I let out a large breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. I know Matthew’s right. Anne is like the little sister I never had, and our relationship is more than a subordinate and a superior. More than a meal ticket and a mouth to be fed. More than a rung on a ladder to be climbed and an ambitious young woman. But that doesn’t change one thing, I am still enraged, and maybe just a little bit hurt.

“I know she does,” I say grudgingly.

“There you two are.” Sheriff Stevens says as he pushes open the door. “I wrapped things up with Anne. We’ll still do the handwriting analysis as you requested, but based on that initial interview, I think she’s clean.”

Matthew drops his arm from my shoulder, and we take a few steps toward Sheriff Stevens.

“Regardless of how upset I am with her, I have to agree with you,” I admit. I want to be mad at her, and I still am, but Matthew and Sheriff Stevens are both right. There’s no way she had anything to do with this, and her threat to Adam and dishonesty with me came from good intention.

“Should we move on to Bob?”

Matthew and I nod, following Sheriff Stevens back into the police station.

49. Adam Morgan

49

Adam Morgan

Scott wants to help me? Part of me isn’t surprised. If he really doesn’t believe that I killed her—which he shouldn’t, because I fucking didn’t—then as someone who lost the person he loves most, he should stop at nothing to bring the true culprit to justice.

But… on the other hand, Scott has been known to let his temper get the best of him, and he is an asshole. Would it be so surprising for a piece of shit like that to pretend like he believed me just to win back some credibility with the department, all while pushing my head underwater with his boot even further? The shitty reality is that beggars can’t be choosers and right now, Scott is all I have left.

But should I be doing this to myself, really? My mind is almost reaching a state of ultimate enlightenment as I am able to hold two conflicting thoughts at the same time.

On the one hand, I know that hope is the only thing that I can cling to and the only thing that can’t be taken from me, so I should hold on to it for dear life, right? But on the other hand, I’m not naïve. I know my chances are slim to non-fucking-existent. Why torture myself into thinking something is there that isn’t.

It’s as if one half of me has been told a secret about our inevitable demise, and instead of warning my other half to steer clear, I devise a plan to lead us both down to it.