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

do anything, Martín.” When she looked at him, the pain in his eyes took her breath away. She felt a surge of guilt. He had lost Natalie too.

“I have to,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “There must be something we can do.”

“Do you believe me?” she asked. She stood up and strode to the window overlooking their street. It was pitch-dark outside; if anyone was out there, they would be able to see her perfectly, but on her side, the window was so opaque it might as well have been a mirror. Her dark hair was frizzy, mussed, strands falling out of her ponytail. She couldn’t see her eyes, but her forehead looked creased with worry. Behind her, the reflection of her husband sitting on the sofa where she had left him. His head was resting in his hands, and she knew he was probably praying for strength.

“I believe that this case is affecting you even more than you initially thought,” Martín said. “I believe that you are seeing clues here that you might not have seen if you hadn’t been immersed in this case so deeply for the past few months.”

“I’ve been immersed in this case for years.”

“That is true.” He lifted his head, and she imagined they could meet each other’s gaze in the dark blue reflection of the window. “But this is different. You haven’t been sleeping. You lied to me about going to speak with a witness. You agreed to work an active case without even talking to me, and you of all people know how dangerous that could be. I’m just worried about you.”

Elle turned around to face him. “I don’t want you to worry about me. I want you to believe me.”

“And I do, Elle. I told you that I do. But believing you and agreeing with you are not the same thing. I believe you have reasons to think this is TCK, but you can’t ask me to tell you that you’re right when I’m not sure that you are.”

Her vision blurred again, and she shook her head. “Everything matches up with TCK’s pattern, though: the ages, the brightly colored accessories, the careful planning. The only thing I can’t figure out is where Ms. Turner is, how he knew she wouldn’t be there for Natalie’s lesson. Maybe TCK lured the woman away from her house so Natalie would have no choice but to walk home alone.”

“But how could he have known you wouldn’t answer your phone when Natalie called?” Martín asked gently.

She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “I don’t know.”

“Everything I know about TCK indicates he is abundantly cautious. Meticulous, like you said on the podcast. He would have every last detail planned out.”

Elle met his gaze. “So maybe he didn’t know I wouldn’t answer my phone. Maybe he just had a plan for if I did.” Martín’s lips pursed in an expression of disbelief, but she pressed on. “They think he did that before, you know. Planned for every outcome.”

For a moment, he watched her, tapping his fingers on one knee. “Does this have anything to do with your last couple of episodes?” he asked at last.

Her gaze flicked to his. “What?”

“I’ve seen the response to them. Your fans are supporting you, but some of the comments are horrible. It would be completely understandable if this set off something for you, mi vida. The things people have been saying, calling you a liar. If they only knew—”

“I’m fine, Martín. This has nothing to do with that.” Elle closed her eyes. Right now, the online threats seemed distant, pretend. What could anyone do to her that was worse than what was happening right now?

When she opened her eyes again, he was walking toward her. He put his hands on her shoulders and met her gaze, eyes wet. It struck her again, that Natalie had disappeared. The fresh wave of grief might have knocked her over if it wasn’t for her husband’s gentle grip.

He held her close, and she felt one of his tears land on her head. “I know you don’t want to make this about you, but you should tell Ayaan about those emails, Elle.”

She pulled away and looked up at him in surprise. Martín’s expression was grim. “How did you know about the emails?” she asked.

“Tina. When you didn’t answer your phone while you were napping this afternoon, she called me to say she’d tracked down some of the people who’d been sending threats. She wanted you to know that none of the ones she’d found so far were local.”

Elle looked down, played with the buttons on his shirt. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“You’re always saying I should trust you, Elle. Well, you can trust me too. Trust me to handle my own feelings. No more keeping big stuff like this from me.”

“No more, okay.”

He put a hand over hers to still it, brought the other to her chin and tilted it up until she met his eyes again. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I will never be safe, doing what I do.” The words sounded harsh, but they were true, and sometimes the truth was the cruelest thing of all.

“Astucia, then. If you can’t be safe, be able to outsmart anyone who wants to do you harm. Can you do that?”

After considering for a moment, she nodded. “I can try.”

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Justice Delayed podcast

January 9, 2020

Transcript: Season 5, Episode 5

UNIDENTIFIED VOICE-OVER:

You’re trapped in a room with another girl. She’s only been with you for a day, but you’ve been here longer. At least three or four days—you can’t keep track anymore. You’ve barely been allowed to eat more than a few scraps of food, and you have worked yourself to the bone just for those. Cleaned the walls with a sponge, dusted every inch of the blinds, scrubbed the floor so hard your knuckles are raw. Your skin smells like bleach, constantly, and has the chemical burns to