“No, we can’t,” I said, panicking. This wasn’t why I was here, why I told him. Getting her in trouble was the last thing I wanted. “We can’t. She promised this was the last one.”

“How do you know she didn’t say that because she thought she’d finish the job tonight?” He was making it sound worse than it was. “How do you know she won’t just try again?”

I shook my head as the tears fell. “I can’t do that to someone I love.”

Jack sighed. “You don’t feel love for Elise, you just feel guilt.” He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Think back to three weeks ago, before her father assaulted her. You hadn’t been talking much, and you didn’t want to talk to her. It looks like she hasn’t changed much, but you can’t see that. You can’t see beyond your guilt.”

Had I ignored what was right in front of me because I felt awful, like Jack said? I thought of my parents then, the forces that kept them trapped in an unhappy marriage.

In one crystalizing moment, I could see it all so clearly. Maybe they had something once, but the years had taken whatever they had and twisted it into nothing resembling love. I thought about that conversation with Dad again from all those years ago. It’s complicated, he’d said, and I hadn’t believed him. But now, that’s exactly how it felt between me and Elise—complicated. Jack was essentially telling me what I’d told Dad. And like him, I didn’t want to hear it.

Maybe Elise and I had something special once, but whatever we had now was twisted with guilt, anger, jealousy. Maybe I was right when I told Dad it really was that simple.

Maybe it was time to let Elise go.

“Remy?” Jack asked, seeing the devastation on my face.

I only cried harder.

MONDAY // AUGUST 28 // DAY 353

58.

“I want to play you something,” Detective Ward says. I glance at the door and wonder how long it’s been since my last break. Being in here, imprisoned in this room, I’ve lost sense of the passage of time. I have no sense of what an hour feels like anymore. I’m just trying to survive minute to minute. Second to second, one breath to the next. “It will probably be upsetting to hear,” she continues, unaware of how I’m feeling.

“What is it?” Vera asks, her fingers rubbing her temple. She’s exhausted too. I don’t know how much time we’ve been talking but I know it’s been a long day.

“A tape of the 9-1-1 call Remy made.”

Vera and I stare at her in surprise.

“Why?” Vera asks. My grip on my knees tightens, my knuckles bloodless.

“Remy seems to be a little confused about the timeline the night of the murder.” This is the first time she’s used that word—murder. It stops me cold. I feel like I’m unraveling.

“The night of Jack’s death,” Vera clarifies. They’re saying the same thing but there’s a big difference. The way Vera says it, Jack’s death, like it just happened. Detective Ward has used the word killed, but murder is something else entirely. It implies intent. The word is a window into her mind and what she thinks happened.