Girl, 11 by Amy Clarke (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

was her reminder, her promise, that even the worst moments in her life didn’t have to be the end of the story. As much as she just wanted to crawl into bed right now and give up, she couldn’t. Not when she might be closer than she’d ever been.

“I just . . . I have to know what he was going to tell me,” Elle said. “I have to know if he actually knew something.”

For a moment, Tina was quiet. Then she looked at the camera again. “I know this case means more to you than the others, Elle.”

She met Tina’s gaze through the lens, swallowing hard. “What do you mean?”

“I know about your childhood ‘incident.’” Tina held up her hand when Elle opened her mouth to protest. “And before you get mad at me for digging into your background, you should know that I did it ages ago, back when I was just a fan of your show. And for what it’s worth, your information was really tough to find. You did a good job hiding it.”

When Elle didn’t say anything, Tina continued. “It’s okay, Elle. What happened to you was awful. I’ve read the news articles, the police reports. Those aren’t on Google, but hey—you’re not the only one who breaks the rules. I didn’t mean to pry, honestly. And I want to help you. Anything I can do, really, you can ask.”

Elle tapped a finger on her desk, fighting the urge to slam her laptop shut and end the video call. Whatever good that would do. Tina might as well have found a revenge porn site splashed with intimate pictures of Elle—it would have been no less violating. Angry questions about where she had looked, what she had seen, burned on Elle’s lips. It didn’t matter. If Tina knew about the abuse Elle had faced as a child that caused her to feel so much solidarity with TCK’s victims, it was too late to do anything about it now. Elle swallowed her anger and looked back up at the camera.

“How can you help me?” The words sounded harsh, but Tina didn’t look put off.

“Well, I’ll start by trying to get ahold of any of Leo’s coworkers, see if any of them knows anything. And I’ll manage all the emails coming in about the show stuff for now, so you can focus on this. But I want you to promise you won’t cut me out if you get new leads. I don’t care about credit, but I want to help you nail that asshole.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling even in the dim light of her computer screen.

As much as she felt betrayed by Tina’s snooping, Elle needed her help. If anyone could convince Leo’s reluctant family and friends to talk, it was Tina.

“All right, and I’ll look into the girlfriend angle, while you’re at it. See if he was close to anyone romantically since his separation last year. But let’s do this quietly, okay? I don’t want to broadcast anything until I know whether Leo even had real information for me.”

Pinching her fingers together, Tina mimed zipping them across her tinted lips. “You got it.”

Elle forced a smile, pushing down her anxiety. “Great,” she said at last. “Let me know as soon as you find anything, please.”

7

Elle

January 10, 2020

She had tried to run from him as soon as he stopped the car at a light—opened the door and stumbled out into the frosty afternoon. It had been stupid to get into his car, even though he said he was friends with her parents. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The fear made her legs heavy and numb, and her steps were uncertain on the icy street. She ran and ran but went nowhere.

A thick glove that tasted of gasoline closed over her mouth. She bit down, but he lifted her off her feet and threw her into the backseat. He got in and locked the doors.

“There, now, don’t you feel silly?” he said.

She did not. Warm, sad, angry, anxious. But not silly.

He started driving again, and she glared out the window, watching the black dead trees blur by. When they passed her house, she felt a hand squeeze inside her chest.

“You passed my house, mister.”

There was no response.

“Hey! You passed my house!” She brought her feet against the back of his seat. “You. Passed. My. House.” Each word punctuated with a sharp kick.

He turned around. All the concern and kindness that had been on his face when he picked her up had melted off like wax.

“Shut the fuck up.”

When Elle woke up, her body ached—muscles sore from the tension of her nightmares. She rolled over, searching for the musky morning warmth of Martín’s body, but he must have stayed asleep on the couch. She put her hand on the cool sheets where he should have been, hating his absence. They often went to bed at different times, but they usually woke up together, spent the first few moments of the morning wrapped in each other’s arms.

She wondered who was missing Leo today, if there was a woman longing for the comfort of his embrace who would never get to experience it again. Sadness sliced through her as she thought about his body sprawled out on the floor. Since she’d started the podcast, hundreds of people had contacted her with tips and theories on the cases she investigated. As far as she knew, no one had ever ended up dead because of it. She hadn’t pulled the trigger on Leo, but if he was killed because of the information he was going to give her, she couldn’t help but feel some sense of responsibility.

But there was nothing she could do to change that. The best thing she could hope for was finding someone who knew Leo well enough to guess at the person he suspected.

Elle threw the covers off and put