Page 81 of Ruthless Regret

When we arrive back at Zain's house, we head inside, and he leads the way to the living room.

"Sit," he says, gesturing to the couch. "I'll make us some drinks."

I nod, sinking onto the soft cushions. While Zain is in the kitchen, I close my eyes again, trying to focus on the shadow in my memory. But it's like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands—the more I reach for it, the more it slips away.

He returns a few minutes later with two mugs, and hands one to me before crossing the room to sit in the armchair.

"Okay," he says, leaning forward. "Let's try to piece this together. You're sure there was someone else in the house that night?"

I wrap my hands around the warm mug. "I am. But it's like a shadow in my memory. I can't see a face or hear a voice. It's just a presence."

He frowns. "And you can't place when this presence was there? Before you saw me, or after?"

I shake my head. "No. It's all jumbled up. I see you covered in blood, I see Jason and Louisa, and then there's this ...shadow. But I can't put it in order."

"What about the feeling you had when you entered the house? You mentioned earlier that something felt off."

I close my eyes, trying to recall that moment. "The front door was open. I remember calling out for Jason, but no one answered. And then there was this feeling. Like someone was watching me."

He leans forward, his eyes intense. "Could that have been the presence you're remembering?"

"Maybe," I say slowly. "But why can't I remember more? Why is it all so vague?"

He’s quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping against his mug. "Trauma can do strange things to memory. And if someonedidmanipulate you between your two police interviews …"

The idea sends a chill down my spine. "You really think someone could have done that?"

"It's possible," he says. "At least, it would explain why your memory changed between interviews."

"So what do we do?"

Zain sets his mug down. "We need to find a way to access those buried memories.”

"Buthow? It's not like I can just will myself to remember."

"My mom might be able to help. She was the one who raised the idea of false memories in the first place. If she can’t help, she’ll know someone who can."

The idea of working with Zain's mother makes me uneasy. "I don't know, Zain. Your family doesn't exactly like me."

"This isn't about like or dislike. It's about finding the truth. And my mom’s a professional. She'd put her personal feelings aside for this."

"You really think she could help?"

"I do.”

I take a deep breath. The thought of digging into my memories, of potentially uncovering truths I've buried, is terrifying. But I know it's necessary.

"Okay," I say finally. "Let's do it. Let's talk to your mom."

"I'll give her a call."

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

ZAIN

I stand up,unable to sit still, and pace with my cell phone pressed to my ear, while I wait for my mom to pick up. Ashley’s words keep echoing in my head.

Someone else was there.

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