Read Online Girl on the Other Side by Deborah Kerbel - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Deborah Kerbel
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over and hang out? And how would I have a sleepover in this crowded room? Where would I put an extra person? Under the birdcage? No, thereâll be no sleepovers for me. My childhood is officially over.
I flip over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. For the first time in my life, I notice the shape of my room. Itâs a perfect square. A small square box crammed inside a slightly bigger box â this house. Suddenly the walls dip inwards and I realize in one awful moment that Iâm really no different than any of these animals in their cages. I am just as trapped as them. And Iâm spinning my wheels harder then those hamsters.
In that moment, the room darkens like a shadow has fallen over the house. Tears roll down my face and into my hair. Some drops manage to make it to my ears where they form little saltwater pools. I close my eyes as the burden of my life comes crashing down from above, pinning me to the mattress with a weight heavier than a thousand cruel jokes.
May 8
tabby
Dylan and Brandi did exactly what I knew theyâd do and sent the incriminating email out to everyone in their address books. Word spread really fast. It only took two days for the police to make an arrest. The next morning, the story was the headline in the local newspaper.
When I picked our copy up off the front porch, Davidâs bright orange prison jumpsuit was the first thing I saw. Next was his unshaven face, flooded with shame. Iâd never seen him look that way before. I stared at the photo for a full minute before noticing the headline.
Local Businessman Arrested for Fraud
Then I started to read:
Yesterday, police raided the office of the townâs most prestigious legal firm, Freeman Law. Officers seized all the files and computers in the building and temporarily shut down operations pending the completion of their investigation.
David Freeman, president and CEO of the firm, has been charged with multiple counts of fraud, obstructing justice, and destroying evidence. His wife, Catherine Freeman, is also being questioned on suspicion of destroying evidence.
The firmâs fifty-two employees have been suspended without pay and are all expected to co-operate with the ongoing investigation.
After spending the night in jail, Mr. Freeman will be arraigned in court this morning and, according to sources, is expected to be released on $25,000 bail. Outside the courthouse yesterday, he spoke to the press briefly.
Thatâs as far as I got before my vision blurred. Once I started crying, I couldnât stop. After a minute, I heard a gasp from behind me and suddenly Nanny was there, tearing the paper out of my hands and pulling me into the house.
âTabby, what are you doing?â
Sobbing, I clung to her little body and tried to think of an answer. Why was I crying? I hated him, didnât I? He deserved whatever he got. Hell, I practically turned him in myself!
But something about seeing my own father handcuffed and wearing an orange prison jumpsuit was surprisingly traumatic. Nanny must have realized that because, before my tears were even dry, she gathered up the newspaper and threw it into the recycling bin. But it was too late to erase what Iâd seen â the image had been tattooed onto my brain.
I ran upstairs to my bedroom and, with Sam at my side, watched from my window for Catherine and David to get home from the courthouse. Unfortunately, the first ones to come were the media. I watched in shock as they pulled up in those ugly grey vans with the satellite dishes mounted on top and surrounded our house with their cameras and microphones.
Next came the police. Just hours after Davidâs arraignment, a squad car pulled up into our driveway and two officers stepped out. Dodging the reporters, they charged right up to our front porch and pounded on the door knocker.
âOpen up!â
Leaving my window, I ran downstairs to see what they wanted. As I swung open the door, I
I flip over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. For the first time in my life, I notice the shape of my room. Itâs a perfect square. A small square box crammed inside a slightly bigger box â this house. Suddenly the walls dip inwards and I realize in one awful moment that Iâm really no different than any of these animals in their cages. I am just as trapped as them. And Iâm spinning my wheels harder then those hamsters.
In that moment, the room darkens like a shadow has fallen over the house. Tears roll down my face and into my hair. Some drops manage to make it to my ears where they form little saltwater pools. I close my eyes as the burden of my life comes crashing down from above, pinning me to the mattress with a weight heavier than a thousand cruel jokes.
May 8
tabby
Dylan and Brandi did exactly what I knew theyâd do and sent the incriminating email out to everyone in their address books. Word spread really fast. It only took two days for the police to make an arrest. The next morning, the story was the headline in the local newspaper.
When I picked our copy up off the front porch, Davidâs bright orange prison jumpsuit was the first thing I saw. Next was his unshaven face, flooded with shame. Iâd never seen him look that way before. I stared at the photo for a full minute before noticing the headline.
Local Businessman Arrested for Fraud
Then I started to read:
Yesterday, police raided the office of the townâs most prestigious legal firm, Freeman Law. Officers seized all the files and computers in the building and temporarily shut down operations pending the completion of their investigation.
David Freeman, president and CEO of the firm, has been charged with multiple counts of fraud, obstructing justice, and destroying evidence. His wife, Catherine Freeman, is also being questioned on suspicion of destroying evidence.
The firmâs fifty-two employees have been suspended without pay and are all expected to co-operate with the ongoing investigation.
After spending the night in jail, Mr. Freeman will be arraigned in court this morning and, according to sources, is expected to be released on $25,000 bail. Outside the courthouse yesterday, he spoke to the press briefly.
Thatâs as far as I got before my vision blurred. Once I started crying, I couldnât stop. After a minute, I heard a gasp from behind me and suddenly Nanny was there, tearing the paper out of my hands and pulling me into the house.
âTabby, what are you doing?â
Sobbing, I clung to her little body and tried to think of an answer. Why was I crying? I hated him, didnât I? He deserved whatever he got. Hell, I practically turned him in myself!
But something about seeing my own father handcuffed and wearing an orange prison jumpsuit was surprisingly traumatic. Nanny must have realized that because, before my tears were even dry, she gathered up the newspaper and threw it into the recycling bin. But it was too late to erase what Iâd seen â the image had been tattooed onto my brain.
I ran upstairs to my bedroom and, with Sam at my side, watched from my window for Catherine and David to get home from the courthouse. Unfortunately, the first ones to come were the media. I watched in shock as they pulled up in those ugly grey vans with the satellite dishes mounted on top and surrounded our house with their cameras and microphones.
Next came the police. Just hours after Davidâs arraignment, a squad car pulled up into our driveway and two officers stepped out. Dodging the reporters, they charged right up to our front porch and pounded on the door knocker.
âOpen up!â
Leaving my window, I ran downstairs to see what they wanted. As I swung open the door, I
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