Chapter 3

"Half a year."

Half a year ago, I'd started saving up sleeping pills, one at a time.

Isabel's face went cold all the way through.

"In half a year, I moved twice."

"Where do I live now?"

I didn't know, of course.

I'd only watched her online, accepting awards, sitting for interviews,

smiling as she talked about her fiancé.

"Where you live doesn't matter." I kept my eyes off hers.

"You always end up at the studio."

Isabel raised her hand and threw the schedule sheet in my face.

The paper caught my cheek and left a faint red line.

"Call the police."

Leon glanced toward the door, where a reporter had already lifted a phone,

and when the manager reached for his own to call, Leon stopped him with a raised hand.

"Get the footage and the statement first."

Leon turned to Isabel. She glanced at the door too, her fingertips slowly tightening.

"Make him record a video, then sign a statement."

"If he ever comes near you again, we hand everything to the police at once."

The manager brought paper and a pen and set the statement in front of me.

Leon opened the camera, the lens aimed straight at my face.

"Read it."

I looked at the words on the page and read them out, one line at a time:

"My name is Maurice Dickerson."

"Five years ago, while Isabel was seriously ill, I cheated on her and disappeared."

"Today I sneaked into the wedding to use the past to squeeze money out of her."

"The stalking and the secret photos before this were all me too."

"From now on I will not approach or contact Isabel. If I break this, the police can handle it."

Every line stiffened the root of my tongue, and my chest felt like a dull blade sawing through it, slow.

In the lens, the corner of my mouth never once dropped.

When the video was done, I signed my name and pressed my thumbprint beside it.

A guard motioned for me to empty my pockets.

I braced on the wooden crutch to stand steady and raised both arms.

"Search me."

He reached inside my jacket and pulled an old ring box from the lining against my chest.

The corners of the box had started peeling, but the ring inside had been wiped clean.

Isabel only looked once, and she knew it.

Five years ago, I'd pulled her past a shop window and asked what kind of ring she liked.

This was the one she'd pointed to.

Inside the band was a small engraved "Izzy."

Her breath stopped for an instant, then turned colder still.

"Is this another prop you got ready?"

I closed the lid. "Picked it up secondhand."

"If you're going to act, you might as well make it look real."

Isabel looked away. "Throw it out."

There was a kitchen scrap bin by the hotel's back door,

full of rotting vegetable leaves, animal guts, and dirty plastic bags.

I lifted the lid and dropped the ring box in.

It landed on fish scales, and the filthy water soaked through it fast.

Leon handed the video to an assistant to back up, then lifted his hand at the guards.

"Take him out. Don't stir up the front lobby."

Going down the steps, the wooden crutch snapped in the middle.

I couldn't switch hands in time, and I went down into the lawn,

a white pill bottle rolling out of my pocket.

The cap popped off and the pills scattered everywhere.

The guard couldn't pull his foot back fast enough, and his sole crushed a few.

"Don't step on them."

I lunged over and gathered the rest into my palm.

Leon glanced at the bottle, its label worn off.

"What's that?"

"Sleeping pills." I stuffed them back in.

"Night shifts at the docks. Can't sleep."

Isabel stood on the steps, looking at me covered in mud.

"Gambling, extortion, stalking, and now drug abuse."

"Maurice, from today on, whether you live or die has nothing to do with me."

My hand stopped for half a beat over the pills, then I dropped the last one back in the bottle.

"Fine." I screwed the cap on. "I'll remember that."

The guards took me by both arms and hauled me out the side door.

Through the hotel glass, I watched Isabel straighten her wedding dress again.

She didn't look back.

I dragged the broken crutch along and shifted into the shadow behind the wall,

twisted the bottle open, and poured half a year's worth of pills into my mouth.

The bottle was empty. I leaned back against the wall, and my shoulders eased down with it.

At last I didn't have to figure out how to get through tomorrow.

Just then, a sharp screech of brakes came from the hotel entrance.