Free Clarity by Kim Harrington

sex with my brother. After he left, someone came into the room. Victoria thought it was Perry. But it wasn’t. it couldn’t have been.
    Because Perry is not a killer.
    I repeated that silently like a mantra in the darkness of my bedroom while I willed myself to go back to sleep.
    In my next dream, I was lost in the woods, unsure of which direction to go, and so tired that I eventually sank to the forest floor. I didn’t move while insects nibbled at my skin. I didn’t scream. I didn’t wake up. Because, in my dream, I knew I was only dreaming and the little forest animals that bit and tore at me were only representations of the nagging doubts that were eating away at me.
    Doubts about Perry.
    I watch the news. I read articles. In most cases, the last one to be seen with the victim is the killer. But Perry was my brother. And had no reason to do this. Plus, he swore to me that when he left, Victoria was alive.
    And Perry never lies? The chorus of insects laughed at my naïveté.
    I thought of all the stories he told girls, about his scar, and other stuff. Lies, yes, but harmless ones, only meant to charm. He lies to girls who don’t matter to him. He doesn’t lie to me, I answered.
    You just said it. Girls don’t matter to Perry, the doubts chanted. He finishes with one and moves on to the next. They’re disposable. Their lives don’t matter.
    Shut up! My voice echoed so loudly in the forest that I woke and bolted upright in bed.
    I’d yelled the words out loud.
    Mom burst in and the door slammed against the wall. “Are you okay?” She looked around the room, confused. “What are you still doing in bed?”
    I squinted at the alarm clock. It was ten a.m.
    “Sorry, Mom.” I rubbed my eyes. “I’ll get up now.”
    “Have you seen your brother today?”
    “No, why?”
    Mom sighed and clenched her fists. “He knows you’re busy with the police department, and he promised me he’d work all day. This is going to be a busy day. The fireworks are tonight on the beach. We’re going to have lots of foot traffic going by, lots of business.We have a drop-in waiting already, and Perry’s flaked out on me.”
    I pushed my Perry-related nightmares out of my head. I couldn’t think about that now.
    I threw off the blanket and eased my legs over the side of the bed. “I can do the reading with you.”
    Mom’s face lit up. “Really? You don’t mind? I know you’re busy.”
    “It’s no problem. Gabriel hasn’t called me yet.” I stood and stretched. “Give me five minutes.”
    I didn’t have time to shower, so I splashed some cold water on my face and pulled my hair up into a ponytail. I threw on a gray T-shirt and navy shorts and dabbed a bit of lip gloss onto my lips.
    I rushed downstairs, pausing only when the morning paper caught my eye. It was folded on the coffee table bearing the headline, FEW LEADS IN TEEN’S DEATH . I picked it up and stared at a photo of Victoria Happel. Despite having seen her death in my mind’s eye, I’d never seen her face. My visions are from the point of view of the original person.
    Victoria didn’t look like a typical eighteen-year-old. She was model-pretty, with long dark hair, a voluptuous body, and brown eyes that seemed older, more mature, with a come-hither look to them. There was a hint of a smile forming at the corner of her mouth and I was filled with sadness for her. She’d never smile again.
    Mom coughed from the reading room. I dropped the newspaper and hurried in. The scene was set — dimmedlights, soft music, flickering candles. The client, a girl only a little older than me, sat up straight as I entered. She looked like she needed a shower and a full night’s sleep. She may have even had a worse night than me.
    “I couldn’t find my son,” Mom said, “but my daughter will join us.”
    The girl nodded slowly, her eyes vacant.
    “What’s your name?” Mom asked.
    “Joni,” she said, in barely a whisper. Her long brown hair hung limp like a curtain