“My mother died a couple of years ago too,” Shane says. I tie off another suture. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I mean it. Shane was close with his mother—after his father took off, it was just the two of them. If she’s gone, that means he has nobody. He holds my gaze for a moment. “She died believing that I had killed those people.” My hand gripping the needle trembles, nearly missing his skin. But you did kill those people. I want to say it, but it would be unprofessional. And there’s no point. Despite all the evidence, Shane would never own up to what he did that night. But it doesn’t matter.
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