“I’m still giving my ruling to have that last statement stricken from the record, Mr. Young,” the judge declares.
My lawyer gives me a subtle nod as he reclaims his seat, and I have a newfound respect for the state of Delaware. Hell, Allen Young almost has me convinced of my own innocence.
“And there’s our reasonable doubt,” he leans in and whispers my way.
Reasonable doubt. Not enough to keep me from serving a life sentence, but maybe enough to keep me off of death row.
There’s a strange lightness in my head, a sensation almost like hope. It’s as foreign as the emotions London has awakened inside me.
“Now, if your psychologist can just work her magic, you might have a fighting chance to plead for the court’s mercy.”
“She will,” I assure him. Young is just as committed to this case for his sake as for mine. A case like this could make hiscareer—and I’ve invested my time wisely in London. She’ll be here. I’ve made sure of that.
“Court is adjourned,” the judge announces. “We’ll resume at nine tomorrow morning.”
“You better be sure,” Young says, assembling folders into his briefcase. “Do whatever it takes to get her on that stand.” He departs quickly, leaving the officers to shackle and escort me to the courthouse holding cell.
I scan the courtroom once more, jaw tightening at London’s absence. She’ll come. It’s not only my fate that hinges on her testimony.
Her life depends on it.
15
CELL
LONDON
The first cell I ever saw was in my childhood home.
My father had transformed the bowels of our house into hell. A cage where he kept the girls he’d stolen, where he tortured and abused them. Then, when they were of no further use to him, he left them abandoned in that cage, starving in the pitch-black, until he’d finally return to end their life.
He buried them beneath my mother’s garden.
I found the first girl by accident. The anniversary of my mother’s death always arrived with so much sadness. That year, I wanted to tend to her neglected flowers, resurrect her garden.
My father was outraged when I showed him the decaying remains I unearthed.
That’s how I knew.
It wasn’t a rational response a person—acop—should have when a corpse is discovered in their backyard.
And then I saw the glint of the key—that damn key he always wore around his neck. Suddenly, all these parts of my lifecrashed together, unsettling things I avoided looking at too closely, to expose a very dark, malevolent truth.
The cellar.
As details started to form into a clear picture, as I strung the connections together, with a chilling realization, I finally understood why I was forbidden from his private space.
I knew what was down there.
For three months, I listened. In the dead of the night, I crept through the silent house, pressing my ear to the floor, afraid of hearing what my mind wanted to deny.
Then the faintest cry tore up through the floorboards and gripped my soul.
There was another girl down there.
And she was alive.
I close my eyes now, for just a moment, to center myself. The air feels stuffy and humid in this part of the courthouse as the officer leads me toward the holding cell where Grayson is being kept.
