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

grave issues with the cocktail of drugs in your blood. You could do incredible harm to your body. I strongly feel you need some help ­with—­”

“Try anything, and I’ll sue your ass three ways to Sunday.” New Zealand’s legal system wasn’t designed for such suits, but there were ways to leverage the threat. “I might fail to get the case to court, but I’ll make it such a circus that none of your rich clients or friends will want to be seen with you ever again.”

This time, the pause was longer. “I’m highly concerned about your mental and physical state. Go home and think about how you’re acting, what you just threatened me with, and reconsider.” His voice remained calm, the kind of calm you used with the unhinged. “If we get you into rehab now, there’s a chance to stop things before the damage escalates.”

I hung up.

Rehab?

Who the fuck did he think he was talking to? I wasn’t one of those rich suburban junkies who went around sourcing hits from some slick dealer in a ­thousand-­dollar suit. I was Aarav Rai, ­number-­one bestseller in twenty languages and counting. Millions of copies of my book sold. Hundreds of millions of dollars made on the movie adaptation.

I was not a drug addict.

My hands shook.

58

Fueled by need, I drove to the mouth of the same trail I’d used the last time to get to the site of my mother’s murder. It was easier to walk to the location this ­time—­my foot was feeling much better and I had two crutches.

Silence permeated the green, no trace remaining of the caution tape. The media had come and gone, and no civilian ­lookie-­loos could be bothered to trek this far when nothing remained of the Jaguar. As a result, the area was peaceful, a dark green haven where I didn’t have to wear a mask.

Seeing a large log that had fallen to the earth so long ago that it was covered in moss, and a home to small ferns, I headed to it, managed to get myself down into a seated position. The forest was cold around me, the tree leaves motionless in a way that seemed a judgment. The moss, by contrast, was soft under my fingertips, the leaf litter equally soft under my boots.

The sun rarely penetrated this deep, the moisture remaining where it fell.

I became hyperaware of the pounding of my heart.

Boom-­boom. ­Boom-­boom. ­Boom-­boom.

Like that old Poe story.

I could feel this beat in my mouth, in my skin, in my bones.

My mother’s bloody ghost sat in an equally ghostly Jaguar and smiled at me. “Never thought it’d be you, Ari.”

Throwing back my head, I screamed.

It didn’t echo, the canopy thick enough to absorb all sound, the tree trunks an endless wall. Shoving my hands through my hair, I sobbed and thought of the other ghost, the one with whom I’d shared a drink.

Was Dr. Binchy right? Was I losing my mind? Was I a secret addict?

Yes, my brain was shaky, and yes, my memories were crap, but how could I be an addict and not know? Where would I source my drugs, for one?

Thien.

It was a sensuous whisper in my blood, the name of my friend who could get his hands on anything a person ­wanted—­for a price. But if I’d done that, it’d mean I’d forgotten every single interaction, every single exchange of money for goods.

All those hours lost to ­migraines—­was it possible I’d been up and moving without conscious knowledge? I had proof I was a sleepwalker, but ­this … If I was going into fugue states, then I had bigger problems than drugs.

My head a place of chaos, I sat and stared at the site of my mother’s death. Had she been conscious as the car came down the slope? Had she tried to open the door? I hoped not. I hoped she’d slipped away without knowing she’d been entombed in the lonely dark. But that was cold ­comfort—­because she’d known and trusted whoever had gotten into her car that night. She hadn’t raised a fuss. Because even drunk, Nina Rai could raise a fuss.

She’d known she was being murdered, and she’d looked into a face she trusted as it happened.

It couldn’t have been me. I’d crashed the Ducati. I hadn’t been in the Jaguar.

Who told you there were two people inside when she drove away?

Aurelie, it had been Aurelie.

Aurelie, who’d do anything my father said.

Aurelie, who was a liar.

You know what happened. You followed her, caught up to her, then talked her into the passenger seat because she was drunk. Then you surrendered to the rage inside you. Cuts on your hands, Aarav. Cuts on your hands. You murdered your mother.

“No, no, no.” My eyes burned on the heels of the insidious internal whispers, the dam inside me breaking in a crash that shook my whole body. I couldn’t control it, couldn’t even try. Raw, ugly, angry, my sobs were absorbed by the forest, my tears by the ground. Until I was wrung out, my throat rough and my eyes swollen.

Still, I sat there. I don’t know for how long. There was a strange peace here, in this quiet place where my mother had lain for so long. I stared at that spot that had held her and I wondered if her spirit lingered there, lost and alone. She wasn’t just bones. She’d been a living, breathing woman who’d been angry and sometimes mean, but she’d also loved fiercely and she’d done all she could to protect her friends.

“I miss you,” I said to her ghost. “I miss having someone in this world who loves me without question.” I could’ve fucked up a thousand different ways and she’d still have called me her Ari. “If a doctor had thrown me in a psychiatric facility while you were alive, I’d have gone in knowing you’d rain down hell to get me out.”

I’d been alone since she vanished. Paige had come the closest to breaching the walls around my