I couldn’t explain the footage of me running from the pool in a panic, running away from Corey’s dead body, only to run into another, although they didn’t see that part. I couldn’t explain any of it. All I could do was say I wasn’t guilty, that it wasn’t me, even as things progressed to trial. But do you think the jury would believe me? The judge?
A man named Henry Thatcher, a prosecutor representing the state, laid it all out for the jury. Apparently, because Lola had gotten into a wreck while suffering a miscarriage, per Dr. Gilbert’s testimony—and Detective Jack Shaw confessed that Lola paid him off, but that wasn’t enough to help me—she’d caused a domino effect. She killed my parents and I grew up into an angry girl.
Thatcher reported the fights I’d gotten into, and how I’d run away from home. That I’d stabbed my ex-boyfriend, but that was only because he attacked me first. He didn’t die anyway, and I got off with self-defense.
According to Thatcher, I blamed Lola for my horrible upbringing and thought to take advantage of Lola and her elitist life. He made his case about jealousy, hatred, rage, and greed. He made Lola look like the victim, despite everyone knowing about the wreck she’d caused—which only made people sympathize with her more and donate even more money to her charity—and I was the bloodthirsty, obsessed murderer who wanted to steal Lola’s life. Corey had rejected me and I was angry, so I drugged and killed him too. Lola trusted me, Thatcher stated, and I broke her trust by having an affair with her husband and then murdered them.
But they had it all wrong—well, some of it. Yes, I hated Lola, but it was never my plan to kill her. I didn’t want to kill anyone.
But you want to know what sold the jury?
Fucking Keke.
Keke went to the stand with a limp and told them how she had a feeling I would be dangerous to Lola—that she was sure I had pushed her off the cliff at camp, and that I’d admitted to doing it when I went to the hospital with Lola after they’d had their little fight.
The prosecutor showed them photos of Keke’s broken shin, arm, and the stitches on her head while she was in a coma. She couldn’t prove it, but she always had this hunch that I wanted her out of my way so I could be closer to Lola. According to Keke, I envied her friendship with Lola and even ruined it in the end. Faith and Arabel reported that I wasn’t in the cabin when they woke up the morning Keke fell.
Keke had no proof, but the media ate up her testimony like a decadent chocolate cake. I was a threat to society . . . and I was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole.
I was set up, Marriott. It was Georgia who did all of this—who created this destruction and ruin in my life.
I swear, I’m not capable of killing anyone. How stupid would I be to do all of that, just so it could all come back to me being the primary suspect? You know I’m much smarter than that, and you know my mind better than anyone else. I didn’t murder Lola and Corey.
But, alas, I’ve been in prison for two months now and I haven’t heard a peep from you. I guess I need to send this to you, just to show you my side of the story, even if it is a little ugly.
I’ll be honest with you. Now that I’ve had time to think, I wish you’d never given me Lola’s name. After all this shit, I’d much rather be the clueless, hopeless girl I was before than a woman rotting in prison for the rest of her life.
Lola would still be alive and nameless to me and I’d still have my freedom.
I’ve made up my mind. I’m sending this to you, and I’m begging you, please come visit me, Marriott. I know you’re ashamed of me, and I never thought I’d say this, but I need you.
Please don’t leave me like everyone else has.
Please help me.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Three months, six days, and fourteen hours.
That’s how long it’s been since I was sentenced and shoved into prison, convicted of a crime I didn’t commit.
Time is slow in prison. So goddamn slow, and no one trusts me here. I’m always hungry. My cell partner attacked me the first week I was here to assert her dominance, and I promised her my meals for a month in exchange for my life.
I don’t deserve any of this shit. I should be on a boat, drinking fruity drinks and dancing under the stars at night.
Out of all the close encounters in my life and all the trouble I’ve caused, I didn’t ever think I’d end up here. I’m not perfect, but I know where I stand, and I’m not a killer.