“It was a warning.” Stepping back, I stare at the people I love. “I have to do something. I can’t let him get away with what he did.” I get an overwhelming feeling of strength.
“What do you want to do?” Amelia asks.
We all sit down again, Zhen by my feet. “It’s funny, because I didn’t want to admit what he did. I was dreading saying the words, but once they left my lips, I feel different. Stronger than I ever have. Powerful even.”
“Be prepared. There will be a part of you that will regret it. Even want to hide from it,” Amelia says.
No, not us. We’ll face this, head on.
Neve may be the youngest out of all of us, but I think she’s the toughest. “Thank you, Neve,” I mumble.
We need for him to be held accountable. Kate’s now the loudest.
He needs to pay. AJ echoes.
I walk over to my parents, and wedge my way between them. “I’m sorry for what has to be done. I don’t want to drag you through this, not with everything else that’s happened with Tina.”
“What are you talking about?” Mom asks, perplexed.
“I think I want to go to the police.”
Mom’s reaction isn’t what I was expecting. She smiles, and nods. “Make that cunt pay,” Mom says in a tone so dark, and serious that it actually frightens me. I’ve never heard her say the C word in all my life. “Both of them have to answer for their crimes.”
Yes, they do.
We’re waiting outside the office of Eveline Bradford, the district attorney who is prosecuting Preston. Mom nervously wrings her hands together. Dad’s sitting beside Mom, with his hand on her thigh. Dylan and I are holding hands in the quaint, small waiting room.
We’ve all been fairly quiet the whole morning.
We knew today would be hard, but we had no idea how traumatic it actually is.
“Mr. and Mrs. Dawson?” a young man asks as he steps forward.
We all stand, and follow him. “Eveline will be with you in a moment. Please, take a seat.” He shows us into a glass-enclosed conference room. There’s a long wooden table in the center, with twelve high-backed chairs around it. There’s an opened laptop facing away from us, and a pitcher of water with glasses stacked in front of it. The room is cool, cold enough to cause my arms to cover in goosebumps. I shiver as I sit.
“Are you cold?” Dylan asks.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. He takes his jacket off, and slings it over my shoulders, covering my thin cardigan. “You’ll get cold.” I shrug the jacket off.
“No, I won’t. I’ll be fine. Have it.” He places it over my shoulders again.
“Thank you,” I say.
Within seconds an older woman walks in and introduces herself. “Eveline Bradford,” she says as she extends her hand to Mom first. She’s got silvery blonde hair, pulled back in a severe chignon. She’s wearing thick, black-rimmed glasses, and a black pant suit with a white shirt. She has the hard look of an uncompromising victor who’ll do whatever it takes to annihilate those who dare stand before her.
She is the most no-nonsense person I’ve ever met. She even intimidates me.
The introductions among us are pertinent and to the point.
Eveline doesn’t waste time. “Preston’s changed his plea from guilty to not guilty.”
“What?” we all yell in unison.
“He’s pleading not guilty due to reason of insanity.” Eveline looks down at her laptop, and types something quickly.
“Insanity? He’s a monster. A controlling asshole who manipulated my sister!”
“I know. Which is why now, we go to a preliminary hearing.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“We go to court, and have to provide sufficient evidence that he is, in fact, guilty. It’s like a mini-trial. It’s up to me to show that we have substantial proof that he’s guilty, and not insane—like he’s claiming.”
“How do you do that?” Dad asks.
“With evidence. And with testimony. Testimony from all of you.”
“My cousin is a private investigator, and she found evidence that he’s done this before,” Dylan offers.
Eveline lifts her chin to look at Dylan. She types something on her computer again, then sits back in the chair. The young guy who showed us in, comes back into the room. “Speak to Dylan, get his cousin’s name and phone number. Put her on retainer for this case. Get whatever information she has. Tell her we’ll need her for more,” Eveline spouts quickly to the young guy.
“Can you come with me please?” he asks Dylan.
This is all happening so fast. Eveline is undeniably a powerful woman who knows how to get things done. “How do you do it?” I ask, not realizing I’ve actually spoken aloud.
“Do what?” she asks without hesitation.
“How can you see cases like this, and remain detached?”
Eveline slides her glasses down her nose with her finger, and looks over them at me. “Because I have to make sure I have a good case, or these bastards walk free,” she responds in a deadpan, even voice. “And in this particular case, I’ve come up against his parents before. His mother is a pit bull, she’ll do everything she can to prove her son didn’t intentionally harm Tina.”
I look to my parents. Both are staring at Eveline. I know what’s going through their minds, because it’s going through mine. What if he gets away with it again?
I’ll kill him. I’ll kill them both. Kate’s voice is as deadly as Eveline’s.
“You can’t. We have to let the system do its job,” I say to Kate.
“Pardon?” Eveline asks.
Mom places her hand on my thigh, and I quickly realize I’m replying out loud instead of in my head. “I’m sorry,” I say instantly.
Crap, Eveline’s staring at me. She narrows her eyes, and clicks her tongue. “Who were you talking to?”
“Um, no…nothing.” I wave my hand at her.
Tell her.
“No! Shh.”
Eveline sits back in her seat, and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Who are you talking to?”
Closing my eyes, I lean my elbow on the arm of the chair. I run my hand over my face, and through my hair. She’s not going to let this go. I have to tell her.
Good, tell her.
“Kate, please,” I whisper under my breath.
“Who’s Kate?” Eveline persists in asking.
I feel sick, like I’m going to vomit. Other than my parents, Amelia, and Dylan, I have not told anyone about my other… personalities. My stomach twists and turns, and my breathing becomes short and rapid. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” I try my hardest to avoid answering Eveline. I sneak a look at her, and everything is telling me, she’ll wait all day for me to give her an answer. She lifts her brows at me, waiting. “I…um.” I duck my face, unable to look in her stern eyes. Tapping my head, I take a deep breath before saying, “I have three people who live inside me.”
I wait for her to say something. I refuse to look at anyone.
“Molly has dissociative identity disorder,” Mom says.