I take a small step toward him. “How much do you know, Philippe? I’m sure I’ll remember everything eventually. You have the power to make it happen sooner. Grab your chance, talk to me!”
“I don’t know who he was,” he says. “Our parents were performing a ritual with him, and something went wrong.”
“What? What went wrong?”
He spreads his arms. “I just know that he died during that ritual.”
“Was I there? Was I a part of it?”
“No.”
I wasn’t there. I didn’t kill him!
My head swimming, I step closer to the wall of the building behind me, lean against it and close my eyes.
The hiker was an implanted memory. I didn’t kill anyone. I am not a murderer.
Philippe touches my arm. “Stella? Are you OK?”
Slowly, my mind clears. “Yes,” I say, opening my eyes. “How do you know about that death during a ritual? Did your parents tell you?”
“I still lived with them at the time, six years ago. When they came home that night, Mom was distraught. I overheard her saying to Dad, ‘What have we done? We’re going to go to prison! What if the police find him?’ And Dad said, ‘They won’t. Yvonne and Jean-Claude took care of it.’”
That’s what I saw when I woke up—Mom and Dad “taking care of it.”
“Did your parents say anything else?” I ask.
“Dad told Mom to stop panicking. He reminded her that your folks are the most resourceful people out there. He said, ‘Jean-Claude will get Stella to doubt what she saw, and Yvonne will hypnotize her to forget it.’”
“What else?” I ask, my voice cracking.
“That’s it—that’s all I know.”
“How could you keep it from me?” I peer into his eyes. “We were friends. We had each other’s back. How could you let me think I’d murdered a man?”
He grabs my hand. “For the longest time, I had no idea you thought that! Please, believe me, Stella! My understanding was that your parents had simply erased the incident from your mind.”
“They did a little more than that.”A lot more.
A cocktail of toxic emotions, including disappointment, bitterness, and resentment shoots through my veins, but I fight it.I refuse to jump to conclusions.I won’t blame Mom and Dad without proof. I won’t assume the worst about them not until I’m certain about what happened, and what role they played in it.
“Do you know who killed that man?” I ask Philippe. “My folks or yours? All four?”
“I don’t—truly! It could’ve been an accident. It’s what I’ve chosen to believe.”
“I choose to know the truth.”
He sweeps his hand over his mouth. “Even if it hurts you?”
“The lies I’ve been told by my parents, by you…” I look upward until I’m calm enough to continue. “Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Do you really think the truth could hurt me more?”
Slowly, he shakes his head. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”
I spin around and stride away from Philippe, not bothering to say goodbye. As I walk, the chaotic jumble of thoughts and emotions settles, and a way forward takes shape in my mind.
At the bus stop, I pull out my phone and type a message to Darrel:
