Page 110 of Fracture

I head for the office and look up the number for our lawyer. Her bright voice sounds when I reach her voicemail, and I leave a message for her to call me as soon as possible.

I hesitate, looking down at my phone, and take a deep breath. Then I search Gloria’s interview.

There she is, perched on a blue armchair, legs folded demurely. Her hands are clasped on her lap, and she’s not wearing as much make-up as she usually does. Her hair is swept back in the signature chignon, and she’s dressed in a black skirt suit. Pearls lie around her throat. She’s every bit the picture of the grieving widow, her eyes sad, her lips downturned and quivering slightly as she gazes at the pleasant looking older woman opposite her.

Gloria Fenton-Langford is a fucking good actress.

“So, Gloria,” the woman says, smiling warmly, “You said when you agreed to this interview with us, that the world deserved to know exactly what kind of man Harold Langford was. What did you mean by that?”

Gloria’s throat bobs as she swallows, and she sniffles lightly. “I needed everyone to understand things about him, about the way he was, and why the things that happened, happened.”

The woman frowns and nods. “You mean the night he died?”

“Yes, but also… Before that.” The dramatic pause is so perfectly put that I can’t help but roll my eyes.

If I didn’t want to fucking kill her, I’d almost be impressed.

I lean against the edge of the desk, bouncing my foot while Gloria talks endlessly about how Harold scared her, how he was a powerful man, how he’d transformed from the sweet, doting husband to a monster who barely let her leave the house.

Lie after lie spills out of the mouth of this privileged bitch, and the interviewer eats it all up, nodding with maternal understanding, reaching across to offer Gloria a bright white handkerchief and to pat her knee a few times.

It’s sickening, a display so well-rehearsed it’s practically scripted.

“Gloria, you also told us that someone very close to you saved you, and that the truth of your husband’s death had never been revealed, to protect this young man.” The interviewer raises hereyebrows as Gloria sniffles and presses the handkerchief to her dry and tearless eye.

Gloria nods. “It’s been so hard to keep this secret, but no one would have understood.”

My blood starts to chill, and I straighten up from the desk. What in the fuck is she talking about?

“What would no one have understood, Gloria?”

“He was so young, he was my son’s best friend.” She eyes the interviewer shyly. “Who would have understood that we were in love.”

The floor drops out from under me. She can’t be talking about me. There’s no way she’s talking about me. There was never a single moment I was alone in a room with Gloria, let alone any fucking indication that she evenlikedme. I was the dirty immigrant kid, the freak, the corrupting force in her son’s life. She hated me, glaring at me over the edge of her martini glass at any party the Fenton-Langfords ever held.

But now, the interviewer expresses perfectly timed surprise, a lift of her eyebrows and a parting of her perfectly made up lips, and Gloria nods when the camera lands back on her.

“Is that why Harold attacked Dylan that night?” The interviewer’s voice sounds as the camera remains fixed on Gloria’s face, and she keeps nodding.

“Yes.” She says after a while, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“You know this for sure?”

“I believe it to be so.” A single tear strays down Gloria’s cheek, and where she squeezed that from, I have no idea. “That night, Dylan and I had… Well, we’d…”

The bitch fuckingblushes.

I feel sick. I swear to fuck I’m going to throw up on my damn feet.

“You’d made love?” The interviewer asks, and Gloria’s gaze drops to her lap as she nods.

I nearly hurl my phone across the room. “Fuckingbitch,”I hiss at the screen. “You fucking lyingbitch.”

“Was that the first time?” The interviewer asks, and Gloria nods again, lifting her chin, her eyes sparkling.

“It was… It probably sounds terrible, but he made me feel… My goodness, I’m sorry.” Her gaze flashes off camera, and she puts a hand to her forehead. “I’m so embarrassed to admit this, but having a young man like that worship a woman like me, made me feel so special and like I was beautiful, and not just someone’s mother or an old woman.”

The room starts to spin. I throw the phone down on the desk and lean heavily on my hands, staring down at the screen that holds Gloria’s fucking face. She seems to come to life as she recounts this relationship that had bloomed between us, this sick twisted fantasy that she’s dreamed up.

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