by Mira Gibson
On rubbery legs, she ventured across the dock and joined her at its edge.
“Sorry, my stomach’s been acting up,” she started.
“So what’s going on with the case?”
Hannah needed a moment to get her bearings on how best to get her sister talking. Looking at her young face - the worry and wonder in her eyes, the clear and present admiration she held for Hannah, her need for Hannah to stay, she reminded herself Mary was just a kid, granted a smart one, likely a scared one, definitely an abused one, but a child nonetheless.
“First off, you and your sister have to start going to school.”
She took it like a slap in the face.
“Don’t look at me like that. Staying home all the time isn’t healthy.”
Her surprised brows lifted even higher and she gaped an astonished smile. “I was just shot. You remember how I was shot, right?”
“Yeah, I haven’t forgotten.” She didn’t look away and neither did Hannah. Water lapped at the edge of the dock, as Hannah searched her expression for any hint Mary would make this easy on her, but all she saw was defiance. “I know you were shot,” she went on, digging deep to get to the bottom of this. “And I know you lied about it.”
A slight shift of her eyes as they glazed over, her mouth screwing up. “What do you think I lied about?”
“You said the man shot you from a good eight yards away. Your doctor told me the barrel had been set to your leg when the trigger was pulled.”
Hannah let that hang so she could read her reaction, but all she did was turn to stone.
“I’m going to ask you something, Mary and don’t you dare lie to me or I swear to God I’ll be back in Gilford before the sky is black.”
Her eyes went white all around. Good, the threat meant something to her.
“Did you take my revolver and shoot yourself in the leg?”
She stopped breathing, went still right down to her very core. Then she blinked and blinked, gaze lowering, like it’d coerce the words out.
“There was a man out here,” she said softly. “And I really didn’t get a good look at his face. He really was yards and yards away.”
“So you shot yourself?”
Mary fell silent, couldn’t look at her.
“You could’ve hit bone. What if you clipped an artery? You’d be dead.”
She returned her gaze, but her eyes were dead. “So what?”
“I walked in on something, didn’t I?”
Mary’s face contorted into a pained grimace then she forced it straight. “You don’t get how it is here.”
“You’re right,” she said, her voice pure compassion.
She started shaking her head as if all of humanity had her exhausted. “All I know is that you came back and it stopped. Then you shacked up with that guy one night and he started back in on me.”
Hannah had to pinch her eyes closed and breathe for a second.
“You told me you were going to head back to Gilford. I only wanted you to stay.”
Hannah had never encountered someone so messed up, but who could stay sane living with a father like that?
She held Mary by her shoulders, getting her to look her in the eye. “I am staying. I am.”
That’s when her tears came. Laughing and crying, relieved, Mary nodded and murmured, “Thank you.”
“I’m going to get you and your sister out of the house.”
“Now? Tonight?” She seemed worried. “He’s probably passed out by now. I’ll just lock him in.”
“You guys can’t stay here,” she affirmed.
“But it’s late anyway.”
It wasn’t late. It was seven o’clock.
Hannah almost asked her why in the hell she’d want to stay, but kept her mouth shut in that regard.
“When should we go?”
“Things are good when you’re here,” she said, implying no one had to leave.
“Okay.” Mary’s position gave her an uneasy feeling. Her sister wasn’t making a lick of sense. She’d shot herself in some kind of convoluted cry for help, perhaps to alleviate the burden of carrying such a heinous family secret, and yet she didn’t want to actually be rescued from it? She didn’t want to merely be with Hannah or to merely have Hannah in her life. She wanted Hannah here. She wanted her in her house and in her world as twisted as it’d become. “Let’s talk about the case then.”
She had her full attention.
“Did you give anyone a photo of yourself recently?”
Innocently, she cocked her head, eyes questioning. “I’m not sure.”
Hannah produced the strip of photos then grazed her finger over the torn bottom edge.
“Who did you give this photo to?” She needed her to say Dale. This needed to come to a head.
“You went through my things?”
Hannah cut in with, “You went through my things and stole my gun.”
“I didn’t give it to anyone. It fell out of my back pocket in the Belknap Mall and when I found it again the last photo was gone,” she snapped, teenaged attitude rearing it’s ugly head. “What does this have to do with Mom’s case?”
“Are you lying to me right now?”
“No!” She snorted her disgust, crossing her arms, then realized drinking would be better, got to it.
“Do you know Dalton Gerrity?”
“No, never heard of him.”
“He never came to the house?”
“No,” she snapped again, screwing her face up good.
Hannah had to seriously watch herself. Mary was slippery, too clever for her own good and was likely too intimidated to state what she knew, just like Candice.
“What about Blake Abbott and Travis Danbury?”
“This has to do with Mom?”
“Just answer the questions.”
“I thought you were going to be letting me in on things, not interrogating me.”
Hannah squared her shoulders and kept her gaze level.
“Blake’s some perv up the way. He’s like obsessed with me or something. Used to watch me swim in the summertime. He’s a creep.”
“Could he have taken that photo?”
“Who knows?”
“Did he ever say anything to you? Approach you at any time?”
“Yeah,” said Mary as though she’d implied as much. “He’s obsessed with me.”
“Why would that be?’
She shrugged. “Guys just are.”
Blake wasn’t behind any of this. His only role was as a pawn.
“Mary, I’m telling you, you have got to tell me what you know.”
“Why do you think I know anything?” she challenged, getting in Hannah’s face, though she was half a foot shorter thanks to the heels on Hannah’s boots.
“Because I talked to Blake.”
She stood down, took a step back, studying her. “Meaning?”
“There’s a running theme here, Mary. People are pointing their finger at you.”
“What the fucking shit are your talking about?”
“This whole Ask Mary business, first at the site where Mom was taken, then Blake tells me to do the same. So I’m asking you.”
Staging a bargain, she said, “Tell me what you know. Everything. And I’ll do the same.”
Hannah was taken aback. “You think this is a game?”
“No. But you haven’t told me shit. I’m a fucking genius in case you’ve forgotten. I can help.”
Taken aback, Hannah just stared, brow furrowing at her like she was some kind of stranger. She suddenly wondered if Mary had much to tell her at all. If she even knew why she was at the center of this shit storm.
Sparing her the details, Hannah said, “Detective McAlister-”
“You’re boyfriend,” she quipped the correction, which was a bit smug for Hannah’s taste.
She pressed on. “He thinks Dale took Kendra.”
Mary mulled that over. Drank. “Does he have proof?”
“No.”
“What evidence has he compiled?”
A hand, a few ears, tongue-less men sprang to mind so she went with, “None.” Hannah couldn’t read her sister’s expression. “Your turn.”
Darkness had fallen all around them and the moon was a haze inching up the sky.
“Mom was on drugs.”
A strong gust of wind blew off the water and Hannah folded her arms against it.
“You knew about that?”
Mary nodded. “Those kids, those names you said. They were her dealers.”
“How do you know?”
“And Mom knew about... you know,” she trailed off again, frowning back a sob.
“What?”
Mary nodded in confirmation, but Hannah’s brain wouldn’t accept it.
“She knew about...?”
“She did. I told her. She wouldn’t listen. Then she started turning a blind eye.” Mary sobered up from her emotions before they could cripple her. “Her drugs helped.” She forced some beer down her throat and took on an even tone. “I confided in a few people. Maybe word got around. Maybe that’s what the whole Ask Mary thing is about, I don’t fucking know. Maybe Blake felt sorry for me. Maybe he hated her too. Maybe Daddy did do it, but I doubt that. I mean where the fuck is she? Is she alive? Is she dead in the woods? What the hell have you found out?”
“Why won’t you let me take you and Candice out of the house?” she countered. “Why won’t you let me save you?”
Mary picked up the six-pack by its plastic rings, motioning to go. “Because I don’t need saving.”
Then she started off for the house.
“Where’s the revolver?”
She turned, locking eyes with her. “In the lake.” Then she was on her way, walking home through the darkest of nights.
The air was freezing, but Hannah couldn’t feel it, couldn’t sense the dock beneath her feet. Panicking, dreadful thoughts seized her, yanking her from her surroundings, out of her body, into a frenzy of incomprehension, horror, and sudden sickness. Her stomach clenched and her mind wouldn’t stop racing - the photo, the abuse, her mother’s hand in a box, the eerie foundation poking through weeds and bushes, Ask Mary but Mary wouldn’t tell, ask her but she refused to leave the house, ask her but Kendra hadn’t listened, hadn’t stopped it. The onslaught of horrifying pieces surged through her mind, tearing it open, scrambling her - Mary leaning into Dale’s embrace at the picnic table, on the bed, Candice declaring Mary was Mom, sitting in an old church she’d been gang raped in, her mother’s ears in a box, blood oozing from Blake’s mouth, Cody including her in everything. She tried to make it stop. She screamed but no sound escaped her. Remember to forget, remember to forget, remember to forget or else be killed.
Hannah fell into the lake.
She went down, down, down deeper and deeper as though it had no bottom. Wet ice on her skin, stinging her eardrums, shooting up her nose, freezing her heart, blackness all around her, pressing in, threatening to crush her skull, turn her to stone, finally her boot struck the bottom, stirring up muck and sand and debris that made her skin crawl, creepy fingers, Dale’s advances.
No, no, no!
Pushing off, she surged upwards, slick ice against every inch of her, no feeling in her feet, phantom hands just like her mothers, ears she couldn't feel but were there.
The war Kendra survived.
Who had waged that war?
Hannah broke through the surface, emerging, bobbing, gasping for air, choking as water splashed down her throat. She coughed, gasping more.
Her father had.
Her real father had waged the war, her stepfather the suspect.
His faceless shape, the one Hannah had created in her mind when she was in most need of rescue, filled her thoughts, as she eased her head back, lifted her legs to the surface, and floated like a corpse, ice water lapping her cheeks, expanding her coat, her sweater beneath.
Kendra had left him, never looked back, and never spoke a word about him to anyone.
What had he done to her?
***
“Jesus Christ.”
Cody pulled her inside, his laser gaze scanning the darkness beyond his door.
Hannah was frozen stiff. Her knees barely bent. Lake water ran off of her, as she shivered uncontrollably, quaking in fits and starts.
He helped her deeper inside until she couldn’t take another step. Looking her up and down, assessing her state, he guessed, “The lake?”
She nodded, chattering, arms like a crushed bird against her chest.
Quickly, he pushed her water soaked coat off her shoulders, though it clung with wet suction to her sweater, then pulled her sweater over her head, stripping her down. Hannah angled her eyes at her shaking hands. They were white, some fingers blue.
“Step out of your boots,” he instructed.
She hadn’t even realized he’d unbuttoned her pants, taken her bra off. She obeyed, placing the claw of her frozen hand on his shoulder for balance, and shook the right boot off with his help, the left one next. He ripped her socks off too then yanked her pants down, same method to free her of them. Her underwear was last.
Him seeing her like this disgusted her. She was disgusting, what little fat she had jiggling under force of her quaking shivers, hypothermia taking hold.
Cody scooped her up. She turned into a board in his arms, as he carried her fast to the bathroom, helped her to sit on the toilet lid then covered her in towels, got the bath running, hot and full blast. Steam billowed up, as he broke from the bathroom. When he returned he had two space heaters, which he immediately plugged in, turning the dial to maximum heat. They clicked, fan blaring, and soon gave off a hot stream, which stung her shins. All the while, Hannah watched him as though this were only a movie, the screen very far away.
He rolled up his sleeves, placing his wrist under the faucet, adjusted the temperature accordingly and stroking his hand through the bath. The tub was nearing half full. He looked up at her from where he knelt on the tiles, green eyes framed in anguish for her.
“What happened?”
Her teeth were chattering, but she clenched her jaw, stole a moment's relief to answer. “I fell in.” She clenched her jaw tight again, forced a deep breath through her nose. “I’ll be okay?”
He sighed, “We’ll see,” glancing back at the tub. “What the hell were you doing out there?”
She had no answer.
“Let’s get you in.”
Shy about being nude again, Hannah kept her towel around her, as he held her. Slowly she eased her right foot into the bath. It was hot as hell at first then she got used to it, shifting her weight, foot to porcelain. He maneuvered his grasp, as she balanced her left foot down. Her muscles screamed as though every cell, every fiber couldn’t handle the excruciating contrast from ice to heat, as she submerged, gradually lowering into the tub and discarding her towel, until she was sitting, knees to chin.
“Shit, I have bubbles,” he said, as though he knew it was too late to make them work, but also sensing any degree of privacy would be appreciated.
He tore through the cabinet beneath the sink, half-empty shampoo bottles toppling over and loose toilet paper rolls bouncing out. When he located the container, Cody popped the top and squirted it under the faucet until it ran out. It bubbled up some and he smoothed them towards her.
He plopped, butt to tiles, and hung his head then looked up at her with a victorious smirk. She noticed sweat on his brow, but he wiped at it with his sleeve.
“If you’re good for a minute I’ll boil some water. You should drink something hot. I’ve got tea.”
She nodded and he was on his feet in an instant, stalking out to the living room, footsteps fading as he neared the kitchen.
The sting of the water softened and soon its warmth soothed her. She slid down and rested her head on the tub, embracing the sensation. As good as it felt it did little to conquer the dread in her heart.
If only she had an idea of what she wanted her
life to look like, she could cling to it. It’d be the hope to carry her through.
But she did have an idea. She’d loosened her grip on it over the years, otherwise known as becoming an adult. However silent and invisible it was still there the undertow of her every breath.
She wanted to go through the Academy, keep her county safe, work her way up the ladder. In a lot of ways Cody was living the life she’d hoped for. She wanted a house like his, quaint and quiet. She’d always imagined Mary and Candice in her life. She wasn’t proud to admit she’d been waiting for Dale to drop out of the picture. Facing that fact shined a spotlight on her cowardice.
She’d never stopped thinking about Cody, never stopped wondering about him. Often he was on her mind when she laid down at night and he was the flicker that woke her in the mornings. In so many ways she was destined to return here.
How could she salvage the carnage of this broken life?
Cody returned carrying two steaming mugs of tea and set hers on the edge of the tub.
“You’re getting some color back,” he noted before sitting on the toilet lid. “You’re not shivering.”
He seemed careful about where he rested his eyes. The bubbles had thinned and shrank, making the water milky, but translucent.
“You feel better?”
“Yeah. I can’t believe I fell in.”
“I can’t believe you drove here.”
She could.
“What do you want?” she asked then clarified, “Out of life?”
Cody searched for the answer in his tea. “Run my department maybe, keep the peace in a way that’s not dysfunctional.” He smiled.
“Then you’d have to run the whole precinct.”
“Yeah,” he let out a breathy laugh. “A family I think... some day.”
“Any prospects?”
“For a wife? Just one.” He didn’t hold her gaze too long as though he figured it’d scare her, but it didn’t.
“Bad things happen all the time,” he explained. “Bad things happened to bad people as well as good. You get to a point where you accept it and focus your efforts on making things whole again, helping people heal. I’m not sure how far justice can carry that goal. There should be more safe places people can turn to, more centers, more programs. I’d like to get involved in that, maybe open a center. I want this town and this county, all the residents, to feel like they’ve claimed a little slice of heaven by living here.”
