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“That’s…excellent,” I tell her, laughing again.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Yeah, everything is…it really is going to be okay.”
“Well, that’s great to hear,” she says. She laughs a little, too—not because it’s funny, but it must be just a little bit contagious. “I didn’t know if you wanted coffee or orange juice, so I brought both.”
“I want both,” I tell her as she sets it down in front of me.
“You know, you can turn on the TV,” she says. “There’s a remote probably stuffed into the side of the bed somewhere.”
“Oh my god, yes,” I say through a mouthful of eggs.
“You know, you’re in a pretty good mood for someone who came in last night with half a dozen rib fractures and blood splatter all over your sweatpants.”
I shrug. “It’s a new day.”
I start flipping through channels and stop when I come across a local news station with a photo of Mark in the top corner. The smile falls from my face as I try to focus on what they’re saying.
“I heard about what happened to you,” Cristina says. “I want to tell you how brave you are. You’re a survivor; I am, too. And Iwant you to know you’re not alone—there aremillionsof us. Our stories matter. Someday…they’re going to have to pay attention.”
I nod and choke back a sob. “Thank you.”
“That monster got exactly what he deserved,” she says. “I’ll bring down your lunch around noon if you’re still here. You call #16 on that phone if you need anything else from the kitchen, baby.”
“Thank you,” I tell her.
I learn a lot from the newscast. Devon’s dad was released from police custody this morning. Apparently, the man’s paranoia after the death of his daughter paid off in a big way. There was an indoor security camera in the kitchen that, though it didn’t pick up much footage from the struggle, picked up a lot of the audio, including the Mark’s confession to killing Darci. The video of the man carrying Darci’s body from the woods and through the yard to what would eventually be the family’s pool runs repeatedly, too. They compare the man’s stature to Mark’s, and even though he’s wearing a hat and a sweatshirt like he never does, the figure is a match.
It’s still hard to watch, and even though I’m glad the family finally knows who was responsible for her death, it brings me no peace.
They mention that the family has declined to comment at this time.
I change the channel minutes before the police arrive to interview me. The doctor discharges me about an hour after lunch.The nurse brings me some scrubs to wear and tells me no, Devon isn’t awake yet, and I can’t see him, but I can call and check in whenever I want.
“I don’t know where I’ll go,” I tell her after she helps me into the wheelchair.
“There’s someone here to pick you up,” she says.
My heart stops. I feel the color drain from my face as I expect to see Grace at the other end of the hallway.
“No!” I tell her. “I won’t go with her. You can’t make me; I’m eighteen. Make hergo.”
“Her?” she asks. “I’m pretty sure they said it was a man.”
“What?”
She pushes me into the hallway leading to the main entry, and I see Devon’s dad waiting by the front doors.
“You ready to go, kid?” he asks.
All I can do is nod my head.
We made national news.
I watched our local police department give a press statement earlier this evening. They said they found evidence on Mark’s computer that suggested he and Darci had a sexual relationship.
After I let that sink in for a minute, I realized that the older guy she was seeing but could never talk about was never a college student. It was always Mark.
