Her lips thin into a grim line, frustration seeping into her turbulent eyes. “Why did you do it? Why her? What did she ever do to any of you to deserve that?”
I toy with my glass of scotch that’s still before me. The ice has long melted by now, causing a ring to form in the alcohol where you can clearly see the chemical reaction. My body is rigid as I work through the levels and tiers of my frustrations. She still believes I did it, and a part of me wants to let her believe it. Let her believe she has all the answers because maybe she doesn’t deserve the truth.
But I don’t do that.
“I didn’t kill your sister.”
“You’re lying,” she grits out, her nostrils flaring.
I knock back the entire contents in the glass, relishing in the burn, as it travels down my throat, settling in my chest. “I’ve never claimed to be a good guy. In fact, I told you I wasn’t. But I’m not a killer. Never have been.”
I watch it happen. The way the breath leaves her body. Her shoulders drop with what I can only imagine is defeat and relief. I watch her work through her emotions internally. She’s waging a battle within herself, and when she looks at me, with those eyes that are like an escape to a whole other world, I almost give in to her. But I remain impassive on the outside, watching and waiting for her next move.
She doesn’t make one, so I do it for her.
“Tell me about the night of the accident.”
Her eyes narrow, like she doesn’t trust me, which is fair. I don’t trust her either. “Why?”
“Because I want the truth.”
Mackenzie looks pensive, as if she’s not sure what my intentions are, but blows out a breath. “That poker night, I snuck into Zach’s office while I was supposed to be in the bathroom.” She at least has the decency to look somewhat guilty about her actions. That is the strange thing about having her here. So much has transpired, I don’t know if the elephant in the room needs to be addressed or not. “I saw some things in his safe, and after that night in your office…” She glances up at me quickly, looking pained for only a second, before she looks elsewhere, not letting me see whatever it is she’s working through. “I went back. And I took that box I found stashed in his safe. At first, it had random stuff inside that didn’t make any sense. I took it anyway, somehow hoping anything in there would help me find the answers, but it wasn’t until Madison—” Her eyes widen, and she darts her gaze to mine as if she’s afraid to finish that sentence.
My gaze narrows the slightest bit. I already know about the conversations she’s had with her sister, Dr. Aster told me as much, but I’ve never spoken about it directly with Mackenzie.
“Until what?” I prompt, quirking an inquisitive brow.
She sniffs, looking away. “Something kept telling me I was missing it. I had the answers right in front of me. That was when I put it together. There was rope, an old frayed receipt, and coordinates. That was the whole reason I was in Ferndale that night. That’s where the coordinates led me, and I found a bloody shirt that night. I dug it up. I had it in my hands. I know I did.” A single tear slips down her cheek, her chin quivering with emotion. “But then Vincent was there. He followed me, and I might’ve been able to outrun him if he didn’t have a gun. He forced me into the car with him, and…God, I don’t remember how it happened. One second, I was driving, and the next, we went off the road.”
I grit my teeth, dying to get my hands on Vincent and kill him. I can clearly picture all of it happening. Vincent wasn’t there by accident at all. He knew what she found. After Zach told him about the break-in at his place, I’m sure he figured getting rid of Mackenzie was the only way to protect the guys from what they did that night. Between Dan and me, it’s clear Zach, Trent, and Vincent are hiding much more about that night than they previously led on.
Could that be the reason Vincent wanted to get rid of Mackenzie so badly? Because deep down, he always knew it would lead to this, her digging and finding out the truth, putting them in danger.
A part of my brain screams at me to take a closer look at her. Can I really take her words at face value after what she is just about to admit? That she has conversations with her dead sister.
“And when you say ‘something’ told you to look harder, what do you mean?”
Pain and something that looks a whole lot like shame enters her gaze. “She told you, didn’t she?” Her voice is tight, as if she’s barely holding back her emotions. I rub my thumb over my bottom lip, keeping my thoughts to myself.
I’ve never believed in the paranormal side of things. Is there another side? I don’t know, and I don’t really care. I am here now, and that is all that matters. I am sure if there is a heaven and hell, I’ll be damned to an eternity with the flames. There isn’t a doubt in my mind.
The fact of the matter is Mackenzie believes her dead sister was talking to her, and I don’t know how I feel about that. Despite everything, I know how I feel about her. I hate her. I hate that I care about her because, even with all that hate, there is a burning desire, a burning sensation in my gut that tells me what I feel for her is unlike anything else I’ve ever felt for anyone in my life. In equal parts, I want to let that feeling go, yet hold on to it like it is a lifeline.
We are bad for each other.
Completely wrong.
Every moment of our relationship was based on lies; yet, here I am, hearing her out, giving her the truth instead of turning her away. Listening to her side as if I have any trust left in me to spare.
She feels like oxygen to me. I don’t like oxygen; I require it. Just as I require the woman sitting across from me.
“What did Vincent tell you in the car exactly?” I ask, deciding to skim over all the bits about her sister. Maybe one day we’ll find a balance where I can touch on the subject, but that is most certainly not today.
Pain flits across her face as she stares at me. I can’t tell if it’s because she knows I’m avoiding the subject of her dead sister or because the question is bringing up memories she’d much rather suppress. I have the urge to pull her to me and take that look away—take the pain away.
“He said it was your idea. All of it. It was supposed to be me that night, just like I always knew it was. And that you were the one…” Her voice cracks, and tears teeter on the edge of her lashes. “He said you were the one who killed her, and that everything, even from the first moment we met, was orchestrated. You knew it was me and used me.”
I’m going to kill him. I’m going to murder him once I find out where he’s hiding.
There’s so much to be read in her eyes. I see her searching my gaze, looking for answers, wanting to find her truth. I read it there, so easily. She wants to believe I did it, but there’s doubt there, lingering at the edges of her hazel eyes, blending chaotically with the myriad of colors there.
“I didn’t kill your sister, Mackenzie.” That’s the only explanation I give. Because even though I may not have taken her life, I did something else that was just as bad.
Her tears fall, and she shakes her head, still not trusting me. “You’re lying.”
I’m not sure we’ll ever get that trust back.
“And if I was? If I did kill her? Then what?” I ask, my voice dripping with ice as I lean forward.