What She Saw

by Sheila Lowe

  Her warm smile did nothing to allay Jenna’s anxiety. Too nervous to smile back, she mumbled acknowledgement. There was something in Claudia’s eyes...

  She unlocked the door and invited them in. “I’m sorry the place is kind of a mess. When I left this morning I didn’t know I was going to have company.”

  “Don’t worry about it, we’re not here to judge your housekeeping.”

  “I should have cleaned up yesterday, but...”

  “Seriously,” Claudia said. “Don’t worry. Oh, look at the gnome, Joel. I love garden gnomes. My English grandmother always had them.”

  “There’s a matching one in the Escondido apartment.”

  “So, you’ve been to Escondido,” said Detective Jovanic, following her inside.

  “I decided to drive down after I saw you on Saturday. It was a lot closer to go from Venice than from here. I went to the Marina del Rey apartment first, but that was a dead end.”

  Jenna set the China Wok takeout bag on the kitchen counter and hurried to snatch up the blanket and socks she had left on the couch the night before. She flung them in the bedroom and closed the door, collected dirty cups and glasses from the coffee table and dumped them in the sink. Her visitors sat together on the loveseat. Both declined her offer of something to drink.

  “How did it go in Escondido?” Detective Jovanic asked.

  Jenna removed her suit coat and took the armchair. She said, “I found my—the Jessica Mack name on a mailbox. There was a tow notice from the San Diego police. Apparently, I left a Honda at the Amtrak station.” She should tell him about Detective Galen, but she wouldn’t. “I ran into a neighbor who called me Jessica. And I remembered her name was Peyton Butler.”

  “Did you learn anything from her?”

  “She told me I’d left in a big hurry. That was it. I only talked to her for a minute.”

  “And you were able to access the apartment?”

  “I had a key.”

  “Did you recognize anything?”

  “Just the gnome.” Jenna began to fidget under the probing of the detective’s laser sharp grey eyes. “Something had happened in the bedroom.”

  She fumbled for the right words to describe the scene. “There was a broken wineglass on the laptop keyboard.

  “It wouldn’t boot up. The wine had spilled....”

  “Did you happen to bring it back with you?” Detective Jovanic asked. “There are ways to recover information, even with liquid on the motherboard.”

  Thinking of the hasty retreat she had beat from the apartment, Jenna shook her head. “No. I—I left without it. If you think it might be important, I could go back and get it.”

  “I don’t think for our purposes that will be necessary.” The detective adjusted his position on the loveseat. “Jenna, as I told you over the phone, I have some information for you. First, let me ask you a question. Have you spoken with a Detective Galen from Fresno?”

  They must see her look of alarm for what it was. “No—yes—I mean....” She cast her gaze past Detective Jovanic’s shoulder and stared at the wall, the coffee table, the floor. Anywhere but those penetrating eyes. He must know she had spoken with Galen. Maybe the two detectives had already conferred about her.

  An iron band was squeezing her rib cage; she couldn’t catch her breath. As if she were tethered by little more than a thread to the young woman huddled in the big chair, she experienced once again that peculiar sensation of floating outside her body.

  The kitchen cabinets were being opened and closed, she could hear the faucet running. A few seconds later, Claudia put a glass in her hand. Keeping her own warm hand over Jenna’s icy one, she said, “Breathe in through your nose and hold it for a couple of seconds. That’s right. Now, breathe out and drink a little water.”

  She turned to the detective. “We need a paper bag for her to breathe into.”

  Jenna shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I’m fine.”

  “We don’t have to hurry this,” Jovanic said. “Why don’t you take a breather.”

  “Please. I need to know. I don’t want to, but I need to know.” She gulped water from the glass, almost choking in her haste. “Let’s just get it over with. Please. What do you have to tell me?”

  “Okay. You were correct that you were involved in a highway collision.” Detective Jovanic removed a sheaf of papers from his jacket pocket and unfolded them. “This is the report of an automobile accident that occurred in February along the Grapevine in Kern County.”

  “The Grapevine! That’s what I saw in the trance with Dr. Gold. It was the part where the highway goes through the mountains.”

  “Detective Galen is the investigator on the case. He’s with the MAIT.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It stands for the Multidisciplinary Accident Investigation Team. They get involved in investigating major traffic collisions.”

  “But you said the accident would only be in your system if there was an arrest....”

  “Yes, that’s correct. There was an arrest in your case.”

  “Who was arrested? Was it me?”

  “No, it wasn’t you.” Detective Jovanic took a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and after he had put them on, bent his head and read from the report:

  “I’ll just summarize: A motorist named Gregory Justin Mack was arrested by California Highway Patrol officers on February 19, 2010 in the Grapevine section of Northbound Interstate 5.

  “Mr. Mack was charged with reckless driving and second degree murder in a traffic collision that resulted in the severe injury of his wife, a woman named Jessica Mack.”

  He glanced over, gauging her reaction, giving her time to digest what he had told her.

  Detective Galen’s voice rang in Jenna’s head: “...about your husband...”

  “Murder..” she echoed in a faint voice.

  Jovanic continued reading. “Second degree murder in the death of a minor child, Justin Mack.”

  Justin.

  The name hammered at the door of her consciousness.

  Let me in.

  No! I can’t.

  Let me...

  I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t.

  Mama, please...

  “Jenna? Jenna, are you all right?” Claudia’s voice came through the fog.

  How can I be all right?

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “...about your husband...”

  “Would you like me to call someone for you?”

  Who is there to call?

  “No, thank you.” The words were automatic, her voice the voice of a robot.

  “Would you like me to stop?” Detective Jovanic asked.

  “No.”

  He returned to reading the accident report in a gentle monotone, as though a calm voice might soften the poisonous blows he was raining down on her. “Ms. Mack, who was not wearing a seatbelt, was thrown from the car....”

  I was trying to stop him from crying...

  No! Don’t go there.

  When Claudia reached over and took her hands again, anchoring her to the real world, she realized that her mind was drifting.

  “...sustained a serious head injury and was in a coma for approximately two weeks. This was Mr. Mack’s second DUI. His blood alcohol level was 2.0, which is, of course, well above the legal limit of .08.” Jovanic glanced up again and said, “That’s why it was charged as a homicide.”

  “What—what happened to—to him?”

  “He’s currently a guest of the California Penal System at the Pitchess Honor Rancho—that’s the County Jail in Santa Clarita. He’s awaiting trial, which is set to begin on October 4. Detective Galen has been trying to contact you to interview you about the accident. The district attorney would like you to testify as a witness, but of course, he can’t legally compel you to testify against a spouse.”

  “No.” What was the matter with her voice? She couldn’t raise it above a whisper.

  “I’m sorry, Jenna,” said the detective
with what she believed was genuine sincerity.

  “No! This can’t be right. You’re telling me I’m Jessica Mack, but I’m not, I’m Jenna Marcott. I don’t have a husband. I don’t have a child. I don’t believe you.”

  Don’t believe the evidence on your own driver’s license? Don’t believe the evidence in your own hypnotic trance, your nightmares? The Escondido apartment? Peyton Butler?

  Trying to block the voice that only she could hear, Jenna shook her head. Claudia crouched beside her chair and put an arm around her shoulders. “Give yourself a few minutes, Jenna. Just take it easy.”

  “You think I stole this woman’s identification. That’s what you think, isn’t it? Because she’s not me.”

  “No, sweetheart, that’s not what we think. Remember the scar on your head that you showed Dr. Gold?”

  Jenna’s hand went up and touched the ridge in her scalp. She snatched her hand back and put it under her thigh, as though it were responsible for creating the slight rope of scar tissue.

  Claudia said, “This morning, Joel—Detective Jovanic—spoke with the neurosurgeon who took care of...Jessica after the accident. The surgeon said there was a two-inch incision behind her left ear as a result of the accident and then surgery.”

  Detective Jovanic added, “After leaving the hospital, Jessica was scheduled for a follow-up appointment, but she never showed. The doctor’s office tried several times but was unable to contact her.” He glanced over at her. “The address she had given them was the apartment in Marina del Rey, in care of Jenna Marcott. Their letters were returned, no forwarding order. Galen was able to trace her to the Escondido address. So you are Jessica Mack, and it seems that Jenna Marcott is the identity you adopted to—”

  She covered her ears with her hands, resisting the words. “I want you to leave now.”

  “Jenna...” Claudia said.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done, but you have to leave.” Jenna started to rise but her knees buckled and she dropped back into the armchair.

  “I know this has got to be tough news for you,” Detective Jovanic began. “We—”

  “Please,” she said. “Just leave.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone,” Claudia said.

  “I’m not alone. My upstairs neighbor is a friend. I’m fine.”

  “Would you like us to—”

  “No. I don’t want you to do anything except go. Thank you for coming all the way up here. I know you’re trying to help me....” She knew she sounded angry. She was angry. Who were these people to tell her she had a dead child? “I told you to go.”

  It’s your fault he’s dead, Jessica.

  No!

  She jumped when Claudia touched her on the shoulder and said, “You have our phone numbers. Call either of us anytime.”

  “When you’re ready to talk about it,” Detective Jovanic added, “We’ll be waiting.”

  After the door closed behind them she sat in the armchair for a time as ice formed in her veins. She thought she might never be warm again. Changing into jeans and a sweatshirt did little for the goosebumps on her arms, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

  She hugged her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth like a small child. Her instincts had been right. Detective Jovanic had brought Claudia Rose to help deliver bad news. The worst of all possible news.

  For hours she sat there rocking, doing her damndest to retreat into the protective cocoon the amnesia had provided. When that didn’t work, she tested herself to see whether she could remember.

  My son.

  My baby boy.

  Her conscious memory was still as empty as before. But as much as she wanted to deny it, she knew in the depths of her soul that she and Jessica Mack were one and the same.

  An aching sadness left her feeling as though she had bathed in Novocain. Shouldn’t she be raging at the man whose careless drunken state was responsible for the death of their child?

  Her eyes moved to the stack of sealed moving cartons in the corner, shifted away again. She no longer wanted the answers those boxes might hold, the answers she had been resisting.

  Against her will, new questions started popping up like balloons held under water and released: How long have I been Jenna Marcott? If the accident was in February, why only now have I developed amnesia?

  The voice in her head mocked her. Who said it was only now? For all she knew, this could be the latest in an entire series of amnesia episodes. How did her job at BioNeutronics fit in? And her relationship with Simon, who didn’t appear to notice anything unusual about her? How long had she been carrying on a double life?

  In just a few minutes, Detective Jovanic had stripped away the fragile walls she had managed to build for herself, the illusion she had created over the past few days. And now she had nothing left. No defenses. She considered dying, but could not find the energy to get up from the chair and kill herself.

  But eventually, like frostbitten nerve endings coming alive, the pain made its way to the surface, so fresh, so visceral, that every cell in her body protested at the violence of it. How could something that did not originate from a physical cause hurt so much?

  Jenna—no, Jessica—hauled herself up and trudged into the kitchen, where she gulped down a half-dozen ibuprofen with a slug of wine straight from the bottle she had left on the counter.

  Pouring it into a glass took more effort than she was willing to make. It didn’t matter that it dribbled onto her sweatshirt. The neat freak had effectively disappeared. She threw herself onto the bed still dressed and prayed for dreamless sleep.

  Her prayers went unanswered. The nightmares were more vivid than ever and she woke crying out, sweating and feverish.

  Trying to recall the hazy scenes made them evaporate faster and left her with no understanding of what had frightened her so badly.

  Her mouth was as dry as parchment. She lay atop the bedspread, too spent even to roll off the bed and get a glass of water. She knew instinctively that these dreams were not about the car accident. She had cried not a single tear, yet her eyes felt gritty and swollen, as if she had wept an ocean.

  The accident report had said she had a husband who hated her enough to want to kill her. But they must have loved each other at one time. They had made a beautiful baby boy together. Why had that love so wholly disappeared? His threat echoed: “I’ll take you with me.”

  What kind of mother doesn’t remember her own child?

  What kind of man tries to kill his family?

  What kind of woman stays with a man like that?

  A woman named Jessica Mack.

  As she tried to shut out the voice’s unbroken criticism of her every failure, every sin, a sound outside her head penetrated. The metallic clink of a latch engaging, a gate being closed with care.

  Since the day she had begun this version of her life as Jenna Marcott, Jessica had yet to encounter anyone else in the apartment building. Each night over the past week she had heard the next door neighbor coming and going at eleven forty and assumed that the person who lived there worked the graveyard shift.

  A glance at the bedside clock told her it was one fifty-four. Graveyard started at midnight. The neighbor must be very late for work. Then her ears picked up a much closer sound. A scraping on the front porch of her apartment. The soft rattle of the doorknob.

  Someone’s breaking in.

  t w e n t y - t w o

  One moment she was lying on the bed, the next she was on her feet, not knowing how she got there. Time slowed but her thoughts were streaking at terminal velocity as she covered the few feet across the small bedroom, noiseless as a cat.

  Options flicked like a stop-action video in her head:

  Call 911.

  Phone’s in the living room.

  Find a weapon.

  Nothing in here.

  Kitchen—knife.

  From the bedroom doorway her gaze caught on the wooden knife block on the kitchen counter ten feet away. To her left she co
uld hear the faint sound of the intruder’s pick scratching at the lock. Cold comfort that he did not know she was awake and a few steps from a weapon that could filet him.

  The lock sprang as Jessica was crossing the entry. The door opened inward, raking metal weather stripping across her bare toes. Her involuntary yelp of pain stole any advantage she might have had. From the porch, a low grunt of surprise.

  Jessica dove for the knife block, but a hulking figure lunged across the threshold and snatched a fistful of her sweatshirt, spinning her around with whiplash speed. He clapped a heavy hand over her face.

  Before conscious thought had time to form, mindless fear mobilized her and she aimed her heels at his shins.

  But her feet were off the ground, unable to gain purchase and it felt like her kicks were landing far off the mark. Certainly, they were not affecting the intruder, who shook her like a rag doll. “Get in here,” he rasped to someone she couldn’t see. “Grab her legs, goddamn it!”

  Some higher part of her brain that was still functioning with clarity caught the sound of the front door closing. Heard the lock engage.

  Hard enough to fight the man who held her—he was the size of a mountain—two would be impossible. It was the lower reptilian brain that kept her bucking wildly.

  The second one seized her shins and banged her ankles together, holding on like a bronco rider bent on breaking a rowdy horse. “Jesus, she’s a feisty little bitch,” the man said, with a tinge of admiration.

  The mountain’s arm was a lead weight pinning her against his chest. “Over there,” he snapped and she felt herself being carried a few feet. Desperate for air, she struggled to twist her head out of his grasp, but the more she struggled, the harder his hand pressed against her nose and mouth. Then she was falling.

  Her back hit the padded arm of the armchair, hard.

  Moonlight filtered through the half-closed vertical blinds on the sliding glass door, but though it did not provide enough light to discern her captors’ features. Jessica did not have to see them to know who they were.

  Even before he ordered his flunky to shut the blinds and find a light she knew that the mountain was the silent giant at the back of Simon’s office. The man in the SUV who had trailed her from the BioNeutronics parking lot.