Page 63 of I Will Mend You

Amy stared at the sundae, her eyes rounding with disbelief. Dolly handed her a spoon, and seconds later, the pair of them descended on the dessert like wolves. Lyle gave me a spoon, and I joined in on what was the sweetest moment I’ve had since the girls were young.

We locked gazes and shared a nostalgic smile. I glanced down at the girls, wondering if this was the start of a perfect new era.

I know I’m talking around Charlotte’s death, but I need to give what happened next a bit of context. Dolly and Amy were getting along, bonding over Lyle’s extravagant dessert.

Maybe it was the baby. Maybe it was the summer school. Maybe it was the absence of Charlotte. I can’t tell what triggered this moment of togetherness, but for those few hours, we were a family for the first time in ages.

It finally registered what Lyle sees in them: miniature versions of myself with similar curly brown hair, green eyes, and wide smiles. There wasn’t a hint of Giorgi in their faces, words, or actions. We were a unit. One family, oblivious to the impending shit storm.

After we finished the sundae, the girls left to get changed into their pajamas, leaving Lyle to undress. I fed Heath, put him back in the crib and returned to bed. Lyle spooned behind me and nuzzled my neck, murmuring how much he enjoyed spending time with us tonight.

Then the door opened, and two identical faces popped in, both dressed in identical pajamas. They wanted to sleep in our bed.

Lyle scooted us both backward, giving the girls space to crawl in. They both squirmed into my side, giggling and whispering until I had to tell them to settle down. It was dark, and I couldn’t tell which girl was cuddled into my front and which one slept at the end. I was just so happy that I didn’t care. For once, everything felt as it should.

I woke up twice last night to feed Heath. The first time, both girls were cuddled together like baby koalas. The second one had gone, presumably to the bathroom. It’s hard to tell them apart at the best of times. Impossible when they’re asleep and in the dark.

So, when I woke up the next morning hearing screams coming from the other side of the house, I nearly burst my stitches jolting out of bed. Lyle rushed out, long before my feet had even reached the carpet.

I picked up Heath, cradling him to my chest as I ventured out to investigate. Amy grabbed my hand, telling me to hide in the closet. She had a point. If there were intruders, the last thing I needed to do was confront them holding a newborn.

After walking her into the bathroom with a cellphone, I handed her the baby and ordered her to lock the door. With a nod, she did as she was told, and I ventured toward the source of the screams.

It was Dolly. She was standing in Charlotte’s room, holding a knife. The front of her pajamas was covered in blood. Lyle crouched in front of my girl, trying to coax her into releasing the weapon, but she was too far gone to listen.

Behind her, Charlotte lay on the bed, her neck sliced open with multiple stab wounds through her white nightgown. I didn’t need to be an FBI agent to know what had happened to the nanny or even why.

It was last night’s outburst. Words carry in this house and travel into little ears. All those accusations I made of Charlotte trying to steal my husband’s love and my daughters’ affections had ignited a spark within Dolly that had set off this horrifying chain of events.

Maybe Dolly read my diary. Maybe she pieced together Charlotte’s machinations. Dolly, in a fit of guilt at having been duped, killed the nanny to protect our family. This isn’t the first time she’s attacked someone with a knife. The whole reason she ended up at Three Fates was because of what she did to poor Amy.

We need to cover this up. My little girl won’t end up in an institution.

THIRTY-TWO

AMETHYST

I can’t hide in this closet all day. When they realize the man I killed is missing, the first place they’ll check is the west wing. Then they’ll find his corpse and concentrate their search around the pool of blood. Then my punishment will make the forced feeding ordeal feel likea friendly tea party.

“You make a good point,” Xero says, sounding gruff. “What do you suggest?”

I should go outside and meet the police halfway. Maybe if I sneak through the weeds, I’ll have a chance of slipping out unnoticed.

He nods. “And if you bump into one of Delta’s men?”

Gulping, I glance down at my scalpels and decide not to leave without an additional backup weapon.

Xero kneads my shoulders like he’s my trainer and I’m a boxer about to step back into a fight. “Are you ready?”

I breathe hard, needing a minute to gather my courage.

Thirty seconds later, I’m crouching in a pool of blood, rolling the corpse onto its front. My fingers grip the scalpel stickingout from the base of his skull, and I pull it out with a sickening squelch. Nausea clogs my throat, and I force myself not to gag.

After wiping its blade and handle on the man’s shirt, I twist my curls into a high bun and secure it with two scalpels.

“Good thinking.” Xero nods at the scalpel remaining in my hand. “Let’s go.”

Any other time, I would preen at his praise, but there’s no room for anything but survival. Xero moves to the fire door and points at the horizontal bar running across its middle.