Page 27 of Darkwater Lane

“I’m sorry!”

My finger hovers over the end call icon, and her voice comes out tinny and distant through the speaker.

“I’m sorry, I really am. This isn’t what I wanted to happen. I didn’t want you to get hurt. Please, just give me a chance to explain what happened.”

I press my lips together, telling myself to hang up. Something stops me. There’s a shift in her voice, a loss of bravado that reminds me of Lanny and the tone she takes when she’s arguing about something important to her. Maybe that’s why I stay on the line.

Madison senses the opening and talks quickly. “I was a student at Wichita State when the whole Melvin Royal thing went down. You couldn’t go anywhere without hearing about it. It was like a city-wide obsession. He was all anyone ever talked about. I was a senior when you went to trial and a journalism major. I decided to write about your trial for my honors thesis. I was in the courtroom for the whole thing.”

I blink, stunned by the revelation. I have absolutely no recollection of her being there. Which isn’t all that surprising. I spent my entire trial numb and in shock, barely aware of my surroundings.

My stomach roils as old memories from that time filter into my consciousness. I remember the smell of the holding cells in the courthouse basement: body odor, urine, cheap makeup, and desperation.

I’m not sure how to feel about this woman having such a direct connection to my past. To the very thing I’ve been trying so desperately to bury.

“I admired your fortitude, Gwen. Melvin Royal tried to take you down, but he couldn’t. The state couldn’t either.”

Her words don’t remotely match the crap she’s been spewing on the podcast. “You have a funny way of showing your admiration.”

“I’m just as upset aboutThe Royal Murdersas you are.”

I snort. “Doubtful.”

“I’m serious. The podcast wasn’t supposed to vilify you like that. When I heard the Lost Angels were looking for someone to help create a podcast about Melvin Royal, I applied for the job. I did all the legwork—the interviews, the scripts, the production and editing. I gave them a finished product—an entire season of recorded episodes—and figured that was that.

“I was just as surprised as you were when the first episode dropped. They re-edited what I gave them. Rowan Applegate was only ever the project manager forThe Royal Murders; she was never supposed to be a co-host. That episode about Sam? I included all the evidence exonerating him in my version. Rowan cut it.”

“That’s a pretty convenient story.”

“I have proof. I was supposed to hand everything over to them when I was done, but I kept copies. I have the original episodes. I can give them to you. You can listen for yourself.”

As earnest as she sounds, I’m still not sure I believe her. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“They had me sign an NDA when I took the job. Even if they didn’t come after me legally, I was worried about them badmouthing me in the industry. Podcasting is a small world. I’m just starting out in my career. This was supposed to be my big break, and I didn’t want to ruin it.

“Plus, ultimately, they own the podcast. They funded it all. They own the recordings, everything. If they want to change things, they have a right to. That’s also why I can’t take it down. It’s not mine.”

I close my eyes and press my fingers against my temples. What she’s saying makes sense, but it’s still frustrating. I’m so tired of the Lost Angels’ relentless pursuit of me and my family.

“Well, I guess now you know not to trust the Lost Angels. Sorryyou had to learn the hard way. Hopefully, they won’t try to ruin your life like they have mine. Best of luck, Madison.”

I start to hang up again when she blurts, “Wait! I want to help you.”

“I think you’ve helped enough.”

“Let me at least give you everything I compiled for the podcast. Like I said, I have copies of every interview and all the records I pulled. I also have the emails and texts between me and the Lost Angels. Plus, I copied other internal communications from their system before I left. You can have it all.”

That last bit gives me pause. Having a trove of internal documents would make bringing a defamation case against the Lost Angels much easier. Still, I’m suspicious. “Why?”

“Because they screwed me over, and karma’s a bitch.”

I appreciate her honesty. It makes me a little more inclined to take her up on the offer. “Okay. I can give you an address to mail it to.”

She hesitates. “It’s too much to send in the mail. I’d rather meet.”

I laugh. “No, thanks.” Even though she claims to have left the Lost Angels, she was still associated with them for long enough that I don’t trust her.

“Please, Gwen. I’m trying to do the right thing here. Let me apologize in person. Look, I’ve been living in Atlanta for the last month and have all the documents with me here. I can drive up this afternoon, and we can meet at a hotel bar this evening. I’ll give you everything then.”

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