Chapter 2 #3
“You don’t understand. Bea… she’s probably the nicest person I’ve ever met.” I shoot Eden an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Eeen. But you know you can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”
Eden waves off my apology. “Bea was really nice when I met her. Super nice. She didn’t even get upset when Indy was being a jerk to her.”
Webb throws me a puzzled look. “You were a jerk to her?”
Guilt settles heavy over my shoulders. “I was,” I admit. “Back then… I wasn’t in a great place. And I hated therapy. It reminded me of everything I’d lost. Sometimes I took it out on Bea, even though she was the last person to deserve it.”
“I get it,” Tyler says, glancing up from his phone. And I’m sure he does, given that Tyler lost part of his leg less than two years prior to my injury. “So you don’t think she did it? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know.” I look at the article again, this time focusing on the photo of Bea. “I just can’t see it. Not her. And it says she killed another PT. If it were self-defense, that would be one thing. But to kill a coworker in cold blood, like they’re implying…”
“Maybe it’s a mixup,” Eden suggests. “Mistaken identity.”
“The evidence is pretty conclusive.” Tyler meets my gaze across the table. “I just accessed the police records.”
“Nice,” Webb says under his breath. I know he’s not talking about the evidence, but how quickly Tyler found the information.
“What did they find?” I ask.
Tyler glances back at his phone. “Fingerprints on the knife. The only fingerprints. Blood all over Beatrix’s hands and shoes. Scratches from the victim that look like defense wounds. And there’s mention of some photos of the victim’s boyfriend in Beatrix’s purse.”
“Bea,” I correct.
I’m not sure why it matters that he calls her Bea, but it does.
Tyler nods. “Sorry. Bea. So, it looks like the evidence is very strong. According to text records, the victim asked Bea to meet her in the locker room, and that’s where the murder occurred.”
“And what about Bea? What does she say?”
Tyler grimaces. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing,” he affirms. “She’s still unconscious.”
“What?” I jump up from my seat. “She’s unconscious? What happened? Is she hurt?”
He scans his phone. “The police believe she slipped on the blood and hit her head on one of the lockers. She has a concussion—”
“A concussion?” My voice rises close to a shout. “She’s still unconscious from a head injury? Do they know—” My molars nearly crack in half. “Shit. Where is she?”
“The hospital. They can’t officially arrest her until she’s conscious and stable.”
Nausea surges.
Sweet Bea. Hurt. Unconscious. Are her parents with her? She mentioned they live in Pittsburgh. But would they even be allowed to see her? Or is she all alone? Will she wake up—
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask roughly. “Bea. Do you know? Can you find out? Is she going to be okay?”
Eden comes towards me. She pats my arm and looks at me with a worried expression. “I didn’t know you were friends.”
“We’re not.”
As if Bea would want to be friends after the way I treated her.
“Okay,” Tyler says. “I got into the hospital records. The prognosis is good. No swelling. The doctors believe she’ll regain consciousness soon.”
Relief surges, but it’s quickly smothered by cold reality. “And once she does, they’ll take her to jail.”
Tyler nods solemnly. “Looks like it.”
I haven’t seen Bea in almost two years, not since our last appointment when she announced that I’d graduated from therapy.
I still remember her bringing in a silly little graduation cap and a cupcake with a matching hat atop it.
Despite my grouchy demeanor—because that was my default mood back then—she didn’t let it get to her.
“You did it,” she told me with that bright smile of hers. “Just keep up with the exercises I showed you, and you’re going to be just fine on your own. I’m proud of you, Indy. You did it.”
I didn’t thank her for it. Not for the cap or the cupcake, and not for helping me.
I should have. But I was feeling extra grouchy that day, so I just took the cap and cupcake without a word of thanks.
It was only later that I realized why I was in such a bad mood.
It was because I knew I wouldn’t have a reason to see Bea again.
Whenever I’d pull out that cap—because I kept it, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away—I’d think about Bea and wonder how she’s doing.
I’d wonder if it would be weird to send her a card to say thanks after so much time.
I’d imagine her happy, probably married with an adoring husband and possibly kids.
But I never imagined her hurt.
I never imagined her facing murder charges.
I never pictured Bea living a life in jail.
Through a clenched jaw, I ask, “You’re sure the evidence is strong?”
Tyler gives me a grim nod. “Looks it.”
Stepping away from Eden, I cross the dining room to look out the window. The grass is yellowed and patchy, with a few dingy patches of snow scattered across it. A line of towering evergreens stretches up to a darkening sky, and above them, a full moon is just beginning to make its appearance.
Past the treeline, there’s an impenetrable fence protecting us. Keeping anyone who might want to hurt us from coming in.
My hands tighten on the windowsill. The black carbon fiber of my prosthetic fingers contrasts with the pale wood beneath them.
“She couldn’t have,” I finally say. “I know it. There’s just no way.”
Rafe joins me by the window. His features are solemn and shadowed. “Are you sure?”
I turn to face my best friend. “I’m sure. As sure as I’ve been of anything. She didn’t do it.”
He stares at me for several long seconds. “What do you want to do?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “But I have to do something.”