Chapter 64
64
Shannon is a no-bullshit lawyer who isn’t afraid to get dirty to win. And win she does. Fiona heard about her through the assistant grapevine: three years ago, Shannon had worked on a case where a financier had allegedly (definitely) killed his wife. Every piece of evidence pointed toward the husband after he’d caught his wife having an affair, but Shannon was able to work magic during cross-examination, making witnesses contradict the evidence presented in court. She got the first-degree murder charge knocked down to involuntary manslaughter and her client walked away with three years of community service, when he was originally up for fifteen-to-life.
Shannon has a hefty price tag, but she’s already proved her worth. After I signed the documents for representation, she somehow secured my conditional release from jail with a surprisingly low bond. It’s a miracle I’m allowed to sit inside my—er, Chloe’s—apartment without an orange jumpsuit on, considering my alleged crimes include the murder of eight beloved women. Now, I’m enduring house arrest as lawyers and paralegals bumble around me, a scratchy black GPS monitor wrapped around my ankle.
My eyes crawl to the nightstand, where I’ve hidden my phone. It’s been a month since I’ve touched it. Yes. One month. Four weeks. Thirty—going on thirty-one—days. My abstinence is out of fear. I’m sure people online will eviscerate me. I don’t need the additional blows to my already fragile mental state.
Time away from social media has been somewhat cleansing. My mind has slowed down, I’ve learned to listen to my body more, and I get less distracted. It’s like my neural receptors are literally repairing themselves. And yet… the slim metal of the phone continues to entice me. I crave its heft in my palm, the connection at my fingertips. The love. The community.
Just one swipe. How bad can that be?
“Julie?”
I turn to Shannon. “Sorry, my mind wandered.”
She’s sitting across from me with a clipboard. “It’s important that you focus. We can’t have your mind wandering like that in court. The jurors will read that as unreliability.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Shannon is training me on my story in preparation for trial. It hasn’t been too difficult. My claims of cultlike activity and brainwashing were corroborated once the authorities ransacked the island and found pounds of toxic psychoactive plants and a legion of indoctrinated pearly-white slaves.
Two people even agreed to testify in my defense: Bella Marie’s mom, who claims she’s been held captive on the island for five years, and Iz, who agrees that the cult was real, that she was held hostage for two days, and that our lives were in genuine danger. (They questioned Angelique. She’s pleaded the fifth on everything thus far.) With all this evidence in my favor, Shannon says it’s realistic to mitigate my Belladonna murders with self-defense. I was only trying to escape a threatening situation. I had to kill to survive.
The “truth” muddies when it comes to Eto. Confessing that I promised the Belladonnas to Eto would show intent for my murders, thus destroying any argument for self-defense. As far as Eto is concerned, in the court of law, I’ve been instructed to shrug and say, I don’t know. Thankfully, no one alive can attest to the fact that the burning was nefariously motivated, not self-defense.
Well, except for Viktor. But last I heard, after being flown straight to America to be interrogated, he seemed to have kept his Abercrombie & Fitch lips sealed.
The sticky part is the issue of my twin.
Although Bella Marie confessed to Chloe’s murder, since she’s dead, it’s all hearsay. Not to mention, it’s not great that I just so happened to show up at Chloe’s apartment, stumble upon her body, immediately lied to the cops about being Chloe, then proceeded to switch identities without guilt for a few months after her death. My actions don’t paint a pretty picture. To an outside observer, there’s reasonable grounds to argue I planned Chloe’s death to steal her identity.
“Okay,” says Shannon. “Let’s go through everything that happened, step-by-step, again.”
“I was walking home from my shift at SuperFoods when Chloe called me.”
“What was said during the call?”
Although there is evidence of the call, there is no recording. All the court can go on is my word. “She seemed to be struggling for breath. And she kept apologizing to me for something. Saying something was a mistake. And then in her last breath…” I breathe in, try to be convincing. “She said something about it being Bella Marie’s fault.” This lie is my golden ticket out of jail. Sure, it might be struck from the record for hearsay, but once the jury hears this, they’ll struggle to erase it from their minds.
“Is it true that you had two days off work the week Chloe was found dead?”
“Yes.”
“The paramedic on the scene noted that Miss Van Huusen had been dead a few days, but since no autopsy was completed, the exact timeline of death is unclear. The security camera footage of the building also remains unclear, as you and your twin cannot be told apart. Is it possible that you went to New York during your days off and killed your sister?”
“What?” I shout. “No!”
“Calm down. Don’t raise your voice. This is just what the prosecution might argue.”
My lungs rattle and I fight the urge to cough. The issue of the security cameras triggers me. I’m unable to deny being in New York, since anytime Chloe was spotted on CCTV, she could be mistaken for me. Go figure. My face, which unlocked the world for me, might also be my downfall.
Bella Marie was never captured on camera near the building, since it just so happened that the cameras near the back-door fire escape had “malfunctioned” during the time of the incident. I would bet my life that Bella Marie tampered with them.
“No,” I say, resigned.
“Is it true that you requested Chloe’s body be cremated?”
“Yes.”
“Did you do that knowing the timeline of death would remain unconfirmed?”
“If I knew, I would never have done it.”
At length, Shannon needles me about the timeline, if it was possible that I coerced someone else to call me on Chloe’s phone, why didn’t I request an autopsy, etc. It’s painstaking and frustrating.
“After you discovered your sister’s body,” she continues, “why did you decide to take her identity?”
This is part two of the plan. “When I found her dead, I only assumed her identity because I needed to unravel the truth of how she died. I could sense something amiss after she mentioned Bella Marie in her last call to me. I knew that Bella Marie was somehow involved. When the police arrived, I lied about my identity because I needed to personally avenge my twin. A white woman like Bella Marie would never be brought to justice through regular means. It was a cruel means to a good end. I am not a killer. I am a truth-seeker. I strive for justice in my own way.”
“Um… Okay, so we’re going to have to work on that and unembellish it a little. It sounds like you’re telling a story rather than the truth, but it’s a good start.”
“It is the truth.” I haven’t told Shannon anything else except this story. I need her on my side.
“I’m not saying it isn’t. I’m just saying we’ll work on it, okay?”
Her doubtful tone stings. I tap my feet as the need for validation grows in my chest, accompanied by a shadow of regret. What if I hadn’t killed the Belladonnas? What if I’d just closed my eyes and let myself be absorbed into their current?
“You say you swapped identities for the sake of finding the truth. But there’s evidence you’ve been living quite freely and happily as ‘Chloe.’ If you were trying to seek justice, why did you continue to do brand deals and sponsored content?”
Ah, the one time in my life where my aunt has come to save me. “My aunt has been extorting me, saying she’ll expose my real identity. I needed to pay her off, so I took sponsorships in order to continue seeking justice for my sister.”
Despite the weird fire ritual, my aunt is (unfortunately) alive. Though she might wish she were dead, considering her present circumstances. After my true identity was revealed, I told the police she possessed an important recording with evidence I didn’t kill Chloe. Since the recording also included evidence of her crime of extortion, my aunt refused to relinquish it, which resulted in a warrant being issued to search her home. On top of the recording, the authorities uncovered a history of other petty crimes, and now she’s suffering under investigation for extortion, aiding and abetting a crime, and a slew of other infractions. She hasn’t gotten in touch with me, saying that she is afraid of me. Of me ! Can you believe it?
But thanks to her, I’m able to justify my actions during my influencer era.
“We have email evidence here stating that—”
Two knocks. A paralegal opens the apartment door and Fiona walks in with a man beside her. He’s holding a single hammer. His gaze is angled toward the floor, the rim of a black baseball cap obscuring most of his face except for his sharp jaw.
“Who’s this?” Shannon spins out of her seat to shoo the man away. “We aren’t allowed to have unregistered guests.”
“Just here to fix the internet.” He glances up at Fiona, revealing a tight and eager smile.
My heart drops. I can recognize that tight grin anywhere, an expression that’s wholly desperate for validation.
Viktor.