42 Megan
That day, the day that Riley Markham was killed, I’d been out. I remember now. I got home and put the washing machine on. It was on an hour’s cycle and bleeped to tell me it was finished just as Chris walked through the door. He got home just after five. I remember that, as it was earlier than I expected. So I must have got home about four o’clock.
Everything’s a horrible mixture of images, and I can’t make head nor tail of it. I get flashes in my mind, some of them real, some of them made-up. I see Chris coming home. The flashing police sirens. Riley’s lifeless body.
All the days seem to roll into one. I know I’d been walking. If I could remember exactly where I’d gone, I could try to make some sense of it all. I often walk down by the stream, but I don’t think I did that day.
