Page 56 of Haven't Killed in Years

“I do,” I said.

“It’s not enough.”

I knew what she was saying. I think if I were a normal person, I would have assumed it was all talk. I wouldn’t have worried she would do anything to Natalie, but I knew what it felt like to live with that exact secret my whole life, and if I could do something about it, I would.

“If you do something to her, it will change you,” I said. “What you’re talking about is revenge, not justice. You think it will end these feelings, but it won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, and she was right. Maybe revenge was just the ticket.

“Then let me help you,” I said. Anything to ease her pain. Selfishly, anything to get her to keep me involved—anything to cling to in a situation I was clearly losing control of.

Elyse knew what had to be done and so did I. It didn’t matter whether she was Marin Haggerty or Natalie Shea; the woman on the screen had to be put down. I had killed before and I could do it again if I had to—for Elyse and for me. One more time. It was the only way out. And a good one at that.

Natalie wasn’t a kid anymore and neither was I. She was out in the world, severing arms. She had killed my mother. She was a ticking time bomb and I knew better than anyone that it would not be a good idea to let Natalie Shea explode.

Part

Two

Twenty-Nine

Eighteen years ago

The attendant escorted ten-year-oldNatalie Shea into her new room, hand on her back, applying force as needed. The girl clung to her bag, resisting him, her heels skidding across the tiles. Natalie was supposed to be in a room alone. She’d overheard that instruction plenty of times.This one shouldn’t share a room. Make sure you keep an eye on her.She’s a lot stronger than she looks when she gets into one of her fits.But Natalie wasn’t going to be alone anymore.

Another child, about her size, sat under the glow of her bedside table lamp. Propped up on a stack of pillows, she was reading a chapter book as thick as the mattress she was sitting on.

“Gwen,” the attendant said, addressing the girl, “this is Natalie. She’s going to be your roommate.”

Gwen lowered the book but remained silent.

The attendant gave Natalie a light shove, enough to get her weight off him.

“You girls play nice,” he said as he closed the door and left the two children to sort things out among themselves.

Natalie shuffled toward her bed.

“How old are you?” Gwen asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Almost eleven,” Natalie answered before placing her bag on the bed and crawling up to sit next to it. She was nervous. People made her nervous.

Gwen had still eyes that wouldn’t move off her. When she finally spoke, it was penetrating. “Why are you here?” she asked—a question that felt like an accusation.

Natalie wasn’t sure how to answer. “I get in a lot of trouble,” she disclosed, fixating on her hands perched in her lap.

Gwen smirked. “Like what?”

Natalie shrugged. “I get angry and…I kind of black out.”

Gwen considered that for a second. “Do you hurt people?”

“Sometimes.”

“What kind of people?”

Natalie rubbed her fingertips together. She was ashamed. She wasn’t a tough guy. She would give anything to not be like this.

Gwen gave up waiting for an answer. “Well, don’t try anything with me.”