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3
I’mnumb as I sit in the cold, windowless interrogation room of the police station. Numb. And absolutely lost.
Across from me, a male and a female detective eye me smugly as they go over the paperwork in front of them for the fifth time. As if I need be told any more than once that I’m being accused of murdering my own mother.
I’m in here. He’s out there.
Do you really think laws mean anything to someone like myself?
Once again, Noel Ransom burns my life to the ground, leaving me naked in the ashes.
I tremble, bile rising in my throat as the man sighs and taps a pen against the edge of the table.
“It doesn’t look good, Ella.”
My eyes fall to the report in front of the female detective. I know what it says, though. In fact, this whole sit-down is bordering on déjà vu. The last time that report was sitting on a metal table between me and an authority figure was at Hemlock Estates. I was fourteen, and I’d just arrived half an hour before.
“This is a psychiatric exam that performed on you seven years ago, Ella.” Her brow furrows. “Do you remember taking this?”
I nod thickly.
“This was after you actually stabbed your stepfather—”
“He’s not my stepfather.”
She glances at her partner, and I catch the small smirk.
“Husbandnow, isn’t it? At least that’s what the gossip papers in the supermarket checkout queue say.”
They both look so smug—so gleeful, like they’re enjoying this. The male detective whistles as he leans back, lacing his hands behind his head.
“So, your mum’s old boyfriend, who you physically assaulted, is now your husband?”
When I say nothing, he grins.
“Now where’s Jerry bloody Springer when you need him, eh, Sarah?”
The female detective flashes a grin before she sighs.
“Well, Ella, when you stabbed your now-husband seven years ago, the child psychiatrist who interviewed you wrote that you seemed to have repeat problems with violence and behavioral issues.”
My mouth thins.
“That’s not true.”
They both seem to perk up when I actually speak.
“No?” She frowns, folding her arms on the metal table and leaning towards me. “So the psychiatrist just made it all up now, did he?”
“No, but I don’t think his perspective—”
They both laugh.
“Hisperspective!” She grins. “Hear that, Dan? Apparently hisperspectivewas off!”
“Ah, well, that changes everything, doesn’t it?”
I bite back the rage. They’re fucking with me.
