Page 74 of Executing Malice

“No, you fucking don’t, okay?” I glower through a thick wall of tears that blur his outline. “Eight years ago, I was a whole other person. I wasn’t born or raised in Jefferson. I don’t know where I come from or what happened. I don’t even know my fucking name.” A tear escapes and I scrub it away with the back of my hand. “I had an accident. I lost my memory. So, the Leila you think you know, doesn’t exist because she’s not real.”

He’s not moving.

He’s fallen back onto his backside and becomes one with the shadows. One with the silence. The absence of his response carves a ditch in my gut a semi could park in, and the longer he remains frozen, the deeper my wish to take it back.

“What did you say?” he murmurs after what feels like an eternity.

I take a breath and think, well, at least he’s not running.

“That’s how I came to live here. Evan, my dad, found me wandering around Red Hollow while he’d been camping with friends. I was covered in blood and bruises, practically naked, severely dehydrated. I had a bump on my head. Dr. Hammell thinks it’s the reason I don’t remember what happened.” I catch sight of a loose piece of thread poking out of the blanket. I loop my finger through and tug. “Leila isn’t my name. I don’t really know how old I am. Everyone guessed roughly eighteen, nineteen.” I lick my lips nervously and twist the thread tighter around my index finger. “They assumed I was in an accident. That maybe I came from one of the nearby towns, but no one’s come to claim me so...” I give a shrug I hope looks as nonchalant as I’m attempting to act. “It’s been eight years so the likelihood of getting my memory back is slim at this point, but not entirely zero.”

I pinch my lips together to stop any more words from falling out. There really isn’t anymore to the story, but I can feel the bubbling need to explain, to rush on that I’m still kind of me. At least this version. I don’t think there will be another, but there might be if my memories come back. I guess I’m just trying to prepare him in case.

“No,” he says simply and with a confidence that momentarily takes me off guard.

“What?”

He gives his head a slow shake. “No. No,” he repeats, getting louder. “That ... you’re lying.”

I blink. “Kind of a weird thing to lie about, isn’t it?”

He’s pushing to his feet, forcing my head back to peer up at him. “You think you can trick me. You think if you lie, you can save yourself.”

A cold chill scuttles down my spine as his words rush over me with the force of gale winds. “What are you talking about?”

“I checked ... I searched everywhere for you. Some girl showing up the way you claim would make the news.”

He’s talking too fast, too loud. He’s angry and I don’t understand.

“It did, but only around Jefferson, Pinecrest, Mayfield and the other smaller surrounding towns. They called me Alice. You can look it up. They have a whole photo—”

He swoops down before I can finish. His large hand closes around my wrist and I’m dragged to my feet. It’s violent and painful. His hold is crushing, possessive as he hauls me in the direction of the hallway.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LEILA

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“Where are you taking me?” I shout at his back.

My answer is getting shoved up the pull ladder of the attic. The fact that it’s drawn down has me puzzled for a full second before I’m met with a whole, little apartment right over my head.

The few old boxes Mom keeps up here are wedged into one far corner, leaving the rest of the space open for a mattress set up off to one side and a whole computer system connected in the other. The trio of monitors are all flashing and moving, but the middle one has me edging closer.

Dozens of square boxes framing different parts of my house, capturing a dozen different angles. Everything from my bedroom to the bathroom and even the basement.

“What is this?”

He says nothing as he stalks to the chair and drops into it.

“When?” he barks at me.

Staring at another screen with rows upon rows of information on every single person I’ve ever come in contact with, I’m not quick enough to understand.

“What?”

“When were you found?” he repeats sharply.