Evidence of Marriage by Ann Voss Peterson

and legs tensed despite her efforts to relax. She didn’t want to answer his questions. She didn’t want him rummaging around in her mind, trying to control her, manipulate her. But she couldn’t very well refuse. She had to give answers in order to get them. “What do you want to know?”
    â€œWhat do you remember from your childhood?”
    â€œMy childhood?”
    â€œBefore you were three years old?”
    The time when she’d lived with him. The time before he’d murdered her mother. “I don’t know. Not much, really.”
    â€œThink.”
    A tremor started deep in her chest. “Just some images, really. Feelings.”
    â€œWhat images? What feelings?” He leaned forward, his handcuffs rattling on the chair arms.
    She knew he was looking for something. But what? If she gave the wrong answer, would he get angry? Would he decide he was disappointed in her? That she didn’t make him feel as good as she had as a child?
    â€œWhat do you remember, Diana?”
    The tremor moved into her legs, her arms, her hands. She gripped her thighs to stop from shaking. She would have to tell the truth. It was all she had. “I remember playing in a sandbox made from an old tractor tire.”
    He nodded, urging her to go on.
    â€œI remember a dachshund. It barked a lot. It frightened me.”
    â€œIt bit you. Do you remember that?”
    She searched her mind, but the memory of being bitten wasn’t there. “No.”
    â€œIt was found dead the next day. Slit down the middle and hanging in a tree.” His lips pulled back in a smile that left no doubt who had killed it. “What else?”
    â€œI remember a story. Something about a rabbit that ran away. I remember listening to it and feeling very warm. And safe.”
    His face softened with an eerie look of pleasure. “I read you that story. Every night before I tucked you in bed.”
    Diana clutched her legs hard and swallowed intoa dry throat. She’d always associated that story with her mother. It couldn’t be possible Kane had been the one reading to her. It couldn’t be possible he was responsible for those warm, safe feelings. The most normal feelings she’d experienced as a child.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Diana?”
    Trent Burnell’s warnings rang in her ears. Kane could be lying. He could be using her childhood emotions to manipulate her. She had to regain control of herself. “Nothing’s wrong.”
    â€œYou don’t believe that you could have loved a serial killer? You don’t believe I could have been a good father?”
    She didn’t. She couldn’t. The thought was abhorrent. He had to be lying, manipulating her. She had to hold on to that.
    She thought of what Kane had told Sylvie—of how she and her sister had made him feel. If he was using the only good feelings about her childhood to manipulate her, maybe she could return the favor. Maybe she could manipulate Kane right back. “I do remember the feelings I had as a child. Good feelings.”
    â€œI bought you presents. Little dresses. Music boxes. I did all the things a good father does.”
    She forced herself to nod.
    â€œYou and Sylvie adored me. When you saw me, you would smile so hard your faces would glow.You would ask for me to give you your bath. You would sit on my lap when we watched TV.”
    â€œI remember.”
    He arched a brow. “Do you?”
    â€œTo us, you were the most important man in the world. We worshipped you.”
    His smile faded. His expression grew as cold as his eyes. “You don’t remember, do you?”
    â€œYes, I do. I remember the feelings. The impressions.”
    â€œWho told you to say that?”
    Her stomach seized. She wiped her palms on her jeans and gripped her thighs harder. “No one told me to say anything. What do you mean?”
    â€œThe part about how I was the most important man in the world. That