All the video did was make me nauseous so I switched it off.
It angered me that she wouldn’t even help herself. I glared at her, wanting to shake something out of her, but I realized it would be inappropriate, not to mention unethical.
“This…” I motioned to the television. “This won’t stop, not unless you do something about it, Alyssa. Why do you insist on remaining silent?Why?” I shouted.
She screamed innocence, and that was the worst part. I was also a behavioral therapist and could read people, their body language, and any hint of an expression.
I saw her shoulders tense up and the twitch in her jaw. She twisted her chair back to the window, her hands tightening around the armrests until her knuckles were white, the only sign she acknowledged anything had happened.
Riddled with guilt at my reaction, I slumped in my chair, letting out a pent-up sigh as I stared at the woman in front of me. The video made me see red. I wanted to find Patricia and wring her neck. But my reaction to this situation confused me.
Was I in too deep?
Was I getting too emotionally involved?
I placed my head in my hands and took a deep breath.
Reaching for the folder again, I looked through the dozen or more recent pictures of Alyssa and her family. They seemed so happy. But this case proved a picture does not always speak a thousand words. It is simply a moment frozen in time, but nobody truly knew what could have happened in the seconds before or after, and it was that snippet of information that could shatter the façade the picture presented.
I thought about my own life. Anybody looking in saw a happily married couple on the verge of starting a family. But there were layers they didn’t know about, like the fact that within these walls, Audrey and I were practically strangers.
I sighed, picking up another picture. This one was a recent image of their daughter, Gracie. She had just turned sixteen, and her mother was not there to celebrate with her. My file of information told me one thing—the pieces didn’t quite fit.
Her family lived close by. Her sister, Meredith, was granted guardianship of her daughter. There wasn’t much about his family in the file, though, except his parents were divorced and estranged. I’d needed to look into that, see if there was something we’d missed.
The Morgan’s finances were in order. They didn’t have any debt or massive life insurance policies. It was all standard and aligned to their net worth. So it ruled out the notion that she did it for the money and why the court concluded she was, beyond a doubt, mentally insane. There was simply no known reason why she would kill her husband with such cruelty and brutality.
Nothing in the file answered the question that plagued me every day I looked into the pretty brown orbs of Alyssa Morgan.
“Why’d you kill him?” I whispered to nobody in particular.
ChapterFour
Alyssa
Fifteen Years Old
“Mal, I have to talk to you, right now!” I stood firmly at his front door with my arms crossed over my chest when he tried to make an excuse about being inundated with homework. Who wasn’t busy with homework or extracurricular activities at our age? But he’d been acting strange lately, especially at school. I didn’t mind it at first. We were best friends, and he’d come around. He was probably just going through puberty shit. But he’d been avoiding me more and more. He avoided hanging out with me when his father was around, saying he didn’t like the way his father looked at me. I never noticed anything out of the ordinary in the way Mr. Morgan acted toward me. He admitted recently that his father didn’t want him hanging out with me and that he needed more guy friends. But Mal had no choice but to talk to me. I would not leave this porch until he did.
What his father thought meant jack shit to me after the test I did a few minutes ago. I was terrified, and I needed him.
“Okay, okay, but you know my dad is around, Lissy, so we’ll talk in the shed but only for a few minutes,” he whispered, closing the door behind him.
“Your dad is an asshole, and I have no idea why you’re so scared of him.” I knew he hated when I said things like that, but right now, I was serious. He acted like his father was some kind of god. He sure behaved like it, controlling everything Mal did. What I was about to tell him would need him to man up.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted. I was never any good at keeping a secret for too long.
Mal gripped my hand and pulled me into his shed. “What do you mean you’re pregnant?” he asked. “We were careful that time. Weren’t we?”
“The condom broke, you dimwit.” I smacked his head.
“Lissy, stop that,” he growled out, his nose flaring. “I have to think,” he said, pacing.
“There isn’t much to think about. We’re having a baby.”
“You have to get rid of it,” he quickly stated, his tone firm.
“What? Are you fucking serious?” I asked in disbelief.
