Page 69 of I'm Not Done with You Yet

After a second, Jane nods.

“She did it. She killed him to get control of the company, and she framed me for it. You must find out how she did it,” I say through my tears.

She’s so torn between wanting to believe me and the string of irrefutable evidence behind me. All she needs is a little nudge. And I know exactly what Jane wants, what her life has been all about ever since the first time we met. Me.

“Please, Jane. You’re my only hope. You’re my best friend.”

At this, her face brightens, a righteous flame burning behind her eyes. I almost laugh at how easily she fell for it. She nods and says, “I’ll do it. I’ll find out how she killed him. I’ll set you free.”

I smile at her. Good dog.

31

Jane

After I visit Thalia, I walk for hours, only half-aware of where I’m going. My mind is a jumble of emotions. I want to cry and laugh and scream and hide, all at the same time. I want to hug Thalia, put my arms around her and squeeze. I want to strangle Thalia, put my hands around her throat and squeeze. I remember that night in Oxford, when she’d asked me to strangle her so she’d have marks on her throat. I go back to that moment and I don’t let go. I watch as the light goes out of her eyes and she turns from a living, breathing being into a rag doll. A dead thing. A sob escapes me, and I wipe away the tears that trickle down my cheeks. I don’t know why I’m crying. Thalia is exactly where she belongs, and I should be out celebrating. The cops are off my back. I don’t know what’s going on with the investigation of Kurt’s death, but I’m sure that since Thalia is being charged with Ivan’s murder, she would also be the number one suspect behind Kurt’s death, if they decide it was murder, that is.

So why do I feel like part of me is slowly dying? Why do Ifeel like I’ve left the most beautiful bird in the world to rot in a tiny cage, its vibrant wings clipped, its sonorous chirps silenced?

She belongs there, I tell myself. She’s dangerous, the most dangerous creature there is. A serpent.

But I can’t forget that look on her face. Haunted, broken, as she begged me to help her. Could she really be lying? She looked shattered. And what she told me made sense. Ani has always been bitter about the whole family company. The number of times she ranted to us back in Oxford about how Ivan only got his position because he had a dick. Could she have done it?

I close my eyes and try to picture Ani poisoning her own brother, and the image clicks into place all too easily. I shudder and open my eyes once more. The problem is, I can also very easily think of Thalia doing it. Both of them are deadly. I should forget all of this and just go. I’m caught in a game between two apex predators.

And yet. The thought of going back to Ted, to my mediocre, safe life, grates at my nerves. What the hell is wrong with me? Social anxiety, Kathryn had told me. I can see that. It fits. I should go back home and just curl up and hide away from the world. Do that cognitive behavioral thing Kathryn wants me to do. Learn to cope. Live with the knowledge that Thalia is in prison and I’m outside of it, safe and sound.

Should, should, should. How long have I lived my life according to “should”?

I take my phone out of my bag and call Ani. When she picks up, I say, “Want to get drinks?”

Chances are, Ani has changed from the girl I knew back in Oxford. Chances are, she’s a lot wiser now, less of a loosecannon. But she’s also just coming down off a real roller coaster; I mean, there’s a possibility she just framed Thalia for Ivan’s murder and got away with it. I’m guessing she’s in real need of a good, stiff drink and someone to celebrate it with.

We agree to meet at Doorway, a quiet restaurant with outdoor seating, where we can drink and chat without her feeling claustrophobic. When she arrives, she looks as fashionable as usual, not at all like a woman who’s recently lost her dearest brother. No eye bags; she hasn’t been crying.

I’ve arrived early and ordered us a bottle of wine, asked for them to pour it out into a decanter. I poured myself a glass, and when no one was looking, I added a sprinkling of Ambien into the decanter. Not too much, not enough to actually knock her out. Just enough to lower her inhibitions. I’ve set my phone to record and put it facedown on the table. I’m ready.

“Ani,” I say, standing up and giving her a hug. She’s all tight cords of muscle. It’s like hugging a lizard. I have to stop myself from shuddering as I step away and sit back down. I pour her a generous helping of wine and push the glass toward her before lifting my own glass.

“To putting away the evil cunt,” she says, lifting her glass.

I grit my teeth and force myself to say the words. “To putting away the evil cunt.” I watch as she takes huge gulps of the wine. “So how are things with you and your family?” I hope I sound sympathetic. My heart is beating so hard I wonder if she can see its silhouette pressing against my top. I resist the almost overwhelming urge to wring my hands under the table. I can do this. I must do this.

Ani scoffs. “How do you think? My parents are a mess. Ivan was always their favorite, you know.”

Like she’d ever let us forget that. I put on a sad face and nod,lifting my glass to my lips and taking the smallest sip. She mirrors me, except she gulps instead of sips, and I refill her glass as soon as she lowers it.

“They’re lucky they have me. I’ve been taking care of everything. The funeral arrangements, the company—oh man, the company.” She snorts and takes another long swallow of wine. “Let me tell you, Jane, it would all be going down the shithole if it weren’t for me.”

“Yeah, I can believe that. They’re so lucky to have you.” She must know I’m faking it. I’m not that good a liar. I take a bigger swallow of my own wine. The more we talk, the worse I feel. It feels like I’m betraying more than just Ani, but parts of myself as well. I don’t want to feel a kinship with Ani, of all people.

But by now the spiked wine is taking its effect. I can see it in the way Ani’s eyes become heavy-lidded, the way her bright red lips go slack, the slurring of her words. It takes me right back to our time at Oxford, those wine-drenched days where Ani swung wildly from competitive student to drunk dancer, hopping from books to boys and back again. I guess some things never change. The memory of it loosens my nerves. I know this Ani. I tolerated her for months, gritted my teeth and pretended to like her just so I could be close to Thalia. I can do this.

“But,” I say, leaning forward, “you must find it hard, to take over the company so suddenly? I mean, have you been involved in the company all these years?”

She glances at me sharply and frowns, or tries to, anyway. The drink and drug have softened her. Without them, Ani would’ve probably leapt up and leaned so close I could smell her rank breath and hissed to me about how valuable she is to the company. As it is, she merely leans back and laughs. “Uh, ya think?”

“I thought your parents didn’t really trust you to work there? Didn’t you say they’re pretty sexist and everything?” I don’t actually remember her specifically saying that they’re sexist, but I know enough from my mother how deeply ingrained traditional gender roles are in many Asian countries.

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