Page 108 of Breaking Silence

“No!”

“It was Mose who tossed the ball into the pit. He knew you were going to try to kill them and he couldn’t handle it.”

“He couldn’t handle anything! He was stupid and weak—”

“Stop this right now!” Thornsberry shouts at Tomasetti. “She’s badgering this juvenile!” He turns his attention back to Salome, trying to drag her from the room. “Miss Slabaugh, let’s go.”

Salome shakes him off. “I would have pulled my brothers out of that pit if you hadn’t shown up! You bitch, this is your fault! Yours!”

“Earlier, you said you didn’t even know they were in the pit,” I say. “Which is it?”

The attorney grabs her arm. “Let’s go.”

The girl spins and strikes him on the shoulder with her fist. “Get off me!” Her eyes never leave mine. “Mose panicked when he saw you! He dragged me to the shed and forced me into the car. He might have killed me, too!”

“He’s not here to defend himself, is he?” I say.

“Mose did all of it. All of it! I’m innocent.”

“You never loved him. He was a means to an end.”

“I did. I loved him. I would have married him!”

But I see the lie and push harder. “Did you think you and Mose were going to just ride into the sunset? After murdering three people?”

“We were going to live here … and take care of our brothers—”

“Your brothers hate you, Salome.”

“No, they don’t!” she screams.

“In fact, they chose me over you. Me. A stranger. And now they’re going to testify against you. You’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison—”

“You fucking bitch! I wish I’d killed you, too!”

The next thing I know, she’s across the table, coming at me with claws and teeth. An instant too late, I push back, but she’s already got me. Her nails sear down my face. Her left hand fists in my hair. As if in slow motion, I see Tomasetti rounding the table, rushing at us. Adam Slabaugh makes a wild grab for his niece as she goes over the tabletop. Thornsberry reels back, his mouth opening and closing like that of a beached catfish.

And then I’m falling backward in my chair, with Salome on top of me, like a cougar intent on mauling its prey.

CHAPTER 21

My chair goes over backward and I slam into the floor so hard, my head bounces off the tile. Stars fly before my eyes. I try to kick away the chair and get my legs under me, but my feet are tangled in the rungs. Before I can move, Salome is on top of me, hair flying, nails slashing at my face.

“You bitch!” She lands a blow to my left cheekbone, sending another scatter of stars to my eyes. “You ruined everything!”

When I look into her eyes, I see a total disconnect from reality. Animalistic screeches tear from her throat. “Why couldn’t you just go away! I wish you were dead! Dead!”

Vaguely, I’m aware of movement all around me—chairs scudding across the floor, the shuffle of feet. In my peripheral vision, I catch sight of Tomasetti kicking aside the chair. “Get off her!”

I hear the attorney’s ineffective “Hey!”

Salome’s fingernails rake across my left temple, dangerously close to my eye. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

I raise my hands to shove her away, but she’s too close. I can’t get any leverage. My training kicks in. I bring my elbow up hard, striking her beneath the chin. I hear her teeth click together. Her head snaps back. Stiff-armed, I jam the heel of my hand against her chest as hard as I can. A strangled scream tears from her throat as she reels back. I hear her head strike the table. Twisting, I wriggle out from beneath her, roll, bring up my feet to mule-kick her away.

Before I can, Tomasetti yanks her back. She twists and goes after him like a wild animal. He curses. Her attorney’s shouting in a tinny, alarmed voice. All of it is punctuated by Salome’s strangled screams. “She’s lying! I hate her! She killed Mose!” Her eyes are wild when they find mine. “Murderer!”

As abruptly as the ruckus began, the room goes silent and still. I use the fallen chair to get to my feet. I’m aware of the blood roaring in my ears, the drumbeat thud of my heart, the burn of a cut on my face. A few feet away, Tomasetti has Salome bent over, face against the table, while he cuffs her hands behind her back. A visibly shaken Adam Slabaugh stands to my right, shaking, breathing as if he just ran the Boston Marathon.