I Died In His Sick Game novel · Chapter 12 of 24

Chapter 12: Every Curve

The bail hearing was on the first Tuesday in October, in the same small courtroom with the brown carpet.

Bradley came in through a side door in an orange jumpsuit, with his hands cuffed in front of him.

Five weeks in the county jail had taken the shine off him.

He saw me in the front row and looked away.

Kendra sat three rows behind me, beside his mother, in a navy dress and no jewelry at all.

The prosecutor laid the yellow pages out on the evidence screen one by one.

Dear Bradley. Dear Bradley. Dear Bradley.

Tilly. Tilly. Tilly.

Then he put up a photo of the note from the fish camp table and a screenshot of the text.

He set them side by side with the last practice page.

I can't do this anymore. I didn't feed her. I'm sorry.

It was the same sentence, written the same way, three times.

Bradley's lawyer stood up.

"Your Honor, anyone could have written those pages. Including Mrs. Thurlow herself."

"Ms. Pettengill," I said.

The judge looked at me over her glasses.

"You'll get your turn, ma'am."

When I got my turn, I stood up.

"Your Honor, my husband has carried the first letter I ever wrote him in his wallet for twelve years. I'd like him to take it out."

The courtroom went quiet.

Bradley's lawyer started to object.

Bradley put a hand on his arm.

He fumbled the wallet out of a plastic property bag with his cuffed hands.

The letter was folded into a tiny square, gone soft as cloth.

He opened it on the table.

Bradley, I'm terrible at goodbyes, so this is a see-you-Friday instead.

He looked from the letter to the screen and back.

I watched it happen on his face.

Every y I've ever written curls back up at the bottom.

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