The Girl from Widow Hills - Megan Miranda Page 0,82
cutter.
You could.
———
AT THE HOSPITAL, A fog of depression had settled over the floor. Every one of us going through the motions on autopilot. I worried about the other nurses; I worried about their patients. But everything felt disconnected and slow. I couldn’t have helped if I’d wanted to.
By the time I scrolled through my email at lunch, I wasn’t quite focused enough to understand what I was seeing. And even after I’d read it twice, the information registering, I knew it wasn’t resonating as it should.
A reporter, asking me to fact-check a few claims: if I was the Olivia Meyer who lived on Old Heart Lane; if I could confirm my college dates of attendance; what my current job title was . . . and more. Asking me to follow up before noon. It was currently 12:03.
I felt nothing.
My cell phone rang, jarring me: Detective Rigby’s number, which I had added into my phone. At least she hadn’t stopped by unannounced this time.
“I wanted to give you the heads-up,” she said by way of greeting. “I had a reporter call this morning, looking for a quote.”
“I just saw an email,” I said. “I don’t understand. Is it about Sean Coleman?” The questions in my email all seemed like items they could’ve pulled from public records, not relevant to the events of Friday night.
“I didn’t comment, Olivia, but they have a lot. They used it to try to get more from us. It’s going to come out, and I can’t stop it. I tried, I promise.”
Part of me didn’t believe her; part of me thought this would help her case against me.
“What exactly is going to come out?” I asked, elbow on my desk, forehead resting in my hand.
“From what I can gather, they’ve already spoken to a professor at your grad school.”
“The school didn’t know,” I said. I’d enrolled as Olivia Meyer, no Arden tied to my name.
A pause. “They did, Olivia. They knew.”
My ears started buzzing.
Jonah. It had to be Jonah. Had he known all along? Had he sought me out because of it? Not granting me special attention because of what he saw in me but because of his interest in something else. The pull of the story. Something to unravel, to be close to.
“Listen,” she continued, “they were digging through some incidents in your past—things they shared with me in the hope that it would inspire a quote from us in response.” Another pause. “Do you want to talk about those incidents?”
I remained silent. Felt everything tensing inside me.
When I didn’t respond, she continued, “I told them I could not comment on an active investigation, but they are obviously going to be coming out with something—the connection between you and Sean Coleman is undeniable. I can only help you if you help me here.”
But all I could do was imagine the people who had commented. My colleagues sharing rumors? Dr. Cal’s receptionist protecting her job by providing an anonymous statement? Had Dr. Cal himself tried to spin his role into something that would make his career—as it had for others in the past? Had Bennett cracked, giving them something?
It could’ve been anyone. It could’ve been everyone. This was how it started; I felt myself shutting down. The way to handle this was by not speaking. The way to handle this was by leaving.
“I know this is a lot all at once, but you’ve got to say something,” Detective Rigby said, her voice growing tense. “They mentioned some violent outbursts in your record?”
It was related to the PTSD, the therapist back then had said. It explained what had happened to that girl in the gym locker room. And it explained what had happened to that guy in college. I’d been trapped. That’s what the detective wanted to hear. She wanted my story—but I knew better by now. I knew what could happen when you turned it over to someone else.
“My friend died last night,” I said through gritted teeth. “Did you know that? Elyse Ferano, overdose. So excuse me if I’m having trouble concentrating on something that happened almost a decade ago. Excuse me for thinking it matters. This is what people do. They tell a story. It doesn’t matter what happens to us after. It doesn’t matter if it’s even true, as long as it’s a good enough story.”
She waited a beat before responding. “You want to keep your past secret, I get that. Is that what happened back then?”