“You didn’t get along with your brother.”
“We got along well enough for siblings. I just wouldn’t have chosen him as a friend. Of course, I had to pretend otherwise to make my father happy. And Garrett was okay with it. He made sure I didn’t have other friends, and soon the alternative was to be alone so I learned to be friends with my brother. When we hit high school, my father decided dating was too dangerous. So no friends, no dates, no social circle at all, and we were growing up, and … When I said I slept in the closet with a knife, it wasn’t only the cartel I was hiding from.”
She doesn’t sneak a look to see if I’m reacting. She just keeps talking.
“When I was sixteen, I read this book. All the girls at school were, and one offered it to me, and I was so desperate for a connection. It was about a brother and sister who grew up locked in an attic. When they became teenagers … things happened.”
She fists her hands and then forces them open on her knees again. “The other girls thought it was romantic. Forbidden love. I threw up. Every time someone mentioned that book, I started shaking. It wasn’t romantic. Wasn’t the least bit romantic. But do you know what the worst was? I cared about my brother. Whatever he did to me, I couldn’t stop caring. When I finally escaped to college, I’d find myself staring at the phone for hours, wanting to call him, to talk to him. I knew him. That’s what it came down to. Whatever he’d done, he was my friend. My only one.”
She shifts on the futon, picking up a pillow, then gazing at it as if not sure how it got into her hands before tucking it back down again.
“I eventually asked Garrett not to contact me, and he wouldn’t for months. I think he was trying to break free, too. I wasn’t the only one cut off, refused friends, not allowed to date. One therapist said I should forgive him. Another said I was wrong to even consider his side of the story. Neither was right. But I don’t know what is right.” She pauses. “I can give you the therapists’ names and any permission needed for them to share their notes. I’ll provide whatever you need to prove my story, but the truth is, nothing excuses what I did.”
“Tell me about that. What you did.”
“Like I said, Garrett would go months without making contact. But that always ended. If I wouldn’t take his calls, he’d come around. Just wanting to talk. Coffee, dinner, a drink. Couldn’t we do that? Be brother and sister again. I tried. I wanted that, too. But we’d go out, and it’d seem fine … and then it would start. He missed me. No one was good enough. No one else was me.” She looks toward the window. “I know there are a lot of women in Rockton who’ve dealt with abusive partners. Maybe some men, too. My story won’t be any different. It’s just the ending that…”
Her hands squeeze. “I moved a lot. I’d take contract jobs so I could move when I had to—not escaping the cartel but escaping my brother. Then came the night I woke up with him in my bed. Holding a knife. I got away and threatened to call the police. But I didn’t. The shame of explaining that my own brother…”
She swallows. “That’s when the cartel renewed their interest in us. My father had taken money. We got it after he died. Garrett bought himself a fancy sports car, and the cartel caught wind of that, but he didn’t have a proper job or a permanent address. I was easier to find. When they showed up, I made a decision.”
“You gave them Garrett.”
“I had a plan. I thought I was so damned clever. I called Garrett and told him I was giving the cartel his location unless he promised to never see me again. He called my bluff. In the past, I’d threatened to report him and never did, so he figured I wouldn’t do this. I proved him wrong. I told the cartel where to find him. Then I called him and said I’d done it and that he had to run. He didn’t. They caught up with him and…”
She starts to shake. “My father used to tell us what the cartel would do if they found us. We thought he was just trying to spook us. He wasn’t.”
“About the money. You had your share. Hidden. And Garrett didn’t tell the cartel that.”
Her whole body flinches, her eyes closing, face screwing up. “Yes, he never told them. He knew I’d betrayed him, and he didn’t do the same to me. I wish he had.”
“But the cartel still came after you a year later. They tortured you and then they threw you in a hole.”
She goes still.
“That is what happened, right?” I say. “They put you in a pit and held you captive, but you escaped. Yes?”
The muscles in her jaw work, but her lips stay pressed together, as if holding the words back. Then, slowly, she shakes her head.
“That’s not what happened?” I prompt.
“No,” she says finally, voice barely above a whisper. “I lied.”