Page 75 of The Fall of Iris Henley
“Anyway, when I found out some guy in Houston was fuckingwith you too, I wanted to figure out what was going on. But that was a bust.”
“And then you got to play like you were the romantic hero. Was that part of the plan, or just a perk?”
He’s quiet for a moment before answering. “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he says. “I didn’t mean to fall for you.”
“Really? Man, I guess I’m just lucky then.”
All I’ve wanted for the past two weeks is to know the truth. But it turns out that the truth is worse. The truth is that someone I trusted has been trying to hurt me all along. The truth is that I am infinitely alone.
“What about all the other stuff? The dead squirrel? And my locker and mailbox and…”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t do that stuff either. That’s just our lovely classmates taking shit too far.”
“I don’t think you get to express judgment on what constitutes taking things too far,” I say.
He doesn’t answer.
“Okay,” I say. “What now?”
“What… do you want to happen now?” he says.
A question I’m not really prepared to answer. My wish list is impossible. An “undo” button on life; a chance to travel back, back, back, to before the murder, before Lynette was even kicked off the team. Maybe before the summer that her addiction took hold, to a time when I could’ve found a way to help her.
Barring that, though, I just want this all to be over.
“Are you going to confess?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’ll do it tonight, if you want.” He pulls out his phone, but I shake my head.
“No, tonight I want you to get me out of here. Take mehome. You need to go to the sheriff and confess to your part in this. And you need to confess on Sekrit too.”
He nods. “I will. I promise.”
“And just so you know?” I stand up again, testing my ankle gingerly. “That doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
DAY EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER 41
MONDAY, OCTOBER 24, 7:13AM
VARDA HIGH
How exactly do you reenter your own life? How do you show up as if nothing has happened, wearing your favorite yellow-rose-inlay cowboy boots and the bright red matte lip you are known for—and then slide back into place like the universe has kept your spot for you right where you left it?
I spent Friday at the sheriff’s station, accompanied by a lawyer my parents called in. At first, the lawyer, with her sharp pleats and predator smile, scared me almost as much as the cops did. But then I heard the way she talked to Ramos. The way she brushed aside every question he had for me. She frightened him, and that was powerful.
“Okay, Iris, we have to start at the beginning one more time.” Ramos had sighed, opening up a file that bristled with paperwork. “The night Rocky and Lynette died. Where exactly…”
“Don’t say a word.” The lawyer, whose name was Wanda Crenshaw, put her hand in front of me, palm flat on the table. “Sheriff, we are here to discuss one thing and one thing only:the actions of Max Fisher. Which have nothing to do with the painful events of this past April.”
Sheriff Ramos let his eyes linger on Wanda for a few seconds too long. I looked at her too, reassessing; I’d seen her as another reflection of my mom, someone who was going to tell me how to present myself, how to sit, how to talk. But this was different.
This was someone here to protect me. And no one had protected me in a very long time.
“I understand your point, Mrs. Crenshaw, but the fact is these kids are all tangled up in things you wouldn’t believe. I have reason to believe that your, uh, client, was more involved in the events of last spring than she’s told us. That has a direct relationship to how we have to proceed with what the Fisher boy told us this morning.”
“If you have reason to believe it,” said Wanda, “you’ll need to present that evidence to me before we go any further. We will not be discussing those traumatic and violent events at this time. We are here to provide a victim’s statement about the events of the last three weeks, during which time my client was harassed, stalked, and threatened. During which time, by the way, she received no help from you or your office, in spite of the fact that she was in fact the victim of a crime.”
