I look at Graham’s face. The man I’ve been touching and fucking and loving for years. The man who touched me and fucked me and loved me, too. The man I slept beside. The man who kept all the doors unlocked and all the lights on. The one with the twisted smile and touchable hair and stunning blue eyes. The right cheek dimple and the curved nose. The curved nose.

I take his nose in my hand. I could break it with one easy move but I won’t. I’ll let the other prisoners do that for me. “I had it all wrong. It was you. She left with you. And there’s a photo to prove it.”

He shoves me off him, but no one is able to move.

“She decked you across the face, didn’t she? She was fighting and she hit you and broke your fucking nose. And then you killed her. How did you do it? How did you—”

Before I can blink, he has my neck in his hands; his face is so close to mine that I’m sure he’s going to kill me, too. At least Ruthie would be waiting for me wherever we ended up.

I can feel Doug and Cheryl and Reed tugging at Graham’s arms. I can feel the crowd begin to close in on us, try to separate us, try to get both our heads on straight. But all I can see are Graham’s eyes. The eyes of a man who is getting what he deserves.

“Is this how you did it?” I feel his fingers cage around my neck. Getting tighter and tighter. “Is this how you did it?” The words scratch at the back of my throat, one by one, barely making their way out, but I have to keep trying. “Is this...how...you...killed...”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says to me so softly I’m sure no one else heard it. “She was a fucking tease who deserved what was coming to her.”

The next thing I know, I’m falling onto my back on the hard ground, and Graham is being pulled away from me by two sheriff’s deputies. The brown uniforms that normally help them blend into the background make them stand out here.

The sound of my own coughs erupts in my ears as I try to catch my breath, but I can hear Graham yelling. He’s struggling to get out of their grip, kicking and trying to push their thick hands off him. “She’s fucking crazy,” he screams. “She has no idea what she’s talking about.”

Sarah appears next to me, pulling me up to my feet.

“I got it all,” she whispers, the recording device beetling out of her pocket. “Holy shit.”