by Nina Laurin
“Oh my God,” she murmurs, not so much to me or to him but to herself. “So you’re really her. You’re Ella Santos.”
I sputter. Sean reaches for my hand but I pull it away, out of his reach.
“What?” I choke out. “How—”
“Oh God.” She collapses on one of the narrow benches circling the fountain. “I’m so sorry. That was so tactless of me.”
Inside my sleeves, my fists clench and unclench, a near-involuntary movement I can’t seem to stop. And if she doesn’t start talking sense, and soon, I don’t know what else I might do by sheer accident.
Eva gnaws on her lower lip then makes up her mind and draws a breath of resolve. “There was an incident,” she says at last. “Two years ago. With Olivia. And a teacher.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A cold kind of abyss opens up beneath my ribs, threatening to swallow me up. Ringing fills my ears, but I don’t move a muscle. I barely see Sean in my peripheral vision but I can tell he tenses.
“What kind of incident?” he asks in a carefully measured voice. “I checked and triple-checked. There wasn’t anything—”
“It never got as far as the police. The Shaws settled it outside.” Eva Marquez presses her lips together until they turn pale.
“Eva, you have to tell me what happened. Everything that happened.”
“There was a teacher who used to work at the school. Art teacher. Jakes, Lynden Jakes. And now…he doesn’t.”
I can’t keep silent. “What did he do to her?” I burst out. Eva’s eyes fly wide open, frightened. “What did the bastard do?”
“That’s just it,” Eva sighs. “We don’t know for sure what happened.”
“Well, you seem to know,” I scowl. Eva looks hurt.
“Just let her talk,” Sean mutters.
“What happened was…Olivia…I know this is going to sound completely crazy, and I know you will probably hate me.” She turns her supplicating gaze to me. I kind of want to tell her that yes, she’s probably right. “But…I saw the whole thing, all right? We have a policy at the school, no student is ever left alone in a room with only one teacher—we’ve had incidents in the past, you understand?”
“Just tell me what happened,” I growl. Sean gives me a look, and I return it. Even he seems to shrink away. There must be murder in my eyes.
“I was a teacher’s assistant back then. I’d just started at the school too, like him. His art class was the last of the day, and I was going to stay behind to help him put away the materials, clean up the spilled paint and stuff. Kids—they always make such a mess.” She gives a watery smile and collects herself. “All the students were leaving, the third-grade class, Olivia’s class. She was the last one. She loved the art classes so much. Everyone said she was a math whiz, but what she truly loved was drawing and painting. I could see it in her face every class. She would pick up her brush or her stick of charcoal, and she just lit up. She was always so serious, but in his class, she became happy and serene. It was the only time I saw her happy, really. Ever.”
“And that son of a bitch took advantage,” I mutter. Sean puts his hand on my shoulder—a big mistake. I throw him off violently. I can’t be distracted. I need to hear every word. Every horrible goddamn word.
Eva dabs under her eyes. “No! He would never do something like that. I know him. I—” She cuts herself off and lowers her gaze. “Look, I’m not just saying this because we went on a couple of dates. Nothing serious ever happened anyway…”
“I don’t care about your love life,” I snap. “Just tell me what the bastard did.”
It’s obvious Eva already regrets agreeing to talk to Sean with me around, but there’s no going back at this point.
“Olivia was the last one to leave. Unlike the other kids who threw down their brushes and ran out as soon as they heard the bell, she would always help clean up, wash and dry all her brushes, rinse the water dish. So it was the three of us. They were at the sinks, and I was at the other end of the room, hanging up the paintings to dry on the line. I reached for the next one and that’s when I saw it happen.”
She pauses and closes her eyes. My breath catches. “What happened? What did you see?”
“They were talking about something softly. I didn’t hear what they were saying because the water was running. And then she turned and she—well…she grabbed him. Between the legs. Just went for it, like it was nothing special.”
The air I’m holding in my lungs turns to molten lead. It burns but I can’t seem to let it go.
“He freaked out, of course. Then I ran over and he tried to pull himself together, as much as he could. We sat her down—she looked a little confused, nothing else, like she didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. He tried to explain to her that this isn’t something that you do. And she just got more and more upset. Her face, the look in her eyes—it was just…heartbreaking. She started to cry and to mumble things I couldn’t quite make out, but I think she said she loved him and it was okay when you loved someone. She just wanted him to love her back. And the more she talked, the more she cried. We tried to explain to her that he’s too old and it’s not right, but she became hysterical. I tried to hold her back, but she broke away and ran through the hallway.
“I told Lynden to go home, and went to get her. She was hiding behind some lockers, and she was a mess. I tried to talk to her, to explain, and I thought I was getting through. In any event, she stopped crying and seemed to calm down. I took her to the bathroom to help her wash her face, and then I took her downstairs where that girl, Jacinta, the one who used to pick her up, was already waiting. She asked what took so long, and I just told her we were cleaning up after art class. I think she didn’t believe me, even though that’s what Olivia did every Wednesday. Anyway.” Eva heaves a sigh. Her shoulders droop in exhaustion.
My spine is a rigid arrow, the only thing holding me up. Rage boils beneath my skin but not a drop of it reaches the surface. I stand there like a toy soldier, and I listen.
“And the day after, she doesn’t show up at school. Next thing we know, we get an infuriated call from the Shaws. They grilled her, and she said that Lynden had touched her. Dr. Chaney told them what I just told you, that we have a policy, a student is never alone with a teacher, all that. And the Shaws descended on the school the very same day. The wife’s pale as a bedsheet; he’s all fire and brimstone. They brought me in to testify. And I told them the truth.”
Sean’s frown deepens. “What makes you think he didn’t touch her, on another occasion, and only pretended because you happened to be there?”
“He didn’t,” she repeats obstinately. “He’s not like that.”
“No one wants to think people can be like that,” Sean says, trying to sound neutral.
“She’s the one who did it. I saw.”
“You think an eight-year-old girl was to blame?” I say, managing to keep my voice down to a whisper. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I never said she was to blame.” Eva’s gaze flees mine. “I’m just telling you what I saw.”
“So why did it never get to the police?” Sean speaks up. “Why did the Shaws decide to settle?”
“I don’t know,” she snaps with sudden bitterness. “Maybe because they realized they’d be ruining an innocent man’s life?”
“From what I know of Tom Shaw, he’s not the type to care.”
Her nostrils flare, and her chest rises and falls rapidly. “Or maybe they didn’t want the matter to get more attention. Dr. Chaney told them that much. If they pursued action against Lynden, despite the school policy and the testimony that he was not to blame, it would also be against the school, by default. And such a scandal would be incredibly damaging to the academy’s reputation. So if that was the case, he wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to them.”
“What do you mean?” Sean asks calmly.
She looks him in the eye, suddenly composed. “They’d go to the press with the case. So that at least the
public has both sides of the story, Dr. Chaney said. And that means reporters would dig into the family’s affairs. It would all be anonymous, but everyone knows who’s involved in things like this, especially in a small school and community. So that pretty much meant they’d tell the world Olivia was adopted. They’d make it known she was a child of a pedophile and his victim.”
I think I’m going to be sick.
“Olivia didn’t know she was adopted,” Eva says flatly. “Her parents never told her.”
“Then how the hell did the principal know?” Sean can’t keep the disgust from his voice. Eva lowers her chin.
“Like he told you.” She studiously avoids meeting his gaze. “We do a very thorough screening of our applicants.”
He mutters a few unrepeatable words in Spanish, but by the look on her face I see she gets them. She sniffles and stares down at the square toes of her shoes.
“And?” Sean asks.
“They made an arrangement. Lynden got dismissed. The Shaws pulled Olivia from the school.”
“And you?”
“Me? What was I supposed to do?” There’s an edge of hysteria in her voice.
“I don’t know, Ms. Marquez. You’ve followed the news, since you’re standing here now. What do you think? Are you still sure he was innocent?”
She raises her tear-filled eyes at Sean then turns her gaze to me. When she speaks, her voice is brimming with hatred. “Maybe,” she snarls, “something was rotten about her from the start. Have you considered that? Bad genes. Has it occurred to you that maybe she simply ran away?”
Sean’s eyes narrow.
“Bullshit.” My voice rings loud and clear, and both of them turn at once like they forgot I was there. I back away slowly, my hands curled at my sides. “This is all such fucking bullshit,” I say through clenched teeth.
And then I turn around and run.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
All I feel are the soles of my feet pounding rhythmically against the path. Gravel absorbs the impact of my steps, slowing me down. It’s like running through sand, but I don’t stop. I keep running and running, deep into the park, until my thighs burn in agony through the fading haze of the pills.
I zigzag from one path to another until I don’t know where I am anymore, until my legs give out, until my knees buckle and hit soggy ground. The earth rushes toward my face, and I rest my forehead on a mound of limp grass.
I breathe in the smell of mud and damp, the smell of rain.
I try not to feel. As usual, I fail.
Unlacing my right boot, I reach into my sock, my icy fingers crawling down my shin to the scar on my ankle. The pills are there, by my toes, cocooned in some cling wrap. I swallow the three mismatched lumps, white and hospital blue and mint green, without checking what they are. My throat is so dry that they get stuck halfway down, a hard and bitter lump.
I don’t know how much later I hear the muffled steps. Can’t be that long.
“Laine.” Cloth rustles as Sean crouches next to me. “Laine, talk to me.”
“Where is she?” I choke out. “Where is that bitch, so I can knock the fake teeth out of her fucking head?”
“I told her to go back to work,” he says softly. “It’s not like she can disappear on us. I have all her info. She’s an elementary school teacher, not an international spy.”
“So it was him, then.”
“We don’t know for sure.”
“What is there not to fucking know?”
He takes hold of my shoulders. I’m shaking from head to toe, and I just don’t have the energy to push his hands away, so I let him pull me to my feet. His arm goes around my waist, and I lean on him with my full weight.
“Let’s get you back to the car, okay?”
“No.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Laine. I’m going to drive you home. And you’re going to take it easy and rest.”
“I don’t want to rest. We have to find that guy. That Lynden guy.”
“I’ll find him. He’s not going anywhere, trust me.”
“She could have called him already. Warned him.”
“I already made a call too.” His arm around my waist holds me up gently like he’s afraid I’ll break in half. The tenderness of it makes my eyes sting. “He’s not getting away.”
Maybe the pills manage to dissolve in my gullet or maybe it’s just Sean’s presence by my side, but I manage to make it back to the fountain—no trace of Eva Marquez—and past the school gate, to Sean’s car waiting in the parking lot. I get into the passenger seat by myself, without needing to be hauled in, and don’t argue when he makes me put on my seat belt.
I rest my head on the back of the seat and stare at the car’s beige ceiling. My eyelids grow heavy, and I don’t fight the pull. The nightmares that I know will plague my sleep are far less terrifying than facing reality.
Lynden Jakes. His name was Lynden Jakes. He was a freaking art teacher in a school full of little girls.
I don’t want to live in this world.
Please take me away.
Please let me die.
I close my eyes then open them, and it’s like someone flipped a switch. The sky grew three shades darker, with a spill of orange above the black outline of a building. I blink, disoriented, trying to figure out where the hell I am until I recognize the hotel.
“I don’t think you should be alone right now,” Sean says as he locks the car. I’m shuffling along like a zombie and can barely bring myself to look up. It’s what I’ve been hoping he’d say from the beginning, and now that he has, it no longer matters.
“I’m going to call someone to keep an eye on you,” he says. He’s not asking me.
“No. I want to be by myself.”
He gives me a gloomy look.
“I’m tired. I just want to take a bath and crash, and I’m not sure I want some uniformed guy watching me sleep right now. Thanks for understanding.”
“Are you sure?”
“No one knows I’m here,” I say. “And there’s security out front, and cameras everywhere. It’s a hotel.”
“I want you to stay put until I get in touch.”
“I will. Where do you think I’m going to go?”
He gives me a look like he doesn’t really want an answer. That makes two of us.
“Promise me you won’t go anywhere. Not even for five minutes.”
“Promise.”
He’s not the only one who’s good at making promises he knows he can’t keep.
* * *
In the hotel lobby, there’s a lone desk with a computer monitor. I see it from across the hall because it’s one of the prehistoric, white, boxy ones. Doesn’t matter—I don’t need the latest tech for what I’m about to do. I ask at the front desk, where the receptionist gives me an odd look but informs me that I can use the computer for free for up to ten minutes.
Ten minutes will have to be enough. I plunk down into the worn chair and open a browser window.
Lynden Jakes. If it’s you, fucker, I swear I’ll take the next bus to wherever the hell you moved away to and modify your anatomy with some rusted gardening shears. My hands shake so much it’s hard to type, even though I know it has more to do with the comedown than my righteous outrage. But my comedown will have to wait.
It takes me a while to find him. I’m guessing I’m over my ten minutes because the receptionist is giving me the evil eye. But I find a link on a Classmates-type site that takes me to a social media site where he has a profile. L. Ethan Jakes, as he calls himself now, is a smarmy blond who must have been into sports once but has since let himself go, with a paunch the flattering angles of his photos don’t hide. I can be reasonably sure it’s him. He lives in Connecticut, has been there for two years now, and the profile says he used to teach high school but now works for some company. He has a lovely fiancée with a weak chin and earnest eyes.
He also updates obsessively. It takes a while to scroll through all the minutiae of his days, updates abou
t going running, pictures of food, the fiancée’s smiling mug, and a bored-looking dog, until I find the right dates. On the day Olivia went missing, he posted four times. He checked in at some Mexican place with the fiancée and friends; underneath the crappy picture of a half-drunk Mr. Jakes surrounded by bros, there are several likes. The other statuses show location. A thousand miles away from here. From Olivia.
I know as well as the next person that these things can be faked. I know Sean will run a real check, but a part of me knows exactly what he’ll find. Jakes was where he was supposed to be. And I was just grasping at a straw, because deep down, I already know it could never have been Jakes. It could only be one person.
I’m the only one who has ever seen that person. And I’m of absolutely no help.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Even though I’ve long ago used up my ten minutes, I open a new window and log into ConspiracyTalk. Sure enough, the Olivia Shaw thread has exploded.
Donttreadonme: hey guys, check this out. News from our favorite baby mama.
It’s a YouTube clip of the ill-fated press conference. My cursor hovers over the Play button for a moment, but then I glimpse something that makes me forget all about it.
In the next post, there’s a link to some tabloid. The headline reads SHOCKING TRUTH ABOUT ELLA SANTOS: The Kidnap Victim Whose Case Baffled the Nation. And in smaller letters: Ella’s Roommate and Lover Speaks Up. My insides turn to ice as I click on the link: the source, who’s being referred to as Naomi, tells about “Ella’s” forays into sex work, her multiple partners.
Many times after she’d come over I’d notice things went missing, intimate things, like my lingerie, clothes. One time she took a bottle of my favorite perfume and sprayed it all over her things. I’ve always had nothing but compassion for her, as I know how hard her circumstances are, and I didn’t want her to get into trouble—
