The Perfect Ruin

I’ve thought about appealing, but where would that get me? Lola was the beloved beauty of Florida. People adored her, many came out to her funeral to show respect, and I’d killed her. Not many were going to risk dipping their toe in this case again to save a lowlife girl like me, even if they had plenty of evidence.

Something hard clanged on my cell door and I looked up at the guard behind it. “Get your ass up, Hill. You’ve got a visitor.”

A visitor? I haven’t had a visitor before. Maybe it’s Marriott. Yes! I knew she’d come to see me one day. She was most likely waiting for all of this to blow over. I wrote to her all those times. She always said she’d be there for me no matter what.

I hurry to stand, shoving my hands through the small space between the cells so she can cuff me. She opens the door, tugging on the chain so I can step out and then slamming the door shut behind her and locking it.

“Don’t know who the hell is visiting your crazy ass,” she grumbles, walking ahead of me. That’s the thing around here. I’m the dumb psycho bitch to everyone, from the inmates to the guards. There’s shouting and screaming. My fellow inmates aren’t pleased that the dumb psycho bitch has a visitor and they don’t.

I ignore them all, keeping my eyes ahead, trudging along in my brown prison uniform. It feels strange entering the visitors’ block—I’ve never been here before, but I’ve always envied the girls who can go here every week to speak to someone they care about.

There are two sections. One where you speak over the two-way phones, one where you can sit at a table, right in front of your visitor if you want. It’s the visitor’s choice of course. All about safety.

I’m sent to the two-way phones, and that’s how I know it’s not Marriott who’s visiting me today. Marriott would want to be in my face, pleading with me, telling me everything is going to be okay. I get the feeling she’s never coming to see me.

“Number three,” the guard says as I look at the phones separated by thin, scratchy glass and black blocks between each booth. “Warden doesn’t want you out for long.” Yeah. Because the Warden admired Lola and hates me for what everyone thinks I’ve done. “You’ve got twenty minutes.”

I glance over my shoulder at her before moving ahead. As I do, I can see someone sitting on the other side of number three. They’re wearing black. Their skin is brown.

I stop in front of three . . . and I can’t believe my eyes. You have to be fucking kidding me!

I look back at the guard, who isn’t paying me any attention. Instead she’s chomping on her gum, glancing at the clock. I sit, and feel my weight sink onto the stool as I stare through the glass, right at Georgia.

She smiles from the other side of the glass, that same weird-as-fuck smile she gave me when she tended to Lola’s home and when she answered the door and greeted me.

There’s something different about her now, though. Her hair has been straightened and is now glossy and cut in a bob. There are diamond earrings in her ears and she has on makeup, which I’ve never seen her wear before. Her brows have been plucked, and expensive rings are on her fingers.

There’s a familiar Cartier rose-gold watch on her wrist and I instantly recognize it. It was Lola’s. She wore it the first day of Passion Camp.

Georgia picks up the phone, still holding my eyes. I snatch the phone off the hook and press the receiver to my ear.

“Oh, Miss Hill. I have to say, you’ve had better days.”

“Fuck you,” I hiss at her from my side of the glass. “What the hell are you doing here? I can’t believe you have the fucking nerve.”

“I’m here for a brief visit. I figured someone should see you after everything you’ve been through.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “How could you do this to me? I know it was you!”

“How could I do what?”

“You know what you did! You set me up!” I hiss into the black phone.

Georgia says nothing for a while, and then she finally sighs and smiles. “I think you and I can both agree the world is a better place now.”

I stare her in the eye. “Rat poison? I never bought rat poison. You dumped it in their drinks with those antidepressants, not me. You’re fucking insane.”

Still, Georgia says nothing, and now I’m getting pissed. “Why did you do it? I—I get Lola, I guess, but why Corey?”

“Most would say loose ends are . . . deadly.”

Great choice of words. Cunt. I grit my teeth. “Why haven’t I seen Marriott? Have you done something to her too?”