Confessions of a Murder Suspect

CONFESSION

I just need to clarify something. When I apologized to Uncle Peter, it wasn’t the first time I’d ever apologized to someone.

After all, Malcolm and Maud taught us manners. They taught us how to say “I’m sorry” when we accidentally spilled something on their expensive Italian furniture, or when we were rude to our siblings, or when we had offended our elders.

They just never really talked about how to realize when you’ve hurt someone, and then once you realize it, to own up to it, and to tell them you’re sorry. With a true heart.

And now that I know about this “true heart” thing, I’m realizing that this isn’t the first time I’ve ever apologized to someone about a really bad thing I did.

I apologized to Harry once, didn’t I? It feels like so long ago. Little bits of a mosaic are floating into my memory, with pieces missing in between them. It’s like I can only remember flashes before everything gets whisked away.

I hear Harry crying, “How could you? How could you not tell me about him? About any of it? How could you try to escape without me? You left me alone—to be eaten by the tigers!”

And the worst part: I hear my sweet twin brother screaming at me, “I hate you!”

I had abandoned him, hadn’t I? My dearest brother, my flesh and blood. What was I thinking? I’d been so selfish.

Is this what falling in love does to a person? Does it make you lose all sense? Is that why my parents wanted to shelter me from it?

I hear myself apologizing to Harry, begging for forgiveness: I’m so sorry, Harry. I don’t understand why I left. I deserve to be hated, shunned, punished—with no mercy.

And I remember the promise I made: I promise I’ll never abandon you, or anyone in this family, again.

Including Malcolm and Maud.

Which was why I was so bound and determined to find their killer. I owed it to them.