“Hmm… Your dad was elected mayor. Twice! He can’t be that crazy.”
“Psychos get elected all the time,” she remarks.
“Fair enough. But in the case of your parents, I think their behavior was rational. They gave you fake drugs to preserve your health from adverse effects.”
“But I have DID! It’s a serious disorder, Darrel. I need those meds!”
“Do you?”
She gives me a narrow look. “What does that mean?”
“It means that as unstable as they are, I don’t think they would’ve denied you any treatment you truly needed.”
“Listen, I haven’t had any episodes in six years,” she says. “You bet I need that treatment! Because it works! Aside from speaking my thoughts aloud every now and then, I’ve lived like a completely normal person.”
We stare at each other.
Her eyes tighten at the corners. “What were you hinting at? Can you explain?”
“I will, I promise. I just need to do a bit of digging first.”
She wrings her hands. “I hope it doesn’t take too long.”
“If you want me to uncover the truth faster, then you’ll need to tell me what crime you committed six years ago when you had your episode?”
She turns away from me and studies the artwork lining the wall on the other side of the narrow street.
I don’t rush her, don’t try to insist. She shouldn’t tell me if she isn’t ready.
When she shifts her eyes to me, they’re filled with so much vulnerability that I can’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness toward her.
“You know what,” I begin, “you don’t need to—”
“I killed an innocent man.”
That shuts me up.
“My parents and I were hiking in the Bauges Mountains,” she says, her bottomless gaze locked with mine. “I fell behind, followed the wrong trail, and stumbled on a young man.”
“Did he try to hurt you?”
She shakes her head. “He was friendly. But my DID chose that moment to manifest itself. I hurled a rock at him.”
Her hands start to tremble. Instinctively, I reach out to take them in mine.
But she tucks them under her thighs. “As my dumb luck would have it, I didn’t miss.”
Her face contorts as she struggles to not break down and cry. A confession like this must be hard. And painful. I can feel her pain constricting my own chest.
“He died on the spot,” she says. “My parents covered it up to protect me.” Her lips quiver into a bitter smirk. “You thought they were bad for trying to kill you? Now you know I’m worse than them. I’d succeeded where they failed.”
DARREL
Ifollowed the Pernoud lead this morning, but it took me nowhere. Hugues Pernoud’s son told me that Adele Gotteland had never been to his house to return an antique key. What’s more, while he knew and approved of his dad’s bequest of his entire antique book collection to Vosier’s public library, it was the first time he’d heard about Queen Charlotte’s key.
The Pernouds were friendly, open, and genuine throughout my visit. I have no reason to believe they were lying. And that is why I am now driving to Charlie’s place in the Novel neighborhood of Annecy.
I pass Novel and continue to the Carrefour shopping mall, where I park the car in the garage. After visiting a few busy shops, I sneak out a side exit and walk into Novel. I’ve never been to this part of the city before. Although not as picturesque as the old town, its blend of modernity and history, set against the stunning backdrop of the Alps, isn’t without charm.