Who She Was

by Braylee Parkinson

  “So, you remember hearing about Liza being murdered behind the party store?”

  “Yeah. I remember hearing about it and not giving it much thought at first. Like I told you, I didn’t know it was her for a few weeks. After seeing her face all over the news, I recognized her.”

  A child I hadn’t seen before emerged from the basement. She looked to be about ten years old. Her face was almond-shaped, like her mother’s.

  “Ma, can we eat now?” the pre-teen asked.

  Alyssa Masters looked at the empty plate where the bacon had been.

  “You’ll have to excuse us, Mrs. Wilcox. I gotta find something else for the rest of them to eat,” Alyssa told me. A half smile crossed her lips. She looked old and tired.

  “You’ve been a big help. I appreciate your candidness.” I shook Alyssa Masters’ limp hand and headed for the car.

  I stopped by Madelyn’s house again on my way home. My knocks went unanswered, and the door was still unlocked. Yes, it was possible that Madelyn was out of town, but why would she leave the door unlocked? What if something had happened to her and I was the only one who knew she was missing? I decided that was reason enough to enter without permission.

  I went back to the door that presumably led to the cellar. After shoving the yoga mats out of the way, I pulled on the door handle again. It was still locked tight. Should I pry it open? No. What if Madelyn had been kidnapped or worse? It would be a bad idea to have my fingerprints on the door. I wiped the handle clean, looked around, and noticed that it was getting dark outside. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. Madelyn had been avoiding me before she vanished, so maybe she hadn’t vanished at all. I headed back to the car and watched the motionless house for another hour. As dusk set in, I pulled out of the driveway and headed home. Where was Madelyn Price?

  Chapter Thirteen

  The weather began to deteriorate during the drive home. It was early April and winter was fighting off spring’s advances. That night, a chilly rain began to fall in the early evening, and by the time I got home, the temperature had dipped below forty degrees. As I pulled into the driveway, sleet began to materialize. I’d stopped by the grocery store for a few provisions on my way home and was reviewing a taco recipe in my head as I gathered the bags from the passenger seat. To avoid multiple trips, I lined my arms with the six bags and sprinted for the house. After a slight fumble with my keys, I opened the door and rushed into the darkness, setting the bags on the floor in front of the refrigerator. A slight creak sent my intruder radar into overdrive. As I came back to an upright position, I grabbed my gun and spun around to face the door.

  “Don’t move!” I yelled.

  Madelyn Price was standing just inside the door, soaked and distraught. Her chest was heaving up and down, and her bun was uncharacteristically wild and out of place.

  “Please! Mrs. Wilcox, I’m in danger! I need help!”

  Unwilling to remove my hands from the gun, I slid my elbow along the edge of the wall and pushed the light switch.

  “Come in.”

  Madelyn began to drop her arms to her sides.

  “Keep your hands up!” I commanded. She obliged.

  “Close the door and apply the deadbolt. After that, get a chair from the living room and set it in the middle of the kitchen floor.”

  Madelyn followed my instructions, walking carefully into the living room, and slowly picking up a chair. She brought it into the kitchen.

  “Okay. Sit down, nice and slow.”

  The gun remained trained on Madelyn’s chest. It was still possible that Madelyn had killed Liza; I couldn’t take any chances.

  “I’m going to put the gun away. Then you’re going to tell me why you put yourself in danger by sneaking to my place.”

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” Madelyn responded, tears mixing with the raindrops on her face.

  “What happened to you? Are you hurt?” I reached for her shoulder, but she pulled away. Her face had a look of pure terror, as if she’d seen a ghost.

  “I’m ready.”

  I knew what she meant—finally, she would tell me the truth.

  “Okay. Come into the living room. You’re shivering and it’s warmer in there.”

  I put my gun away and pulled one of the afghans out of the hall closet. Madelyn eased into a chair, pulling the blanket round her as tightly as she could. She looked like a terrified child.

  “You’re safe here. If they come here, they won’t be leaving, and they won’t have time to hurt you.”

  “You don’t understand! He could order someone to hurt anyone and they would do it! He knows so much and he—” She stopped mid-sentence and began to sob.

  “Calm down. I’ll put on some tea,” I said before heading into the kitchen. I took my time putting the kettle on the stove and getting cups out of the cupboard-giving her time to cry it out. By the time I had returned with two cups of ginger tea, she was calm. I set down the cups and threw a few logs into the fireplace. It only took a couple of minutes to get a nice fire going.

  “We’re going to need more than one cup.”

  I nodded and climbed into my leather recliner.

  “You can have as much tea as you need. I think you came here to tell me something.”

  Madelyn nodded and sighed, took the cup of tea, and started from what I assumed was the beginning.

  “At first, we were brutal enemies. We would face off from time to time with silly catfights that always began with, ‘You stole my man!’” Madelyn dropped her head and laughed. It was in that second of reminiscing that she looked close to her age.

  “Demario was a looker who turned out to be a dangerous person—a psychopath. He was abusive and relentless. Liza once ran to the Upper Peninsula to get away from him. You might think, ‘Wow, she overreacted’, but Demario truly was a monster. He’d done such horrible things to Liza. After she moved to New Orleans, she sent me an anonymous letter. It was five pages long, and it could have passed for junk mail. I don’t even remember why I opened it. I was haunted by the letter. It was a cry for help, but I had no idea who had sent it.”

  “How did you know it was from Liza?”

  “I didn’t, until a month later when she sent me an email. All it said was, ‘It was me.’ After that, I decided to help.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I felt some connection to Liza. Kara came first, but Liza had her baby, another girl, about a year later She was too scared to tell her parents. Instead, she left the baby with Demario’s sister and went back home.”

  “So, she abandoned the baby…Did you ever hear what happened to the little girl?”

  Madelyn shook her head. I noted that this story was slightly different from what Alyssa Masters had told me had happened to Demario and Liza’s child. I was fed up with Madelyn’s lies.

  “Okay, I need to hear the whole story; don’t lie to me. Start from the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”

  The kettle whistled again. I retrieved it and refilled our cups. As I was handing the tea to Madelyn, I noticed how small and scared she looked—nothing like the woman I’d met with several times at the yoga studio.

  “You don’t need to know everything.”

  “Yes, I do. I need to know everything because you never know what’s relevant until it’s revealed,” I said, getting frustrated with the game Madelyn was trying to play.

  “I know if information is relevant or—”

  “Do you want the cops involved? You can deal with them instead of me. Your whole secret life will be out in the open. Is that what you want?”

  “You don’t understand! There are so many lives in danger! Exposing me would harm so many young, innocent women.”

  “I know about the cottage and the little group with the women and children, or whatever the hell you’re running. I don’t really care what you do in your free time, but I want to know what happened to Liza Stark.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll start from the beginning, but
I need your word that you won’t hurt the innocent people involved.”

  “If they’re innocent, there’s no reason to worry. Start talking.”

  She sighed and paused before beginning.

  “It started when I was in high school. Demario began beating me after we moved in together. I was an honor student, doing well in life, but when I met him, I thought I was in love. He was older, attractive, and interesting. When I got pregnant, my parents wanted nothing to do with me. They told me I couldn’t live with them anymore, so Demario encouraged me to get on public assistance. Once I had that, a social worker helped me find a house in Brightmoor. There was a family that owned houses there and they wanted to help young single mothers.”

  “Let me guess—the Abernathys.”

  Madelyn nodded.

  “Yes. They were my landlords.”

  That explained why they had such a high opinion of Madelyn. She’d come a long way from being a teenage mom.

  “Keep talking,” I said.

  “At one of my prenatal appointments, the doctor noticed bruises on my arms and neck. She gave me the number of a women’s shelter, but they had stipulations. I wanted freedom without the psychobabble, the labels, and the sad reality that I was weak. What I wanted was an escape—a fresh start with my baby. I hesitated for a while, but after Kara was born, it was clear that Demario wasn’t going to change. I stayed in the relationship too long, but as soon as I graduated, I was ready to go. Liza was getting ready to have her baby, and I just wanted out of the situation.”

  “How did you get away from Demario?”

  “I was struggling to finish high school; I was still with Demario, and we had a child. He was beating the hell out of me, and I also knew that he had corrupted my landlord’s daughter. She was pregnant and living around the corner. I couldn’t get away without help, but at the time, I didn’t have anyone. I started going to this church called Precious Blood, and I met an elderly couple, Sharon and Raymond Carter. They took to me and the baby instantly…it was like they knew I was hurting. They ran a safe house for young women who had run away from home, were pregnant, or were being abused.”

  “So, they took you in,” I interjected.

  “Well, they tried—twice— but both times, Demario found me. That put all the girls in danger, so the Carters had to turn me away. Sharon tried to convince Raymond that they could ensure the safety of all of us, but he knew that wasn’t true. One Sunday after church, Raymond slipped me a piece of paper with a phone number. I asked whose number it was, because there wasn’t a name. He told me to just call the number. They were expecting me.”

  “The number was to a group that would help you escape and leave the state.”

  “Yes. I called the number the next day. The person who picked up on the other end didn’t go into detail, she just paused for a second before saying, ‘Meet me at the old train station. Come alone. Bring your baby.’ When I got there, I climbed into the car with Kara, and the person behind the wheel told me I was never going back.”

  “It’s an organization for battered women and children, an underground railroad.”

  “Something like that. There were people who wanted to help, and I knew that I was indebted to them for what was done for me. After I was back on my feet, I figured I should give back. I wasn’t sure how, until I received this anonymous letter. Before that, I just volunteered with a shelter, but those places have so many rules and stipulations; I wanted to do something more. Anyway, the letter Liza sent detailed horrific abuse, but it wasn’t signed. It haunted me for months, but I had no way of finding out who sent it. Eventually, I received the email from Liza.”

  “Liza was the inspiration for your organization?”

  “No. I had already been working with organizations that helped battered women, but I wanted my own thing. Over time, I found that I didn’t like all the stipulations. Some groups require group therapy, labels, etc. I wanted to start something because I’d been one of those girls, and I wanted an organization that was a bit more empowering for women. I started with girls from Brightmoor. Liza was the first out-of-state rescue.”

  “You’ve been doing this for years? How can you afford to take care of all the women and children?”

  “The women are free to stay with us without worrying about anything for the first three months. After that, they pay one hundred dollars a month for utilities, rent, etc. There are very strict rules: they don’t leave the safe house, and they aren’t allowed to have any communication with outsiders. After three months, they’re able to go out and find a job. We give them aliases, and we have a few employers in town that we work with. They know very little about the operation, but they know me, so they’re willing to take a chance. They forge the necessary paperwork, but I provide proof that the women are eligible to work in this country. They need to be untraceable for a while. We take twenty percent off the top to keep the operation functioning, and the women can keep the rest of their money. Most of the time there is a surplus, and we use the excess to fund the resettlement of the women.”

  “That sounds good, but I doubt that you’re able to pay for everything these women need—the houses, food, clothes, etc.—with just twenty percent of their incomes.”

  “Income from the yoga studio supplements that.”

  “And your salary…That’s why you pick up the therapy sessions every now and then, isn’t it?”

  Madelyn refused to confirm or deny the allegations. There was a great sense of selflessness in her. Was it inspired by altruism, or guilt?

  “You haven’t had any trouble with the ladies not complying?”

  “They are helpless by the time they think that they need a drastic escape plan, so they are very compliant. A few have had trouble with the structure, but after a couple of weeks, they comply. Let’s face it: refusal to comply means you’re on your own, which generally means going back to the abuser.”

  “How long do they stay?

  “Most of the girls have enough money to get their own place within six months.”

  “Do most of them leave after six months?”

  “Most stay at least a year.”

  “Because you’re good to them.”

  Madelyn pulled the afghan tighter and shook her head. “I owe debts that can never be repaid. Helping these girls is the least I can do.”

  “So, walk me through this. How do they find you?”

  “Chatrooms, college cafeterias, or—and I’m not proud of this—even on the dark web. I know there’s a stigma, but think about it: all the criminals are on the dark web. Some of the victims are on there as well.”

  “Really? What are the victims doing on there?”

  “They stumble upon it—young women, teenagers curious about what they can find on there. They get sucked in, but if they come across one of my forum spies, they can be saved. Well, at least some of them.”

  The dark web, Michigan, Louisiana—where else did Madelyn have a presence? I started to realize that I was dealing with something much bigger than a former abused woman gone rogue. I was dealing with a highly organized, far-reaching organization. Madelyn Price wasn’t the person I thought she was. Archie Paladoski’s words echoed in my head. It was all very fascinating, but I felt my number one suspect slipping away.

  “Did you stop by to see my priest?”

  Madelyn tilted her head and wrinkled her brow. “What? No. Why would I go to see your priest?”

  “Someone fitting your description stopped by my church to ask questions about me. My priest described a small, black woman with her hair in a bun. I assumed it was you.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I have no idea why—I just suspected it was you.” If it wasn’t her, who was it? “Did you follow me to the hospital when I met with Dr. Freeman?”

  Madelyn hesitated before answering.

  “Dr. Freeman is a friend…She helps with things, and we knew you were getting close to finding out what we do. She—well, we were nervous, and we thought
that if we helped you understand that this was just a random act of violence, you would stop digging into my past.”

  That explained Dr. Freeman’s lie about returning a phone call, but it didn’t clear up why someone had stopped by to see Father Keegan. Madelyn was the only person I could think of, but realistically, it would be stupid for her to stop by and talk with my priest. Everyone knows that a priest is not going to tell a stranger something about one of his parishioners unless he has their permission. But apparently, there was someone out there who didn’t know that.

  “You think Liza’s murder was a random act of violence?”

  “Yes. She was careless at times.”

  “Okay. Explain how she was careless.”

  “Well, sometimes we would go to help a girl in another state, and Liza would make ‘friends’ with strange men. She wasn’t necessarily cheating on Carson, but she liked to flirt and get attention from other men.”

  I thought about the conversation I’d had with Abigail Abernathy. She thought Liza was having an affair before she was murdered. Perhaps Madelyn had been in on the affair, and that was why the lady behind the counter at Mickelson’s had recognized Liza’s picture.

  “Did you and Liza spend time at Mickelson’s?”

  “No. Liza always refused to go there, even if we were helping a girl in the area. I’ve been there many times, but never with Liza.”

  It was hard to tell if Madelyn was being completely honest. It seemed like she was still hiding information, but I needed to find out more about why she had shown up on my doorstep.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “I need help…Someone has been following me and leaving threatening notes. I don’t know why this is happening now, but I think it has something to do with Demario Masters.”

  “Demario Masters is in prison and has been for years. Why do you suspect that he’s after you?”

  “I took his child away. The one thing he always said was that I could go, but his daughter couldn’t. I took his child; his family hated me for it. I think he has told them to find me.”