Chapter 4

During a pre-trial hearing transfer, Sarah was led from the courthouse to a transport van.

A crowd had gathered, their faces contorted with rage.

"Monster!"

"Child killer!"

The shouts rained down on her.

She kept her head down, shuffling in her restraints, the shame a physical weight.

Then, through the jeering faces, she saw her.

Jessica Hayes.

Mark' s colleague from the tech firm.

Sarah had met her a few times at company events. Ambitious, sharp, always impeccably dressed.

Today, Jessica stood slightly back from the angriest part of the mob, watching.

And she was wearing a scarf.

A distinctive, brightly colored scarf. Reds, oranges, a swirl of patterns.

Sarah froze.

That scarf.

She' d seen that scarf before.

In the periphery of her "memories" under hypnosis.

The "memory" of herself committing the murder.

The figure she had "seen" as herself, in those flashes of horror, had a blur of color near the neck. That scarf.

But Sarah didn't own a scarf like that. She never had.

Why was Jessica Hayes wearing a scarf that featured in her implanted nightmare?

A tiny, sharp spark of something other than despair ignited within her.

Confusion. Suspicion.

It was a small detail, almost nothing.

But it snagged in her mind, a dissonant note in the symphony of her supposed guilt.

The guards were pulling her towards the van.

The crowd surged.

Someone spat at her.

In a sudden, desperate outburst, fueled by a wild surge of adrenaline and a dawning, terrible possibility, Sarah wrenched an arm free.

She lunged, not far, but enough.

Towards Jessica Hayes.

"You!" Sarah screamed, her voice raw, cracking. "You did this! You framed me! That's your scarf! I saw it!"

Jessica' s eyes widened, a flicker of something unreadable in them before she composed her face into an expression of shock and pity.

Guards quickly subdued Sarah, pulling her back.

The crowd roared, misinterpreting her outburst as further proof of her instability.

"She's crazy!"

"Lock her up and throw away the key!"

But Sarah didn' t care about them anymore.

Her eyes were locked on Jessica, who quickly turned and disappeared into the throng.

The scarf.

It couldn't be a coincidence.

The "memory" Dr. Evans had coaxed out of her... what if it wasn't a memory at all?

What if it was something... planted?

The thought was terrifying, but also, strangely, a lifeline.

The lingering, unresolved mystery of Emily's head being found exactly where her "memory" placed it, a fact that had previously confirmed her guilt, now felt different.

It felt too neat. Too perfect.

As if someone wanted it to be found that way.

Someone who knew what that "memory" would contain.

A tiny seed of fight, long dormant, began to sprout in the barren landscape of Sarah' s despair.

Maybe she wasn't a monster.

Maybe she was a victim.