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He swore, "It’s true! I didn’t even tell Mom—she’d blab. We’ll check it together."
He seemed honest. I nodded and began to pull him up.
But his sweaty hand was so slipped that I failed to grab him.
He plummeted, without scream, just silently.
I stared at him dropping off, my mind going blank. Then, instinct kicked in my head—I called 911.
Maybe he could "got alive" again.
What I wanted was revenge, not murder.
Police and rescue arrived fast. They found Nathan's body at the cliff base, head smashed on rocks, dead already.
I followed the staff taking the body down. Margaret and Claire waited there, grinning as if thinking Nathan had succeeded.
Seeing the police, their smiles widened.
Margaret pounced as the stretcher appeared. "Officers, her death's not my son's fault! She was too careless!”
I stepped out. "Mom."
Margaret paled and Claire stood dead.
Margaret tore off the sheet, only to see Nathan’s bloodied, lifeless face.
"My son! You’re joking, right?"
She collapsed on the spot, wailing.
Wrapped in a police blanket, I said, "Mom, he’s gone. I’m sorry."
This was the second time in weeks, I'd said it. This time, Nathan won't come back again.
Margaret sobbed, pointing to me. "Sir, it is her, she murdered my son."
They pulled her back. "Calm down, Madom, we’re taking Emily to the station. You come too. We’ll find the truth soon."
At the precinct, Margaret ranted, demanding my death penalty.
I told the officers, "There’s a camera on the cliff. Check it. It was that Nathan tried to kill me."
Margaret froze, blocking their way. "No! Clearly she is the murderer! Or why's she fine but my son's dead? No need of cameras proving it!"
An officer warned, "Ma’am, obstruct us means interfering with an legal investigation."
