Page 22 of I Will Mend You

“You saw me do that?” I ask.

“What does Dr. Saint say about the brain’s ability to absorb information?”

“As long as our senses are still working, we take in more sensory data than our brains know how to process,” I reply.

Xero nods. “You’re more capable and intelligent than you give yourself credit for. I’ll help you process everything around you that you can’t handle.”

“Thanks,” I rasp, my chest tightening with gratitude, and also regret, knowing I don’t deserve kindness from the ghost of the man I betrayed. “What do you think is happening with Grunt?”

His face tightens. “There are only five men in this abandoned asylum: Delta, Locke, Barrett, Seth, and Fen, who was sent away after they strung you up. They want you to believe that Fen has either fallen out of favor with Dolly or has become the group’s scapegoat.”

“So, it’s a trick?” I whisper.

“This is the same group of people who sent photos of you as a child with threatening letters. They also created that graveyard scene to fuck with your mind. Grunt is a persona designed to be your caretaker or even a confidant.”

“Why do you think it was me in that photo and not Dolly? She has the same major scars as me.”

“Which of you has no memory of the other?” Xero pauses, his pale eyes boring into mine, challenging me to engage my brain. “Which of you holds an unreasonable amount of resentment towards the other, and which of you has a brick wall around their childhood memories?”

I shift uncomfortably on the padded floor. “It’s obvious when you put it like that.”

The screen mounted on the wall still plays, this time with body cam footage from the point of view of someone walking through Mom’s driveway. The sound of multiple footsteps echoes through the speakers, accompanied by excited breaths.

Based on the dim sunlight, I can tell it’s morning. The point of view character walks around the hedge maze, lifts one of the stones at the foot of its shrubs, and picks up a key. The hand is identical to mine, save for a scar running from the wrist to the space between the thumb and forefinger.

My heart sinks into my stomach as she continues toward the back door, unlocks it, and strides through the mud room, into the kitchen, pausing at the counter to extract a knife from the block.

“I can’t watch Dolly kill Mom,” I whisper, my eyes squeezing shut.

“What the hell did I tell you about hiding behind excuses?” Xero growls. “Open your fucking eyes so I can see what’s happening.”

Unease churns through my gut, and I force my gaze back to the screen, where Dolly walks across the flagstone steps, through the house’s wood-paneled hallways, and up the stairs.

“Mom had her faults, but she didn’t deserve to be murdered by her own daughter,” I murmur.

Xero grunts, considerate enough not to mention that I drove to Alderney Hill to do the same, but my hypocrisy hangs over my head like a cloud.

I fall silent as Dolly reaches the upstairs landing and heads straight to Mom’s room. The morning sun drenches the space with light, illuminating the mahogany four-poster bed and its rumpled sheets. Scoffing, she turns toward the fireplace, continues toward the ensuite, and knocks on the door.

The sound of running water stops. “Clive?” Mom’s voice drifts through the closed door, sounding completely at ease. “Is that you?”

“Mom?” Dolly says, her voice broken.

Mom sighs. “Amethyst Crowley. What the hell did I tell you about turning up at my house?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Yes, you do.” Mom flings the door open. She’s wearing a cream silk dressing gown, with her hair hanging loose at her shoulders. Her eyes are hard, but there’s no trace of fear.

“Because she thinks that’s you,” Xero adds, seeming to be in tune with my thoughts.

Before I can remind myself that he’s a figment of my imagination, Dolly raises the knife.

Mom’s eyes widen. “What’s this?”

“I’ve thought about how our conversation would go if we ever met again,” Dolly says. “How could someone be naïve enough to believe the word of one child while condemning another to a painful death?”

“What are you talking about, Amethyst?”

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