Chapter 45

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

ASHLEY

Every time I think he can't possibly get any worse, he proves me wrong.

I'm starting to wonder if the years he spent incarcerated has driven him insane. That's the only possible reason that makes sense for the way he's behaving.

For five fear-filled minutes, when he stripped me out of my clothes, and threw me face down on the bed, I thought it wasn't going to end there. But he never touched anything other than my arms, and when he let me go and I could face him, his gaze never moved from my face.

Sitting at the kitchen table in my underwear is uncomfortable. I feel vulnerable, and on display, but he barely even looks at me. My shoulders ache, and the handcuffs are digging into my wrists.

When he opens the lid on the laptop, my heartbeat speeds up.

What is he going to make me watch?

Please don't let it be a video of Jason. Oh god, he didn't record the murder, did he?

Don't be ridiculous. That would prove he was guilty. He's not that stupid.

When the screen opens on a room that isn't Jason's bedroom, relief makes me sag against the back of the chair. Relief that's short lived when a male voice sounds through the laptop speaker.

"Hi, Ashley. I can call you Ashley, right?"

"How did you get this?" I shift my attention from the screen to the man on the opposite side of the kitchen.

He shrugs, but doesn't turn around from whatever he's doing. I'm not even sure he meant for me to see him shrug.

The voices on the screen draw me back, and I watch as the thirteen-year-old me buries her face into her hands and cries.

It's so strange. I don't remember this. I don't remember being alone with the detectives at all. Why is that? I remember my dad sitting beside me while I answered the detectives' questions, but not this … Why don't I remember this?

The screen freezes, and I blink.

"Did you catch that or were you daydreaming?" His cool tone makes me grind my teeth.

"Is this even real? My dad was there for my interview."

"That's your focus?" He rewinds the video. "Pay attention." He clicks play again.

"You walked into the bedroom, and found Zain Ryder standing over their bodies with a knife."

My stomach flips. I don't want to think about that night, but those words burn the image into my brain again.

Zain standing over the bed, the two bodies of Jason and Louisa side by side. His hands are bloody, and he's holding a knife in his right hand.

"N-no. He w-was there, b-but I don't think he was holding anything."

The voice of my younger self shatters the image.

What ?

"This is fake. I never said that."

"Shut the fuck up." He rewinds it again.

"N-no. He w-was there, b-but I don't think he was holding anything."

"Are you sure, Ashley? This is important. Your brother and Louisa were murdered, in their beds, by someone with a knife. You found Zain Ryder in there. He must have had the knife."

He did have the knife. I can see it clearly in my mind. But on the screen, I'm shaking my head.

"I … N-no. I didn't s-see any knife."

Zain rewinds the video again.

"I … N-no. I didn't s-see any knife."

"Did you hear that? Let me play it again."

My teenage voice fills the room again … and again … and again.

"Stop!" I'd cover my ears if I could.

"What's wrong? Didn't think you'd ever be caught out in your lie? You got very lucky at the time, but I think Detective Holson knew exactly what he was doing. This part of the recording was inadmissible as evidence because of your age, and not having an adult there with you. So your admission that I didn't have a fucking knife was never heard by the jury. The detective wasn't new to the job. Why do you think he ignored the laws of interviewing a minor?"

"I don't know. I don't remember this. It can't be real."

"Convenient." He pulls out a chair, spins it around and straddles the seat, resting his arms across the back, and looks at me. "So, your argument is that this is a deep fake recording?"

"It must be. Because I didn't say any of that. "

"What would you say if I told you I have a written statement from Detective Holson's partner—the other detective on the recording—confirming that it's real?"

I shake my head.

How can it be? I saw him.

I. Saw. Him!

He reaches out a hand, and hits play again. The recording is speeded up, showing my younger self being led out of the room. Time passes, and then the door opens again, and I walk back in. This time my dad is beside me.

Zain lets the rest of the recording play uninterrupted, and I watch as I completely change my original claim.

This part of the recording I remember. The shock, fear, sickness churning in my stomach as I relive what I walked in on.

I describe Zain standing over the bodies, knife in his hand. I talk about how I turned to flee, and he shouted my name. My voice breaks. I cry. My dad holds my hand.

And Detective Holson keeps asking about the knife. Over and over.

When the recording ends, silence fills the room.

I can't stop shaking my head.

I saw him with the knife.

I saw him with the knife.

I saw him with the knife .

If I close my eyes, I can still see him.

It's a lie. It's wrong. It's a deep fake, like he said. It must be.

So why am I shaking ?

Why do I feel sick?

Why can't I look at him?

"Cat got your tongue?" His voice is hard, cold.

He leans forward, and clicks around the screen.

"So you can't claim I'm being unfair, I'm going to show you another video. You'll enjoy this one even more."