I haven’t been in a hospital since I was fifteen, when I broke my elbow trying to impress a guy on a skateboard. I’d hated the experience then and it’s not my favorite now.
I’m supposed to go home tomorrow, but where home is, I have no idea. The house in Thornfield Estates is gone, burned to the ground, and the new life I had tried to build is gone with it.
It probably says something about me that this is the part I’m fixated on, not the part where the man I was engaged to had locked his wife in a panic room for months. Weirdly, in a way, that part of the story was almost a relief. Everything that hadn’t quite added up, everything that had triggered my fight-or-flight instincts made sense now. Everything was clear.
And I know that for the rest of my life, I’ll see the look on Bea’s face as she charged up the stairs to save Eddie. No matter what I felt for him, it was never that. It never could’ve been that.
Just like Eddie never could have loved me like he clearly loved Bea.
When Bea had opened the panic room door, there’d been a whooshing sound, crackling, a blaze of heat that had sent me stumbling back, and instinct kicked in.
I ran.
Down the stairs, out the door, onto the lawn, falling into the grass, choking and gasping.
In the end, I’d done the thing I’d been doing all my life—I saved myself.
Which meant I’d left Bea and Eddie to die.
Sighing, I unwrap the Popsicle my nurse had sneaked me. Banana.
I’m lucky. Everyone says so. No burns, just smoke inhalation, which makes my throat and chest still ache, but given that the house is literally ashes, I got out pretty lightly, all things considered.
Except for the part where I’m homeless and adrift now.
I’m about to settle even deeper into self-pity when there’s a soft rapping at my door, and I turn to see Detective Laurent there.
“Knock-knock,” she says, and my heart leaps up into my throat, making me bite down on the Popsicle, the cold burning my teeth.
“Hi,” I say, awkward, and she gestures toward the plastic chair near my bed.
“Can we have a quick chat?”
It’s not like I can tell her no, and I’m guessing she knows that since she doesn’t wait for me to answer before she sits down.
Crossing her legs, she smiles at me, like we’re friends and this is just a fun bedside visit, and I try to make myself smile back until I remember that I’m supposed to be traumatized and upset.
The last few days have completely thrown me off my game.
I look down, fiddle with the wrapper of the Popsicle, and wait for her to say something.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, and I shrug, tucking my hair behind my ears.
“Better. Still raspy,” I say, gesturing to my throat. “It all still seems so unreal, I guess.”
Detective Laurent nods, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she gives me a sympathetic look, but there’s something about the way she’s watching me that I don’t like. Something that makes me feel naked and exposed.
“I suppose you know by now that your fiancé didn’t make it out of the fire.”
I press my lips together, closing my eyes briefly, but inside, my wind is whirring. Is this where she tells me they found two bodies in the ashes? What do I say? Do I tell her the truth about Bea and Eddie, about all of it?
“I do,” I manage to croak out, fear sounding like sadness, which is good.
“And I imagine you also know that our working theory is that he burned the house down on purpose. That he wanted to kill himself and you as well.”
No.
No, I did not know that, and my shock and confusion as I look at the detective isn’t feigned. “On purpose?” I say, and she nods, sighing as she leans back in her chair.
“Jane, there is a very good chance Edward Rochester was involved in the murder of Blanche Ingraham and the disappearance of his wife.”
“Oh my god,” I say softly, pressing a hand to my mouth.
Detective Laurent shifts in her chair as outside, I hear the squeak of a wheelchair, the beep of various machines. “In looking into Tripp Ingraham’s involvement, we found signs that Eddie had also been there that night. His car on the security camera at the Thornfield Estates entrance, one of your neighbors remembering that he also left home late the night his wife and Blanche had gone to the lake. Nothing concrete, and we were still in the process of gathering evidence, but now…”
She trails off, and I see her hand go to the badge at her waist for a second.
“What about Tripp?” I ask. “What happens now?”
It’s weird and more than a little off-putting to feel any sympathy for Tripp Ingraham, and I’ll eventually get over it, but now that I know the whole story, it’s hard not to see him as a victim, too. Another person caught up in the shitstorm that was Eddie and Bea.
“He’s been cleared of any suspicion,” Detective Laurent says. “Truthfully, we never had as much on him as we let him think. We were hoping he’d crack, or bring down Eddie in the process.”
Then she sighs. “Anyway, the fire was clearly set on purpose, which makes us think Eddie knew we were getting close.”
Leaning over, she takes my hand. “I’m so sorry. I know this all must be a shock.”
It is, but not in the way she thinks. They think Eddie killed himself because he killed Blanche and Bea. Which means they didn’t find Bea’s body in the fire.
Which means she’s still out there.
“We may have some more questions later on,” the detective says, patting my hand and standing up, “but I just wanted to let you know where things stood right now.”
“Thank you,” I say, and she smiles again.
“Take care of yourself, Jane.”
As she heads for the door, I can’t help but ask one more question.
“Did you … is Eddie’s body…”
I make the words hesitant, like it’s too horrible to even contemplate, and the detective’s face creases.
“The fire burned with extraordinary heat,” she says, gently. “There was nothing left. I believe they found…” She pauses, clears her throat. “I believe there were some teeth.”
I see that stupid fucking pineapple in my hand, the way it crunched against Eddie’s jaw.
The shards of white on the carpet.
“Thank you,” I tell her, averting my eyes, letting her think I’m overwhelmed by the horror of it all.
I hear her leave and, after a moment, pick up my Popsicle again. It’s partially melted, a sticky puddle of yellow on my tray, and I push one finger through it.
My ring still sparkles on my left hand. At least I have that, and selling it will get me started on a new life at least. A smaller one than I’d planned for, but something.
Provided Bea lets me.
She’s out there still, and she knows I know the truth. So, what’s her next move?
“Sweetie?”
I glance up and see Emily standing in the doorway, frowning at me.
She looks over her shoulder for a second and then says, in a low voice, “I was just coming by to check on you, but there’s a boy here who says he’s your brother? And he’s taking you home tomorrow? I didn’t know you had a brother.”
Fuck me, John.
“I don’t,” I say, and Emily’s frown deepens as she steps more fully in, then smiles.
“Adele is already moved in, you might as well come, too.”
Adele. I’d forgotten about the dog in all that had happened, and for whatever reason, that’s the thing that finally makes tears spring to my eyes.
“She’s okay?” I ask, and Emily nods. “Completely fine. Terrorizing Major and Colonel.” Walking farther into the room, Emily takes my hand. “Come on, girl. Come home with me.”
So I do.