We Were Never Here(96)
How she’d manipulated me in the weeks that followed, nursing me from afar, convincing me we’d made the right call. Talked me into giving her another chance with a week in Chile, one where everything seemed normal again until that final night, when I came upon her and Paolo’s body, and again, she forced me to abet her horrible cover-up. Since then I’d tried to cut her out of my life, but she kept upping the pressure. And then she tried to kill me. She nearly killed Aaron too.
“Listen,” I concluded, my voice an urgent whisper, “we’re in trouble. They think we killed her on purpose to shut her up—and they don’t even know how bad it is, yet. Everything linking me to the two backpackers.” I shook my head. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this, Aaron. There aren’t words for how sorry I am. But they think we were trying to keep her from talking. No one else saw what happened yesterday; no one knows you were just trying not to hit me.”
He looked shell-shocked, his one exposed eye as wide as a sand dollar.
I touched his cheek. “Aaron, it’s okay. I won’t let you go down for this. You’re there for me in a way Kristen never was—God, it’s like the wool’s been pulled from my eyes. All this time, I’ve been hesitating and holding back and doing whatever she told me, but that’s over. I’m done.”
“What are you—?”
“I’m going to tell them everything.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I knew it was wrong to hide those bodies, but I let Kristen convince me to do it. I’m done lying and I can’t be the reason your life is ruined. So when the cops show up and ask you what happened, tell them the truth. Because I’m going to tell them the whole story, all the crazy twists and turns that brought us here. It’s time for me to take responsibility. I—I love you, Aaron.”
His face opened up. “I love you too, Emily.” He batted his hand around for mine, and I grabbed it. “You can’t…I can’t lose you. Those other backpackers—I believe you; I know that was Kristen, but what if the cops don’t? What if they…” He was crying, tears sliding over the bulges and bruises.
“Shh, it’s okay.” I leaned down and kissed him. “It’s really okay. I won’t let them charge you. It’s time for me to come clean.”
He sniffled. “Emily, you have to talk to a lawyer. Please, please do that for me. My uncle’s a lawyer, he’s a good guy. He’ll help you find someone. I’m begging you.”
I hesitated. I just wanted this to be over. I was so tired of running.
“Promise me.” His hand gripped mine with surprising strength. “I won’t say a word until then. I’m serious. I love you. If you care about me at all, you’ll do this for me.”
A nurse appeared in the doorway and told Aaron some cops had asked to speak to him. Aaron kept his eyes on mine as he asked the nurse to send them away.
CHAPTER 46
The Phoenix PD let me fly home after a few days on the condition that I stay in the country. In the meantime, they kept their mouths shut, building their case.
But Paolo’s parents couldn’t leave me alone.
Rodrigo and Fernanda García—they were the reason we were big news. A Wisconsin woman whose pretty face matched the composite sketch, killed by her best friend’s boyfriend on a lonely stretch of mountain road, while the travel buddy—me—appeared to get off scot-free…well, I could understand why they couldn’t turn away. The Garcías, armed with their fortune, were relentless: They held press conferences and vigils; they kept the pressure on Washington; they demanded extradition; they made #JusticeforPaolo trend internationally.
Goddamn Tiffany Yagasaki, the witness from the bar in Quiteria, identified Kristen and me both, and the news vultures went wild. Trolls tracked down my workplace, my personal email, my phone number, using every means and only the most colorful language to tell me I deserved to be raped or killed. Kibble quietly cut ties. I lowered my blinds and went into hiding as news crews idled outside my front door.
All the while I met with Deirdre, the lawyer Aaron’s uncle hooked me up with, and she was a godsend—smart and thoughtful and always so lucid, not to mention beautiful, the picture of success in her tailored power suits and stick-straight bob. We walked through my backstory together, point by point, as she homed in on details that would help set me free. I learned about duress and self-defense and entrapment, opportunity to escape, reasonable fear for one’s life—the legal case that nothing that happened in Phnom Penh or Quiteria was truly my fault.
The Garcías’ incessant campaign was making life a living hell, so finally Deirdre crafted a letter to the U.S. embassy, recounting what Kristen had done in Chile. She outlined how Kristen had subsequently followed me to Milwaukee, how she’d brought a lump of Paolo’s burned possessions with which to blackmail me, control me, keep me quiet. I read the letter over and over until the lines blurred and the words ceased to make sense. Phrases jumped out at me: My client abdicates further involvement in the case and We consider the matter now closed and My client has confirmed she will not travel to Chile. I laughed a bit at that last part. As if I’d ever return.
Someone leaked the statement, and the media attention crescendoed from a fever pitch to a terrifying roar. Reporters, already titillated by Aaron’s involvement and the splashy car crash in the Sonoran Desert, swooned at the story. Trashy newspapers painted us as a murderous young couple, plotting to eliminate the only person who knew about my dark past. Blogs asked if Kristen and I were secret lovers, and one called Aaron and me Bonnie and Clyde, which made no sense—weren’t they robbers?