Quiet in Her Bones Singh, Nalini (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📖

meds off the top of the fridge and studiously ignoring the rat poison, I started for my room.

The last thing I expected was for my father to come down the hallway.

“Where’s Shanti?” he asked, but then rolled his eyes. “Gossiping with that old lady, I’m guessing.”

Now that I thought about it, it was unsurprising that he didn’t have a problem with the ­Elei-­Shanti friendship; neither woman had any obvious power. In my father’s mind, Elei, sheltered and apparently confined by her lack of connections in this country, was unlikely to teach Shanti of rebellion. I wasn’t so certain. “Do I look like her keeper?”

Instead of responding to my irritated tone, my father said, “Did you hear about that dog?” Laughter filled the hallway. “Assholes deserved it.”

“Did you do it?”

His nostrils flared. “How the hell you’re even my son, I don’t know.” Swiveling on his foot, he headed back toward his office.

But he hadn’t denied my accusation.

It took serious and painful effort to get up the stairs. But at last I was inside my room with the door firmly shut. Dumping the pill bottle in among the others on the bedside table, I sat down on the bed. I wasn’t going to be moving anywhere else anytime soon.

I peeled off my shirt and chucked it on the floor. Then, teeth gritted, I somehow managed to get off my jeans. When I undid the boot to check what was going on with my foot, I found the appendage red and swollen and generally fucked. Dropping my head in my hands, I just sat there for a long moment, until fatigue began to lick at me.

Despite the temptation to leave it off, I clipped the boot back on.

Then I got on the computer and made my way into the house’s security system. I erased the relevant recording without looking at it. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. This recording would just muddy the waters if it ever surfaced.

After that, I sent an email to Dr. Tawera, requesting an urgent appointment. Exhaustion weighed heavy on me, but no way was I going to be able to sleep with the pain pulsing like a second heartbeat. Unscrewing the bottle from which I’d already taken two pills, I took two more.

I wasn’t being stupid. Four was the maximum dosage, though there was a warning on the bottle not to make that a habit. Washing down the pills with a fresh bottle of water likely put on the bedside table by Shanti, I switched off the lights, and lay down to sleep.

In my dreams, my mother spoke in Paige’s voice. “Ari, my Ari. Promise me you won’t forget about me.”

Transcript

Session #7

“I want to apologize for the last session. I was out of line.”

“Thank you for the apology, but I want you to feel free to be yourself in this room.”

“Even if the real me is probably a manipulative psychopath?”

“That’s a very strong word. It gets thrown around a lot in the media but I’d caution you not to label yourself without cause. Even if you do it to yourself, it has a mental impact.”

“Wow, you sound like you really care.”

“I do. You’re an extraordinary individual.”

“­Well … you’ve surprised me.”

“Despite all you’ve achieved, you have a very low opinion of yourself. You’ve told me some of what your father said to you in childhood. I think it’s time we discussed the issue more in-­depth—­perhaps you could start by telling me a bit more about your parents’ relationship.”

“What do you want to know?”

“For one, did your parents ever have strong disagreements?”

[Extended laughter]

29

Dr. Tawera managed to squeeze me in at around ten the next morning.

With my head pounding from a sleepless night and the furry taste of medication lingering in my throat, I wasn’t in the mood for bad news, but that’s what she gave me. “You keep this up and I’ll have to put you back in a cast.” She pursed her full lips, her dark brown eyes pinning me to the spot.

“It’s been an unusual couple of days.” It came out hard, cold.

“Be that as it may, Aarav,” she said with her usual crispness, “unless you want to ruin your healing, or end up less mobile than you are now, you’ll take it far easier than you have been to date.” When she turned, I saw the thick strands of silver in the black hair she’d pulled back into a bun. “Give it two days before you start any significant movement.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, but nodded. She was right. She had the degrees, and the experience, and she’d gotten me this far. I might have sociopathic tendencies, but I didn’t think I knew everything. “Thanks.” I took the prescription she held out.

“Be careful with these pain meds. Conforming to your request to stay away from anything addictive, they’re not opioids, but they’re still not great for your stomach lining.”

“Okay.”

“And ditch the cane, dashing as it looks. You need to go back to the crutches.”

Fuck.

I was still in the same bad mood when I got out of my sedan in the Cul-­de-­Sac—­on my crutches, which I’d thrown in the back of the car because I’d suspected this might be the outcome. I’d filled the prescription and was about to reach inside the car to get the meds when I heard my name in a familiar female voice.

Diana was waving at me from out front of her property, where she was pulling weeds from the large planters she kept at the start of their gently sloping drive. Juvenile nīkau palms thrived in those planters, but native flora or not, Diana’s landscaping had always been a little too “clean” for this environment.

She didn’t have the masses of bush out front that covered every other property. Her tree ferns and subtropical plants were neat and ­controlled—­and not at all allowed in the large area that was her dormant rose garden. Visible from the street, those roses were her pride and joy, and she was happy for