Page 74 of The Intruder

And that it’s all happening because of me.

A man in a police uniform approaches the back of the ambulance. He glances at me, then crooks his finger at the paramedic. She climbs out to talk to him, and the two of them speak softly together. I try to make out what they’re saying, but it’s too loud. My ears are still ringing from all the sirens. But there’s a grim expression on his face.

The nice paramedic climbs back into the ambulance with me. She throws an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

I look up at her.

“It sounds like…” She winces. “Your mom didn’t make it.”

For a moment, I can hardly believe it. I knew what I was trying to do, but I didn’t believe it would work. I sit there, unsure how to react.

Cry. Cry, stupid.

At first, it’s tricky to get the tears started. But once they do, they come fast and hard. Big soggy droplets run down my face, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. My mother is gone. She took care of me my whole life and loved me in her own way, even though she wasn’t very good at showing it. And I killed her.

If only she hadn’t started caring about things more than she cared about me. She didn’t used to be that way. When I was little, she loved me best of all. This never would have happened if she hadn’t changed.

And now that she’s gone, I have nobody. Not Anton, who is locked away somewhere because he was trying to defend me. Everyone who cared about me in the whole world is gone.

The paramedic wraps her arms around me in a hug. I sob into her shoulder, soaking the material, as she strokes my hair. “Oh, honey. Oh, Ella, it’s okay. Cry as much as you need to.”

She hugs me for the next few minutes until the tears gradually subside. I finally pull away, wiping my eyes as I sniffle loudly. She produces a tissue from her pocket, which I use to wipe the snot from my nose.

The policeman is still standing there, patiently watching our interaction. All these people are so nice. Sometimes I forget there are good people in the world. “I’m so sorry,” the policeman says gently. “We’re going to take you to the hospital but will contact your family to come meet you there.”

Good luck with that. I have no family. Nobody who cares about me. Not anymore.

The paramedic squeezes my shoulders. “I’ll ride with you, Ella. I’ll stay with you until your family arrives.”

Yeah, doubt it.

“Can you tell me your full name, please?” the officer asks me.

I wipe more tears from my eyes with my dirty tissue, swallowing down a lump in my throat. The paramedic and the police officer are watching me, waiting for me to answer.

“I’m Ella,” I finally manage. Then I think better of it and give my full name: “Elizabeth Casey.”

53

NOW

ELIZABETH “ELLA” CASEY

Yes, I killed my mother.

She was a miserable person. Miserable to the people around her and miserable herself. It wasn’t until I was older though that I understood she had a disease that made her behave the way she did. Although the cigarette burns on my arms were all her.

The years I spent with her, especially the last several years, were a type of hell, which is why I stopped going by the name that she gave me, Elizabeth, and started going by my last name—I was that desperate to leave my old life behind. As far as I am concerned, burning to death was too good for her.

Yet it was the wrong thing to do. I let my poor impulse control get the better of me. She deserved to pay for what she did to me, but it’s been hard living with the fact that I was the one who took her life. It’s been over twenty years, and I still wake up from that nightmare that I am in that house, on fire.

I should never have killed her. I should have told an adult and let them move me someplace safe.

My point though is that I understand why Eleanor is angry. I have felt that same anger. I have lived with it for years, and I know what she is feeling. I know that she is liable to do something stupid right now, and I don’t want her to do it. I don’t want her to have to see it in her dreams every night.

Although when I think of all the blood on her clothing when she showed up at my house, I’m afraid it could be too late.

Even though I’m certain it will be locked, I try the knob for the front door. It doesn’t turn. I actually have a key for Lee’s cabin in my kitchen, but I was in too much of a panic to remember to bring it. I think about knocking, but instead, my gaze goes to the open window. I’m bigger than Eleanor, but I think I could still climb through.