“What fire?” I wonder.

He shrugs, lowering his hand to his lap. “Just a building. No one got hurt or anything, but still...”

I don’t like the accusation in his voice at all. “Well, don’t you have a file or something that says if I was involved in any of this?”

His gaze is unwavering. “Maybe, but that doesn’t really matter at the moment. I came here to question you about Sydney.”

“You brought it up.” What the hell am I doing? Stop arguing with the detective.

“I know.” His tone conveys speculation, his eyes lock on me as if he’s ready to turn bad cop and break me open. “Tell me, do you or have you ever gotten into trouble Maddie? Or should I call you Lily?”

Fucking asshole. “No, I’m perfect. Just ask my mother,” I say wryly. “And it’s Maddie.” Is it?

His expression is indecipherable, but I have a feeling I’m in deep trouble. “What about that bar you work at? Does your mother know about what that turns into after hours? I’m guessing no.”

“If you know what it turns into afterhours, then why don’t you shut it down?” I question with a curve of my brow.

“I’m working on it.” There’s a silent warning in his eyes.

“Well, I’m not part of it,” I lie breezily. “My job title strictly sticks to during hours.”

I can tell he doesn’t believe me. I don’t know why I care, but I do. I’m about to insist he’s wrong about me, that I’m a good girl that never does anything wrong when his cellphone beeps inside his pocket.

He checks it and then quickly gets to his feet. “I have to go. I have a lot more rounds to make today. If you can think of anything else at all, feel free to call me.” He rushes for the door and it takes a hell of a lot of restraint not to grab his collar, throw him to the ground, pin him down, and force him to tell me everything he knows, then eliminate him because he clearly knows something, or thinks he does anyway.

“Okay, but what’s the I number I can call you at?” I round the coffee table after him.

He hands me a card from his wallet. “My number is on the card. Feel free to call me day or night.” He pulls open the door and I itch to slam it shut in his face. Lock him in here. Torture everything out of him. “It was nice talking to you Maddie.” He pauses with the door cracked. “Why did you say you were Lily that night, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Maddie’s my first name.” I’m fighting really hard to keep it together as I lay my way out of this mess. “Lily’s my middle name.”

“Hmmm…” That’s all he says and then he steps outside into the frosted air and sunlight, turning on his heels as he reaches the path in front of the house. “Take care Maddie Lily Asherford,” he says, flashing a grin at me from over his shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

I have no clue what the grin is about—it seems more sinister than anything. Still, I give him a wave, then close the door as he walks toward his car in the driveway. I slide the chain over, like I’m locking all the bad out, even though it’s living inside me.

Bravo. You really fucked that one up.

“Oh, go to hell.”

“Maddie, what was that all about?” My mother asks as she tentatively enters the room, rubbing her hands up and down the sides of her arms like she’s cold. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

I’m leaning against the shut door, arms to my side, hands tremulous, palms bleeding from where my nails split open the flesh. “Why would I be in trouble?” I ask, watching her reaction. “If what you say is true, then I never get into trouble.”

I detect a hint of a nervous fidget in her hands as she fiddles with the buttons on her shirt, her hair—anything she can get a hold of. “Maddie, please don’t start with this,” she says. “Just tell me what the detective wanted.”

I don’t know what comes over me. Or maybe I do and I don’t want to admit that I’m allowing Lily to control me so much at the moment because I’m frazzled and irritated. I stand up straight, calm as can be, embracing the darkness, the anger, instead of fearing it. “He wanted to see if I murdered Sydney Rawlington.”

Her skin turns pale and I get a sick gratification over it. This is who I am and what I want to know is if my mother knows who I really am too. If I’ve been this person my entire life and she’s just trying to keep it hidden, hoping it’ll go away.

“Maddie Asherford, you will not take that that tone with me.” She aims for a stern tone but it comes out quivery.

“Don’t you mean Lily?” I observe the way she blinks, note the way she moves her hand to the bottom of her neck where her necklace rests, a nervous habit of hers.

Her jaw drops. “Maddie, what are you talking about?”

I move toward her, past the coffee table, the sofa, the pictures of me on the wall when I was younger, taking each step calculated. “That detective said he was there that night of the accident.” I halt only a few long steps away from her. “And that I was calling myself Lily and that somehow you knew about the accident before they even called you. Who’s Lily mother? Because by the look on your face, I’m guessing you know something about it. And how did you know I’d been hit if no one called you?”

She shakes her head and I can see her pulse hammering in her neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. The police called me and I’ve never heard you call yourself Lily before, so I can’t help you with that one.”

“Are you sure about that?” I ask skeptically. “You seem nervous.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she says, lowering her hand to her side and shuffling away from me. “Now stop acting crazy, go change, and come eat dinner with me.” With that, she turns on her heels and hurries out of the room.

I want to scream at her to tell me truth. But would there be a point, since I think I already know the answer. It’s one that I’ve been burying inside me since the moment I woke up in the hospital.

That I am crazy.

That I am Lily.

And that I might be a killer.

Maybe I started the fire that night.

Maybe I killed the man who hit me with his car.

Just like I probably did Sydney.

Maddie

I thought things couldn’t get worse, but I was wrong. Bella won’t return any of my messages or phone calls, so I still have no insight to what I was up to on March 15, which leaves me overthinking everything, and coming up with the worse possible scenarios.

Then comes lockdown. Late one afternoon, my mother gets a phone call while we’re having dinner. She instantly leaves the room, her face draining of color as she glances at the screen. I hear her muttering something and when she returns, she seems shaken up, but won’t tell me why. The next day she installs a security alarm. Changes all the locks on the door. And tells me that I need to stay in the house as much as possible and that it might be best for me to stay home from work until the murderer is caught.

“To keep us safe,” my mother explains as she checks the locks on the front door and then crosses the room, me following at her heels.

“Safe from what exactly?” I ask, watching her mess around with the alarm system on the living room wall.

She sets the alarm and it beeps as it prepares for lock down. No going in or out any of the doors or windows without the siren shrieking like the devil himself. “Maddie, that poor girl was murdered only twenty minutes from here,” she says. “We need to be safer with all the craziness that’s out there.”

“Out there?” I lean against the wall with my arms folded as I stare out the window at the frosted grass, the grey sky, the trees, the “out there” she’s referring to. “You’re the one being crazy. You can’t just lock us in the house and expect us to stay here.”

“I’m being crazy,” she says unfathomably. She has dark circles under her eyes, her hair is pulled into a messy bun, and her clothes are wrinkled. She looks like a hot mess—a hot, stressed out mess. “You’re the one laughing about this. This isn’t funny, Maddie.”