“Can you confirm that the dead woman was at the hotel investigating your father?” an unseen reporter asks.
“I can't tell you why she was there,” Rachel says. “I can confirm to you I spoke with her about Lindsey Granger on one occasion. It was a brief conversation because there is nothing more than brief information to offer. I told her the same thing I will tell anyone who asks about that dark incident in my family's lives. Nothing happened. My father was defamed and presented as two things he would never bear to be. A liar and an adulterer. There was no basis to those claims then, and there is no basis now. That's all I will say about the matter.”
“So, she was at the hotel because of your father?” the reporter asks.
“I have said all that I will say,” Rachel says. “If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
I pick up the remote and rewind it so I can listen to the interview again. Something jumped out at me. Something that Rachel said isn't sitting well, but I'm not sure why. After listening again, I go over to Lydia's possessions and pull out her computer and all the notes she made. Digging through them, I start to piece something together.
A loud sound startles me out of my concentration. It happens again, and I realize something hit the door to my room. I open it and find Xavier with his back pressed against the wall, one hand over his eyes as he struggles to breathe.
“Xavier,” I say. “What's wrong?”
He shakes his head, swallowing. His mouth moves like he's trying to say something, but no words come out. I try to take hold of his wrist, but he pulls away.
“No,” he says. “Why me? Why am I here?”
“I don't know,” I say. “You want to come into my room with me?”
“Not here, Emma. Here. Why am I here? There have been so many chances. So many possibilities.”
“Come on inside, Xavier,” I tell him softly.
His breaths are so shallow and fast; I'm afraid he's going to pass out. His skin is pale and sweat darkens the hair at his temples and makes it cling to his face.
“I want to take it off,” he says, clutching at his arm, then at his chest.
“What?” I ask. “What do you want to take off?”
“My skin,” he says. “I need to get out of it. I can't. I can't be in it anymore.”
“Xavier, where's Dean?”
“I don't know,” he says. “Help me, Emma. Help me take my skin off. I just can't. I can't do it.”
“Yes, you can, Xavier. Come with me. Come into my room with me,” I say.
“No,” he says, shaking his head adamantly. “Three more days. Did you know that? Three more days?”
“Until what?” I ask.
“Three more days,” he repeats. “I have to get it off. It's choking me.”
The elevator door opens, and Dean rushes out. He looks relieved when he sees Xavier standing with me.
“I was taking a shower, and he left,” Dean says.
“Help me get him inside,” I say. “I think he's having a panic attack.”
“Everything is right here,” Xavier says. “Right here. Right on the tip of my tongue. Right on the edge of my mind. I can't figure it out. It's just not there. We have pieces of a puzzle, but not all of them. It's like putting together all of a person but not having the piece with their eyes. You can't see them. You don't know who they are. They're not all there.”
“It's going to be all right,” I tell him. “Do you need anything? Can I get you peanuts?”
“Nothing's going to be alright,” he snaps, his voice ragged. “Nothing feels right anymore. No home. No comfort. No peace. Not until this is fixed. Nothing is right until this is fixed.”
His head drops back against the wall, and suddenly he slides down until he's sitting on the carpet. It's as if every drop of energy just drained out of him, and he can't even support his own body anymore. Dean reaches down and helps him carefully to his feet.
“Bring him into my room,” I instruct him. “It's closer.”
I'm already on my way down the hall.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To find the pieces for him,” I say.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Three days. I can't believe I forgot.
I didn't forget. I got so lost in myself. I didn't think about it. So tangled in finding the end to this spiral, I stopped paying attention.
Three days. October 21st. The anniversary of the day, Andrew Eagan died.
The day Xavier lost so much of his life as well.
He's not going to lose any more of it.
After he has been doing so much better, seeing him get so torn apart by his anxiety and agitation again cut deep. I hate seeing him that way. I hate watching his own mind torment him until he can't even bear to exist within himself.
His world is collapsing around him. The reminder of his best friend's death looming over him is made worse by having to face the courts again and pray they understand he was not the one who killed Andrew. To face all of that with the last moments of Millie’s life fresh in his thoughts would be too much for anybody. I'm afraid it will destroy him.
I don't even bother trying to approach Lilith's house cautiously. I'm done with that. Whatever game she's playing, she's done.
I storm up onto her porch and pound on her door with my fist. I hear nothing inside the cabin. I pound again, but there's still no answer. No movement.
