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“We know what you did,” she said simply.
He swallowed faintly, and the heavy breathing faded. He was a couple of years younger than her, having been in the same grade as Rose a decade ago.
He hadn’t started off particularly impressively. Frightened and panicked. But now, she could tell he was trying to steady his breathing. So, she hit him in the stomach. More like a love tap than anything.
A sudden burst of air escaped his lips. “Dammit,” he yelled.
“Why did you do it, Gabriel?”
He flinched, freezing at the use of his name.
She kept going. There was no reason to stop. “You’ve gotten away with it for years. Is that what you were told? Keep quiet, keep hidden, and what you did won’t come out? There’s a lot of churches around here. Were the pastors telling you all is forgiven? That it’s all washed away?” She leaned in now, whispering in his ear. “God may forgive you. But I don’t. And you’re going to tell me everything.”
“About what?” He demanded.
And briefly, she was impressed. The terror and the fear had faded from his voice. It was still there, trembling in the background, but he had managed to calm himself. It wasn’t quite the voice of someone who had control, but rather the voice of someone who knew they didn’t. And would stand up for themselves anyway. She said, “Rose Shields.”
“Rose?” He asked. His head was no longer shifting side to side. The dark hood her mother had knitted remained motionless, jutting towards the wooden rafters tangled with cobwebs. “What about her?”
Cora scowled now. “She visited you the night she disappeared. Don’t deny it.”
A pause. A swallow. “Wh…what?”
“She saw you. She came to visit you.”
No response. A swallow. Then, “Is that you, Cora? Cora Shields? It is, isn’t it? Cora—take this damn hood off me. I know it’s you!”
She frowned at him now. He was not as scared as he should have been and not as stupid as she remembered. She considered things for a moment, then shrugged. It wasn’t like seeing her would provide much comfort. Her half-shaved head, her tattoos, and the knife in one hand were all designed to intimidate as well.
She ripped the hood off his head and glared.
It took him a moment to adjust, blinking wildly, and gasping as he did. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted, they landed on her. It took him a second, sitting tied to a chair, a hood fallen at his feet, and the scent of mold on the air, for him to steady himself.
When he did, he exhaled faintly. “What...what do you want, Cora?”
“Use my name again and I’ll break your jaw,” she said simply.
He hesitated and swallowed. Then he said, “I don’t understand.”
“You do.”
“I don’t!” He protested, his eyes widening. His unkempt hair was now sweaty and stuck in clumps to his forehead. His large arms bulged as if he were trying to rip through the ropes. But when his gaze landed on the knife she was tapping against her arm, he went still. The fear settled in his eyes again and for a moment, she wondered if he would request for the hood to be replaced.
Instead, he murmured, “You think I had something to do with your sister’s death?”
“She’s not dead,” Cora snapped.
“She—what? They found her?”
She glared at him. He was good. She had to hand him that. But she also wouldn’t play his narrative. She refused to believe that Rose was dead until she saw a body with her own eyes—and perhaps not even then.
“She was going to visit you,” Cora said simply. “She wanted to meet you. You denied everything when questioned, but I don’t believe you.”
He just gaped. “I thought...I thought you were some type of cop. Your parents used to brag to mine about you. How you were some chic in the military.”
Cora frowned at him. “Are you going for backwoods charm or just trying to piss me off?”
“What? No! Nothing like that,” he exclaimed, his voice earnest. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
