Present

I SIT ON the edge of the bed, my hands fisting at the plastic mattress beneath me, Dr. Derek back in his Range Rover and out of this place. We have a gentleman’s agreement: he won’t declare me incompetent and we’ll meet tomorrow before the arraignment.

I stare at the wall across from me, a slow rage rising through my chest, spreading down my limbs, festering in the pores of my skin. Simon. I’ve been torturing myself, literally imprisoning myself, and Simon was the cause of it all. Him and his damn pills. Him and his damn sister. Had she helped? Had she lifted part of Jeremy’s weight when they’d moved it down the dark streets to the Dumpster? Had she been the one to think of using my knife, that cheery fucking yellow handle a giant blinking ARREST DEANNA sign? Simon. Chelsea. Simon. Chelsea. Punishment. Punishment. Now.

I am in here because of them. Or him. Or them. I’ll get to Simon first. He’ll squeal if she was involved. But of course she was. I couldn’t open my door without seeing her face, then she’d vanished.

I am in here because of them. They let me lie on the apartment floor. They let me wake up with no idea of what had happened. They caused me to miss out on going to the hospital. Holding his hand. Looking into his sister’s face. They caused me to doubt myself, to paint a giant-ass mural in my head of all the horrific things I’d done. They let me lock myself into a place where I can’t kill them both. And that, after you shift through all the other bullshit, is my biggest issue right now.

I stand, walk to the door, and start to scream.

It takes five minutes of screams to get a guard to my cell. My throat is exhausted when he opens the window, my lungs spent, breath short. I take in a deep breath and squeak out my request. “I’d like to speak to a lawyer.”

My request doesn’t impress the man. He eyes me for a long minute, his jaw moving in a slow chomp of gum, then picks at a spot on his face. “Okay,” he finally says. “But shut the hell up. I’ll call a PD for you.”

“Thank you.” I step back before he thinks about restraining me. Turn and walk to my bed like a good little girl. Sit on the edge and put my palms between my knees. He eyes me through the open window for one long final stretch, as if I am planning something, as if an extra minute of observation will change anything. Then he shuts the slider, and I hear his steps as they move down the hall.

A lawyer. I have the right to an attorney. They will get me out of this. I have to get out of this, to find my own answers and right Jeremy’s wrong. And if I don’t like their court-appointed attorney, I’ll get my own. Use some of my millions to get Gloria Allred on Nancy Grace, screaming my innocence. But for right now, in this moment, I just need a face. Someone to spit my innocence to who can tell me the process and how soon I can leave this hell. I don’t need a prison, I don’t need safeguards. I was not the one who did that.

I roll my neck and think about my steps. I’ll visit Jeremy first, then go to the apartment. Collect myself and get showered, dressed in clean clothes. Then I’ll rain hell in Jeremy’s name. I grin in the empty cell and can feel the walls smile back.

It doesn’t take long for my attorney. Less than an hour later, my cell door opens and I am escorted back out to the visiting room. There, I’m pleasantly surprised to see the attorney waiting, her navy suit patient in the corner of the room while I am secured.

“Ms. Madden, I am Dana Romansky, the public defender assigned to your case.” She nods at the guard, who leaves us, gently shutting the door behind him.

“Nice to meet you.” It was nice to meet her. A woman. I’m ashamed to say I’m surprised. I’d had visions of my court-appointed attorney, and he’d been short and male and stressed. She was tall and put together and calm.

“You requested me. Is there something you need?

To the point. Good. “Yes. I gave a confession because I didn’t remember what happened. Now that I remember, I want to change my statement.”

Her brow wrinkles. “So… you’re innocent.”

“Yes. Have you reviewed the case?” Please say yes.

“It’s nine o’clock at night. I left a date to come here. You’re lucky I know your last name.”

Figures. The rosy cloud around her dims slightly. “What is the next step?”

“The next step is your arraignment, which is scheduled for tomorrow at two. At the arraignment we can have you plead innocent. A trial will be scheduled, and the time between now and then is when we, or whatever attorney you decide upon, can build your case. It will be difficult to overcome a confession, but it’s not impossible.”

“So… when would I get out?”

She smiles and I do not like her smile. It is smug and intelligent and carries a you dumb little thing in its smirk. “You won’t get out unless you are found innocent at trial. Which is a very long way away.”

“What about bail?”

“You’ve assaulted two people in the forty-eight hours you’ve been here. They tied you up just to talk to me.”

“So… no bail?”

“Most likely not.”

There is a long moment in which I digest the information. Stare down at the table and refamiliarize myself with the scratches in its surface. Line up the players in this game into a formation that I understand. “So… tomorrow afternoon, I go to the arraignment, where I’ll plead innocent and be taken to jail.”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t matter if I plead innocent or guilty, I’m going to jail.”

“Yes. Unless the judge, by some miracle, decides to set a bail.”

“What are my chances of that?”

“Less than a percent. It’s not gonna happen.”

Well this sucks. “Can I talk to the detectives? Maybe if I convince them that—”

“You don’t understand.” She interrupts. “Once you are charged, it is put into the judicial system’s hands. If you hadn’t confessed, there is a chance that they wouldn’t have had the evidence to hold you for more than twenty-four hours. But once you confessed, you changed everything. And that’s not just something you can get a do-over on.”

I let out a breath of air, and it comes out a lot harder and angrier than I had intended. She flinches and I lift my head to find her watching me warily.

“I’m sorry,” she says carefully. “I wish I could do more.”

I don’t want her sympathy. I want freedom. I break eye contact and look down at the table. “Thank you for meeting with me. I’d like to go back to my cell now.”

This time, when they open that door and lead me out, I notice everything. The height of the knobs, the construction strength of the locks. The bars, the doors, the exits, the lighting. How many people we pass in the hall, how many guards look up when we walk, how many steps it takes, windows are present, keys jingle from belts. I notice it all. If I learned anything during that meeting, it was that I’ll have to take my own freedom back.

CHAPTER 75

Present

IF I MADE a list of difficult tasks, breaking out of a prison would top the list. Thankfully, I’m not in prison. At the moment, I’m in booking, which… best I can determine, is fairly loose in its security practices.