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Even so, my words come out painfully and reluctantly. “My adoptive mother died in a car crash. I was in the car. I survived, but I have no memory of it. No memory of anything about my life before that. People thought I did it. They said I had always made trouble. Always acted out.”
India nods. “Me too,” she says.
“They said it was my fault. They said I killed her.”
India looks stricken. “What did they do?”
“I had to go and live with her sister, my adoptive aunt, and she hated me. She said I did it too. And I could never defend myself. Not really. Because I couldn’t remember. I know I can’t have done it. I know it. But how can I know that really if I don’t remember?” My voice trails off.
“And your memories never came back?” she says in a frightened tone. She is looking at me hopefully, like I might say otherwise.
I shake my head. “They never came back.”
“So you have to live with never knowing,” she says dully.
“That doesn’t have to happen to you. Not if you try your best to remember.”
I don’t know if I want this so badly for her or for me. Because if she can do it, maybe it is not too late for me.
When she speaks it sounds like she is in pain. “I heard that Detective Zael guy shouting in the hallway. He said they found me with a knife in my hand. He said Rachel’s blood was all over me.”
I nod, unable to deny it. She needs the truth. Not cover ups.
“What if it was me?” she says in anguish. “What if I did do it? What if I killed Rachel?”
I hold her hand and squeeze it. “You loved Rachel. You wanted her to be happy. You can’t torment yourself like this.”
“But I’m a werewolf. I’m a monster. My whole life they’ve been telling me that I’m going to hurt someone. And what if I’ve hurt Rachel? I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?”
“India, I believe that you didn’t hurt Rachel.”
“How can you believe it when I don’t even believe it?” she asks frantically. “And they don’t believe it either — your Agency friends and that detective. Why else have they left guards outside my room? It’s to stop me from escaping because they think I‘m a killer!”
“Maybe DI Zael’s,” I admit. “But the Agency officer is here to protect you. To protect you, India. From the man that did this to you. You have to try and remember who it was.”
“But I’m telling you it might have been me,” she says in a horribly distraught voice, her face twisted with horror and grief, tears pouring down her cheeks. “What if it was me?”
I take hold of both of her hands and they are trembling violently. “Why would you kill her?” I ask earnestly. “Can you give me even one reason why you would want to kill her?”
She shakes her head vehemently. “I would never hurt Rachel. Never. But I don’t know what I did. I don’t know. What if I’m a monster and I don’t know?”
A noise in the hallway draws her attention and she looks towards the door, her eyes wide as if she thinks someone is about to come in and arrest her. Her gaze fixes on it. She stiffens.
I turn towards it, and through the glass I see a young man trying to get into the room. The Agency officer is blocking his way. The young man is insistent, trying to push the officer aside. He looks through the glass and sees India on the bed. He raps the glass, calling her name.
India’s heart rate monitor machine starts beeping rapidly. Her face is pale. She is shaking. The Agency officer seizes hold of the young man and hustles him away. India looks relieved. The monitor stops beeping.
“Who was that?” I ask. “Do you know him?”
“It’s Charlie,” she says.
Her boyfriend. She had wanted to see him. She’d said they were happy. But now that he was here she was horrified. And scared.
I go over to the door and I pull the blinds down over the window in case Charlie comes back.
“Don’t worry. The officers won’t let him in.”
She nods anxiously. Her fingers are twisting in her lap again.
