Page 55 of You Know Why

“Is it true his passport was dropped at the scene?”

“Good grief, that’s on the news? Damn it. This place leaks like a sieve.”

“They’re saying all kinds of things, like they were tortured. Is that true?”

“I can’t comment on the details, Eden. You know that.”

“Which is a yes. But if he killed them . . . Theresa, we’re back to square one, just like we were a decade ago. It’s Andrew we have to fear. Again.”

“This is bigger than just Andrew, I’m afraid.”

“Bigger? Like, what, he has an accomplice?”

“I don’t know yet, okay? We’re working every angle. But if you see a man hanging around with a baseball cap and curly blond hair, you hole up and call me immediately.”

“A man with curly hair . . . Who? Do you have a name?”

“No, we don’t. Just be on the lookout, okay?”

“You’re scaring me.”

I hear the car door slam and the background get quieter. Her voice is overloud now. “Good. I want you to be scared. I want you to be aware. Whoever killed the Lockes, be it Andrew or someone else, is extremely dangerous.”

“You don’t think Andrew did it?”

She hums a little under her breath. “If he did, he’s gone completely off the rails. I haven’t seen anything like this in my entire career. Be careful, okay?”

“Yeah. You too.”

I hang up, breathless. This is not good. And I don’t have time to properly grieve. We have our hands full here.

Margot stays at the hospital nonstop the first couple of days. I keep the kids at the house and entertained. I’m grateful she’s letting me help; the kids understandably need a lot of attention right now, and she needs to be focusing on her sister. It also gives me something to do besides obsess over Andy’s and Lucy’s deaths.

The kids and I have a lot of fun. We watch movies and play cards. I find the classic Nutcracker ballet with Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gelsey Kirkland for Neve, and she watches it at least five times in a row. It turns out Four is a whiz with numbers, and he gets lost in a few of my cryptography books from an internship I did with the cipher lab at Georgia Tech the summer before I graduated.

It’s cold, so warming comfort food is the order of the day. I make nourishing soups and grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches, keeping their bellies full and their minds occupied. There are no computers or TVs allowed that aren’t monitored. We don’t need them to see the news and get scared.

The day after the accident, when the doctors say they’re going to be keeping Brooklyn in the hospital under observation for a few days, Margot starts talking about having her sister transferred back to Nashville. It is a decision not without concern for the doctors, but a terrible incident forces their hand.

No one knows for sure exactly what happened. Brooklyn’s vitals had been stable for several hours, a very good sign, and she was more awake, but not entirely lucid. The doctors assured us that she would be okay alone overnight. Still, Margot wasn’t comfortable leaving her twin in such a state, so I offered to stay.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course. You’re exhausted. The kids are wiped out. Go take a real break.”

She pulls her hair into a ponytail, smiling ruefully. “I would kill for a shower.” She winces at the words, but I wave them away.

“Having a loved one in pain is the hardest thing.” I hand her my keys. “You have a long road ahead. Take the opportunity to get rest now. Trust me.”

“You really are an angel, Eden. Thank you. Just . . . be careful with her, okay? Call me if anything happens.”

Prescient words.

Honestly, I was happy to keep watch. Still adjusting to the demands of parenting two adorable but rambunctious children, I was a bit worn out myself. So I sent Margot off with my keys and a hug, then settled in for the night. The hospital was being incredibly generous, allowing one of us to stay overnight, making up the chair that converted into a foldout twin bed, and so far, it had all been on Margot. She watched her sister, and I watched the kids.

But tonight . . . Alone for the first time, knowing that Andrew was out there slaughtering the people closest to him, I was struggling. Violence touches people differently. Some are able to compartmentalize; some break down. I fall somewhere in the middle. I can put it out of my head for long stretches, but then the memories come back and I can’t shake them. This was one of those nights.

And it was very hard to see Brooklyn in such straits. She was in and out and didn’t recognize me at all. The monitors were, understandably, extensive, constantly taking her blood pressure and pulse. She was receiving oxygen. The machines made an unholy racket, things I’d never even heard of hooked to her poor body. She’d been having trouble swallowing, whether from the sedatives or the TBI, they didn’t know, so they’d successfully placed a nasogastric feeding tube for proper nutrition, and compression devices pumped her legs so she didn’t develop blood clots. There were electrodes attached all over her head, leading to the EEG machine. But she was pale, and so still, and honestly, while she slept, she looked like she was dead.