Release The Hummingbird

Amalia Grunwald was found face down by a ravine in the woods behind Halston Street.

Her clothes were muddy, tousled by a few elements but unmarred by human hands. Her wrists and ankles were bound and there was a single wound on the back of her head.

Three days after her body was discovered, the medical examiner revealed that the murder weapon was most likely a shovel. Four feet wide and half an inch thick. Two days later, detectives recovered the shovel -- snapped in half and buried in my backyard.

When you ask Sumner how it got there, she can spin you one hell of a story. All hazel eyes and innocent tears. She has a bad ex-boyfriend if you need one, or maybe a hooded stranger, a con artist, a stalker, a maniac, a thief. And if those don't convince you, she has the most solid alibi in the world: me.

If you ask me what happened on the night of December 13th, I'll tell you whatever Sumner wants you to hear. But behind closed doors; somewhere she can't get to me -- I'll tell you what I saw.

My twin sister came home late that night, and I slipped into the living room just in time to catch her throwing a bundle of clothes into the fire. She turned, lunged, and clasped the length of my neck with her bloody hand.

Her eyes were bleary, and she stumbled a bit, but her words were clear.

"You never saw me."