‘What’s real is he was a liar.’
She shakes her head again, this time as though it weighs the world.
‘What he could have been. It’s a tragedy. You remember what the judge said?’
Remember? How could I forget? It’s brought up on every documentary ever made about Matty, in every film, on every podcast.
You had so much going for you. The pity of it, Mr Melgren.
Never mind the victims. The violence. The families who’ll never recover. Olivia Paul’s mother still leaves the porch light on, just in case this is the night her daughter will finally come home. Lydia Deval’s family still haven’t been able to give her a funeral.
The judge’s remarks captured the problem though, Matty’s ace in the hole. How conventional he looked. Someone you might work with. Meet for a drink. Take home to your parents.
A mask of normalcy. No graphic photos or witness testimony has ever quite ripped it off.
I’m still not convinced he did it.
He just doesn’t look like a killer.
He seems too nice.
And through it all, Matty has given interviews, protested his innocence, filed appeals. It’s both sickened me and given me hope. A demon and an angel whispering in each ear.
I nursed the doubt, couldn’t bear for him to be guilty. Despite what I’d done, despite what it would mean if he wasn’t.
I didn’t want my childhood to be a lie, didn’t want to hate the only man I’d ever loved. The father I’d never had.
I give my mother a hard time, but we’re not so different really. Even now, decades on, I’m still rehashing the past, trying to make sense of it. Unable to let it go.
Which is why I have to see him, I think. To get answers before it’s too late.
Despite the price I know I’ll have to pay.