Page 139 of Our Daughter's Bones

“Yes.” A shudder raked through her. “I do.”

“Like what?” Mackenzie grazed her back soothingly. “What do you see?”

“I see… I see her with big eyes.” Abby pressed a hand to her chest. “I see her draw her breath through her teeth. She always did that when she was angry. Oh my God. My heart’s racing.”

“It’s okay. Hush. What else?”

“I see her reaching out to me.” Abby almost touched the scar on her face lightly. “She must have pressed her hands against her ears. She did that when she was shocked. She must have done that when she saw who betrayed her.” Abby’s body rocked back and forth in a trance. Her eyes were fixated on a spot on the wall. She didn’t cry, but her face was red. Like she was about to burst anytime. She kept patting her chest, as if to soothe her racing heart. “She stands in front of me, holding her hand as she writhes in pain. Blood gushing down her arm. I can see her falling. She must have fallen. I can hear the thud.”

“Why would she hold her hand?”

“I don’t know. Someone hit her!”

“She fell where?”

“On the ground. In the mud?” She shook her head.

“Why was her arm bleeding?”

“I… I can’t think. I need a nurse. Please.”

“Was it a knife?”

“No! Yes! I don’t know!” Abby held her head. “I’m getting a headache!”

But Mackenzie didn’t stop. She kept pushing. She kept pressing. “We’re close. Think. It wasyournightmare.”

“It was her finger. It was bleeding.”

“Which finger?”

“Her ring finger. Does it matter?” She growled the question. Then she froze, the color draining from her face.

Slowly, Abby turned to look at Mackenzie. The torture on her face had evaporated. Her mouth hung agape. Stunned surprise painted her plain face.

Mackenzie smiled. “You killed her, Abigail.”

Seventy-Six

Mackenzie straightened and craned her neck—tired after her act. Abby’s eyes remained locked on her. She walked around the bed and plopped herself down on the seat. She waited. She watched the wheels in Abby’s brain turn. But she also saw her exhaustion. Strung up in the hospital, medicines and painkillers pumped into her, her body and mind subjected to extreme trauma.

At the end of the day, no matter how smart, Abby was still a teenager.

Mackenzie drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair. She had another role to play now. Her stare became unyielding and rigid. To the naked eye, all her empathy was gone. She was cool as a cucumber. When Abby didn’t say anything, Mackenzie said, “We found red and gold fibers in Erica’s mouth. It came from her Lakemore High scarf. We found enough for touch DNA.”

It was a bluff. There was not enough genetic material. A year had passed in extremely fluctuating conditions, as the grave was shallow. The samples had been compromised. But it was Mackenzie’s last attempt.

After what seemed like forever, Abby spoke.

“How long have you known?”

“I suspected something the moment Max confessed about you two planning your disappearance,” she said. “I was surprised that you included him in your plan. Max is too sloppy for you. He has nothing you value. Not powerful, not especially intelligent. Well, he was book-smart. That’s it. Strange how you never even mentioned him in your diary. Like he didn’t matter at all to you; someone who claimed to have become good friends with you.”

She snorted. “You claim to know me well?”

“You revealed too much in your journal. That’s the problem with perfectionists. They go overboard.”

“So, you figured everything out.” She sunk her head in the pillow and looked up. “Do you want to know why?”