Page 5 of Her Dark Lies

Malcolm shot the intruder.

Malcolm shot the intruder.

Jack had me repeat it, again, and again, and again, before the police and EMTs arrived. There needed to be a consensus among us. It was the only safe way to proceed.

Me: Malcolm shot the intruder.

Jack: Malcolm stepped to the landing and shot the intruder.

Malcolm: Yes, sir, I shot the intruder.

I don’t remember.

Three words, so simple, yet so duplicitous.

What is memory, anyway?

Echoes of reality twisted and molded into what we want to believe. What we want to remember. Our brains allow us grace to cope with trauma. They give us space to heal, to come to terms with our actions, our fears.

Couple extreme trauma with alcohol and the events blur.

How can I remember with exact precision my lassitude at the party, the stale macarons, the hard crystal flute against my lips, the floral tang of the champagne, getting into the car and divesting myself of my shoes, Jack’s kisses, light along my jawline, the gaping maw of the attic’s blackness, and not remember the exact moment I killed a man?

WEDNESDAY

“If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own Village, she must seek them abroad.”

—Jane Austen,Northanger Abbey

Welcome to Italy! We are so honored you could join us for our getaway wedding! We have scheduled plenty of downtime so you can get a little vacation while you’re here. You’ll find a book we chose just for you in your welcome package, something to inspire you to find a hammock and chill.

The Villa has a boat launch for you to catch the hydrofoil back to the mainland if you want to visit some of the other small cities in the area. But stick around! The island’s occupation dates to Roman times, which you will be able to see on guided tours of the Villa, the towns, and the incredible ruins. It was also once a

famous artists’ colony. Both Hemingway and Picasso spent time here.

Conservation of the island is ongoing, so we ask that you keep to the paths and follow all the signs. There are some dangerous areas that are totally off-limits, but they are well marked. Irony alert: the internet signal isn’t the strongest, but we hope you find the break

restful instead of infuriating.

And now for fun, some spooky history... The island is haunted! Legend has it there is a Gray Lady who appears to only the purest of heart. Which means we

will absolutely see her this weekend!

Lots of love,

C & J

4

Our First Glimpse

Isle Isola, Italy

The prow of the boat powers through the stormy waters, the spindrift lacing the air. Misting water gathers on my cheeks and hair. I’m grateful for Jack’s bulk behind me. His hands are warm on my shoulders, his mouth almost touching the tender skin of my neck.

“That’s it, darling. There’s the island. What do you think?”

It’s a good thing he’s standing behind me—it gives me time to school my face into a somewhat neutral expression. My pulse betrays me, though, rioting blood through my body, singing through my veins, making me feel more alive than ever before.