Murmuration - Page 118
It takes Greg a moment to realize she’s waiting on him, holding up her end of the bargain. “Where am I?” he asks.
“You’re in a medical facility outside of Yuma, Arizona. It used to be a prison camp that belonged to the county in the seventies and eighties, but then it fell into disrepair and was eventually abandoned. It was bought by a private firm in the late 2000s and converted into what it is now.”
“Yuma,” Greg repeats.
Mike’s too shocked to say anything.
“Greg,” Dr. King says. “Do you know what happened on April 22, 2015?”
“No.” And it’s the truth. He remembers Jenny coming at him with a knife. He remembers the glass breaking. He remembers falling onto his back, but after that, it’s blank. “Is she here?”
“Who?”
“Jenny.”
“No, Greg. She’s not here. I’m sorry to tell you that Jennifer Hughes has passed away.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. And he feels a crippling guilt mired in the relief that sweeps over him. “How?”
Mike says, No, don’t ask that. Don’t ask that. She—
Dr. King says, “Blunt-force trauma. Sustained from a fall from a ninth-floor balcony. Greg, you killed your wife.”
Greg can’t help it. He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.
Dr. King watches him.
The light on the video camera blinks.
“I killed her,” he says, choking on the words. “You’re saying I killed her.”
“Yes. She died in August of 2014. You were arrested for her murder. You claimed it was self-defense. That she’d attacked you. The jury disagreed. Especially after they’d seen the video she’d recorded shortly before her death. In the video, she claimed to be scared of you. That you had a violent temper. That you’d hit her for years. That she didn’t know how to get out. That even if she did, she was convinced you’d find a way to come after her. You alleged the entire thing was fabricated. That you’d never lifted a finger to her before that day.”
Greg was still laughing. “I d-d-didn’t. I n-never touched her. She made it all up. She was crazy and she made it all up.”
“So you said,” Dr. King says. “And it was admirable in the face of such overwhelming evidence. Unfortunately, a jury of your peers didn’t agree with you. You were found guilty and sentenced to thirty years.”
Greg loses control.
Mike pushes forward. “Sean,” he gasps. “Where’s Sean?”
“Mike,” Dr. King says. “Mike Frazier.”
“Where is he?”
“Nearby.”
I killed my wife, Greg whispers.
“Is he hurt?”
“No. Same deal, Mike. Question for a question.”
“I’m not making any damn deal with you. I want to go home.”
“Mike,” Dr. King says. “Amorea isn’t real. At least not in the physical sense.”
Mike snarls at her. The machines around him scream.
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