Memories From a Dead Girl

Thirty-Two

"I didn't kill her."

Austin's words from two days before jarred me. Since I was never going to sleep again, I sat next to Chloe, never touching her but wishing I could hold her. My sister, currently without a suitable father or a mother, was alone.

His lips curled back and his knuckles were white as he gripped the bars tightly. "Did it ever occur to you that I actually didn't do it? The police found me with Olivia's blood and no memory, but—"

"But what?" I whispered into the darkness. "If you didn't kill me, then who did? Whose shadow was that? Do you remember?"

Austin wasn't here, so he couldn't answer. But he'd said before that he remembered what happened—that someone else was on the side of the road that night. He didn't explain further than that, because he never saw who it was.

I closed my eyes, trying like hell to conjure up the image of the person behind him, but all that came through was a baseball bat.

The one the stranger had used to knock Austin out as he tried to drown me while I was still alive.