“That’s impossible.”
“I verified it.”
“No.”
“She lives in Charleston.”
“No.”
“She has for nearly eight years.”
I turned toward Claire.
Her face told me the truth before her mouth did.
I stepped backward.
“What did I bury?”
Claire began shaking.
Derek said, “What the hell is going on?”
I barely heard him.
“Claire.”
She looked at me.
“What did I bury?”
“A casket.”
“With who in it?”
“No one.”
The words were almost inaudible.
The room blurred.
I remembered the weight of the coffin.
The rain against the black umbrella.
Claire collapsing against me.
Her mother screaming.
Her father drinking himself unconscious that night.
“You faked your sister’s death?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
I stared at her.
“How is there a version where that sentence makes sense?”
Claire sank into a chair near the cage.
