Page 74 of Even After Sunset

But I’m determined to man up and see this through. I’m already giving her the truth seven years too late: I can’t wuss out again. Even though it is So. Fucking. Hard.

But I do it: I finish. I tell her the rest of what happened that afternoon.

“I killed your mom,” I stutter, “And I didn’t even have the guts to admit it when the cops finally showed up.”

“One of the neighbors must have called 911 when they heard the shots. As soon as I heard the sirens, I dropped the gun. And when the cops came inside, I was so freaked out and messed up in the head. I told them I just got home and found everyone dead. And they believed me… they were so focused on making sure I was safe and I just went along with it.”

“I just kept thinking how mom and dad were gone, and I was gonna go to jail and I would have to stay there until I died because nobody would be there to get me out. And I fucking played the cops. I played everyone. I even broke free from the lady cop’s arms to run over and pick up the gun I’d dropped on the floor before they came in—so I could cover my ass. I grabbed the gun and told them I needed it in case the bad guys who killed my parents were still in the house. I lied to them… to cover up what I did, because I’d seen enough cop shows to know it was bad that my fingerprints were on the gun.”

I swallow hard, forcing out the words. And now I do let myself look away, into the fire that has died down and is mostly just embers.

“Even after I watched my parents die… After I saw them being shot and after I killed a woman…I still thought about covering my tracks. And maybe it was just… like, survival instinct or something. Or shock or whatever, in the moment. But even after that… even when I was questioned again later. And even after I went into foster care for a couple weeks… and then when my aunt and uncle moved in—I never told the truth. When everyone explained to me it wasn’t some mystery ‘bad guy’ that killed them, I pretended I didn’t know already. When they told me it was your mom who shot my parents, and that my mom fired at the same time as your mom out of self defense, I just went along with it. I let the cops and everyone treat me like I was a victim instead of a fuckingkiller.”

I look back at Jackie.

“I’m a killer and a liar and I’m so sorry, Jax… I am so sorry that I didn’t—”

“Silas… Oh my gosh, Silas…”

Jackie is crying, and she looks like she’s shattering inside. And I want to die of shame. BecauseI did this to her.

But then she’s tugging at my sleeve, coming up onto her knees and pulling me into her arms. And she’s hugging me. She’s sobbing into my shoulder, shaking and squeezing me so hard it feels like she’s twice her size.

“You were a little kid,” she sobs.“You were scared, and saw your parents get shot right in front of you. You saw everything… You acted out of self defense and oh my God, Silas… I am so sorry…”

I’m so confused. And worried that she somehow got the story mixed up. But I don’t know how—because I know I didn’t leave anything out. I know that, because that’s what made it so fucking hard to get through. So what in the hell? Why is she acting like this?

And then it dawns on me: maybe she’s in denial… Maybe I’m still not done.

Maybe I need to go over it all again.

I try to push her away, but she’s clutching me so tightly that I literally have to wrench her away from my body. I hold her at arm'slength.

“I shot your mother, Jax. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.I’m the one who killed her!”

She wipes her face with the palms of her hands and I see the moonlight reflected in her eyes, mixed with the sadness.

“Out of self-defense, Silas!” she cries. “You shot her out of—”

“You aren’t listening!” I scream. “I am not a good person! I am not some guy you should be trying to save!” I push her away when she tries to reach for me again. “I may have shot your mom because I was scared, but I still lied about it after. I covered it up for years. Do you get that? Ideserveevery bad thing that’s happened to me since then—living in that house, getting stuck with my aunt and uncle, every single one of those beatings my uncle gave me. I deserved to be locked up in juvie! Hell, I should be back in there now—because I am a killer. That is who I am—not some friend who grew up and just made a few stupid mistakes, okay? You need to get that through your head. You need to stop being so goddamn nice for just five seconds of your life and—”

“You were ten, Silas!” She screams. And it shocks me, because I’ve never seen Jackie full-on scream like this before.

“You watched both your parents get shot, and you tried to defend them. And then you were scared you would go to jail for it,” she continues, a little less loud now that she sees she has my attention. “You were too young to deal with any of that. Of course you didn’t tell anyone. It weighed on you more and more and the older you got, the more scared you were to tell the truth.”

She clutches both my arms in her hands. “You didn’t do anything wrong… And I don’t hate you.” She’s pleading with her eyes now, and that isnotthe expression I expected to see on her in this moment. I am confused as hell. One more emotion to add to the mounting pile from today.

Jackie sniffs loudly.

“Why would you even think that?” she asks. “Why would you think I would hate you for… God! I just… I hate that you didn’t think you could tell anyone. I’m so sorry, Silas…”

Now I don’t even know what to say. Because shedidhear me. She knows I’m the one who killed her mom—and she is mad. But for the wrong reasons. She’sdismissing everything I told her and feeling bad forme. She’s sounding a lot like Richard right now, and it’s turning all my thoughts upside down in my head.

She wipes her eyes again with the sleeve of my hoodie and sits back on her heels.

“I mourned my mom’s death a long time ago,” she says, lifting her hand like she’s about to brush it against my cheek. But I duck out of her reach and she lowers her arm.

“My mom struggled mentally for years,” she continues, still trying to explain herself. “I didn’t understand it at the time, but I get it now: the reason she acted the way she did. The constant sadness,” she says. “And the way she stayed in bed. For days sometimes. And the mood swings. All of it — those things are what killed her.” She pauses, then adds, “And that’s what killed your parents: my mom’s disease. The mental illness, and the fact that no one stepped in earlier to help her. You were just a little kid who panicked when you witnessed a horrible,awfulthing. You saw your own parents getting murdered, and you never got a chance to deal with that.”

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