Chapter 1 - The SwingThe last thing I remember before blackness swallowed me was my mother clapping.
Not screaming.
Not calling an ambulance.
Clapping.
Rainwater ran into my eyes as I lay on the pavement, tasting blood and metal. My left cheek felt as though someone had poured fire beneath my skin. I tried to push myself upright, but my arm gave out.
Above me stood Derek.
My older brother.
The car jack was still in his hand.
His chest rose and fell violently.
His face had gone pale.
Five minutes earlier, he had been demanding my SUV keys.
Now he was staring at me like he had just realized what he had done.
“Get up,” he muttered.
I couldn't.
My vision blurred.
Someone shouted, “Don't move her!”
Another voice yelled, “Call 911!”
Then my mother pushed through the crowd.
Linda.
My mother.
She looked at the blood on my face.
Then at Derek.
Then back at me.
And she smiled.
“Maybe now you'll learn to share with your brother.”
A woman near the entrance gasped.
“What is wrong with you?”
My mother shrugged.
“He didn't mean to hurt her.”
Derek dropped the jack.
It struck the wet pavement with a heavy metallic clang.
For a second, nobody moved.
Then he whispered, “Mom…”
She snapped toward him.
“Don't say another word.”
That sentence confused me more than anything else.
Not Are you okay?
Not Run.
Not even Don't worry.
Instead, she looked terrified.
Not for me.
For him.
Sirens approached in the distance.
Derek turned.
I saw something in his expression I had never seen before.
Fear.
Pure fear.
He looked at my SUV.
Then at the ground.
Then at my mother.
“Where's the envelope?” he whispered.
My mother froze.
I heard him.
Barely.
But I heard him.
“What envelope?” I whispered.
Derek's head snapped toward me.
For half a second, our eyes met.
Then my mother shouted, “Derek, get out of here!”
He ran.
Two officers arrived less than a minute later.
One chased him.
The other knelt beside me.
“Ma'am, stay still.”
“I… can't see.”
“Which eye?”
“My left.”
He immediately called for medical assistance again.
My mother stood several feet away, perfectly dry beneath the covered walkway.
She wasn't crying.
She wasn't trembling.
She was watching the police.
As they loaded me into the ambulance, I heard her say quietly to someone behind her:
“She wasn't supposed to find out yet.”
My heart stopped.
I turned my head.
“Find out what?”
She looked straight at me.
And for the first time in thirty-one years, my mother looked at me like I was the enemy.
Then the ambulance doors slammed shut.
I woke up beneath fluorescent hospital lights.
My face was swollen.
My left eye was covered.
My ribs hurt every time I breathed.
A doctor explained that I had a fractured cheekbone and severe swelling around my eye. They were waiting for the swelling to subside before determining whether there was permanent damage.
I stared at the ceiling.
“Where's my family?”
A nurse hesitated.
“Your mother is in the waiting room.”
“And my brother?”
“She said he was coming.”
He never came.
Two detectives arrived instead.
They asked questions.
I told them everything.
The barbecue.
The SUV.
The confrontation.
The parking lot.
The jack.
My mother's reaction.
One detective wrote everything down.
Then he asked, “Do you know why your brother was so desperate to get your vehicle?”
“No.”
“Did he mention any specific reason?”
“He said he had a business opportunity.”
The detective exchanged a look with his partner.
Then he asked something strange.
“Has your mother ever asked you about your finances?”
I frowned.
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Since I started making decent money.”
“Did she know how much you had saved?”
“Probably.”
“Did she know when you bought the SUV?”
“She knew.”
He nodded.
Then he placed a plastic evidence bag on the table.
Inside was a small metal key.
I recognized it immediately.
It was the key to a storage box I had rented two years earlier and eventually forgotten.
I stared at it.
“Where did you get that?”
“It was found inside your brother's car.”
My stomach tightened.
“I don't understand.”
The detective looked at me.
“Neither do we.”
He pulled out a photograph.
It showed the inside of Derek's vehicle.
On the passenger seat was a stack of papers.
And on top of them was a document with my name.
My full legal name.
My date of birth.
And beneath that, a handwritten number.
A bank account number.
My bank account number.
I stared at it.
“That isn't my account.”
The detective looked surprised.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He slid another photograph across the table.
This one showed a second document.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Except I had never signed it.
My blood turned cold.
“That isn't my signature.”
The detective leaned forward.
“That's what we thought.”
He lowered his voice.
“Ms. Carter, how well do you know your family?”
I almost laughed.
It sounded absurd.
But then I remembered my mother's words.
She wasn't supposed to find out yet.
“What are you asking me?”
The detective looked toward the hospital door.
Then back at me.
“Your brother didn't attack you because he wanted your car.”
He paused.
“He attacked you because he believed your car was carrying something.”
My pulse began pounding.
“What?”
The detective pushed one final photograph toward me.
It showed the cargo compartment of my SUV.
There was an envelope beneath the spare tire.
I recognized it.
I had put that envelope there myself.
Months ago.
And I hadn't opened it because I thought it contained nothing important.
The detective pointed to it.
“Your brother called someone approximately twenty minutes before the attack.”
He swallowed.
“He told them, ‘She has the envelope.’”
My mouth went dry.
I looked at the photograph.
Then at him.
“What was in the envelope?”
The detective's expression changed.
“We don't know.”
“Why?”
“Because when we searched the vehicle…”
He stopped.
“What?”
May you like
His eyes hardened.
“The envelope was already empty.”
Related Stories
