? Another friend? Or your parents?”

Madeline wiped her eyes, choked back more of the tears. “I’m okay.”

“You may think that, Madeline. But we all need people to talk to. I know on campus they have counselors. And you can just go in and talk to someone, and they don’t charge you anything. It’s all confidential.”

“I’ve heard about those services.”

“You might want to try it. Okay?”

“Okay. I might talk to one of my professors. He listens to me.”

“That’s good,” Wallace said. “Just don’t keep it bottled up.”

“You really don’t know who did this?” Madeline asked.