Page 111 of Help Me Remember
“You can do what I said and let her calm down enough to see that none of what she’s telling herself makes sense. Or you can do what I thought you should have been doing from the very start of this.”
I look up. “Which is?”
“Find the fucking killer. You’re Spencer Cross. You are the man who uncovered the whereabouts of Aaron when the entire world, including our own team, thought he was dead. You found that underground terrorist ring and exposed them. I don’t believe for one second that you haven’t been able to find a single clue that would lead you to the killer.”
If he doesn’t think I’ve tried, then he’s a fool. “I have found nothing.”
“Then maybe you aren’t looking with the right part of yourself.”
I shake my head. “I’m not even sure what that means.”
“It means you’re thinking with your heart. Look, I don’t have to be convinced it wasn’t you. There’s not a chance in hell that you did that to her brother. You’re not a stone-cold killer, and anyone can see you love that girl.”
“She can’t.”
“She can, she is just hurting, and when women hurt, they’re a little crazy. Trust me, I’m married to a Jersey girl who happens to be a redheaded Italian. She is as crazy as crazy gets. That woman would put Brielle to shame.”
My breath comes out hard. “Brielle is not this way. She’s rational and doesn’t fly off the handle.”
“That was before the life she had was taken from her. You’re trying to make sense of a situation that literally makes no sense. She doesn’t know her own mind. Imagine what that feels like. I’ve been there. When I was abducted and held, I didn’t know time. I couldn’t see light or dark. Everything was one day, but at least I knew my life. If that had been taken away, then I’m not sure what the outcome would have been.”
He’s right. I know that, but I still want to talk to her. “When can I see her?” I ask.
“The protocol says at least twelve hours, but if Charlie doesn’t think she’s ready, she can withhold any visitors for twenty-four hours.”
I can’t wait that long. I am going to lose my mind. “That doesn’t work.”
“That doesn’t matter to us. Go home, Spence. Or, better yet, go use the God-given talent you were gifted and investigate this—not as the man who almost lost the woman he loves, but as a reporter who is searching for what the police missed. You have twelve hours to prove something to her, don’t waste it.”
* * *
My house is a wreck. The papers are all over the place, and my front door is splintered and won’t close properly.
I don’t even care if someone robbed me blind at this point. They can have everything because I lost the only thing that matters.
I start to gather the papers but then get so frustrated I toss them back onto the ground.
Fuck this.
Fuck the person who took her from me and is doing it again.
Then I see the photo on the ground with a crack in the glass, right down the middle. I kept it safe, hidden in that drawer, and only took it out when I was alone and sure she wouldn’t see it.
I miss her already.
I miss her voice and smile. I miss the way she says my name or looks at me. I miss being close to her.
All of it is gone. She left.
No, she didn’t even leave. She was so scared of being near me that she was taken.
I pick up the frame and chuck it at the wall as hard as I can. It shatters even more, glass flying everywhere and the frame breaking apart at the joints.
Good. That’s how I feel inside.
As I look around, I keep hearing Quinn’s words in my head. If I could prove to her that I am absolutely not the killer, then maybe we can find a way. Maybe I can show her that the one thing I have never lied about is how much I care about her.
I could give her the past back by showing her the truth. There is no other way that I can see to fix what’s been broken between us. Brielle needs to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that what we have is real and fucking perfect.
