Was it possible that somehow, after the Larsens left her father’s care, something happened to their daughter and I replaced her? Dr. Escoda stared at Ricky as if he was crazy. He made her answer the question. No, it was not possible. Her father and his nurse had seen my photo following the arrest. I was the child they’d treated. To be sure, Ricky had her bring the file of the girl with spina bifida and compare every identifying factor in it. Hair color, eye color, blood type . . . it matched down to a tiny scar on the back of my elbow that had needed two stitches.

I was the girl in that file. The girl who couldn’t walk. Who’d been sentenced to life in a wheelchair. Who’d spent two years of her life in and out of doctors’ offices and hospitals and then been taken out of her doctor’s care. Who reappeared, six months later, running and jumping and playing like any other toddler . . . after her parents murdered six people.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

I needed to speak to Todd. Except, apparently, I couldn’t.

“Bullshit,” I said to the prison clerk, my temper flaring as he smirked. “I don’t know what’s going on, but there is no way in hell my father is refusing to see me.”

He shrugged, and kept that satisfied little smirk still playing on his lips. Ricky stood behind me. When I looked back, his expression agreed this was complete and total bullshit, but he had no more idea what to do about it than I did.

“I’m going to contact my lawyer,” I said. “See if he can straighten this out.”

“No need,” the man said. “He’s already here.”

“What?”

The man threw open the door of the tiny room where we’d been brought to “discuss” the matter. As it opened, I heard Gabriel arguing with a guard. He caught sight of me and strode our way.

Gabriel came in and argued the matter, but he got no further than I had. Finally the clerk walked out.

“I came after receiving your text,” Gabriel said after the man was gone. “I’ll pursue this, of course. While it is possible that Todd himself is blocking us, perhaps unable to face you after yesterday, that doesn’t seem likely. Unfortunately, with no way to contact Todd and ask . . .”

“We can’t prove it.”

“So our next move—” Ricky began as we walked out the front doors.

Gabriel flourished his wristwatch. “Don’t you have class?”

I swore Ricky bit his tongue before saying, calmly, “If Liv needs me, I’m not worried about classes.”

“Perhaps, but your father will expect—”

“Gabriel? I’m not a child.”

He snapped on his shades. “You misunderstood—”

“Nope, don’t think I did.” Ricky said it casually, almost cheerfully, but there was a warning note there. He turned to me. “I’m guessing your next move involves Cainsville?”

“It does.”

“In that case, since I’m not supposed to know their secrets, that is something you’ll want to do with Gabriel. If there’s anything I can pursue in the meantime . . .”

“Go to class. Take a break while you can.”

He gave me a faint smile. “I don’t need a break. Ever.”

“I know. But you did more than enough this morning. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

He headed off to his bike, leaving Gabriel and me walking deeper into the lot, where my car was still parked from yesterday.

As we walked toward the VW, Gabriel slowed. “Might I suggest that we take my car to Cainsville so we can talk? Your text message was hardly voluble.”

“Such being the nature of text messages.”

“That wasn’t an accusation.” He paused, as if mentally adding not exactly. “But clearly your inquiries with Ricky proved . . . I’m loath to say fruitful, as your mood inside suggests the information was not what you wanted to hear. You learned something that upset you, and it made you want to talk to Todd.”

“We went to see Dr. Escoda,” I said.

“The daughter of your former family physician. Yes. You should not have gone to see her after I’ve notified her of a possible intention to sue. If you hoped to speed up recovery of your files—”

“They were my files.”

He stopped. Took off his shades. Looked at me. Waited.

“The girl in that file?” I said. “The one with spina bifida? That was me. Which means we finally know my parents’ motivation. The purpose of whatever ritual they were enacting. They did kill those people. For me. Now we need to find out who helped them do it.”

—

We took Gabriel’s car and I explained.

“Ricky covered all the contingencies,” I said as I finished. “Eyewitness accounts. Medical proof.” I lifted my elbow. “And a teeny, tiny scar that I never knew I had, which rules out even the crazy ‘twin sister’ explanation. Someone—Cwn Annwn or Tylwyth Teg—told my parents that I would be cured if I did what they said. A ritual or a bargain. Magical intervention. Now here I am, walking around, good as new, while my parents have spent my life in prison.”

Another mile passed. He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, took off his shades, and gave me a sidelong look, not making direct eye contact. “How are you doing? With that? The possibility?”

“Trying very hard not to think about the implications. Right now, my focus is on proving it. On finding out who did this. Who healed me . . . and destroyed my family.”