Page 16 of Heartless

But I don’t reply. I stare over her shoulder at the window; able to see the cops standing outside the Clarkes’ door through a small gap in the fabric.

Lou can say it was an accident all she wants. At this point, I’m convinced it’s to make herself feel better, not me.

Because deep down she knows the truth that I’ve never denied, except in public when someone asks and I just want the question and the attention to go away.

It wasn’t an accident.

I’d planned it, found Dad’s gun, unlocked it, and waited for him to get home. But that night, before he could hurt me, I’d make sure he could never touch me again.

It wasn’t an accident.

And I don’t regret it, no matter what Lou or my mom want to think.

“I’m home.”My voice rings out in the open concept first floor of my mom’s house, and the only answer is the soft sound of Doom’s bell as the large, tabby cat comes trotting out of the kitchen. “Hey, Doom.” I sigh, kneeling down and running my hand over his ears. “Did you piss off Gloom, hmm?” Though I’m not surprised Doom’s sister isn’t out here right now; she isn’t exactly social, after all.

Neither of my ex-feral cats are, but Doom has warmed up to me specifically enough to get love on his terms. Rising to my feet, I drop my things on the sofa, not minding that Mom won’t be home until Monday. This way I can leave some stuff lying around and not feel bad about her looking pointedly at whatever is out of place. As per usual, I’ll become a whirlwind Sunday night to clean up everything before she gets home.

I’m exhausted, even though it’s barely noon. And if I’d been thinking about taking today as a lazy day before, the events of this morning have only solidified that for me. In fact, I barely make it through feeding the cats and rummaging through the dangers of the fridge for a snack before I face-plant my bed with a groan.

The soft sound of my phone going off to alert me to a text makes that groan louder, longer, and more pitiful. “It can wait,” I grumble to absolutely no one, seeing as I’m alone here. “Literally anything can wait.” Well, anything except rolling over and sitting up with my bag of Cheetos beside me. I drag my computer onto my lap and open it, wondering if Lacey’s death has made it to the news yet. While I know there won’t be a ton of information, or maybe any, in a news report online…there might be something, at least.

Maybe they’ll confirm whether Lacey was actually murdered. But no matter how hard I look or how I search, there’s nothing in the Akron news or Hayden Fields pages about the Clarkes or their daughter.

“Surprised there aren’t reporters and cameras lining up outside the house,” I murmur to myself, crunching on a few Cheetos. I grimace at my fingers, always hating the residue the delicious snacks leave behind. But Doom obviously feels differently. The male tabby hops up on my bed and licks at my fingers, cleaning off my hand with an appreciative purr. “Thanks. Now I’m not eating any more of them.” I curl the bagclosed and toss it onto my nightstand, then flop down onto my bed once more. This time, though, instead of suffocating myself in my pillowcase that’s a week late on being washed, I curl up on my side to stare at the mostly opaque blackout curtains covering my window.

“Don’t do it,” I mutter, but I know where my brain is heading. “Don’t do this, Winnie.” But well, I’m already doing it. Inevitable, really, since there’s no way to keep my mind off of him for long when he’s back in town.

Cassian’sface fills my head as I remember his look outside of the Clarke’s house. I feel like I’m scrutinizing every microsecond of our interaction, trying to look for something I’d missed before. Trying to find…something.

Though admittedly, I don’t know what.

If Lacey was murdered, I think, what are the chances it was him?

My stomach curls in dread at the thought, though I don’t move or even blink. He’s a murderer. Hadn’t he proven that when we were young? I have no idea why he’dwantto kill Lacey, but I have no idea why he killed his sister that night, either.

He’d seemed so unaffected when he’d seen me, and with a jolt I realize I hadn’t been imagining things yesterday. Cassian really was outside the diner when I dropped the plates.

My phone going off again finally drags me back to reality, and I pull it up to my face to read the messages. But I should’ve known. After all, Reagan is the most excitable creature on the planet and she’s never going to stop talking about this.

You make it home???Her first message had been about twenty minutes ago. But I’d just ignored it. Apparently for too long, judging by her next two texts that arrived back to back.

You have to be home by now.

What are you doing?

I don’t answer in a hurry. I take my time typing out a reply to her, then delete it once before writing it all over again. It’s not because of anything she’s said, or anything wrong particularly. I’m just tired enough that stringing appropriate words together feels like a chore. Finally I manage, though, and send her something halfway intelligent back. It must be at least a little convincing, because a minute later I have two more messages that I hesitate to open.

Do you really think she was murdered?

Do you think it was him?

Fear tingles up my spine at that last message, and I turn off my phone screen instead of replying as my eyes drift back to my curtains. But I know I can’t ignore Reagan forever. Especially right now when I really, truly just want tosleep.

My fingers type quickly on my phone, even before I’ve really formulated a reply. So I keep it simple, and easy, and send it without thinking about it too much.

I have no idea. And no, I don’t

It’s a lie.

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