Chapter 2: Webbed

“I'm so jealous right now. Congrats big sis,” the comment on the screen read.

“Is that not your name? Don't tell me you don't know when you dropped that comment under our sister’s post.”

I remembered. Of course, I should.

How can I forget the hollow in my chest when I woke up to rejections on my recent manuscripts, reviews my completed books that said I should quit, and Elizabeth’s celebratory post about the book in contention.

Her readers were ecstatic. Her fans couldn't wait for her next book project, but the fantasy novel was an idea I had written down in my diary before I was shipped to a mental facility. 

Someone among her fans had gone as far as comparing she and I in a heartfelt congratulatory message to her.

She, the Luna of worlds.

I, the wretched omega of a dying pack. 

In a moment of blur, I typed the single line that's covering the screen now. Because somehow, I wanted whomever it was to know that the writer she praised was my sister. 

“It is mine, Diane, but I could never hurt Elizabeth. I'm not so sure about you.”

“What did you say? Did you just accuse me of killing our sister?”

“You missed a shot at me and then called me mad. Who knows what other exploit you did?” I flatly replied.

“Mom, did you hear her?” She fumed, her veins bulging with a noticeable twitch in her right eyes before she stormed out of the room.

The moment the door slammed shut, I turned my attention to our mother, my voice lower than usual. “Mom, you know I wouldn't do that to Lizzie.” 

“Of course,” she said while dabbing the corners of her eyes but there were no tears. “Hang on. Let me take this call.” She said and stepped outside before I could remind her that I was with child. 

A flash normally accompanies her incoming calls. When on silent, it vibrates. But there was no flash and no vibration.

For the next three hours, they asked me the same questions. How did you plan it? Where are the fingers? Where is the ring?

My lawyer, a petite woman they had assigned to me, touched my shoulder and finally spoke, "Is there something you want? I can get you water, food?"

"A second chance," I said. “That is all I want.”

I would steer clear of that hotel room at the Bougainvillea. I would never fight with Lizzie. And I will never have a throw knife.

I thought I was still alone with my lawyer. I didn't expect Marshall to be close by. 

“If you had a second chance, what would you do differently?” He asked, his usual control slipping through the pauses he made. “Escape justice? Cover your trail so no one finds out you murdered your own sister?” 

I flinched at the harshness of his voice. It cut into my chest with the sharpness of a blade fresh from the whetstone. 

“You think you can pin me down with a pregnancy from a one-night-stand? You think you can change anything even if you had this baby here and now?”

My heart stuttered. He knows it's me.

He knows it's me from the hotel. He knows I'm pregnant.

Yet, all this while, he ignored me. Even when I met him at the pre-wedding party, he treated me like a stranger. 

“Diane was right,” he said and for a moment, his eyes were molten. He might have noticed the horror on my face because it disappeared as soon as it came. “People like you do not deserve a chance to live,” he added.

A knot formed in my stomach, and for a brief second it felt like I might miscarry.

I found my voice. But it was small. "That decision is for the judge. And only if I'm found guilty."

"I assure you," he said, his usual control returning in quiet threats. The kind that makes you rethink every moment of your life. 

"Even if by some miracle you walk out of here, I will come for you. And I will make your life an endless death." 

He walked away, but the sound of his boots stayed.

A lump rose in my throat. I pressed my fingers into the edge of the table so hard my knuckles went white, and struggled to stay still. The same way I was when my mother insisted that I should hide my pregnancy and watch from the corner while the father of my unborn baby made his vow to my sister, Elizabeth. The same way I stayed when Mom planned that Elizabeth should have my baby once I had delivered. The way I have been most of my life because every time I fought back, someone was ready to call me selfish, arrogant, or an ingrate.

My knees gave way and I slid to the cold floor. I didn't cry. I put my hand on my belly, and closed my eyes. It was the only thing I had left. But the very thought of carrying Marshall's child made my blood run cold. 

“Someone is here to see you,” my lawyer rubbed my shoulders and motioned to the door. “If anyone is going to get you out of this, it's Gabriel Washington.”

"Gabriel Washington?" I mumbled to myself and glanced at the figure by the door before my lawyer got up from my side and excused herself.

Of all the occasions to meet my ex, the No. 1 senior advocate in the country, it had to be while I'm in a cell facing charges for the murder of my sister. 

The same man who left me alone in the hotel room. I wouldn't have had several shots of tequila if he was there with me. I wouldn't have wandered into the wrong hotel room if he was there with me.

"If you're here to gloat, please leave," I said.

"You're accused of murdering your sister, and you didn't call me. You hired a textbook counsel. And now you tell me to leave? Really, Charlotte?"

Four months together and this was the longest sentence he ever said to me, let alone to anyone.

"I didn't do it —"

"Words don't save people in courtrooms. Evidence does. Unless you plan on serving a life sentence, I suggest you start talking."

"You think I did it?" I stared at him. My family already thought so. Marshall did. The internet did. But him too?

"Yes," he said, with no hesitation. Then, softer, "So convince me you didn't."