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“Me too,” I say, taking a sip of his water before continuing the conversation. “So, there were no strange cars on the street. Nothing to be seen on the yard cameras. Neighbors heard my screams ten minutes before the first responders arrived. Right?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“But did I look scared? Angry?”

“No. Just…” Perez drinks more coffee and grimaces. He prefers it strong and bitter. “By all reports, you looked dazed. Like you’d been hypnotized. As I said before, in shock. Understandable considering what you’d just witnessed.”

Stroking my favorite pendant of a raven picking at a silver skull, I groan.

“None of it makes sense! Last thing I remember about that night was that I couldn’t sleep, so I’d gotten up to make frozen-crust pizza and had cut up lots of mozzarella and cherry tomatoes.

Eight years later, and I still can’t look at a cheesy slice of pizza without gagging. ”

“I bet. Sergeant Brantson was the first cop on the scene. He pulled you off the bodies, you went easily. Quietly. But while he and his partner were talking, they lost focus on you for a minute, no more than three, turned around, and you were gone. Straight out the back door, over a small pile of ash.”

“Ash?” So that’s what the ghost on the street was whispering in my ear about.

“Yep. No idea where it came from, but it seemed odd. Out of place. A neighbor told reporters he’d seen you running toward the woods behind the house in your pajamas, but we later learned he’d made it up, enjoying his moment in the spotlight.

We spent days dragging the lake, searching the surroundings, but not a hair or scrap was found until—”

“A year and a day later, I turn up in a parking lot wearing a finely made but shredded emerald-green dress. If I was kidnapped, at least the bastard had decent taste.”

“Don’t joke about it, Summer. Kills me to think what you might have gone through. You still going to those counseling sessions?”

“Not anymore. But I am still studying to become one—a counselor, I mean.”

“Great! Stick at it. Help others learn how to deal with trauma. But if I could give you any advice? Deal with your own trauma first. That’s the way forward.”

I twist a napkin until the paper tears, then shred it into tiny pieces. “Does Brantson still think I’m a murderer?”

Perez shrugs. “There was no DNA on the scene other than yours and your parents.”

“Right. So according to Brantson, there’s no other possibility?”

“And no way to prove you did it either, Summer. Plus, you disappeared without a trace and claim not to remember a thing. Pretty fucking mysterious. Believe me, I’d love to solve the case just as much as you need answers.”

I grab his hand as he reaches for the newspaper. “There has to be something you’re missing. A neighbor you haven’t talked to. Security camera footage you’ve missed. A suspect who didn’t get questioned properly.”

He leans over the table, the scent of coffee strong on his breath.

“The way I look at it, you’re the one holding the missing pieces.

You were there when they died. Go back to therapy.

Unlock those memories. Where were you for twelve fucking months?

” He points at the beautiful but creepy designs on my arms. “Who the hell gave you those tattoos? And why don’t you remember any of it? ”

All good questions that I’d give almost anything to know the answers to.

“Go on, go home, enjoy your weekend, and leave me in peace,” he says, picking up the paper and flicking it open.

“Okay. Sure. I’ll leave you be… for now.” I start to rise, then a fleeting thought freezes me in my seat. “Detective Perez?”

He groans and looks at me over the sports section. “What now?”

“The ash on the doorstep. You’ve never mentioned that before. It was a hot summer that year. We hadn’t used the fireplaces in months. ”

“It was nothing—just black soot scattered on the threshold, trailing down the steps. No footprints in it or nearby.”

“Not even mine, right? Don’t you think that’s weird?”

Perez stares at me, done with the interruption to his leisurely breakfast.

“But forensics photographed the ash?” I ask.

He nods.

“I need to see it. Or can you look at the photos and describe them to me?”

“I’ll consider it. In the meantime, I need to find myself a new place that makes donuts as good as Angelina does.”

“One last favor…”

He laughs.

“Would you let me see the case file?”

“No.”

“Not the original… just some screenshots? Pictures of the ash on the steps?”

“Maybe,” he finally says.

“Will you look over the footage from the cameras again?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Rich?” I say as I get up.

“What?”

“Thank you for putting up with me. It means a lot that you still speak to me.”

“Can’t say it’s a pleasure every time we meet, but I badly want someone to pay for what happened to your parents. And to you. Not a week goes by that I don’t review the file anyway.”

“Even if it’s me who pays?” I whisper, the fear clamping down on my ribs like it always does. Fear that I did it. Terror that I forgot on purpose. Buried the memories down deep because I’m a monster.

Dark eyes remain on mine, unflinching. “Yes, Summer. Even if it’s you.”