Page 89 of Fracture

Detective Fallon clasps his hands on the table, eyeing me with concern. “Miss Langford, is there anyone who’d want to see you get hurt?”

I run a hand through my hair and try not to laugh. These detectives have no idea just how many people want to see meget hurt, how many people have tried to hurt me. But I can’t tell them any of that. Instead, I just shake my head, trying to look surprised, innocent, shocked. All the expressions I’ve rehearsed over the years, pushing away everything that ever happened to me.

“Not that I can think of,” I lie, shrugging. “I’m shocked. I don’t have any enemies, not like that.”

“Did your boss tell you what was sent to the office this morning?”

I nod, and watch as she pulls out her phone, and brings up a picture of a shotgun shell. ‘Stella’ is scratched into the side of it. I swallow hard, and meet the detective's eyes as I shake my head.

“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt me. I’m… just me.”

“We understand your brother and his friend are living with you,” Detective Hawkins says. “Is it possible that someone is trying to get to them through you?”

My stomach churns at the wordbrother, and it feels like one more crack in this already broken situation.

“No, they don’t have any enemies.” More lies. More and more fucking lies fracturing my life.

Detective Fallon lifts an eyebrow for a split second, betraying his disbelief. “No enemies at all? I find that hard to believe.”

I fix him with a cold stare. “And why is that?”

Detective Hawkins quickly lifts her hands. “We’re just trying to find an answer to all of this. A serious threat like this, we’ll be looking into it heavily.”

“Well, you do that then.” I flick my hair over my shoulder, not sure what else to say, what else they could want from me. “I don’t know what you expect to find.”

“All we want to find is an answer to all of this, so that you’re safe, and whoever is making these threats can’t follow through on them.”

“I’ll be fine, it’s probably some kid pulling a prank.” I get to my feet, screaming at myself internally to not waver for a second, to not wobble on my feet and betray just how fucking terrified I am right now. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to see to.”

“Of course.” Detective Hawkins pulls out a card as she rises out of her chair, and places it on the table. “This is my number, if anything else happens please call me immediately.”

“We can have someone watch the house,” Detective Fallon says. “If that would make you feel safer.”

I shake my head and laugh lightly. “My housemates will keep me perfectly safe, don’t worry about me. I’ll hire private security if I feel like I need it.”

The detectives exchange a glance, and my throat feels tight. I hate using the Rich Girl card, I hate feeling like I’m bragging about being wealthy. But I also want these fucking cops out of my house.

I walk past them to the door, opening it for them and giving them a wide smile as they pass me. “Have a great day!” I call out after them, before slamming the door shut and scurrying back to the kitchen and snatching up my phone.

I type out a frantic text to Dylan, before stopping myself. No. I can’t tell them. They’re already hell-bent on revenge, and this will just accelerate any plan they have. If I tell them someone is threatening me like this, they’ll never let me leave the damn house again.

I slowly delete the text, letter by letter, retreating into yet more lies, more secrecy. As the message disappears completely, I wonder if my life will ever be anything but.

CHAPTER 20

DYLAN

I’m not entirelysure why I’m here. Maybe I’m looking for assurance that what I’m about to do is justified. Maybe I just need to be sure.

And the target of my curiosity doesn’t take long at all to appear.

Molly stumbles out onto the back porch of Stella’s family home, the requisite glass of wine clasped in her hand. She’s barefoot, her hair loose down her back, and at a distance it’s almost possible to see the young Molly Hartmann, the woman Harold Langford fell for all those years ago. Her hair is darker than Stella’s, graying at the temples now, and the alcohol has worn her skin to an unhealthy pallor.

But when she tips her face up to the dusky pink sky, there’s a glimpse of her - not the alcoholic, not the neglectful mother. Just Molly. As she should have been if she wasn’t an addict.

I wait at the tree line, knowing she’ll find her way over here soon, and I don’t have to wait long. Voices waft from the house, and Molly’s head snaps to look over her shoulder, a sigh lifting her chest. She makes her away across the soft green lawn, coming closer and closer to where I stand in the shadows.

I don’t speak until she’s 10 feet from me, stepping out into the dimming light.

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