The thin mattress covering the bunk beneath did little to disguise the hard metal base. It creaked as I shifted, the two support bars locking it to the wall thick with rust and chipped paint in so many layers it was impossible to make out the original shade.

I did my best to sit quietly, to hold myself still and calm, though my mind whirled without my consent while the burden of the heat of the dying day turned to a chill to match my heart.

I'd killed my father. I'd ...