Page 118 of Where the Snakes Sleep

My legs quake. “I told you.” The words make him go still. “I fucking told you what lies did to me.”

His eyes become glassy—not tears exactly. Camille does not look like a man who cries easily. But something is there.

“I know,” he whispers.

“And you promised.”

“Yes.”

“You promised me no more omissions about anything involving me, the house, my grandfather, Henri—”

“I remember.”

“AND YOUR MOTHER IS ONE OF THE FUCKING PEOPLE HE MURDERED!” My voice tears through the room.

Camille’s face has gone utterly still.

I point at him with a shaking hand. “You looked me in the eye and told me this was basically an academic obsession because unresolved things bothered you.”

“I know.”

“Your mother was murdered.”

“Yes.”

“You were eight.”

“Yes.”

“Your dad—” My voice falters. “What happened to your dad?”

His gaze drops, and he replies quietly, “He died when I was ten.”

“W-what?” I stutter.

Camille looks at the floor. “He spent two years trying to find her. The suspicion surrounding him destroyed much of what remained of his life. Eventually…” He pauses, an expression of pain passing over his face. “He killed himself.”

Everything inside me goes quiet.

“Oh, my God.”

I wish I hadn’t asked—no, that isn’t true. I needed to know. But what the fuck? Henri orphaned him.

How am I supposed to stay furious at him without also wanting to cross the room and wrap my arms around him?

I hate this.

I hate him.

I care about him so fucking much.

Camille continues, “I was raised by my aunt afterward. I began researching my mother’s disappearance when I was old enough to understand what records existed.”

“And you thought the answers were here,” I conclude.

Camille’s gaze drops to the journal. “Yes.”

Something about that one word sounds broken.