“I’m not an idiot. I knew to hold the knife through a napkin so I wouldn’t get my prints on it. And I’m also not as slow as Nicole thought. It was clear what was going on between them. The only times Chace ever spoke to me was to ask about her, and then there was your mysterious falling-out. It was so obvious.” Brianne looks away. “I didn’t set out to hurt Nicole, but I had to protect myself. She was the obvious suspect. Plus, if anyone can understand putting yourself first, it’s Nicole. She just takes everything, from the Philharmonic showcase and Juilliard, to your boyfriend.” Brianne gives me a meaningful look, as if the two of us are in this together, and it’s all I can do to refrain from hitting her.
“Well, I guess you’re about to find out how understanding she and everyone else will be.”
Brianne’s head whips up.
“What?”
“Right about now!” I shout my cue, and the door flies open. I stifle a smile as Detective Kimble, Officer Ladge, and two backup cops march into the room.
“You—you set me up!” Brianne shrieks, her mouth falling open in disbelief.
“You have the right to remain silent,” Detective Kimble begins to recite as Officer Ladge pins her to the wall. I grab my iPhone from the bedside drawer.
“Here.” I hand it to the detective as the cops drag Brianne out of the room, screaming in protest. “I recorded her confession.”
Detective Kimble places her hand on my shoulder, looking into my eyes.
“You did a very good thing, Lana. Because of you, an innocent girl is being set free.”
“I know,” I reply. “I never imagined I’d ever want to help Nicole Morgan. But I’m glad I did it.”
And I’m glad, too, that Nicole was right about me. I’m not a monster. And now I’m letting all of this go. For good.
I can hear them leading her to her cell. Her chains jangle as she flails and kicks, her screams penetrating the walls. A girl like Brianne Daly, from a proper, upper-class family, never imagined herself in a place like this, and she’ll never stop fighting it. But this is one fight she’ll lose. If there’s anything I can trust, it’s that the Porters will stop at nothing to ensure their son’s killer stays behind bars.
“Miss Morgan? It’s time.”
I glance up and smile. Wes, the only friendly guard on the prison’s staff, is the one escorting me out today.
I rise to my feet, closing my eyes and letting the relief flood through me, as Wes opens the door to my cell. I follow him out and I don’t look back.
My breath is lodged somewhere between my heart and my throat as we walk through the corridor of cells, and I wonder if I’m going to see her. That’s when I hear a guttural cry, and I turn.
Brianne’s hands grip the bars of her cell. Her body shudders as she watches me, walking out a free woman.
“How could you do it, Brianne?” I whisper. This truth is too painful. “How?”
But she doesn’t answer. Wes gently pushes me forward, leaving everything that’s rotten behind.
There’s a swarm of reporters waiting as I appear at the top of the jailhouse stairs, ready to descend to my freedom. But this time, I’m not hiding from their flashbulbs or shouted questions. I break into a smile when I see Mom and John Sanford, Mom leaping up the steps two at a time to get to me, and I fling myself into her arms.
“My client would like to make a statement,” John Sanford says, after I give him a nod to let him know I’m ready.
An uncharacteristic hush comes over the crowd. Dozens of microphones point in my direction. I take a deep breath.
“I want to thank the people who believed in my innocence. It was easy for so many of you to assume I was guilty, just because I maybe looked the part, or because I come from a single-parent home, or that I was the so-called jilted lover, or whatever stereotypes were being tossed around. But the snap judgments were all so wrong.” I meet the eyes of the different reporters and am gratified to see a few of them looking away in chagrin. “Yet I made a mistake in judgment, too. The friend I trusted most is the one who did the unthinkable—while the last person I expected to help me is the one who proved my innocence. I want to thank Lana Rivera, with all my heart.”
There’s a smattering of applause, and I smile.
“For the last few weeks, you’ve known me as someone I’m not. ‘The Girl in the Picture,’ or ‘The Phantom of the Philharmonic.’ It’s a joke to all of you, but this is my life. And from now on, I’m determined that you will know me for the right reasons. For my music.”
As I finish, a breeze wraps me in its embrace. And I know it’s him—saying goodbye.
I can still see her sometimes. I may have passed on and stepped through the proverbial pearly gates, but a part of me is still back there with her. I know she feels me, too. I can tell by the way she looks up to the sky when she plays her violin. Like she knows I’m there—like she’s playing for me.
Even up here it’s possible to torture myself, obsessing over what might have been if we had all simply told the truth from the beginning. If Nicole had admitted her feelings for me from the start, we could have been together from day one. If I had gone against my parents and told the truth about the car accident, I would still be alive. But then I never would have gone to Oyster Bay. That’s the rub. I wouldn’t have met her.