Confessions of a Murder Suspect

62

How did I know that? To be honest, I didn’t. But he was right. He could turn us over to the state, and despite his obvious hatred for us, the fact of the matter was that he couldn’t have been at our apartment when Malcolm and Maud were killed.

“Nice going, Tandy,” said Matthew. “You really bit off more than you could chew there.”

“You’re going to blame me for this?” I fixed him with a steely glare. “You were backing me up the whole time, until he brought out the part about witnesses.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Harry. “We all heard how Uncle Peter talked about his brother. He loved Malcolm. He couldn’t have killed him any more than we could kill one another. Right?”

“Whatever,” Hugo said, punching the air. “Tipping him over was the best part.”

As we left Hell’s Kitchen in the town car, Virgil looked at us anxiously through the rearview mirror.

“Are you kids okay? We’re going to the police station on Eighty-second Street, right?”

“There’s been a change of plans, Virgil,” I said in a small, raspy voice. “Please take us home.”

Since discovering that Uncle Peter and our father had used us as guinea pigs, I had been feeling enough fury to ignite the family business and burn the building down. I leaned back against the dark leather seat as my three brothers talked about what they wanted to do to Uncle Pig.

Matthew was saying, “I can’t believe what we just did in there. I think Uncle Pig could get me on assault. Tandy, you could get charged with libel or something like that. And, Hugo. What happened to you, little man?”

“I had to stick up for us. I felt… angry. Violent.”

“I’ve been there,” said Matty. “Like, every day of my life.”

I was feeling an ache that I didn’t recognize. It was as if there were a radioactive seed inside my chest, growing hotter and more toxic by the minute.

Was I suffering from a guilty conscience? Had the pill called Num protected me from this feeling until now? And what did I feel so guilty about? Uncle Peter had been instrumental in drugging his own family. That was heinous. That was criminal.

But had he committed murder?

I really wasn’t so sure. I kept thinking about how he’d flinched when I’d accused him. And I had seen him cry.

Still, I’d accused him publicly. Everyone in his entire office probably heard what I’d said. And if he didn’t kill Maud and Malcolm, I’d done him wrong.

I said to my brothers, “Uncle Peter might be Dr. Frankenstein. He might even be a murderer. But I have to account for what I did to him. I have to apologize for that.”

“Are you kidding?” Matthew said.

I shook my head. “I have to take back what I said.”

Hugo said, “Are you really sorry? Or are you just saying you’re sorry because you feel you have to say it? You’re supposed to apologize with a true heart. Samantha told me that.”

“What do you mean, ‘true heart’?” I asked.

Hugo shrugged. Harry laughed. Matthew snorted.

I glared at my brothers. “What?”

“If you have to ask, it kind of defeats the purpose,” said Matthew.

“Aw, Tandy, I feel sorry for you.” Harry smiled wistfully. “I think getting off the drugs is gonna be great for you.”

I sniffed, feeling patronized. But… it was true. In some ways, I was like a child.

And that was going to change, really soon.

I pulled out my phone and googled apology and found that a true apology has three components.

One: I’m sorry.

Two: I promise never to do it again.

Three: What can I do to make it up to you?

And four, according to Hugo by way of Samantha, an apology has to be made with a true heart. I guessed that meant I’d need to be sincere.

I didn’t really know how to do that. I still hated Uncle Peter for his role in all of this. He’d stepped into our personal business many more times than you even know about.

But I would have to try, because I had been wrong.

And even though my parents were gone, I still felt horrified by the thought that they would be ashamed of me.