Behind Every Lie(6)

When I opened my eyes, tears blurred the room like a watercolor. Liam’s face crumpled, raw with disbelief. He pulled me tight against his chest, and for a minute the only sound in the room was me sobbing.

“Miss Hansen, can you tell me what you were doing late last night?” Detective Jackson asked.

I looked from Liam to Dr. Simm to the detective, trying to con jure my last concrete memory after dinner with my mom. I closed my eyes. Flashes of silvery images danced just beyond my grasp. Mom’s face. A knife. A sharp, white light. Slashes of blood. I pressed my fingers to my forehead, trying to catch one.

“I can’t remember,” I whispered.





four

eva




“LET’S GET YOU to your CAT scan,” Dr. Simm said.

The detective looked like he wanted to argue, but she silenced him with a glare. She waved to a passing nurse who entered the room. They unlocked the wheels and pushed me into the corridor, Liam following. The detective stared after us, his brow furrowed as his sharp eyes skewered me, and I turned my head away.

“Why can’t I remember?” I tasted fear in my mouth, acrid and bitter.

“Getting struck by lightning can injure the nervous system, causing short-term memory loss,” Dr. Simm explained as she rolled my bed down the hall. “Our brains encode new memories so they can be stored and recalled later, but if you were struck by lightning before your brain had time to encode a memory and put it into storage, you might have problems recalling it later.”

I closed my eyes, blocking out the overhead lights. The hospital bed turned left, the wheels humming against the floor as it glided down the hall.

“When will I remember?”

“It’s difficult to say, and everybody’s different. Those memories might not come back at all. Just rest, give it time. The good news is you weren’t directly hit by the lightning. I would expect your memo ries that had a chance to be encoded will return slowly, like pieces of a puzzle slotting into place.”

After the CAT scan, Dr. Simm wheeled me back to my room. Detective Jackson stood when we entered, his thin lips pulling into an approximation of a smile. His hard, pale eyes glinted in the jaundiced light.

I stiffened. Liam glowered at him, his hand warm on my back, anchoring me. Dr. Simm ignored both of them. She checked my reflexes and helped me stand to make sure I could walk unassisted, then examined my left arm again. The dead feeling in my fingers was being replaced by a prickly pins-and-needles sensation; the marked skin drummed a fiery beat.

“I need to check on some other patients,” Dr. Simm said, jotting notes in my chart. “You okay here?” Her gaze was direct, and I knew if I wanted, she’d get rid of the detective. But I needed answers only he could provide, so I nodded.

“Hello again, Miss Hansen,” the detective began. He rummaged in his coat pocket, pulling out a black pen and a small spiral notebook. He clicked the pen, in and out. Click, click. “Eva, can I call you Eva?”

I nodded, but Liam shook his head. He pulled himself to his full height. He was a head taller than the detective—bigger and broader too, his chest solid from mornings rowing in the misty lake at the bottom of our yard.

“This isn’t a good time, Detective,” Liam said. He was using the boomy, authoritative voice he usually reserved for his building sites, low and loud for maximum effect.

“I understand, but I do need to ask Eva a few questions. Who are you?”

“I’m Eva’s fiancé. Liam Sullivan.” He extended his hand and the detective shook it.

“Detective Kent Jackson.”

“Well, Detective, as you’re aware, Eva was struck by lightning last night. I’m afraid you’ll need to wait to question her any further.”

Detective Jackson smiled thinly, ignoring Liam and turning to me. Liam’s eyes flashed with anger. He was not a man people usually ignored.

“We’ve been able to track down your brother. He was en route to L.A. for work but he’s on his way back now.”

“What happened to my mom?” I tried to sit up straighter, wincing in pain. The hospital room tilted dizzyingly around me. Liam put his hand in mine, and I gripped it, anxious for something to hold on to.

Jackson’s eyes were like lumps of hot coal on mine.

“We had a call from a neighbor who heard shouts from your mom’s house. Officers on the scene found the front door open. There were signs of a struggle. Her body was on the floor in the living room. She’d been stabbed.”

He told me all of this as if he were reading a report on stocks and bonds, his voice cold and dispassionate.

I was glad I was in bed. My legs were rubbery. My arm buzzed. I felt like someone had scooped my insides out, leaving just a raw, pulsing hole. This must be a nightmare.

“Someone killed her,” I whispered.

The detective studied me, as if the shape of my face would reveal what my brain could not.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“We’re pursuing a number of leads.” He clicked his pen again. Click, click. “Now, I have a few questions for you.”

Liam puffed his chest up like an angry peacock and glared at the detective. “Absolutely not. We’ll call and make an appointment once Eva’s been released from the hospital.”

“It’s fine,” I murmured.