I pulled out the photo and looked carefully at the little girl. How old was she here? She couldn't be more than a toddler. Her cheeks were still puffy, and she was missing teeth.
Lydia.
I sighed and shoved the photo into my wallet for now. If I ever saw Daisy again, I was going to make her confess. My chest ached at the very thought of her having a child, a marriage, a sex life, with that asshole. How could she have been planning a future with him, while she was planning one with me? A nursery? She'd never once mentioned children in our future.
Was it because she didn't trust me to be a good father?
As Dewayne drove, I began to spiral.
She knew the truth about me. Despite keeping everything tightly wrapped, she'd discovered it. That’s why she allowed me inside her body but not her heart. Max must be right—she hadn’t told me she’d once been pregnant with his child and had plans to be again. In her eyes, I wouldn’t make a good stepfather.
I was a monster.
Furious tears spilled from my eyes as I ran through every moment we had this summer. She had so many opportunities to come clean and tell me everything.
So had I.
I realized, as we pulled through the gates to my estate, the one I had created for her, that we'd always been destined to fail. She'd had her secrets, and I'd had mine. And neither of us trusted the other to love us through them.
"Oh, your car is here," Dewayne said as he pulled into the garage.
"What?" I looked up from my lap and wiped my face clean of the salty tears.
"The vehicle you took this afternoon. It's here." He pointed out the window. I sat up and stared blankly at the car Daisy had taken. What did this mean? I took off through the rain toward the front of the house. I stopped short at the bottom of the stairs and stared up.
A wet, shaking Daisy stood under the light under the front door, her teeth chattering. She turned, her brown eyes large and terrified.
"G-Gatsby, I?—"
I walked slowly up the wet, slippery stairs, and when I reached her, I stood still. I stared at her, taking her all in. Her clothes were covered in blood.
"What did you do?"
Chapter 52
Gatsby
Age 18
"Mr. Dumas, how do you plead?"
I stood, the shackles on my wrists and ankles weighing me down. "Not guilty," I said through the mask. The courtroom let out a gasp as I sat. The judge banged his gavel.
"Enough. The court notes that the defendant has entered a plea of not guilty to the charges of First-Degree Murder and Abuse of a Corpse. We must now determine a trial date to allow both parties to prepare their cases. Given the unsettling and violent nature of the alleged crimes, the court denies bail to avoid community unrest."
I fought not to say something smart in front of the court.
Unsettling and violent nature of the crimes.
Damn it, Dennis.
He'd been so fucking excited when I dragged his sister's body into the kitchen; I should have known something nefarious was going to take place. He'd told me to go rest, get some food, and once he was ready, he'd call the police. He hadn't lied, but he hadn't told me the truth of what he'd planned, either.
Even I got sick seeing the crime scene.
Two prison guards lifted me from my seat and tugged me down the aisle. A flurry of screams, shouts, and camera flashes followed me along my route.
"Emile, tell us why you did it!"
