Chapter Thirty-Four

I stagger backward as Andy's words hit me like a haymaker. Harder than Russ's blow to my face. That I remain standing is a minor miracle. When I speak, my shell-shocked voice sounds foreign to me.

"You heard what I said?"

"Every word," Andy says. "And I've spent most of my life wondering if you meant it. I think you did. I think you meant it so much that you tried to make it come true, even if you can't remember doing it."

I reach out, grasping at the air, wishing it were something tangible with which I could steady myself. Because now I understand everything. Andy wants me to remember, yes. But there's something else he's after.

He wants me to confess.

"You think I'm the one who killed Billy?"

"You're the only person it could have been," Andy says.

"I never would have hurt Billy. I loved him."

"But I heard you!" Andy yells, spittle flying from his lips. "I was in your yard that night. Right outside that tent. I heard the things you said. How he was a freak. How you told him to die. That didn't sound like love, Ethan. It was hatred, pure and simple."

"No, it was—"

Frustration. Immaturity. Cruelty.

That's what I want to say. But there's no point. Because the things I told Billy that night were horrible. Even worse, they were unforgivable. Knowing that someone else heard them causes guilt to press against my chest, so heavy I think my rib cage is going to collapse from the strain.

"I shouldn't have said those things. I know that. And I've spent thirty years wishing I could take it all back." I step closer to Andy, hand outstretched, hoping he'll take it, hoping even more that he'll believe me. "But I didn't mean any of it. And I absolutely didn't kill Billy."

Andy thinks it over, the mental wheels turning inside those big, spooky eyes. Then he nods and says, "Maybe this will get you to tell the truth."

He wraps an arm around Henry's waist and, in one smooth, shockingly fast motion, hoists him off his feet and holds him off the outcropping's edge.

"No!" Ashley yells as she scrambles toward them. I spin around and grip her shoulders, forcing her to look away from the sight of Henry dangling helplessly in Andy's arms.

His glasses slip from his nose and vanish into the darkness below.

"Mom!" he screams. "Help me!"

I take two more steps toward Andy, pleading, "Let him go. Please. If you want me to confess, I will."

"It was me!" Ashley shouts, the words reverberating through the pitch-black woods.

Andy freezes.

Henry does, too.

Only I move, turning slowly to face her. "Ashley, no. You don't need to lie to get Henry back."

"It's not a lie, Ethan." Ashley looks into my eyes, her face splintering into a thousand warring emotions. "It's all true. It was me. I killed Billy."