Riley walks over to the shapeless form Samantha was just working on and says, “What’s going on here?”
Samantha slides her an impish grin and says, “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Seriously. I never tell anyone what my projects will be until they’re done.”
“How come?”
“Mostly because a lot of times, even I don’t know yet. I guess I’m not the kind of person who likes to make commitments.” Samantha goes to a cabinet several feet away. She opens the door and removes a bottle of red wine. Holding it up, she says, “Quitting time. You in?”
“Let me think about that. Hell yes.”
Samantha takes down a pair of wineglasses from a cabinet beside the other. “We can go to my favorite spot.”
“How far is it?”
“Very close.” Samantha points at the open window.
Riley shakes her head.
Samantha hands her the glasses. With the bottle in one hand, she proceeds toward the window and shoves a foot through the opening.
“Where are you going?”
“Come on,” Samantha says before disappearing onto the roof.
By the time Riley makes it there, Samantha is already relaxing in a lounge chair and admiring the brilliant blood-orange sunset. She looks up at Riley and pats the chair beside her.
For a few moments, they sit side by side and absorb the tranquil surroundings. Samantha closes her eyes, draws an indulgent breath, then slowly lets it out through her smile. “This is my healing place. One of them.”
“I can certainly understand why.”
Samantha unzips the jumpsuit and shrugs it away to reveal the T-shirt and jeans that seem to be her trademark—and Riley understands the full context. Samantha pushes off each sneaker with the other foot and wiggles her toes.
She holds up her glass and says, “Here’s to our new friendship in the midst of a mad, mad world.”
32
Soothing silence has suffused the past hour.
The sun has fallen beneath the horizon, and a pale-pink moon takes charge. The air is much cooler at this hour, the night sky dark, thick, and boundless.
The two women relax and sip wine. Riley isn’t supposed to be drinking while on her meds but figures a glass or two can’t hurt.
“This night brings back memories,” Riley says, breaking the quiet. “You’re too young to know about this, but as a kid I watched one of the earlier space-shuttle Columbia liftoffs on TV. The crowd of onlookers, the bustling control room—the whole world—they were all looking on with such anticipation and enthusiasm. Later on, a news station revisited the empty launchpad. I’ll never forget that moment. It was evening, and the setting looked much different, everything so positively still. All the excitement I’d seen earlier, all the vibrancy, was gone. I was staring into nothingness, and it kind of frightened me. I remember wishing I could have shot into space with those astronauts.”
“What were you wanting to escape?”
“My loneliness. The feeling that there wasn’t a place on this earth where I’d ever fit in.”
Samantha reflects on the story. She says, “If only life could be that easy.”
Riley lets out a mild laugh.
“What is it?”
“Your accent. It’s more prominent when you’re pensive.”
“Hard as I try to rid myself of it . . .”
“Why? It’s charming. Where are you from, anyway?”
“Georgia. Athens.”
“All those painful emotions you spoke of earlier—did they come from Athens, too?”
Samantha sinks back into the chair and says, “It’s an ugly story.”
“What happened?”
She tilts her wineglass back and forth, gazing sadly at the red liquid as it splashes against the sides. “I told you my mother killed herself, but I left out the details.” She takes a long swallow of wine. “I found her hanging from a rail in her bedroom closet.”
Riley pulls her head back to study Samantha.
“She was the only person I ever loved,” Samantha continues. “The only person who ever loved me. Then, like that, she was gone. Didn’t even leave me a note.”
“Do you know why she did it?”
“Hell yeah, I know. It was because of my father.”
Riley doesn’t ask the next question. She knows there’s a lot more of Samantha’s grim story to come.
“He was a monster. The worst kind. For years, I watched him abuse my mother both physically and emotionally, but I was too young to stop it. She eventually believed there was only one way out. But for me it ended up being the worst way imaginable. As if the trauma of finding her dead and hanging from that rail wasn’t enough, she also left me behind to become his new designated punching bag. He’d beat the shit out of me.” She scoffs. “I used to call them the rainy days.”
“Why?”
“Because it always rained after he was done.”
“Really?”
“I’d feel the drops on my face, and it seemed so refreshing, cleansing, even, and I’d smile, but when I looked up, there weren’t any clouds—there was only the ceiling. I was a little girl when the abuse started, didn’t really understand, so I’d wonder where the rain was coming from.” Samantha tries to smile now, but it’s a sad one. “It took me a while to realize they were my own tears.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Riley says, feeling her shoulders collapse.
But not a single tear falls from Samantha’s eyes. She seems so closed off, so guarded or . . . disconnected? She says, “He told the school I was accident-prone, that I fell against a cabinet, or ran into the kitchen counter, or . . . whatever. I swear, the man knew how to play people like greased keys on a grand piano.”
“And they believed him.”
With a demoralized expression, Samantha says, “Eventually, he got smarter. He hit me in places that weren’t visible. But you know what? During the awful moments when he’d throw me against walls or drive a fist into my gut? It was my mother I hated most. She took the easy way out, even when she knew I’d have to pay the price for it. As far as I’m concerned, she was a coward and as much to blame.”
Riley keeps silent. Her agreement is implicit.
“A mother is supposed to protect her child,” Samantha says, the words coming out fast as if they can no longer be held inside.
Riley places a hand on Samantha’s shoulder and gently rubs in a slow, soothing motion.
“My mom left me so damned hungry for love that, out of desperation, I went to her sister for comfort. You know how kids are. In my sad little girl’s mind, I thought maybe she could replace some of the love I’d lost.”
“Did she?”
“It was all so completely harmless, but she didn’t see it that way. She rejected me—not only that but in the cruelest way possible. Every time I tried to get close to her, she’d shout at me, ‘I’m not your mother!’ Can you imagine? After what I’d already been through? It hurt so much. The woman ripped a new hole right through my heart.”
“That had to be horribly painful.”
Through an angry, perhaps even hateful, whisper: “You have no idea.” Louder now: “But my father finally got his. A few years later, he died from a massive heart attack. Suddenly, I was an orphan. After that, the pain kept coming. I bounced from foster home to foster home until I was eighteen. All because of my selfish, heartless parents.”
“But look at you today. You’ve really turned everything around.”
Samantha snorts. “Thanks to my father’s fat life insurance policy. He left it all to me, but not out of love. It was his final shot. The sadist wanted me to feel guilty for hating him. I guess he figured that with every penny I spent, I’d have to think of him. But it didn’t work that way. I gladly took every bit of the money. It was a payback well earned.”
“You’re a strong woman, Samantha Light. I’m glad you survived, and I’m so happy I’ve gotten to know you.”
> “It’s interesting how we’ve come to this point. Don’t you think?”
“What’s that?”
“We’ve both been trying to heal from mother-daughter relationships that were taken from us, and now we’re finally getting the chance.”
Riley’s lips part ever so slightly.
“Oh hell,” Samantha says. “That came out completely wrong. I know I’ll never replace Clarissa. Gosh, I wouldn’t even think of trying. What I meant was that our commonalities feel sort of healing.”
“It’s okay. I got what you meant.”
“But maybe I could be like a second daughter. You know?”
33
The evening with Samantha, with its intense emotion, has worn Riley out. All she wants now is to be home, crawl under the covers, and grab hold of the rest she craves.
But after pulling into her spot at the apartment building, she notices another plain, dark sedan rolling into the lot—one that looks a lot like the car she spotted that evening after Erin came by. The vehicle makes a slow crawl to another end of the lot and parks facing her. The engine turns off, then the lights, but nobody leaves the car.
My watcher.
An instant warning fires off deep in her bones that the car has followed her here. She remains in place and waits to see whether the driver takes action or stays put.
Another vehicle swerves into the lot, this one a dark SUV. Its headlights flash through Mystery Sedan’s windshield, lighting up the interior, and an icy chill shimmies up her spine when she sees two eyes looking directly into hers.
Commotion to the left. Two people leave the SUV and casually walk toward the building.
Just neighbors.
Mystery Sedan’s engine turns over, its headlights cutting a swath through darkness, then it takes off for the exit.
They’re gone. It’s over.
But her trepidation is not. She starts to string together all the unnerving incidents that have occurred outside her apartment ever since she came to Rainbow Valley.
The invisible tracker who followed her home from the store that early morning.
The unidentifiable figure who, just the other evening, like a fleeting shadow, disappeared from her lot and into the darkness. Two visits from Mystery Sedan, and this time, someone inside with those shrouded eyes.
Are they all the same person? A group?
Either way, Riley knows her safety is in question.
34
Several times throughout the night, Riley is awakened by her own panicky screams. Every dream is the same: she sees a faceless person rocking in the chair near her window. Then she jolts into wakefulness and sees the rocker is empty, and a new kind of fear kicks in, one laced with agitated turmoil. The entire process lasts less than a minute, but it goes on in a continual loop until morning.
The sun rises, but it carries the harsh message that rest has become more of a desire than a possibility, so she takes action. She dials the locksmith and can practically hear the guy grinning through the phone when she asks about installing a security bar across the door. Probably because she’s making steady contributions to his kid’s college fund. It doesn’t matter. This is just to keep her safe until she can finish what she needs to do in this town, then leave for someplace better.
After he finishes, she takes a moment to admire the work. Since the bar goes on from the inside, it will protect her only while she’s at home, but it’s sturdier than the portable door jammer she bought, so at least she’ll feel safer during sleep.
She goes to her bedroom and lays out Clarissa’s clothes for the day: a violet, sleeveless halter-top dress. She smiles at a memory as she smooths her hand over the dress’s soft cotton fabric. Clarissa wore this exact outfit for the father-daughter fund-raiser she organized at school to benefit the local children’s hospital. That was Clarissa, always hopeful, always wanting to change the world. Jason was so proud of her as she walked up to the podium and delivered her heartwarming speech for the event. Riley remembers him telling her how he fought back tears of pride.
Now she frowns.
And talks to the clothes.
“You grew up too fast,” she says, voice wrecked, while she blinks out a tear.
After a trip to the store, Riley stops at Wendy’s place and knocks. A moment later, she hears footsteps, then the peephole goes dark. She holds up a bag of groceries.
“They didn’t have the brand of rye bread that you wanted,” she says to the door, “so I grabbed another. Hope that’ll be okay.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. Thank you. Go ahead and leave the bag. I’ll grab it.”
“Why don’t you open the door so I can hand it to you?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
The conversation flatlines.
Riley tries to resuscitate it. “Do you ever get the urge to really do it? To step outside, even if only for a moment?”
No answer, but Riley can tell her neighbor is thinking about it.
“All the time,” Wendy softly says.
“What stops you?”
“Lots of things.”
“The other day you mentioned fear.”
“I also mentioned that I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“But I’d like to know.”
“Why?”
Riley stares at the closed door. “Because of what you said about me. That I care.”
More quiet, but this time the air is so thick with unease that Riley can almost reach out and hold it in her hands.
She tries again. “You said I’m the only one who makes you feel like you matter.”
“I know.”
“So you can trust me.”
A long pause.
“You have to know that I only want to help,” Riley urges. “Right?”
“I . . . I’m afraid of . . .” Wendy’s voice trembles and fails as if she’s battling over her next sentence. Then it rapidly spills out. “I’m afraid I’ll die out there.”
Riley’s only response is a weighted breath.
“I bet that sounds kind of weird, huh?” Wendy says.
“No, not at all, actually.”
“Really?”
Riley scrubs a hand over her face. “I’m already out here, and sometimes I feel like that’s exactly what’s happening to me.”
35
Smoky gray-blue clouds mottle the skies, their iridescent edges occasionally pulling apart wide enough to let shafts of sunlight through. In those moments, wet leaves and flowers become shimmering diamonds. Puddles dance.
Riley and Samantha stroll around the lake, enjoying fresh air bathed by recent showers.
“Is it always so wet here?” Samantha asks while looking down at a thirsty concrete sidewalk still trying to absorb the moisture.
A nearby bush shakes.
Someone could be hiding behind it, watching me.
Stop it!
“Riley? You okay?
“Yes. Fine. Sorry,” she answers, trying to chase away her invasive feelings of vulnerability and danger.
“So, the rain?”
“The rain. Not always, but we do get our share of storms this time of year.”
“I’m going to say we’ve had enough.”
“And I’m going to agree with you.”
They pass the bush, pass a small pond, then find a dry bench to sit on.
“I was wondering about something,” Samantha says, cupping a hand to her forehead and squinting at Riley through a burst of sunlight. “Tell me if I’m being too nosy, but how have you been able to cope with Clarissa’s murderer never being found?”
“I suppose the short answer would be that I haven’t. After instantly becoming the suspect, I never had a chance. Each day was about surviving until the next one.”
“I honestly don’t know how you did it.”
“I don’t, either.” Riley observes two yellow Labs off in the distance. Running swiftly side by side, their movements seem so harmoniously choreographed, their happiness so nearly tangible, t
hat it’s as though they’ve been waiting their whole lives to unravel the joy of this moment. “I guess you never know how much strength you have until strength is your only option.”
“I like that.” Samantha nods. “What a great outlook during the bad times.”
“I didn’t think it up myself. I saw it on the internet.”
The two women laugh.
Samantha says, “And here I thought you were getting all Zen and shit.”
“Believe me, if I were that wise, I would have handled life a lot better than I did.”
“Considering the circumstances, it sounds to me like you did as well as anyone could have.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Samantha. I just don’t know about anything anymore.”
“Have you ever had suspicions about who might have killed Clarissa?”
Riley’s intonation becomes somber, her face, too, when she says, “A suspicion.”
“Who?”
“Another long story.”
Samantha shrugs. “I want to hear all of it.”
Riley looks upward to gather her thoughts, to travel through time. Through the heartbreak. The sorrow. The anguish. She can still feel her emotional paralysis, which became all too familiar during that period.
“Before Clarissa died,” Riley starts off, “she made friends with a classmate named Rose Hopkins. A very quiet, very introverted kid. She didn’t have a whole lot going for herself. You know the type. The social outcast? The loner?”
Samantha nods.
“But my Clarissa had a heart of gold—she was the kid who took in injured birds—so one night she invited Rose over for dinner. It was a colossal mistake, one we’d all regret. Nobody saw it at first, but this was an extremely disturbed child dressed in injured bird’s clothing.”
Samantha leans in toward Riley and says, “How did you figure it out?”
“Because her innocent desire changed into a full-fledged obsession.”
“What was the obsession?”
“Me.”
“I’m not following.”
“Rose tried desperately to make me her mother.”
What She Doesn't Know: A Psychological Thriller Page 9
