by Nina Laurin
The summer residence is less than an hour outside the city limits. The trees on the sides of the highway become taller and the road itself more deserted. Shaw doesn’t speak, and it’s better that way. I have no idea what I’d say to him. I don’t know where I’d even start.
“Jacqueline is sure you’re innocent,” he says as he takes an exit ramp. The road gives way to a narrower street, then another and another. We’re going in zigzags. Here and there, I glimpse luxury homes through the trees. At this time of year, they stand empty and dark.
What about you? I almost ask.
“This thing has been really hard on her,” he says by way of explanation. “I can’t really blame her if she’s starting to lose her head.”
And there I have it, my answer. “You really think I’d do something like that?”
He gives an infuriating shrug.
The last lane is the longest, a stretch of unpaved gravel road that dwindles to nothing between the trees. The house itself rises out of the evergreens, one of those modern constructions where the entire front is made of glass. Only one light is on inside, gleaming like a dull star through the branches.
“I had this place built for Olivia, you know,” he says, and his voice cracks, skipping over her name. “Right after we adopted her. I was thinking a lake house, but Jackie didn’t want to. Too afraid Olivia might drown.” He shakes his head, chuckling bitterly. “What a joke, right?”
I’m stricken speechless.
“All for her, so she could have the best of everything. Do you know what it’s like to love someone? Really love them, not just in words.”
We get out, and he starts toward the house without glancing over his shoulder to see if I’m following. The rain has slowed down, and the silence is deafening. I’ve never been outside the city before, I realize. I’ve never been in a place this quiet. No hum of cars, no distant sirens. It’s almost quiet enough to be eerie. Just steps and the whisper of rain…
“When it’s not cloudy, you can see all the stars,” Shaw says as he unlocks the front door. I follow him in. “I regret now that we never really spent time here. Olivia hated it, said it was boring. She always wanted to go back to the city after only a day or two.”
I attempt to speak again, but he cuts me off. “Kids these days, right? You give them everything, and they just ask for more.”
He turns on the light, and it fills the space with a warm glow. It’s lovely with a large, open living room, an arched doorway into a long hall, and a winding staircase that leads to a second level. Everything is done in warm-toned polished wood, like you’d expect in a place like this. It smells dusty, a bit damp—unlived in.
“Jacqueline,” I speak up. My voice echoes uncannily. “She said she had to tell me something when she called. She said it was about Olivia.”
Tom’s face falls. He rubs his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, and my heart drops.
“There’s nothing to tell. There weren’t any new developments, sadly. She just knew it would sway you when nothing else did.”
The bad feeling that’s been coiled in my chest for a while rears its head. “Is she okay?”
“Not exactly,” he says, his gaze heavy. “You see, she’s had problems in the past. She was stable most of the time, but then, with Olivia’s disappearance, it went downhill fast. She had to start taking medication again.”
“Medication?” I choke out. I think of the elegant, coiffed, tiny woman who held me in her arms like I was her own daughter. Nothing makes sense.
“She’s been having episodes. But I wanted so badly to keep it low profile. There’s been so much press around us already, and if this got out, you can imagine. Vultures.”
I stare at him blankly, still uncomprehending.
“They’d go as far as accusing her of kidnapping her own daughter,” he says, not so much to me as at me. “Call her crazy. A pillhead. So I would really appreciate if you kept what I just told you to yourself, okay?”
I’m not sure what exactly he expects me to do with the information. Sell it to a paparazzo?
“I know you two grew close.”
I can hardly call it growing close. She came to pick me up once, when I had no one else to call. “No,” I say.
“I’m so sorry. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you, even without my wife adding to it.”
I’m shivering again. He heaves a sigh.
“Ugh. I completely forgot. I’m rambling on, and you’re freezing. Let me get you something to change into.”
He shows me to the bathroom while I try to keep my teeth from clattering too violently. I notice that all the pictures have been taken off the walls here too. Poor Jacqueline.
Once the door is closed and I’ve made sure the latch is turned, I towel off my hair and change into an enormous, fluffy bathrobe, one of Jacqueline’s. I wring out my socks and leave them on the edge of the bathtub, next to the disgusting wet pile of jeans and sweatshirt, and then wriggle my bare feet into the cold, damp leather confines of my boots. Taking my phone and knife from my ruined jacket’s pocket, I put my phone in one boot and slide my knife into the other, snug against my calf.
Outside, Tom Shaw waits for me with a tumbler in each hand, filled halfway with something amber and aromatic. “I figured you could use something to warm up.”
The smell alone is enough to warm my clenched, frozen insides, but I shake my head. “No. I don’t. Thanks.”
“I know you’re not a teetotaler. And we both deserve this.”
His smile is a touch too tense. He doesn’t like to be told no. Suddenly I feel hyperaware of the fact that I’m wearing his wife’s bathrobe and underneath I’m completely naked except for my underwear.
He takes a swig of the amber liquor. I only take a tiny sip, but it burns all the way down, making me sputter.
“What’s wrong with her?” I blurt. “With Jacqueline.”
He looks surprised for a moment then collects himself. “I just told you. Please be discreet…”
“What do you mean, she has episodes? You didn’t tell me anything.”
“No offense, but I don’t feel comfortable discussing this with you.”
“And if she’s sick, I can talk about it with her, in person,” I say. “I won’t bother her for long. I just want to make sure she’s all right.”
“She took her medication, and she’s asleep.”
“You pumped her full of meds.” It’s not a question. “That’s your solution to everything. When someone doesn’t behave the way you want them to, give them a pill.”
“I’m really not interested in your opinion,” he says coldly.
“Then why did you bring me here? Just take me back. Drop me somewhere on the side of a highway.”
He looks at me for a few long moments, his face unreadable. Then he shakes his head. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. If you insist. You can see her—she’s fast asleep, so just try not to disturb her.”
I follow him down the hall, to the door at the very end.
“You know what I regret?” he says as he holds the door open just a crack. All I can see over his shoulder is darkness. “I regret getting you involved in this to begin with. I was hoping you could be at least marginally useful in helping me find my daughter. All you did was screw up things with my wife.”
I bite back the scathing words at the tip of my tongue.
“And you know what else I regret? Having adopted her. It was stupid of me to hope she’d turn out different. I mean, just look at her mother.”
“You—” My hands curl into fists. I start to say something, but at that moment, he swings the door open, its dark maw gaping, and sidesteps me. Before I can realize what’s happening, he gives me a shove in the back, hard enough to knock me off-balance. Darkness rushes toward me and I topple into emptiness until a flight of stairs breaks my fall. Pain lances my arm, my shoulder, my ribs, but my scream dies in my throat. I tumble for what feels like an eternity, my hip, my side, my head connecting with sharp e
dges until finally I sprawl on the floor.
Everything reels before my vision as I struggle to press myself up with my arms. My whole body hurts, and the ringing in my ears rises in pitch, drowning out everything. As my eyes start to get used to the dark, I make out another figure, crouched by the wall, terrified. When I try to speak or scream, my voice won’t obey me, and my lips grow numb, followed by everything else.
Thunder rumbles above my head, growing nearer and nearer, and I squeeze my eyes shut. And then a kick in my bruised ribs, a kick that knocks the air out of my lungs. Pain shoots up my spine to explode between my ears. The bitter bile of the alcohol I’d just drunk wells up in my throat, scorching everything in its way, and sputters out of my mouth and nose. Everything is on fire; my eyes water as I retch and retch until my stomach is empty and shriveled. As soon as I stop, another kick sends me flying onto my side. The sour reek of vomit fills my nostrils.
Through all that hell, I hear Tom Shaw speak somewhere far above.
“Enough playing around. Time to get talking. Tell me—where did you hide her? Where did you hide my daughter, you cunt?”
And that’s when I recognize the voice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I roll over onto my hands and knees, but the room won’t stop spinning. Every breath is a fight. Through my blurring vision, I recognize the figure crouched next to the wall: Jacqueline. She’s hugging her knees, and her eyes are dark and enormous in her pale face.
She murmurs something, and at first I can’t understand what she’s saying. “I’m so sorry,” she sobs, her hand clasped over her mouth. I notice that her other wrist is cuffed to a heater. “I’m so sorry, Lainey. He—he held a gun to my head.”
My mind fractures. All the pieces of my short, miserable life spin in front of my eyes, finally—for the first time—falling into place.
Another wave of dizziness sweeps over me. My arms tremble, my elbows give out, and I topple forward. My cheekbone hits the floor, and I choke on a cry of pain.
He grabs my shoulder in a vise grip and flips me over onto my back. A little more bile bubbles at my lips. You sick bastard, I try to say, but all that comes out is a hoarse rasp.
“Where is she?” he yells. Spittle flies from his lips. “I know you two bitches hid her somewhere. Well, one of you is going to talk!”
Underneath the sheer terror, underneath the flood of memories I struggled for ten years to forget, underneath the realization that I probably won’t leave this room alive, relief fills my chest, manic and giddy. He doesn’t have her. The monster doesn’t have Olivia; he doesn’t know where she is.
And he won’t. I’ll do everything I can to make sure of that, even if it costs me my life. This is the only thing I’ve ever been 100 percent sure of.
I turn my head, and Jacqueline’s terrified face swims into view. “Leave her alone,” she rasps. “She had nothing to do with this.”
“Nothing to do with it? She’s the one who started this whole mess.”
His face is twisted with rage, his eyes bulging. He’s completely out of his mind, so utterly lost in his delusions, convinced of his absolute right, that he can’t hear how insane he sounds.
He leans over me, and deep down, a part of me withers in terror. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me up. My head lolls, I can barely feel my face, and my arms and legs begin to tingle.
He gives me a shake. “Answer me, you good-for-nothing junkie bitch.”
I want to spit in his face, tell him to go fuck himself, but my mouth refuses to form the words. His face blurs and turns into a leather mask. Primal terror shrieks within me, but when I blink, it turns back into Tom Shaw.
He collects himself, an easy smile floating on his lips. “At least the tranquilizer I gave you seems to be working. It was hard to find. I wanted one that would keep you awake and aware of everything, but unable to do anything about it. And by the time it wears off, trust me—you’ll be ready to talk to me.”
He lets go, and I crumble like a puppet with its strings cut. Pain shoots through my ankle and up my leg when it twists under me. An animal-like moan escapes from my lips.
He crouches over me, yanking away the robe. Icy, damp air hits my skin, making it crawl. He’s straddling me, his weight pins me to the floor, crushing my rib cage, squeezing the air out of my lungs drop by drop.
Out of sheer instinct, the old but resilient instinct of a frightened little girl, I withdraw inside myself, as far as possible into my frail body, into the deepest recesses of my mind. But I’m not screaming. Instead, a cold resolve fills me, even as I struggle to draw a breath.
Even when he grinds on top of me. Even when he leans close and I hear as much as feel his wet breath on the side of my face. He pants into my ear, and images flash before my eyes: Dark. Cold. Basement floor, rough under my naked body, abrading my skin. The bite of rope on my wrists and ankles.
I push the images away, but they crowd back in, every moment of those months resurrected from the depths of memory. He gropes for my breast, squeezes and twists my nipple. In my head, I cry out.
“You know, you’re still attractive,” he whispers into my ear. “You’ve still got it. A little old for me, but you still look like a child. I could manage one last time for you. What do you think?”
I sputter and choke. By my sides, my hands are working. I’m squeezing my fingers into a fist, a quarter of an inch at a time. They feel like lifeless, unwieldy sausages, but I force them. Little by little, my fingertips start to tingle. I clench my fists, relishing the pain of my nails cutting into my palms.
He starts to fumble with his trousers. I hear the clink of a belt buckle, then the hiss of a zipper, and when his image fades from my vision, I realize I’ve managed to close my eyes.
I force them open, force myself to look into his face. My tongue feels thick in my mouth, numb, and it takes me several tries to get the words out. “You won’t find her.”
He stops fumbling, and for a moment, his face comes into sharp focus. His smile widens, showing off those perfect teeth. “Oh, I will. Whether you tell me or not. I will find her, and then it’ll only be worse for you.”
“You’re going to kill me anyway,” I say. It feels like I’m talking through a mouthful of cotton.
“I should have killed you back then. Saved myself all the trouble.”
My eyes burn, and I can’t breathe, but this time it has nothing to do with the drug, nothing to do with him slowly crushing the life out of me. I don’t realize I’m speaking until I hear the croak of my voice. “Why?”
“Why? Why didn’t I kill you? Why indeed. I don’t know. You were pregnant with my child.” He shrugs again and sits up, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His face has gone blotchy.
And that’s when it clicks in my head. The last piece of the puzzle that is my life falls into place, and the big picture is so sad and pathetic, so simple, a three-year-old could have figured it out. I can’t believe it took me ten years, ten fucking years for it to finally download.
My life had meant nothing to him. I was less than an animal. He would have killed me like one steps on a bug, with little thought and even less remorse. The only thing that mattered to him was an agglomeration of cells buried in my flat child’s stomach, cells that were part him. Those cells made the difference between my life and death. Let her go or kill her, strangle her, smother her, or slit her throat?
But those little cells mattered. So he decided to let me go and take my child when she was born.
I turn my head and see Jacqueline cowering at the edge of my vision, pressing herself into the wall. And I finally get the rest of it.
“Don’t tell him,” I say, and my voice cuts through, loud and clear. “Don’t tell him a goddamn thing. He can’t get his hands on her—he can’t, okay?”
I only catch a glimpse of her face, twisted in terror, before his fist connects with my cheekbone. My head snaps to the side, and my vision explodes with black motes against blinding white.
The weight
lifts off me, and for a brief moment, I can draw air into my lungs. Not nearly long enough. Next thing I know, his boot connects with my side, and pain lances my entire being. I curl up into a ball on the floor, blind, deaf, senseless.
When my head starts to clear, I hear his steps thundering away, finally away from me. I pry my right eye open; the left is swelling shut. He’s leaning over Jacqueline, and she starts to scream her head off. He grabs her arm; the handcuff jangles against the pipe of the heater.
A tiny voice deep down is screaming at me to do something, but my limbs won’t obey, my muscles weak and useless. I roll over and fumble with my boot. My fingers are still numb but I tug out the laces with all the agility I can muster.
Jacqueline is still screaming. I hear the dull thwack of fist against flesh and shudder with my whole body. Don’t look up. Don’t look. It won’t help her.
I finally ease my phone out, clutching it with clumsy hands. It’s running out of battery, but there’s enough.
There has to be.
Please let there be enough.
Jacqueline lets out a shriek that slices across my eardrums, and I can’t help it. My head snaps up, and my gaze meets hers. Her eyes are filled with pain and terror, locked on me. On the phone in my hands.
I only have time to give a frantic shake of my head. Look away, please look away, don’t let on.
I’m too late. He spins around, zeroing in on the phone. I mash the Emergency Call button but don’t have time to see if it works.
He’s upon me in the blink of an eye, kicking the phone out of my hand. It goes flying, crashes into the wall, and skitters across the floor, far out of reach.
The next kick catches the side of my head, and the world explodes.
I can’t see. I hear nothing but the deafening ringing in my ears, and my mouth fills with blood that drips down my throat, choking me. For a moment, I’m sure he broke something crucial, driven a shard of skull into my brain, and this is just agony.
Then the cold floor hits my cheek. I slowly come back to my body, panting for air, spitting blood, but before the pain can fade, he’s pulling me up. I cough blood all over his face. He’s yelling something, but I can’t make out the words, bitch, cunt, stupid whore, something like that. He shakes me.
