Page 52 of Ruthless Regret

They think I did it. The air is thick with the scent of blood and terror, and the only sound is my voice pleading with them to listen to me. But no one does. It’s as though they can’t hear me.

There’s a man standing just behind the police officers, grinning at me like this is all some kind of sick game to him. His laughter echoes through the room, chilling and twisted. I point at him, my hands now free, and scream it was him, that I sawhim. But no one listens, no one looks, no one sees him. No one except me.

“Please,” I beg. “He’s right there. Can’t you see him?”

They ignore me, pulling me away, their grips hard, their faces cold. I fight to stay in the room, but it’s useless. Every time I meet the man’s gaze, he grins wider, eyes mocking me. His mouth moves, whispering something, but I can’t hear him.

Movement out of the corner of my eye shifts my attention, and I turn my head to see Zain kneeling by Jason’s body, head lowered, shoulders shaking. Blood smears the floor beneath him, pooling around Jason’s body. For a second Zain lifts his head and his eyes meet mine. He looks so lost, sobroken. His fingers are clenched into fists, and his face is white, as he stares at me out of dark, grief-filled eyes.

“Why? Why would you say it was me?” His voice is rough, filled with a mixture of rage and despair.

I try to speak, to shout that I didn’t know. That I didn’t know it wasn’t him. That I didn’t know there was someone else there, but my voice is gone. I can’t find the words. I can’t explain. My throat is locked up so tight I can barely breathe.

“You let me rot in a prison cell for something I didn’t do.” Zain’s eyes, dark and accusing, burn into mine. His voice cuts through me like a blade.

“I didn’t know,” I try to say.

The man in the corner of the room laughs again, louder this time, mocking my helplessness.

I struggle harder against the hands pulling me toward the door.

“Please! You have to listen.”

The officers’ faces remain expressionless, blank.

I’m just another criminal being dragged to my fate.

Zain doesn’t move from where he’s crouched over Jason’s body. His grief is palpable, his face twisted into a mixture of painand betrayal. His hands, now coated in Jason's blood, shake as he reaches out toward me.

“Why? Why Ashley? You could have stopped this from happening. You could have told the truth.”

His voice rings in my ears, accusing,damning. I try to speak again, but my throat constricts tighter. The laughter from the man echoes louder, growing more distorted, the shadows around him shifting, stretching toward me like they’re alive, ready to consume me.

I’m dragged through the door, the darkness wrapping itself around me.

The sound of metal slamming shut echoes through the darkness, which fades and leaves me standing in front of a cell door. I’m trapped inside, staring out, watching the man as he stands just outside the bars, still laughing. His smile stretches unnaturally wide as he holds up a set of keys, dangling them just out of reach … taunting me.

“No one’s coming to save you.” His voice is a deep, sinister whisper that crawls down my spine.

“You let this happen.” Zain’s voice floats in the air toward me. “You saw him and stayed silent.”

My eyes snap open, my heart pounding, the echo of his laughter still ringing in my ears.

It takes me a minute to remember where I am. In New York. In the house I share with my friends. In the safety of my bedroom. I’m in my bed, not at the murder scene.

The nightmare clings to me like a second skin. I’m shaking, my teeth are chattering, and I sit up, pressing my hands to my face. The panic is harder to fight against this time, harder to break free from.

I was living through a warped version of the nightmare Zain went through—locked away for something I didn’t do, no one willing to listen to the truth.

And it terrifies me.

What did I do? What did I do to him?

Pushing the covers off, I stand up. My room feels too small, too stifling, like the walls are inching closer the longer I stay still. Walking over to the window, I crack it open, so I can breathe in the fresh air. The familiar view of the street grounds me, reminding me that I’m not trapped.

I’m not the girl in the nightmare. It was just a dream.

I repeat the words over and over, hoping they’ll sink in. Hoping they’ll drown out the fear gnawing at my insides. But they don’t. I’m still shaking, still hearing that man’s twisted laughter, still seeing Zain’s eyes staring through me.

---