“So he got sent to Brightwood for the wrong reason.”
“Unfortunately, many people confuse disability with defiance.”
“Teachers used to say I was lazy.”
“See?”
“Okay. I’m going now,” Amanda said. She felt sick from exhaustion and travel and being chased and murders and fires and everything else, and now this woman was telling her she had a dreaded disabling condition that no one had ever even mentioned. Dating had been hard enough before. What was she supposed to tell guys? What about Sean? He would never like her now. No one would like her.
“Amanda, this is good news.”
“How so?”
“You can get treatment.”
Amanda was silent.
“I’ve seen it. Occupational therapy that was pioneered with stroke victims. It uses exercises to strengthen the parts of the brain that were damaged.”
“I could get better?”
“You might never be a math genius, but I’ve seen some pretty amazing results.”
Amanda put her hands on her face, as if feeling that she was still there. She let out a deep breath.
“I wish Dennis were still alive.”
“Why is that?”
“So we could do it together.”
Amanda found Larry picking through the remains of his cabin. Despite the rain, he was wearing a short-sleeve shirt, probably because he didn’t want to ruin a loaned sweater. His arms were stained with soot. Outside, lurid strands of police tape hung on black branches. The woods behind the cabin were decimated.
Through the remains of the trees, Amanda could now see the beach.
“You’re back,” he said, happy to see her. He picked up a scorched plate and set it down. “Don’t come in. It’s a mess. The constable gave me the all clear to salvage what I could. Case closed.”
“Really? He caught who did it?”
“Well, almost closed. He found Ike Tressler. Drunk as a skunk in his filthy cabin. So drunk, in fact, he confessed to molesting Reggie and a few of the other boys. Not Dennis, he said.”
“What about chasing me? Murdering Reggie? Setting the fire? Did he confess to all that?”
“Not yet. Apparently, he passed out in the back of his car after puking all over the seats. It happens more often than you want to know. The constable will get back to it when the man awakens.”
“What about the knife?”
“He probably threw it away. Same with whatever gasoline can he used. But the constable can test his hands for accelerant. Gasoline doesn’t just wash off right away. There will be other evidence too.”
Larry sounded calm, and relatively happy. Amanda looked into the dripping mess. She saw the fireplace, still standing, and felt sad. Never again would she sit in front of it, eating nuts or drinking coffee with Larry.
But Larry didn’t look concerned. He even looked animated, as if the fire had given him a new lease on life. Amanda wondered if part of him was relieved to get rid of the cabin his dead wife had wanted. Maybe now it would be easier to grieve.
He went into his bedroom and came out with a scorched metal box.
“Almost forgot to look for this,” he said, putting it down outside, next to a pile of other salvaged items.
“What is it?”
