I just don’t know what to do about it.
Chapter Thirteen:
Tears Don’t Fall
Alaina
“So tell me,” Tasha says, “What about your life has changed since you opened up about your past?”
Faking a nervous laugh, I scan the crowd for a face to focus on. I choose an older lady with wide-rimmed glasses and cherry red hair. She’ll do, just so I can get through this without staring at my hands. I’ve never loved talk shows. “A lot, actually. For years, I lived in silent shame, always trying to make sure my identity stayed hidden. Now that I’ve learned to accept it and almost embrace it, I sleep a lot better at night.”
Cherry Red settles into her seat with a polite level of applause as Tasha continues. “Some would say you’ve embraced it a little too much, even going so far as to change your legal last name?”
This shit again. How many fucking times do I have to explain it?
“Barclay is obviously the name I was born with, it just wasn’t official. I wasn’t given a birth certificate until I was adopted because my parents hid my existence from the world, and I kept my adoptive name for years. But something I’ve learned along this journey is that we shouldn’t be ashamed of where we’ve been, only hopeful of where we’re headed. I came into this world as Alaina Barclay, and that’s how I’ll go out.”
More scattered applause, but I can tell it’s not the uplifting message I wanted it to be. It never is.
“That’s one way to look at it,” she agrees with tight lips. “Do you still speak to your parents?”
They’re on death row for forty-three counts of kidnapping, forty-three counts of first degree murder, and a smattering of other felonies ranging from assault with a deadly weapon to abuse of a corpse.
No, I don’t fucking talk to them.
“No, I don’t. They’re where they deserve to be and I’ve never had much to say to them. That hasn’t changed.”
Smiling a little, she moves closer like we’re about to share a secret. “Well, speaking of people you do have something to say to, would you like to address a certain rumor?”
What a cunt.
She’s lucky I’m under contract.
“What rumor would that be?”
Tasha waves a hand to the audience as they erupt, all shouting the same name.
Bash.
Fuck it, I’m gonna make her say it.
“There are rumors abound that you and a certain rock god had a little tryst, and a pretty public breakup. How did that happen?”
One. Two. Three.
Waving a hand, I mask my emotions until all that’s visible on my face is a kind of flattered embarrassment. “No trysts, no breakup. It was a misunderstanding that has since been cleared up, and I’ve already apologized for the scene I caused at the meet and greet dinner. I personally refunded every single one of the ticketholders who lodged a complaint.” For the scene I didn’t cause, he did. I didn’t even get to fucking eat. “Do you have any relevant questions for me, Tasha?”
My focus moves back to Cherry Red as Tasha continues, getting a little more on topic and a little less petty. I know who I am. I know what they say about me.
None of them can hurt me.
“A few families have come forward questioning whether or not your parents killed their loved ones. They have forty-three confirmed victims, do you think there were more? Is there any credence to what these families are saying?”
“They have names,” I respond a little sharply. “The McKendricks are still searching for their daughter Layla, the Jones’ for their sister Kiara, and the Lyons are still trying to figure out why their mother Diane never came home. They have names, they have stories, and whether or not they were victims of my parents, we have to stop letting serial killers get all the attention. Say their names. Remember their faces. And yes, for what it’s worth... I think they did it.”
A hush falls over the crowd, and by now, Cherry Red has figured out she’s myanchor. She smiles softly at me, holding her hand to her heart in support.
“Have you told the police this? The word on the street is that they’re not looking to reopen your parents’ case.”
