Page 90 of The Inmate
“I didn’t do it, Mom,” I whisper.
“Oh, Natalie…”
“I didn’t! How could you even think that?”
“You have to admit,” she sniffles. “It’s the sort of thing you would do.”
I don’t even know what to say to that.It’s the sort of thing I would do?
“I mean,” she goes on, “there were all those incidents when you were younger. Remember that girl you and your friend Tara bullied… and shekilledherself?”
She always brings that up. It doesn’t seem to matter that I have set up a charity to honor Amelia. I’m still the girl who drove her to her death. But it should be said that the police didn’t even consider bringing charges against me. I was barely even questioned.
I have tried to make amends. When Tara and I were writing those fake Valentines to Amelia, I never for one second believed they would make her kill herself. She seemed so much stronger than that. A fighter. Everyone was so shocked when she killed herself. And I’ve been trying to make it right ever since. Trying to make up for the stupid thing I did when I was too young to know better.
“I was just a kid,” I point out.
“You’re lucky they didn’t throw you in prison back then.”
“Mom…”
“Daddy says there’s a prison in South Walpole. I think that would be the most convenient location for us to come visit you.”
She’s already talking about prisons and I haven’t even gone to trial yet. “Listen, I need to talk to you about money. Do you think you can lend me money for bail?”
“Well… how much?”
“I’m not sure. It’s going to be a good amount. Five figures, probably.”
“Oh, honey…”
“Please, Mom.” My voice cracks. “I need your help. I don’t want to stay in here. It’s awful…”
There’s a long pause on the other line, followed by shuffling. After a few seconds, my father’s deep voice booms, “Natalie, you know we don’t have money for this sort of thing. We live on a fixed income.”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t make us feel guilty about this,” he snaps at me. “Whatever you did, you need to deal with the consequences.”
“But I didn’t do anything!”
The guard notices the volume of my voice rising. He shoots me a look. “You got one minute left, Farrell.”
“Please!” My voice cracks. “I can’t do this. I really can’t.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to it. According to your lawyer, you’re going to be in there a long time.”
“But, Dad—”
Before I can get out the entire sentence, the guard walks over to me and hits the button to end the call. I shake my head. “You didn’t even let me say goodbye.”
“I told you to wrap it up.” There’s no sympathy in his voice. This is how I’m going to be treated from now on. “Now get back to your cell.”
I allow him to march me back to the square room with the cellmate with the neck tattoos. I am completely screwed. I don’t know how I’m going to get money to make bail, especially if it’s the amount that Ferguson warned me it could be. My parents can’t give me the money. Kim and I don’t have that kind of relationship where I could ask to borrow the money, even though she could give it to me if she wanted to since her husband is loaded. Seth is off the table—I’ll be lucky if he speaks to me again.
There’s no chance the bail will be less than what I have in the bank, even accounting for the fact that I only have to pay ten percent to the bondsman. It looks like I’m going to be in jail for a while to come.
ChapterFifty-Three
