Page 26 of Darkwater Lane

Sam couldn’t convince Rowan to stand down, but perhaps I can talk sense into Madison. It’s a long shot, but I have to try. Doing nothing isn’t an option anymore.

She answers on the third ring.

9

GWEN

Even though Madison is a complete stranger, her voice is instantly familiar from hearing her on the podcast. It’s disorienting enough that it takes a moment after she answers for me to find my own voice.

“Hello, Madison,” I say, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible. “It’s Gwen Proctor.”

I can tell she’s stunned and I enjoy the brief silence that follows, knowing I’ve caught her off guard. “Oh, hi.Hi,” she says, flustered. “Um, I... I wasn’t expecting?—”

I cut off her stammering. “I assume now is a good time to talk?” I don’t give her an option. In fact, I’m somewhat hopeful I’m interrupting something important because I know there’s no way she’s not taking my call.

“No, of course not.” There’s rustling in the background and the sound of something falling over. “It’s just... is it okay if I record this?”

“No.” I practically bite the word out.

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed. There’s more scrambling—Iassume as she hunts for a pen and some paper. That she isn’t aware Tennessee is a one-party consent state, meaning she doesn’t need my permission to record the call, tells me she’s not much of a journalist. It confirms what I already guessed, given the caliber of reporting on the podcast so far.

She clears her throat, still a little breathless. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“I wasn’t expecting to call,” I tell her truthfully.

“So, Mrs. Royal, what?—”

I stop her right there. “It’s Proctor,” I tell her, my voice edged with steel. “Gwen Proctor. And you know it. So you’re either being intentionally obtuse or intentionally rude.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she immediately says, nearly stumbling over herself to get the apology out before I hang up on her. “It’s just, with the podcast, I’m so used to using your former name and I wasn’t thinking. I really do apologize.” She sounds sincere and also very, very young. On the podcast, she comes across so polished, which is the benefit of writing a script and being able to do multiple takes with lots of editing.

She waits for me to accept her apology; when I don’t, she audibly inhales before saying, “Why are you calling?” I can practically hear her wince at her directness before she adds, “I mean, what can I do for you?”

“You can take down your podcast and issue an apology for defaming me and my family.”

There’s another long pause. “I can’t. I understand why what you’ve heard so far might have upset you, but?—”

“Upset me? Are you kidding me? I’m not upset; I’m incandescent with rage. Do you have any idea what your lies do to me and my family? Are you even aware that the reason I changed my name is because my ex-husband stalked me and my kids across the country for years? That when he escaped from prison, he hunted me, intending to rape and torture me in front of a live audience?”

I’m standing now, pacing around my office as my voice rises. I can’t stem my anger at the fact that this podcast has brought this all back to the surface. Especially after I’ve been working so hard to move past it. I’m so fucking tired of this shit, and I unleash it all on Madison.

“I did nothing to deserve any of this. I was a housewife, and I was naive and maybe I didn’t see the warning signs because I didn’t want to. I ignored the fact that my husband liked to choke me to near unconsciousness during sex because... what was I supposed to do with that information? Who was I supposed to go to? How was I supposed to leave him? With what money? With what resources?”

I’ve kept so much bottled up for so long that I find myself unable to stop. “I am not responsible for my ex-husband’s crimes. Me staying with him may have made me naïve, but I’m hardly the first woman who stayed in an abusive relationship because she either didn’t understand what abuse truly was or didn’t realize she deserved any different. Why do you think I dedicate so much of my time as a private investigator to helping women?”

I realize that by this point I’m shouting, and as much as I’d love to continue unloading on this woman, I’m afraid of waking Connor. I clamp my lips together, swallowing back the rest of my diatribe.

Madison says nothing, then lets out a breath. “Wow. That was so powerful and raw. Are you sure there’s no chance you’ll repeat that and let me record you?”

I roll my eyes, the fury still simmering under the surface bubbling to the top. There’s no fucking way I’m going to help this woman peddle her damn podcast that vilifies me and my family. “I’m not interested,” I spit. “I wantThe Royal Murderstaken down. Now. And if you’re not interested in pulling the podcast, then we’re done here.”

I pull the phone away, intending to hang up, when I hear her shout, “Wait. Please!”

Something about her desperation makes me hesitate.

“I’m on your side,” she says.

I scoff at her obvious pandering. “Fuck off. My husband lost his job because of you and your bullshit. You are very definitelynoton my side.”

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