Chapter 3

I didn't have a dime on me. I had no choice but to spend the night on a park bench.

At dawn, I woke up shivering. My whole body felt like it'd been hit by a truck.

I had to find out the truth. I couldn't keep living like this, not knowing who I was.

I started replaying the car accident from five years ago. The memory was blurry. I only remembered drinking a lot that night.

My brother Michael and I were together. Then... driving. Blinding headlights. A huge crash.

A figure collapsing in front of the car. Blood. Blood everywhere. I was scared out of my mind.

It was my brother Michael who said, "Don't be scared, bro. Leave it to me."

Then I blacked out.

When I woke up, I was already in detention.

The police told me my name was Matthew Carter and that I'd fled after a hit-and-run.

I admitted it.

Because I trusted my brother.

I trusted him to take care of Emily and our parents. Now it looked like every bit of it had been a lie.

I needed evidence.

I walked into an internet cafe. With the few coins I had left, I rented a computer.

I searched local news from five years ago.

Keywords: hit-and-run, Southgate Avenue.

One article popped up.

[Late-Night Street Racing Leaves One Dead and One Injured, Suspect Matthew Carter Detained]

The article used a blurred photo of me being taken away by the police. But I recognized that build.

The victim, David Wright, twenty-seven, an ordinary office worker.

His home address was listed below the article.

I wrote it down. It was my only lead.

I had to go see his family. Maybe they knew something.

I left the internet cafe.

Following the address, I took a bus to the old part of town on the other side of the city. It looked pretty much the same as I remembered.

Run-down apartment blocks and narrow alleys.

I found David Wright's home.

A six-story walk-up building with no elevator.

I climbed to the fifth floor and knocked.

An elderly woman with white hair opened the door. She looked worn down, her eyes cloudy.

"Who are you looking for?"

"Is this David Wright's home?"

The old woman swayed a little.

"Who are you?"

Her eyes were full of caution.

"I... I'm a reporter. I wanted to ask about what happened back then."

I lied.

The old woman stayed silent for a long time.

"Come in."

The place was tiny and plainly furnished. A black-and-white photo hung on the wall. The young man in it had a bright smile.

It was David Wright.

"What do you want to know?" the old woman asked in a raspy voice.

"Back then... besides paying money, did the driver do anything else?"

I asked carefully.

"Pay money?"

The old woman let out a cold laugh.

"Oh, they gave us a lot of money."

"Enough to buy my son's life."

"They also made us sign papers saying we could never bring it up again."

My heart sank.

"Did you ever see the dr... the driver?"

"I did."

The old woman's cloudy eyes locked onto me.

"He came once, right before he got taken away."

"He knelt right here and begged for my forgiveness."

She slowly stood up, walked to an old cabinet, and pulled out a photo album.

With trembling hands, she took out a picture.

"This is him."

I took the photo.

The person in it was me. Or rather, a face exactly like mine.

He was kneeling on the floor, tears all over his face, looking utterly wrecked.

It was the exact same face I'd seen in the mirror every day.

I was Matthew Carter.

I was just about to breathe easier.

Then the old woman spoke again.

She pointed at the photo and said in a dead-certain voice,

"He wasn't alone that night."