Ridiculous, considering I really didn’t know him, but true.
The commercial ended and the theme music started. A news show that had dedicated itself to the trial of Aaron William Monroe, it gave an update every night. Clips from the trial, analysis from lawyers who’d turned into TV personalities, recaps of testimony, of the crime, interviews with the victims’ various family members.
I’d never been allowed to watch it. My parents were too worried I’d get . . . scared, I guess. They never allowed me to do anything. I wanted to watch it so bad. I wanted to see everything despite my fear, my hatred and fear of Aaron Monroe.
Tonight, though, I wanted to see Will.
I watched, anxious for them to get to the recap. They spoke of Will, flashed photos of him from when we were first discovered. He looked the same as I remembered, but that was a couple of years ago. I knew he’d changed. I’d changed, too. I’d grown a few inches, my hair was longer, my face not as full. I had breasts that I hid in baggy shirts and a narrow waist that the shirts covered up, too. I didn’t want to grow up and be a woman. I was almost fifteen.
Couldn’t I stay a kid forever?
The newscaster started talking about today’s trial activities, spoke of Will’s testimony. He was on the stand for the prosecution for over two hours and when it was time for the defense to ask questions, they didn’t. That seemed to shock everyone.
It didn’t shock me, because I knew Will had spoken the truth.
The TV shows went to footage of the trial, and there he was. Will sat on the stand, wearing a black button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up, his expression earnest as he listened to what the prosecuting attorney had to say. I moved to sit on the floor and scooted closer, wanting to get a good look at him.
Just as I figured, he looked different. His hair wasn’t as dark, not that unnatural black anymore, which confirmed my earlier suspicion that he dyed it. No more piercings, either, not on his lip or eyebrow. He looked older. His jaw was so strong, his expression almost unforgiving as he spoke of his father in this sort of flat, monotone voice. He squinted every once in a while and I wondered if he needed glasses.
I listened to his voice as he spoke. It was deeper and he sounded so much older. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick with muscle. He was a completely different boy than the one I first met.
Reaching for my wrist, I touched the angel charm that dangled from the bracelet Will gave me. I’d put it back on recently. My parents hadn’t a clue who gave it to me. I’m pretty sure they didn’t even notice I owned it, and I wasn’t about to tell them about it.
They’d take it away from me. And the bracelet was the last link I had to Will.
The only link.
“Did you have anything to do with the abduction of Katherine Watts, Mr. Monroe?” the prosecuting attorney asked Will.
His expression turned stony. “No,” he said vehemently. “I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t even know he’d taken her.”
“Only when you found her in the storage shed within twenty-four hours of the kidnapping did you know she was there, on the property.”
“Yes.” He sighed, a flash of vulnerability crossing his face. I recognized that look. It was one I’d seen many times when we’d been together. When he walked me to the police station. “When I first found her, I—panicked. I didn’t know what to do, how she got there, and I ran away.”
“Why did you run away?”
“I was scared. I couldn’t believe there was a girl chained up in our storage shed.” He visibly swallowed. “I was afraid if he knew that I knew, I’d be in trouble.”
My heart cracked. He looked so sad, so . . . destroyed.
“But you finally went back to her. What happened next?”
“I told her I was going to help her escape.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t let her stay in that shed. He was—he was hurting her. I couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk her life. He would’ve killed her if I left her there.”
Tears streamed down my face. He was right. His father would have killed me. I knew it. Will knew it, too.
“So you saved her,” the attorney said.
“It was the right thing to do.” Will paused, clearing his throat. “It was the only thing to do.”
I wake with a gasp, my heart thumping wildly, my breathing harsh in my throat. I sit up and push my hair out of my face, knowing the dream that I had wasn’t really a dream, but a memory.
A memory of that night I watched Will’s testimony on TV. He’d looked so different, so grown-up.
I realize now he’d looked a lot like Ethan.