Page 32 of Ugly Truths
The girl who was murdered.
Elena shifts, adjusting her posture against the wall, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she speaks, “Drew was my best friend. I met her in my freshman year of college. She was the type of person who would drop everything to help someone.” She pauses, staring at the floor like she’s stuck in some memory. “She even moved into my shitty studio apartment just so I could afford rent and stay in school. She didn’t have to. She just… did.”
She exhales before forcing out the next words. “I know you’ve seen the news articles, and you’re smart enough to know she wasn’t killed in anattempted robbery. Peter killed her.”
The muscles in my jaw tighten.
“She found out about the work I was doing and confronted me. Said she had to report me because it was the right thing to do.” Her voice wavers slightly. “I tried to talk to her out of it, but she made up her mind.”
Elena chews the inside of her cheek so hard that it creates a visible indent. “I panicked and told Peter. I thought maybe they’d bribe her to stay quiet.” Her bottom lip quivers. “They killed her as punishment for my carelessness. And Peter made sure I knew that I’d be next if I ever stepped out of line again.”
Every emotion that passes across her face is raw and fast.
“I tried to leave after that," she confesses. “But he wouldn’t let me, and I was too much of a coward to fight back. Instead of doing the right thing and turning myself in, I let Peter blackmail me.”
Though she attempts to swallow it, a gut-wrenching sob breaks free from her throat. Elena covers her face with her hands, curling into herself on the thin mattress.
Natalie doesn’t even think twice. She moves from her chair to sit beside Elena, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tucking Elena’s head under her chin.
I want to protest and remind her that this woman is still a liar and a threat, but when my wife looks up at me, I know there’s no fighting her on this.
She believes Elena, and though I don’t want to admit it, I understand why she does.
There have been times in Natalie’s life when she’s felt like she didn’t have a choice. When she’s had to deal with the hand she was given, no matter how unfair it was. It’s why she’s always been so soft toward people and given them more grace than they deserve.
I don’t know if I believe Elena yet, but there’s no denying whatever Natalie wants. And right now, she wants me to figure out who the hell Peter Lynch is.
Cillian, reading the room, murmurs, “I’m on it,” before opening the door and closing it behind himself without another word.
I stand there, watching my beautiful wife comfort the woman who, just months ago, set fire to multiple warehouses and tried to break into our company servers.
Every instinct in my body is screaming to turn away from this.
Against all better judgment, I step forward, lower myself into Natalie’s abandoned chair, and wait as Elena’s sobs quiet and her shoulders stop shaking beneath Natalie’s embrace. Finally, she composes herself enough to lift her head and meet my eyes.
I motion to the camera in the corner of the ceiling. “You need to tell me every detail. Clearly. So the recording can hear it, and we can get to work.”
Elena doesn’t hesitate; she nods once, wipes at her face, and begins.
Chapter 15
Elena
It’s been a week since waking up in that first holding room, and I have no illusions about leaving unless it’s in a body bag. I’ve accepted that.
In those first few days, I told Davey and Cillian everything I could remember—every detail, every past job that might help them find Peter, even though he’s notoriously impossible to track down. When I finally reached the end of my story, I was a shell of myself and had nothing left to offer.
So, why am I still alive?
The uncertainty is starting to make me feel a little insane.
Natalie is the only person who visits me consistently. She’s come every day, usually with food from a restaurant we tried together last spring, and we have a meal on the mattress. It's a quiet reminder of the friendship I destroyed.
She also brings things to read. Usually, she stays for a few hours, just talking. It’s surprisingly easy to fall back into conversation. We discuss the plots of the books she brings, the fundraisers she’s been working on, the Pilates class she still attends. She still has plenty of questions about me and my life. I tell her everything because what’s the point in keeping secrets anymore?
Throughout our conversations, it’s hard not to notice that she speaks with more confidence now. There’s a steadiness to her that wasn’t always there before. It makes sense; she has the power here, but I don’t mind.I never thought I’d have the chance to speak to Natalie again, and I like that she doesn’t hold back anymore.
Someone always accompanies her. More often than not, it’s Davey, sitting off to the side in an uncomfortable folding chair, tapping away at his laptop. Sometimes he listens, cutting in with a sharp question about something I’ve confessed. Cillian does the same when it’s his turn. And then there’s Cora, who just sits in the corner, silent and unreadable. I haven’t even seen any of the other men I saw slinking through Silas’s home when I lived there. It has me wondering how many people actually know I’m here. Whereverhereis.
