What Lies Beneath

Twenty-Five

The glint in Iris' eyes was nothing short of remorse. Did she regret what she'd done? It was impossible to think she could have regretted killing her own daughter—not when she went through with it—but her body said otherwise. I eyed her shaking fingers. Her chest heaved as tears brimmed along her eyelids. But she didn't let them fall. She refused.

"I-I . . . I didn't mean to—" She shook her head, whimpering.

I cut her off, "You did."

She lifted her thumb to her mouth, chomping down on her nail. Iris was no more stable than Emerald was. That was clear. If anything, she was worse. She wasn't well.

"Iris, it's okay," I soothed. "Y-you didn't want to, right? You didn't want to kill Emerald but you did. I understand."

If coddling her was my only way out of this mess, I'd do it at the drop of a hat. I'd seen it many times on TV shows and in real life. Depending on the suspect, Christian and Logan would let them play the victim card. It was the only way to make them think nothing bad would happen to them at that moment. To make them think they were justified and they wouldn't lose their shit. But without either of them here to lend a helping hand, I was stuck on my own.

"I loved her so much. . ." She sniffled and bit her lip. "I-I loved my Emmy. . ."

"I know you did. . ." I coaxed her. "So, what happened Iris? I'm here to listen. I want to know the truth, okay? Just the truth. I'm on your side. . ."

"I. . ." Iris raked both of her hands through her hair, scratching her scalp. She then let out a hoarse cry. I took a cautious step back, afraid of what she might do next. "I-I told them I'd do it." Iris' body crashed to the floor. Cries dripped from the words she'd been holding on her tongue. She ducked her head, her hair falling over her face as her tears soaked her cheeks.

My chest tightened but I pushed the feeling away. You can't get emotional now, Tyler, the voices in my head screamed. The only way I knew how to get through to her was to relate. For all I knew, she could have been putting on theatrics. I didn't think so though.

"Who's them, Iris?" I whispered.

"They didn't listen." She clutched at her chest, trying to quiet her sobs.

"It's okay. I know how that feels. It sucks. You're tired of no one listening, aren't you? Well, I'm here. I'm listening. Okay? I'm listening, I promise."

Iris let out a soft laugh, caressing the sides of her arms with her hands. "I told my therapist I thought about killing my own daughter. I had . . . nightmares about this happening. I wanted to be alone in those nightmares. I told them. And they didn't do anything.

"They gave me more prescription pills and another diagnosis. I-I . . . I thought about it for months. I didn't know how I was going to do it. But I wanted to. Then, it happened. One night, it just happened. I killed her. Right here. . . I-it was in the moment, I swear."

Her confession sent a shock wave of sickness through me. More pills. They put her on more pills. That was it. No, that didn't seem right. If a client confesses to their therapist about suicidal or homicidal thoughts, there had to be some sort of mandated requirement to that, right? I'd imagined there was. Yet I couldn't rack my brain as to how this wasn't prevented.

The pit of my stomach collapsed in on itself. How much medicine were Iris and Emerald being prescribed? There should have been a legal limit or something, right? Surely, there had to be legal procedures involved that were meant to be followed at least. I wasn't an expert but this seemed like more than a bipolar disorder. The signs were clear but they were blatantly ignored.

"And the truck, Iris? I know about the truck," I breathed out.

"I wanted to leave town. I had the license plate registered in Pennsylvania and everything already. I was going to leave. I would've left sooner but Emerald was found—"

"And because she was found, your plans to flee were spoiled," I finished her sentence. I didn't bother mentioning the ring. That ring held a lot of value which could easily be traded in for money. I figured she was going to use it to get as far away as possible. If not, then maybe it was just an object that held sentimental value to Iris. After all, it was probably one of the few things left from her and Rahim's divorce.

The back of Iris' spine hit the wall as she crawled back. I should have been scared that I was trapped in a room with someone who could snap at any minute. Someone who was vulnerable and not thinking properly. She could have killed me if she wanted to. But I was anything but.

"Iris." I took a step forward and she jerked back.

"I loved my daughter," Iris repeated, her tone quiet, "I-I loved daughter. I really did. I wish they would have removed Emerald from my care. They should have. I just couldn't do it anymore." Each word had a hint of frustration that only grew worse the more she talked.

When I got close enough to her, my face scrunched in disgust. I knew the smell of liquor. My mother drank enough liquor for me to know. I hadn't smelled it on Iris' breath before but the stench heavily reeked from her mouth. Could these have been the words of a drunk woman, but the thoughts of a sober woman? No wonder she was confessing so easily.

"Her medicine. It was too much. Her schooling was too much. Our therapy sessions were too much. We couldn't afford it. I couldn't afford it. And she never listened to me."

"I know, I know. You had no choice, right? You cried out for help to the person who was supposed to help you both and they didn't do anything, right? I understand."

Goodness, I thought the pressure from my own life was exhausting. This was pure madness. I feared that if I didn't handle her with care, she'd have another psychotic breakdown right here.

"I'm sorry, Emmy. I'm so sorry. F-forgive me please, Emmy." Iris looked up at the ceiling through her wet lashes, her cries shaking the room. I wasn't sure if this was the panic talking in her or if she'd finally lost it. All I knew was it pained me to watch.

I exhaled a shaky breath. "Iris, where did you get the truck? It's not yours."

Iris picked at the tips of her nails, frowning. "Emerald's father. He left it in my possession after he left. He was a deadbeat. A deadbeat father with a wife and a kid. He said the truck was his way of mending things. Whatever the hell that means." She used her fingers as quotations.

"He just didn't want to leave me empty-handed when Emerald was born. I didn't want it at first. . . I told him I wouldn't accept it. I stuck by my word for years. Then, the thoughts started. I needed the truck. I asked him if he still had it. He did."

The pain in her voice had reached an all-time new low; masked in bitter laughter. The more I sewed what was left of the thread together, the more sick I felt. I inhaled then exhaled another shaky breath, shaking my head. She folded her hands together and finally made an attempt to look me in the eyes. The smile on her face disturbed me.

Her next few words were fatal to my chest, "Would you believe me if I said I've been thinking about killing her for a long time now? But I couldn't. I loved my daughter too much. . ."

If someone had told me a mother would kill her own child in Lake Bellinor, I would have laughed in their face. It shouldn't have surprised me, but seeing as though Iris was in critical pain as she talked about doing it, it did. How could a mother be in critical pain after taking her daughter's life away, I pondered on the thought.

When I looked at her, I saw a broken woman begging for an end to her misery. I shouldn't have looked at her that way. Because in the end, she wasn't innocent for killing her own daughter. She acted upon the horrid thoughts and took an innocent life away. But she was innocent in her own psychologically messed up way for her treatment not being taken seriously, if her words were true. And in the end, it cost her and Emerald.