by Stacy Green
“Exactly,” I said. “And the autopsy reports show at least one of the other victims prior to Jenna died of sepsis. I think it’s safe to say the Westons enjoyed their spoons and cared little about hygiene.”
Bannam’s grimace once again broke his distinguished demeanor. “The vile scum that walks in our society is truly frightening. But tell me how this relates to Justin’s case.”
“The spoons were held back from the media, kept for law enforcement only.” Those files had changed everything. Todd had barged into my apartment late one evening, completely ignoring my demands to be allowed to stay in bed and sink further into my head. “Detective Beckett secured the information two weeks ago. The Weston murders happened long before Justin was born, and again, have been in confidential police files. Last fall, when he told me the truth about Layla’s murder, he said his mother raped her with a spoon.” Justin’s breath hitched, but he said nothing. I knew the memory still scraped raw, and I doubted it would ever fully heal.
“At the time, I believed him because of pure gut instinct that’s been honed over years of CPS and private investigator work,” I said. “But I knew you would need something more, so I started researching the Westons in depth. And we found out about the spoons. He didn’t know about them when he first told me what really happened to Layla. He couldn’t have known.”
Chris had erupted with jealousy when I told him I had to help Justin before we went after their mother. I let him rage, and then I told him he’d have to wait. I had to do the right thing. For once.
Bannam stroked his chin. “You’re willing to testify in court about this, knowing perjury would mean the termination of your license?”
“Absolutely.”
“And you,” Bannam turned to Todd. “Same question. I realize you’re in a tough situation, but your reputation and career are on the line with this.”
“I accept that,” Todd said.
“Your Honor.” The heavy tiredness haunting me these last few weeks threatened to creep into my head. I knew what it was. Depression. That black phantom so many people refused to acknowledge. Not me. I was depressed as hell. I was a killer, and even worse, my actions hadn’t made a damned bit of difference. But this one could. This one had to, because Justin deserved to have his life back. “When I forced my way into the search for Kailey Richardson, I was certain Justin had taken her. I nearly screwed up the search because I couldn’t see past my own prejudices. And believe me, I know firsthand the impact sexual abuse has on a family. If I had any doubt of Justin’s innocence, I wouldn’t be here.”
Bannam finally pushed his glasses back into their normal space. The frames left indents on his forehead. “And your research supporting the theory you’ve just given me, it’s all in this file?”
“Every bit.” I didn’t need hard copies, even though Kelly insisted on having everything in triplicate. The horrors of the Westons–the crime scene photos of the abandoned girls, the torture den in the barn, and Jenna Richardson’s brave testimony–were seared into my memory.
The judge seemed satisfied. He turned his attention to Justin, gazing over the top of his glasses with hawkish interest. “You’re asking for your record to be expunged, even though it’s a juvenile record and sealed. Why?”
Justin’s cheeks hollowed as he drew a whistling breath. “Because it’s the right thing. I was too scared as a kid to stand up for myself. And that cost me a lot of time.” His knees bounced up and down, his slim fingers tapping a fast beat on his thighs. “But this isn’t even about me, really. I’ve got a job. I’m taking classes. I’m working on starting over. And yet this crime is over my head, on paper, when it should be on my mother’s head. How is that any kind of justice for my friend Layla? Mary Weston–Martha Beckett, whatever you want to call her–is responsible for her death, and that needs to be made right. For everyone’s sake.”
Pride surged over the burgeoning depression. Justin would be just fine in this life.
Me, on the other hand? I wasn’t sure what I had left in the tank.
I waited for Todd and Justin outside the courtroom, feeling the ache of exhaustion in every joint of my body. The days and nights had begun to blend into one seamless blur of misery. If I wasn’t curled in bed, consumed in my own bad choices, I was scouring the Weston case. My interest wasn’t solely in helping Justin, although that was the driving force. I’d told Chris I needed to get inside Mother Mary’s head, to figure out how she maneuvered in this life, how she was able to manipulate so many people, if we had a shot in hell of finding her. But with every new story I read, eyewitness accounts from police at the farm in Lancaster to the steadfast denial of her involvement by her imprisoned ex-husband, I sank further into the pit. I wasn’t afraid of Mary. That was too simple. What jarred me were the similarities between us, even though our lives were worlds apart. The manipulation, the ability to make people around us believe we were the best thing that ever happened to them, that they were blessed by our affections–those shattered me with the force of shrapnel.
My phone rang, and I answered Chris’s call, knowing what he’d say. “Todd and Justin are still in with the judge. I’m just waiting to hear what he says.”
“And then what?” Chris’s combative tone tweaked my already thin nerves. I’d pushed him away the past few weeks, telling him I had to do this deed first. I couldn’t hold him off much longer. He frothed like an angry bull circling its competition. “Isn’t it time we took action?”
I couldn’t bring myself to say yes, and my indecision only made the bottomless feeling worse. Articulation failed me, but going after Mary seemed like the Spartans marching to be annihilated by the Persians in the Battle of Thermopylae. If I faced Mother Mary, I’d lose. Whether physical or psychological, facing her meant I’d lose whatever tiny bit of my humanity I had left.
“Soon.”
“Right.” Chris’s anger didn’t even sting. I understood his frustration, but I could do nothing to prevent it. All of my bravado had bled out with Riley in Jake’s garage.
Todd and Justin exited the judge’s chamber, giving me a blissful reprieve. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Lucy, I’m getting tired of waiting.”
“I know. I’ve got to go.” I ended the call and stood, my sluggish heart feeling a burst of excitement at the smile on Justin’s face. “Well?”
“He’s going to recommend the record be expunged.” Justin’s long strides were reminiscent of a happy toddler’s drunken walk. “Thanks to you. The work you put into researching the evidence. That’s what did it.”
“You did it,” I said. “Because you told the truth. I’m proud of you.” I hugged him, feeling the recent weight gain of living a healthy and happy life.
Wearing his usual dark clothes, Todd stood next to his brother. They hung loosely off his thin frame, giving him the appearance of carrying too much weight on his shoulders. “Thank you, Lucy.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
He scratched the back of his neck and then fiddled with his crooked tie. “Did you call the lady I mentioned?”
Todd had given me the name of a therapist who specialized in post-traumatic stress. He seemed to believe my ordeal in Jake’s garage might have messed me up. As if I was fine before that. As if I could sit down with a stranger and tell her all my sins so she could cure me.
I liked that Todd wanted to help.
“Not yet, but soon. I promise.”
Of course I had no intention of calling anyone. We said our goodbyes, and I went home and crawled into bed.
GONE TO DIE
2
My windows rattled with a fresh blast of winter wind. I pulled the blanket to my chin and tried not to see the dying face of Riley. How much life had I stolen from her? Was it her destiny to die young anyway, or had I interrupted the cosmos’s great plan and snuffed her out well before her time?
Or maybe there was no plan for any of us.
My happiness at Justin’s chance for a new life had evapor
ated with each passing hour of the night, replaced by what had now become a ritual: visions of Riley’s final moments haunted me with the power of demons sent straight from hell. The way her eyes widened and then flickered around the garage as she realized what would happen. The fear that painted her skin gray, and worst of all, the satisfaction I took from her death. In the days that followed, I wondered if that was the moment I purchased my ticket to hell. Riley wasn’t all evil. In the right circumstances, with someone fighting for her, she could have been saved. But I couldn’t trust her to keep my secret.
Self-preservation, after all.
Maybe I should have gone willingly to Mother Mary and taken my chances with whatever she’d planned. I could have killed her and then escaped to a brand new life. Or I could have allowed her to use me up and throw me out. If people knew the real truth about me, most of them would probably say my actions merited punishment.
But there’s no escaping the path I’ve laid out. It was all of my own choosing. My only choice was to move forward.
Then my sister took over my head the last few days. Sometimes I felt like my thoughts belonged more to her than me. I used to think she must have been crazy to end her own life, but now I realized she truly saw no other option. Victimized and accused of lying, Lily must have stood in that bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror and thought, “This is your life. It will never change. Even if you escape these circumstances, you’ll always be this dirty person.”
I know that’s what she thought because it was how I felt right now.
Because I could almost hear her saying those exact words to me.
What would Lily think of what I’ve done? She was the one who said to take care of myself first. Surely she would understand my desire to right the wrongs committed by so many. Then again, how could I know? Lily died with the underdeveloped mind of a traumatized teenager. Just like Riley.
Because of me–both of them, really. If I’d fought for Lily, maybe she would have had the strength to live another day.
I didn’t know any of the answers, but the conversation went round and round in my head until I just wanted the voices to shut up. Yesterday wasn’t that day because I still had a mission to complete. But Justin no longer needed me. Today might just be that day.
Unlike my long-dead sister, I knew my options. I didn’t have to limit myself to razor blades. Even though Connor the chemist got cold feet and walked out of my life months ago after my name hit the papers for saving Kailey Richardson, I still managed to get some cyanide. I still had some ketamine left over. I bet that was a trippy way to die. Then there’s the oxycodone I bought at the same time as the ketamine. I could definitely take enough to kill myself.
Laughter swelled in my throat. How had I gone from being so afraid of the nothingness of death to being ready to embrace it?
I shoved the blanket off me and sat up. Gray morning sky now streamed beneath the drawn blinds into my dark bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, my bare toes grazing the chilly wood floor, I stared at the closet. Everything I needed stashed just a few feet away. Surely it would only take a few moments. My clammy skin broke out in goose bumps. My stomach flipped the way it used to when I was kid and ready to experience something new and unknown, like the tornado rollercoaster Lily and I had gone on the summer before she died. I never knew if the feeling was fear or excitement, but I loved it.
I stared at the closet, my fingernails digging into the edge of the mattress. I extended my toes and then my entire right foot, wondering what it would feel like to make the walk across the room and open that closet door. Could I really go through with it?
Something warm and furry brushed against my dangling feet. The hollow feeling emanating from somewhere deep inside me eased just a little. I reached down to scoop the fat cat into my arms.
“Mousecop, you’re the reason I’m still here,” I murmured into his silky fur. “At least for tonight.” And every night, really. Because this was just another one of the conversations that played in my constantly raging mind.
Should I kill myself, or should I stay?
Purring, the heavy cat settled into my lap. I stroked his fur, the silky softness and the warmth of his body the only things that made me feel any sort of life. I might have sat for hours if I hadn’t noticed the blinking green light on my phone. I’d set it to vibrate sometime after dawn, knowing I’d miss a few calls or two.
The missed calls were from Chris, along with two new voicemails. I didn’t really feel like listening to him rail at me again. In fact, I thought about calling and telling him to leave me alone once and for all.
I latched onto the anger and pulled up his number. It went straight to voicemail. Was he working last night? I ran through my fuzzy memories, trying to remember what Chris told me yesterday. No, he’d had the night off.
I called again. Same result.
So he’d decided to ignore me. At last, some sort of peace. At least I’d have a break from the questions about his mother. Kelly had hoped to get information from the email addresses I’d stolen off Jake’s computer, but so far, she’d found nothing that led us back to Mother Mary’s physical whereabouts. But Chris carried on daily about making a plan because surely the information would present itself soon, and we needed to find her before the police did. For Lucy Kendall justice. He embraced that term so lovingly, as if it were some sort of rare gem instead of poison.
With the worst of my personal darkness shoved into its proper cage for the moment, a shower sounded good. I left Mousecop on his side of the bed and headed for the bathroom. The hot water soothed my tense muscles, and the steam seemed to clear my head of a few shadows. I even brushed my teeth. Tomorrow I might change my sheets.
But the blinking message light tormented me–a dangling carrot of confrontation I could only avoid for so long. Finally I decided that listening to it would give me more reason to be irritated and feel sorry for myself. Hearing Chris’s voice was just a bonus. Bargain made, I called my voicemail.
“It’s me.” The tiny note of something different in Chris’s voice set my nerves on edge. He took his time, breathing into the phone, evidently thinking about what he wanted to say. “So I know you’re all messed up in the head. And I’m not helping the situation. I get that.” He sighed, and I imagined him scratching his cheek or the back of his head the way he did when he concentrated. “But you keep doing all this research and coming up with all these excuses why we can’t just do something, and I can’t keep waiting. That’s not on you, it’s on me. Kelly hasn’t been able to find anything, and I don’t think she likes dealing with me anyway. So I did something you’re not going to like.”
I paced beside my bed. At his words, I stopped short, my movements matching the uptick in my anxiety level. “What did you do?” I whispered to the empty room.
Mousecop yawned and stretched, going back to sleep.
“The email Mother Mary used to contact Jake, it bounces off a foreign server.” Chris spoke faster, obviously amped up from the courage of calling. “Kelly’s stuck, like I said. So, I figured why not email Mary back? Worst thing she can do is not answer. Or answer, depending on how this all turns out.”
Another pause. Shifting. Had he been pacing too?
“But she did answer. I thought about lying and pretending to be Jake, but he’s all over the news. So I told her who I was and that I wanted to see her. I promised I just wanted answers. And that’s not a lie. I don’t know anything about her side of the family. Why is she like this? What made her this way? I don’t know if she’ll tell me anything, and maybe I’m just kidding myself. But I can’t stop thinking about it. I want to talk to her, face-to-face.”
“Are you nuts?” My shocked voice woke up the dozing cat, who laid his ears back in disgust. Now I felt out of breath. Surely he couldn’t be that stupid, could he?
“So it’s 5:00 a.m., and I’m leaving for Harford County, Maryland. Jarrettsville is the name of the town. I’m supposed to email her when I get there, and she
will tell me where to meet.”
He didn’t go alone. He wouldn’t be that damned dumb. He’d called the state police, told them everything. He must have.
“I don’t know if I’m going to talk to her.” He stumbled over the last word but then cleared his throat. “If it’s even her. Maybe she’s working with someone. Maybe she’ll send someone to deal with me. I know this sounds nuts, and I’m an idiot, but I’ve got to do this.”
“Call the police!” I screamed this time. Mousecop jumped in the twisted way that only cats can do and then leapt off the bed, disappearing under it.
“I’ll call you when I get there.”
The call ended, and the pleasant computer voice asked me if I wanted to save or delete my message. I saved and went on to the next. Three hours later.
“Lucy.” Chris’s voice hissed into my ear. “Why haven’t you checked your voicemail all day? I guess some part of me thought I’d hear from you, and you’d tell me to get back home where I belonged. But I said I was going, and I couldn’t chicken out.” He huffed, and I pictured him slogging through the cold and snow, cheeks pink, his impenetrable blue eyes shining with fury. “She sent me to some empty lot for sale, out in the sticks. Prime hunting land, according to the ‘For Sale’ sign. Nothing but woods and snow and fucking misery. She didn’t show. I should have known she wouldn’t.”
Part of me was glad I couldn’t see his face. The pain in his voice made me feel lousy enough.
“I guess there’s something wrong with me,” Chris continued, still sounding as if he were walking. “Even after all this time, all the terrible things she’s done, I don’t understand how she can completely reject the person she gave birth to. Doesn’t she have some kind of maternal flickering?”
“No.” I hadn’t realized how much the child in Chris still longed for his mother’s affection and approval, and I understood that need. But I’d also learned it would never be fulfilled and that sometimes all we can do is cut our losses and move on. I spoke out loud as if he could really hear me. “She doesn’t. Just because she could physically create a child doesn’t mean the connection was there. She’s a psychopath, period.”
