Page 98 of Heartbreak Bay

“How you know it took her four minutes to die?”

The silence is profound.

“You told me you never found your sister’s killer,” I say. I’m moving up, steadily, carefully, and as quickly as I dare. “Tragic Jonathan, with his kidnapped sister and his dead parents and his house half-burned. Poor little Jonathan, always the victim.” I hear footsteps above. I jerk my focus up to the top level. The staircase ends there. “Let’s play a new game. Truth or dare. Because I dare you to tell me the truth.”

Second curl of the spiral. I’m moving fast now. I need to, I know that. I can feel it. He isn’t answering me.

“You want someone else to know,” I say. My breathing’s fast, ragged, and my whole body aches. “To see you for who you are. Where’s Kezia? Is she up there with you?”

“Yes, she is. I had to put her gag back on, I’m afraid; she was being too noisy. But she’s alive and well. In fact, I think she’s starting to understand me. But do you? You think you’re smart. Tell me. Go ahead, Gina Royal. Tell me my story.”

“There was no van,” I say. “There was no man who grabbed your sister and took her away. No abductor who hit you in the head.”

“How could you possibly know that?” He sounds interested. Not offended. Not yet.

“Four minutes. You said it took four minutes, and you couldn’t have known that unless you werethere. So here’s what I think: You killed your sister. You took her out to the salt marsh that day, andyoukilled her. Then you had an accident on the way back—maybe a bad fall, I don’t know. But when you came to, you knew you had to have some kind of story. You made up the abductor and the van. You just made it up, and they all believed it because you were sohurt.”

He doesn’t answer, and that’s how I know I’m right.

“But your mother knew, didn’t she? She lasted a year, knowing her son killed her daughter. The papers said it was accidental death, but is that what happened?”

“She died in the fire at our house,” Jonathan says.

“Did you kill her?”

“No.” He’s quiet for a second or two. “She started the fire. She tried to kill me.”

There’s still no emotion in it. Just an observation, a flat fact with no impact to him. Though I wonder. I wonder if locked inside that damaged brain there isn’t a howling, screaming monster made of guilt and pain and horror.

“And your father drowned in the bay,” I say. “Suicide. Because he knew, and couldn’t live with it either.”

“You knew about what Melvin was doing. You helped him do it. Admit it.”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t help. But you killed your sister, Jonathan. Admitthat.”

He’s never said it,I think. Never had to. But after a moment of silence, he says, “She was being a brat. I just wanted to teach her a lesson. So I took her to the marsh.”

“There wasn’t a van. Or a man with a pipe.”

“She hit me with a rock,” he says. “While I was holding her head under the water. I just wanted her tostop talking. She almost got away. I didn’t think I was hurt that bad until later. When they found me, I was passed out on the side of the road. I couldn’t talk for a long time. I don’t know why I told them that story, but everybody believed it.”

I swallow hard. “Jonathan, you lied when you said you never killed anyone.”

“I didn’t,” he says. “I was only holding Clara under the water to make her stop talking. Then she hit me. But she slipped in the mud, and she was already ... confused. She went deeper into the water. She couldn’t get out. It was her choice. It took four minutes for her to go under and not come up.”

There’s so much wrong with him. I can’t fix him. I can’t fix any of it.

“That part wasn’t your fault,” I tell him. “You were hurt. Your skull was crushed. You couldn’t have saved her.”

When he speaks again, I finally hear emotion in his voice. Anger. “I don’t need your forgiveness.”

“You loved her.”

“Love is selfishness. Greed. That’s all it is. I asked Sam a question earlier,” he says then. “I asked if he wants you to live. He does. Just so you know. And that’s greedy too.”

I hear something powering up, and I don’t understand what it is. Some kind of engine.

“I have one last question to ask you, Gina Royal. Would you rather die falling,” he asks me, “or frying?”

---