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“Tell me what happened next,” I demand. “Tell me who killed Rachel. Tell me what you know, India!”
“Darkness,” she whispers in a hoarse voice. “Darkness… And then… I’m in a car. Someone is driving. And then the car stops.”
“Who is driving?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long were you driving for?”
She shakes her head miserably. “I don’t know. I was out of it. Maybe ten minutes.”
“And then what happened?”
“I’m being dragged out of the car. There is a building.”
“Who is dragging you?”
“I don’t know!”
“What building?” I demand, needing to know if she can identify it.
“It’s just a building. An old shop, I think. Inside there’s a room. A room with a cage. I’m being put into it. Inside the cage.”
“Can you see who did it? Tell me who it is.”
She shakes her head rapidly, as if she doesn’t want to see who it is. “I can’t see. Can’t see a face. I’m huddled on the floor of the cage.”
“And then? What next, India?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve been left. I’m locked in. Alone. In the dark. In the cold.” She collapses into tears again, sobbing her heart out.
“But you got out. How did you get out?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t get out. I can’t. Even when I can move again, I can’t get out. It’s too strong. It’s a wolfcage. I’m trapped in here. Trapped.”
“You did get out. You got out somehow. Think. Think how you got out.”
“I didn’t get out. I can’t get out.” She heaves for breath. She’s panicked. She feels like she’s fighting to get out all over again. “I can’t get out. The cage is too strong. I know I can never get out. I’m going to die here.”
“A man came for you, didn’t he? He must have come for you.”
She stares at me blankly and then she nods, remembering. She whispers, “A man came. He came to take me. And I’m cowering at the back of the cage. He wants to inject me. He can’t reach me. A knife is on the floor. He picks it up. He opens the cage door. He is coming for me. He’s coming towards me.”
“Then you pushed him, didn’t you? You pushed him away.”
“I pushed him!” she exclaims. “And he tried to stab me. And it hurt. And I shoved him. I grabbed the knife and I shoved him. And I ran.”
“You saw him, India. You saw his face.”
“No, no, no!” She shakes her head, unwilling to remember.
“Yes you did,” I snap. “Tell me what you saw!”
She stares at me with her eyes wide open. “He had black hair. He had glasses.” She describes a man. A man I know.
And it all clicks into place. The sneaky git. It was him. And I finally know why he did it. I feel a sense of jubilation. My hands are trembling with the satisfaction of knowing.
“That’s good,” I tell her soothingly, stroking my fingers through her hair. “You did good.”
