Page 92 of Breaking Silence

You could have let him go, a little voice says. You could have let him run.

“Kate.”

The sound of Tomasetti’s voice yanks me back to the present. I open my eyes. He’s standing above me, his expression concerned. That’s when I realize I’m lying on the floor, with absolutely no idea how I got here. I see my glass a few feet away, lying on its side in a puddle of vodka.

The first thought that registers is that I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want him to know I’ve been drinking. I struggle to a sitting position and the room dips violently right and then left.

He kneels beside me. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

“S’okay.”

“Sure it is.” He sets his hand on my back. “Are you all right?”

“I’m good,” I reply, but my words are slurred.

“How did you get on the floor?”

“Uh … no idea.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so.”

Grasping my biceps, he rises and pulls me to my feet. The room does a single sickening spin and then tilts left. My quadriceps feel weak. I’m nauseous, and my head pounds like some bad rock song.

“I told you to lay off the booze,” he says, but there’s no reprimand in his voice.

“It was pretty good advice.”

“Easy to give when you’re on the outside looking in, I guess.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Putting his arm around me, he helps me into the bathroom. He flips up the seat on the commode. I slide to my knees and throw up twice. I set my hands on the floor, but my arms are shaking. A flash of heat rushes over me and a cold sweat breaks out on my neck and face. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay,” he replies softly. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

That brings me back to the reason behind all this misery. Thinking of Mose and Salome, I struggle to my feet. “Did you talk to Salome?”

Tomasetti helps me to the sink and lets me lean against him while I splash water on my face and rinse my mouth. “Rasmussen and I took her statement.”

Leaning heavily against the sink, I turn to him, ask the question I’ve been dreading. “Did Mose kill the parents?”

His gaze searches mine, then he nods. “She thinks he might’ve done it.”

Even through the haze of my drunkenness, the news hits me like a punch. I didn’t want Mose to be guilty of that. It’s not how I want to remember him. “That must have been awful for her.”

Tomasetti nods. “She’s pretty broken up.”

“How are Ike and Samuel?”

“They’re going to be fine.” When I continue to stare at him, he sighs, knowing I want more. “The doctor at the emergency room says they were both suffering from hypothermia.”

“Hypothermia?”

“Evidently, they’d been in the manure pit for quite some time when we found them.”

“But how did they survive the methane gas?”