Chapter 20: Take It Down

The woman who filmed me lived three doors down from Gwendolyn.

Shelby told me that on Monday night, over leftover pasta.

"She's in Gwendolyn's card group. She posts everything. Chandler sent her a message the Friday of the party."

"Do you know what it said?"

"I never saw it. I only saw her go to the bottom of the stairs with her phone out, ready, before you were even on the porch."

On Tuesday evening Roz drove me to her house.

It was a tidy brick split-level with wind chimes, a pumpkin on every step and a light on in the front window.

Roz parked and put her glasses on top of her head.

"Do you want me to do the talking?"

"No."

"Good. I wasn't going to let you."

We walked up the steps together.

The woman opened the door with a dish towel over her shoulder.

She was about sixty, round-faced and gray-haired, in a fleece vest, and she knew me at once.

Her mouth opened, and she took a step back.

"I'm not here to yell," I said.

"I'm not going to talk to you."

"You don't have to. I only want you to look at something."

I held out my phone.

On the screen was her own video, the one that had two million views, paused at the third second.

"That's mine," she said. "I posted that."

"I know. Look at my wrist."

She looked.

In the frame, my arm hung at my side, and around the wrist was the white plastic hospital band, close enough to read.

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