“You know you don’t have to do this,” Quincy said, not for the first time. “Just say the word and I’ll confess to everything.”

She looked around the visiting room, which was packed with other women in beige and their guests. Hushed conversations rose from the neighboring tables, in all manner of languages. Through the grate-covered window, Quincy saw dirty snow drifting against a tall security fence looped at the top with barbed wire. She honestly didn’t know how Tina could stand it there, even though she was assured it wasn’t that bad. Tina told her it reminded her of Blackthorn.

“It’s not like your confession would get me out of here any faster,” she said. “Besides, you were right. I made you do that to Rocky Ruiz.”

Rocky emerged from his coma at roughly the same time Quincy was shoving that knife into Him for the final time. Rocky’s memory was hazy, though, less from the beating and more from the fact that he was strung out on crack when it happened. But he knew he had been attacked. Against Quincy’s wishes, Tina confessed to it. Rocky didn’t argue and Detective Hernandez didn’t press the issue. Jeff suggested a plea deal, with Tina to serve time concurrently for both the assault and the fraud.

“You didn’t make me do anything,” Quincy said. “My choices are mine.”

That much was true. It was the repercussion of those choices that she couldn’t control.

“Have they found the real Samantha yet?” Tina asked. “I’ve been asking the guards for news.”

“Nope,” Quincy said, capping the word with a popping sound. “They’re still looking for her body.”

Once it became clear that Samantha Boyd had been murdered, police in Florida went all out trying to recover her body. Quincy spent the past four months monitoring the news as authorities searched forests, dredged lakes, dug up dirt lots. But Florida was a big state, and the odds were slim that she’d ever be found.

Quincy concluded that maybe it was for the best. Until they found Sam’s body, it would feel like there was another Final Girl out in the world.

“How about Jeff?” Tina asked. “How’s he doing?”

“You probably talk to him more than I do,” Quincy said.

“Maybe. The next time I do, I’ll tell him you said hi.”

Quincy knew it would do little to change things. Jeff had made his opinion of her very clear that long, torturous night when she confessed all her misdeeds. It destroyed her to see him veer between love and anger, sympathy and disgust. At one point, he simply latched on to her, begging for a logical reason why she had slept with Him.

She couldn’t give one.

That’s why she decided it was best for them to go their separate ways, even if Jeff could possibly find some way to forgive her. They weren’t right for each other. They both should have seen that from the start.

“That would be nice,” Quincy said. “Tell him I wish him well.”

Quincy meant it. Jeff needed someone normal. And she needed to focus on other things. Like getting the website back in working condition, for starters. And laying off the wine. And quitting the Xanax.

The day after Jeff moved out, Quincy’s mother arrived for an extended visit. They did all the things they should have done years earlier. Talking. Crying. Forgiving. Together, they flushed all those little blue pills down the toilet. Now whenever Quincy got the urge for one, she sipped a bit of grape soda in an attempt to fool her Xanax-deprived brain. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

“I read your big interview,” Tina told her.

“I haven’t,” Quincy said. “How was it?”

“Jonah did a good job.”

After Pine Cottage Part II, Quincy gave exactly one interview—an exclusive to Jonah Thompson. It had felt like the right thing to do, considering that he helped her, in his own smarmy way. All the major news outlets from Trenton to Tokyo picked it up. Everyone wanted a piece of her. But since she was no longer talking, they settled for Jonah instead. He was able to parlay all that attention into a bigger, better gig. He started at The New York Times on Monday. Quincy hoped they were ready for him.

“I’m glad it turned out well,” she said.

The room began to empty around them. Visitation was almost over. Quincy knew she should leave, too, but one more question lingered in her head, begging to be asked.

“Did you know that He was responsible for Pine Cottage?”

“No,” Tina said, understanding exactly who she was referring to. “All I knew was that it couldn’t have been Joe.”

“I’m sorry that I blamed him all these years,” Quincy said. “I’m sorry it caused you such pain.”

“Don’t be sorry. You saved my life.”

“And you saved mine.”

They stared at each other, not speaking, until the guard stationed at the door announced it was time to leave. When Quincy stood, Tina said, “Do you think you’ll come back sometime? Just to say hi?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to?”

Tina shrugged. “I don’t know.”

At least they were honest with each other. In a way, they always had been, even when they were lying.

“Then I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Quincy said.

Tina’s lips curled upward, on the edge of a smile. “I’ll be waiting, babe.”