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CHAPTER TWO
“THERE IS NOTHING SO PITIFUL,” Indira said, “as seeing all someone’s possessions in a cardboard box.” I nodded. I looked around the room sadly.
“Surprising, really,” Indira went on, “how few things Alicia had. When you think how much junk
the other patients accumulate ... All she had were some books, a few drawings, her clothes.”
Indira and I were clearing out Alicia’s room on Stephanie’s instructions. “It’s unlikely she’ll ever wake up,” Stephanie had said, “and quite frankly we need the bed.” We worked in silence mostly, deciding what to put in storage and what to throw away. I carefully looked through her belongings. I
wanted to make sure there was nothing incriminating—nothing that might trip me up.
I wondered how Alicia had managed to keep her diary hidden and out of sight for so long. Each patient was allowed to bring a small amount of personal items with them upon admittance to the Grove. Alicia had brought a portfolio of sketches, which I presume was how she had smuggled in the
diary. I opened the portfolio and flicked through the drawings—they were mostly unfinished pencil sketches and studies. A few casual lines thrown onto a page, immediately coming to life, brilliantly evocative, capturing an unmistakable likeness.
I showed a sketch to Indira. “It’s you.”
“What? It’s not.”
“It is.”
“Is it?” Indira looked delighted and studied it closely. “Do you think so? I never noticed her
drawing me. I wonder when she did it. It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. You should keep it.”
Indira pulled a face and handed it back. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Of course you can. She wouldn’t mind.” I smiled. “No one will ever know.”
“I suppose—I suppose not.” She glanced at the painting upright on the floor, leaning against the
wall—the painting of me and Alicia on the fire escape of the burning building, which had been defaced by Elif.
“What about that?” Indira asked. “Will you take it?”
I shook my head. “I’ll call Jean-Felix. He can take charge of it.”
Indira nodded. “Shame you can’t keep it.”
I looked at it for a moment. I didn’t like it. Of all of Alicia’s paintings, it was the only one I didn’t
like. Strange, considering it had me as its subject.
I want to be clear—I never thought Alicia would shoot Gabriel. This is an important point. I never
intended nor expected her to kill him. All I wanted was to awaken Alicia to the truth about her marriage, as I had been awakened. I intended to show her that Gabriel didn’t love her, that her life was a lie, their marriage a sham. Only then would she have a chance, as I had, to build a new life from the rubble; a life based on truth, not lies.
I had no idea about Alicia’s history of instability. Had I known, I never would have pushed things so far. I had no idea she would react like that. And when the story was all over the press and Alicia