by Rysa Walker
Now that she mentions it, no.
I felt the water slide down my throat, but it was kind of like feeling water on my skin in the shower. And I caught that stray thought running through my head so I knew why she was sniffing the air, but I can’t actually smell the food.
Sam leans forward and looks into my eyes. “Listen, everyone in this room has seen the results of your . . . of your autopsy.” He shoots a quick glance at Taylor. Her expression is guilty for a split second and then shifts to defiant, so I’m guessing the autopsy report is one of those things Taylor meant when she said earlier that they knew she’d find out anyway.
Strictly speaking, what Sam said isn’t true. I haven’t seen the autopsy report. Neither has Deo.
“So,” Sam continues, “you don’t have to rehash anything that makes you uncomfortable. We just need any information you have that might help us catch and convict the bastards. Where it happened, maybe? Exactly when? They found your body in the woods about an hour south of Philly. Do you think that’s where you were killed? And we need to know anything you can tell us about your mom.”
“Mama was killed at Lucas’s apartment near Nationals Park. I was showing her the pictures he had of the girls in the extra bedroom he used as an office. The ads he was running. He’d told her he’d be in a meeting, wouldn’t be back until around ten, but he came home early. Mama shoved me into the closet when she heard him turnin’ the key in the lock, so I only heard the fight. Heard the gun. Didn’t see it. I stayed as quiet as I could, but then he opened the closet to get a sheet, I guess to wrap her body in. He hit me with the butt of the gun, and the next thing I know, I’m in the back of the van.”
“Do you know when?” Sam asks.
“About a week before Thanksgiving. I remember that because I was trying to convince Mama to go with me to see Pa and Mimmy for the holiday, and she said to give her a couple of days to think about it. And it was nighttime. I was tied up in the back of the van. The only window was in the back, so I didn’t see much. I could see some of the interstate signs, though. Enough to tell we were on I-95, headed north.”
“How long were you in the van?”
Molly thinks for a moment. “It was more than an hour. Closer to an hour and a half, I’d say. He had the radio on, and the second quarter of the Boston Celtics game had just started, right after we hit the road. The game ended just before we left the highway. We drove maybe ten minutes more before we stopped.”
When she says the word stopped, she flinches and I get a flash of a man’s shadow, framed by the open rear doors of a van. Lucas. This is the first time I’ve actually seen his face in her memory. He’s a large man, bald, looks like he spends too much time at the gym or punching people. He wears one of those dinky little beards that I’ve never seen anyone pull off except for Johnny Depp. I’m pretty sure he was the guy driving the van that nearly hit me and Deo.
And then I know what she’s holding back, what she’s hiding. Lucas is on top of her, and she’s trying to scream, but there’s tape over her mouth.
Oh, God, Molly. No! You need to tell them.
She’s angry that she let that bit slip and I feel her push—no, it’s more like she shoves me back.
I’m sorry. But you weren’t supposed to see that. I don’t want them to know, and that’s MY decision to make. Mine.
Even though I’m not happy about being pushed around in my own head, I feel too bad for her to argue about it.
Okay. I disagree, but . . . you’re right, it’s your call, not mine.
She starts talking again, faster now. “It was dark when Lucas pulled me out of the van. I saw a house off to the left, but we didn’t go inside. He took me out back, to this smaller house, like a shed or a cabin. Cregg kept us in there.”
“You mentioned a rear window. Do you remember seeing street signs, anything, before Lucas left the highway?”
My entire body goes rigid again. Thinking about leaving the highway means thinking about what happened shortly after, and she doesn’t want to go there again. But she forces her mind back to the van. A few seconds later and something clicks into place. She’s remembering one of those highway information signs that run across the top of the interstate.
“Yes! I-695. Twenty-two miles, twenty-two minutes. That’s what the sign said—the one on the side of the highway headed south. I remember because it was the same number.”
“That’s perfect, Molly.”
A few more minutes, and Aaron has narrowed it down to two exits on I-95—either Exit 89, to Havre de Grace, or Exit 93, Port Deposit. More likely the first, since Molly can’t remember crossing a bridge just before the exit.
“I don’t know any more about the roads after that,” she says, and I’m pretty sure the steely tone she’s using is aimed at me. “It was dark and I couldn’t see anything. It was ten minutes before we reached the house. Fifteen, maybe. Then he locked me in the basement with the other girls. One of them was Daciana.”
“And you’re sure it’s the same person?” Daniel asks.
“Yes. She looks different now, but I’m sure.”
“You said ‘girls,’ right?” Sam asks. “How many others?”
“Just one. I don’t remember much about her. She was only with us that first night. I think her name was Lily. Daciana and I were there for another six days. Maybe more. We kind of lost track. Cregg visited four times, always at night. We were in the cellar below the house when he was away. Dark the whole time, except for a little bit of light coming in through some of the floorboards. No windows. There was a toilet, a sink, and a shopping bag full of ancient granola bars. Pop-Tarts too, but they were moldy so they must have been down there forever.”
“The other girl you mentioned,” Daniel says. “Lily? Did she leave with him? Or did Cregg kill her, too?”
“Not . . . exactly.” Molly hesitates, and then says, “Any other group of people and I’d worry about them believing what I’ve got to say next. But Pa’s talked about Sam’s hunches back when they were on the force. I knew to ask Taylor anytime I lost something, ever since we were little. Knew better than to play hide-and-seek with her, too. And I’ve suspected Aaron’s little secret since he came running out of his classroom and across the playground back when Tay and I were in third grade. That Jeremy Villers kid was pissed off that Pa caught his uncle dealin’ drugs, and I’m pretty sure his bat would’ve connected with my head if Aaron hadn’t known what was about to happen.”
She turns to face Daniel. “And you . . . well, you know everything I’ve just said is true. You’ve been in the middle of this craziness all your life. Plus, you’re all sitting here talking to me in a body that I’m borrowing—”
“For a little under four more minutes,” Deo says.
“In a body that I’m borrowing,” Molly repeats, eyes narrowed at Deo’s interruption, “because my own has been dead for nearly three years. When it was found, you all know I was missing a finger. I don’t know if they could still tell by then, but there were . . . shallow cuts up and down my body.”
The room feels cold now, and Molly has my arms crossed over my chest, hands clutching too tightly at my arms. When she starts speaking again, her voice is flat, and the words tumble out quickly.
“I could tell you Cregg did all of that damage. That he picked up the knife and sliced into me. That he picked up those garden shears and snipped off my finger. But if they’d gotten to my body sooner, I’m pretty sure the people at the morgue would have figured out from the angle that most of my wounds were self-inflicted.”
Someone inhales sharply. I’m not sure who. Taylor and Sam are the only two I can see right now. Taylor has her hands over her mouth and little gray lines of tears mixed with mascara are streaming down her cheeks.
“They’d be right about that,” Molly says, “except they wouldn’t know that I didn’t have a choice. Cregg can get in your head, and . . . like now, the way Anna’s body is mostly in my control? It’s like that, except I think Anna could push me away
if she really wanted to. I couldn’t push Cregg no matter how hard I tried. He made me cut Daciana, too. Made her cut me, cut herself. I’m guessing she has scars, and if you’d pulled off her gloves tonight, I bet she’s missing the same finger I am.
“Cregg would sit there on the floor, cross-legged, like he was meditating or something. Then I’d hear this whistling noise, and next thing I know, he has control. That first night, he was controlling all three of us at the same time. Like it was a game, or like juggling maybe. Like he wanted to see how many balls he could keep in the air at the same time. He seemed really full of himself, so I think three was a personal best.”
It feels like there’s a giant lump in my throat. “Could you . . . is there more water? Or maybe a soda?”
Molly chugs most of the soda when Aaron hands it to her, so fast that I know I’m going to have a nasty case of heartburn. But after what she’s been telling us, I can’t really begrudge her the drink.
She looks at Deo. “Time?”
“You’ve got a little over ninety seconds,” he says, but he doesn’t sound quite as pushy about it now.
“I think Cregg trying to handle all three of us is why the other girl managed to kill herself. She’d been there for days before we arrived. There were cuts up and down her body, and I’m sure Cregg caused those, but she’s the one who decided to cut her wrists, while he was focused on adding me to his game. I’m not saying he wouldn’t have killed her eventually, because I think he would have. But he hadn’t planned on doing it yet. He was angry when he realized she was bleeding out. He shoved me and Daciana back down into the cellar. We didn’t see him for a long time after that. At least two days. And he brought us up one at a time that first day he was back. I think maybe he was worried that if one of us could get enough control to kill herself, one of us might get enough control to kill him.”
She speeds up the next part. “That last night, Daciana seemed like she was sick. Or maybe it was just nightmares. She thrashed about in her sleep, yelling something in Romanian. Then she said he was here, in English. I thought maybe she was still dreaming. I hadn’t heard anything from up above and I’d been awake. But sure enough, there was a door slam, and a few seconds later, the light hit my eyes. Then she grabbed his arm and started talking. The words were mumbled, but her English was almost perfect now. ‘It’s the black girl’s turn to go first, maybe I should make her use the grill lighter for a change.’ Cregg just stood there, staring at her. Then she started laughing, but it was like she couldn’t help it, high-pitched and crazy sounding.
“And Daciana was right. The last time, Cregg had taken her upstairs first. So I was kind of surprised when he yanked her up and dragged her upstairs. I kept waiting for the screams, but they never came. After a while, I fell asleep.” She pauses for a moment. “And then I heard someone coming down the stairs. Something heavy hit me. I tried to block the blow. I guess it broke my arm, because I couldn’t move it to block the second blow or the one after that. Eventually, someone came to get my body. I stayed with it for a little while, but then . . . I had to let my body go.”
I don’t know if she’s cold or it’s just the memory, but she shivers and waits a moment before she continues. “After that, I just remember feeling . . . empty. Needing. I needed to find Mama. To find Pa and Mimmy. To find you, Tay.” She wants to add Aaron’s name but holds back. “I never made it, though. I’m not sure how I got back to the U Street shelter. Mama and I stayed there for a couple of weeks, right after I left Pa’s house to join her. I almost had her talked into leaving Lucas—she was clean for twelve whole days, until . . . I don’t know. She called him? He found her? So I think maybe I was looking for her at the shelter, but it’s all fuzzy and confused. I don’t know how long I was there or how long I’d have stayed there if Anna hadn’t touched the piano keys. It was like I didn’t have the energy to move. I just kept thinking that if I could play that song for Pa, he’d hear it somehow, wherever he was. That I wouldn’t have to find him, because he’d find me.”
Tears are running down my cheeks, but Molly doesn’t make any effort to wipe them away.
I know I’m past the time limit, but I’m almost done, Anna. I promise.
Molly sighs and gives Aaron a fleeting look before her eyes come back to Taylor. “I am so sorry for not telling you where I was going, Tay. I was just . . .” She sighs and leans forward. “I was just tired of everyone thinking she was a lost cause. I knew if I could keep her away from Lucas long enough, keep her clean long enough, that she could get her life together. Everyone else had given up on her, even Pa, I think. And if I told you what I was planning, I knew you’d try to stop me. Maybe even tell Pa. You’d have been right to do that, too, because it was a stupid idea . . . but I had to try. If it was your mom, I think you’d have done the same. But I’m sorry for being stupid and for not trusting you and . . . for getting my stupid self killed. Okay?”
Taylor’s eyes are glassy and she’s biting her bottom lip so hard I’m afraid she’s going to pierce through it.
“Just one question, Molly. Did you have your L purse with you? In that cabin?”
I have no idea what that means, and judging from the other faces in the room, neither does anyone else. Even Molly seems confused for a moment, but then she laughs. I get a brief image of a pink-sequined square. “Yeah. Back pocket, just like always.”
Taylor nods, like she’s filing that fact away.
I’d like to push one of them for an explanation, but Molly turns my eyes toward Sam. “Tell Pa I love him. I already told him, and he knew it anyway, but tell him again. And don’t let him get too lonely, okay? Love you guys, too.”
Molly doesn’t wait for a response, simply slips backward with those last words. And it seems like she’s farther away—smaller, lighter—than she’s been at any time since I picked her up. Part of me would like to stay back there with her, where it’s peaceful and quiet. Where no one is staring at me. Just curl up and sleep. But I’m being sucked back to the front, almost like an undertow. Except in reverse, because I’m being sucked upward, toward the surface.
I feel a little bad for putting the wall back up. It might not even be necessary the way Molly seems to be fading. But I do it anyway.
Sadness hangs in the silent room like a heavy fog. I was only the conduit, Molly’s mouthpiece. Deo and I are intruders now, and I suspect the others in the room are wishing they had some privacy, that we weren’t here to witness their newly reopened grief.
I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to deal with all of that raw emotion. So I steer things back to the practical.
“Daniel, could you take us back to Bart House now?”
Deo looks a little alarmed, but my distraction tactic worked. Daniel seems surprised at first, but he agrees with me.
“No,” Aaron says. “Very, very, very bad idea. You’ve already said they don’t have decent security, and I heard every thought going through that Badea woman’s head when she was leaving. She was ready to rip you to shreds. The only thing that held her back was that she was in the middle of a police station, and she had somewhere to be. And I think maybe she didn’t want the security goon with her to know she failed.”
Sam and Taylor take Aaron’s side. It’s noisy, but at least I no longer get the sense that everyone in the room is going to shatter into pieces.
I let them squabble for a few minutes, then jump back into the fray.
“Listen, it’s after eleven. I’m completely exhausted and my head is killing me. This . . . situation . . . isn’t easy on me physically. I don’t think anyone is going to come looking for me tonight, and Daniel’s orders were to drop us at Bartholomew House. He may have quit the force, but—”
“What?” Sam’s question is almost a roar, and the look Taylor and Aaron exchange make it clear that they weren’t privy to Daniel’s recent career shift either.
Daniel glares at me.
“I didn’t know it was a secret,” I say. Not that I owed him any favors in t
he first place.
“Whatever. Listen, Sam, I appreciate everything you did, with the references and so forth, but I need to cut my losses. I’m better off in the military.”
“This is going to tear Mom to pieces,” Aaron says.
“I told her before she left last week. She understands.”
“No big difference,” Taylor huffs. “Not like you’ve been around much the past few months anyway. How does your mystery girl feel about you being a soldier boy again?”
Then they’re all talking at once, which seems to be a Quinn family trait.
I clear my throat. Then Deo pulls Sam’s trick with the loud whistle. When they all stop and look at him, he makes a gracious little gesture, turning the floor over to me.
“Thank you, Deo. You clearly have family matters to discuss, and no offense, but I’m tired and I truly could not care less where Daniel works or where Daniel lives. I was simply suggesting that he might have less explaining to do if Deo and I actually show up at the place he told his former employer he was taking us. You can ask the police to keep an eye on Bartholomew House, right? Given what happened today?”
Daniel nods.
“And Aaron, we can set up a place and time to meet tomorrow. There’s a lot of stuff you need to explain to me about all of this. But I cannot handle it tonight.”
As I’m talking, I reach into my backpack and pull out the prescription bottle. I shake two pills into my hand and finish off the last of Molly’s soda as they return to the debate over leaving us at Bart House.
Sam shifts his support to my side, and ten minutes later, over the fervent objections of Aaron and the more tepid objections of Taylor, Deo and I are again in the backseat of Daniel’s car. I close my eyes, lean my head against Deo’s shoulder, and pretend to sleep, but my fingers are tracing the outline of the two pills in my pocket.
The two pills I didn’t take.
Everything I said about being tired and having a screeching headache is completely true, but I have absolutely no intention of sleeping. I won’t be sleeping until Deo and I are on a bus out of Maryland, heading as far away from this insanity as the money we’ve saved can carry us.
