Another possibility does cross my mind. What if Scott is the killer? All of this erratic behavior, the loose cannon, bereaved widower act is both a cover for the truth and a convenient outlet for the fear and “caged animal” emotions running through him. If that is the case, then I am giving him even more ammunition to use against me. And not only that, but I have led him straight to the one person on the outside who was willing to help me uncover the truth. With me stuck in here and no one watching Rebecca, Scott can hunt her down and dispose of her just as easily as he did Kelly. Really though, at this point, short of a miracle, I am fucked either way. So, who cares what happens on the outside? All I can do now is just sit and wait…

Or maybe not.

50. Sarah Morgan

50

Sarah Morgan

We walk back inside with Sheriff Stevens. My anger hasn’t entirely dissipated, but at least I am trying to process everything. While I can be angry that Anne withheld information from me, she isn’t the one who made Adam fuck Kelly and certainly isn’t the reason someone killed her. Her motives, while slightly misguided, were not nefarious. That is enough of a kernel of redemption to start bringing my blood pressure down to a more human level. I’m not naïve though, and I still have to brace myself for another potential bomb, as it is now Bob’s turn to speak.

Marge changes her tune when Sheriff Stevens walks through as opposed to some annoyance in the form of yet another attorney.

“Hello again, sir. Returning to the dungeons? Would you like me to buzz you through?” she says with a smile. She is clearly amused by her own choice of wording and pleased to have the opportunity to aid the good sheriff in any way.

“No, Marge. It’s fine. I can scan myself through. And how many times have I asked you, please, not to call it that, especially in front of visitors?” he says with an imitation stern tone that suggests a mere show of reprimand as opposed to actual anger.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll try and remember better in the future.” There’s a wry smirk across her face.

Sheriff Stevens winks at her so slightly I wonder if I’m only imagining it.

He scans us through with his badge and leads us back to the interrogation rooms. Past the same eye-accosting walls, we move in lock-step across the cheap flooring. This time at the next intersection though, we take a left, instead of a right.