Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“This side of the table. He has been granted this due to his psychologist’s recommendation; however, you are to stay on your side of the table and him on his.”
I wanted to plant my fist in his face. I glared at the man, then nodded once before turning back to Perry and walking slower over to my side of the stupid table. What did it matter? This was silly. How did a table separating us do anything? My thoughts were bitter as I took a seat and softened my expression as I focused on my brother.
I blew out a breath as the emotion at seeing him without the glass between us hit me. “Is this a new thing for good behavior?” I asked hopefully.
The sadness in his eyes made me want to cry as he shook his head. “No, I’m afraid this is a onetime thing.”
And Marley wasn’t here. She would have loved this. Why hadn’t he wanted her to come? She would have been over the moon. I didn’t ask that though.
He smiled at me, but there was such pain there. How was he going to survive this for six more years, if he got out early? He had gone through enough, growing up. I longed for the life I had thought he was going to have. The successful, brilliant brother who owned his own software company before he could drink legally. The one who had gone to an Ivy League when he was sixteen years old. He didn’t belong in a federal prison.
“I, um…” he said, as an anguished expression slashed across his face.
I tensed, my hands fisting and my nails biting into my palms.
“I won’t be staying here. They’re going to move me soon.”
What? They couldn’t do that, could they? The judge had sent him here.
“Why?” I asked, searching his face.
“I’ve been seeing a psychologist here, like I said on the phone. I, uh…I’ve opened up to him. Shared things. The stuff we don’t talk about, and that led me to sharing other things. Things you don’t know. Things…things that will upset you.”
He shook his head and let out a humorless laugh. “I knew this would be hard. Saying this to your face. You are the only person I’ve never wanted to let down. Not Marley. She’s been good to us. Me. But I’ve only had any real emotion for one person. You.” He paused. “The doc said it’s because you protected me as a child, so while the abuse was warping me and twisting how my brain developed, you became something that stood alone. The thing—person—that didn’t get cut out, and what little emotion I have was because of you.”
I smiled, needing to reassure him that he wasn’t warped or twisted. Why would the psychologist allow him to believe that about himself?
“You have emotion for more than just me,” I said, wishing I could grab his hands and squeeze them with reassurance.
He shook his head. “No, sis, I don’t.”
I started to argue, but he continued, “Our mom didn’t fall down those stairs. I’d pushed her. You were asleep, and I waited, stayed awake, and when I heard her open the door, I followed her. Seeing her lying there, her eyes void, staring at nothing…I found…joy. I hadn’t known what that was or what I was feeling because it was new. Exciting. I wanted to feel it again.”
Panic slowly creeped over me. Taking my ability to breathe, to speak, to even move.
“So, I waited. Watching. Wanting to find someone else who deserved to die. To feel that joy again. And I did. Another mom that didn’t deserve to be. She was at the apartment complex across from ours. I saw her slap her son. Twist his arm. I watched her. Memorized her schedule. And when she got home late from the diner she worked at, I was waiting at the top of the stairs. She noticed me. Asked me what I was doing up and where I belonged. I walked over to her as she scowled at me like I was some rodent. She didn’t expect it. Not from a kid who looked like me. But that flash of horror in her eyes as she fell backward sent a thrill through me.”
He was watching me. I said nothing. I was numb. I felt like I had stepped out of my body and stood off to the side, observing. My brother had killed two people. My mother? Well, I could almost understand it. But a woman he hadn’t known? Someone he’d deemed unworthy of life?
“My methods of taking lives changed as the years went by. I got more complex. That was the last time I used stairs. I did research and used different options for poisoning drinks and food. It wasn’t as quick and clean as I preferred, so I moved on to other ways. Torture wasn’t really what I sought. Just taking their life, seeing them in their last moment and knowing I’d cleared the world of their waste of space.”