Page 188 of Where the Snakes Sleep

Did I believe Camille was in immediate danger?

Why?

Did I believe Henri intended to take me against my will?

Why?

Had Henri threatened me directly?

Had his men been armed?

Had Camille already been assaulted?

Had I had an opportunity to escape?

That question bothered me the most.

Because technically, yes.

That was the whole point.

Camille had given me an exit.

I chose not to take it.

It took lawyers to explain the difference between having a route out and being required to abandon someone else to what I reasonably believed was going to be his murder.

Camille’s injuries helped a lot.

So did the restraints they cut from his wrists, the guns, the forced entry, the sabotaged security system, and the statements eventually taken from two of the men Henri hired after investigators tracked them down, because I guess professional criminals become surprisingly cooperative when their dead employer can no longer pay for silence, and prosecutors start discussing conspiracy charges.

Most of all, Henri’s own history came crashing into the investigation almost immediately.

The files had already spread exactly as intended.

Proof that Henri had spent decades arranging crimes and manipulating the people around them.

By the time the forensic reports were complete, nobody examining what happened at Camille’s estate had to take my word for the fact that Henri Voclain was dangerous.

It was just a fact.

I still killed someone.

Legal language does not make that disappear.

Therapy has been very clear on this point.

My therapist is also very clear that “I don’t regret stopping him” and “I am disturbed that I killed a human being” are allowed to exist simultaneously.

I hate nuanced emotions. They’re exhausting.

For the first month, I dreamed about Henri constantly.

Sometimes he died, sometimes he didn’t.

Sometimes I was back in the lab and could not get the door open.

Sometimes Camille told me “Je t’aime,” walked away, and no matter how hard I begged, he never came back.