Pretending I was fully collected, a master at putting on a mask, I sat across from the detective.
“I’m sure this is out of left field, my showing up. And I’m sorry to disturb you at your residence, but I went by your office, and the student greeter said you were at home. I didn’t realize you were sick.”
“It’s fine.”
I really wasn’t—toast was fine. Abby used to say that to me when I’d say “fine” to her. She hated the words fine and nice. They didn’t fit in with her colorful, vibrant nature. She despised those words. To Abby, everything and everyone should’ve been awesome.
“About ten months ago, a local farmer came to us. He explained that he recently met a young guy in town who was looking for his mom.”
“Aiken,” I whispered, a million memories flashing in front of my eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Fordham.”
“Go on,” I instructed him, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my ratty robe. All pride had escaped me moments earlier when he’d said young guy. My young guy, Aiken, whom I’d been pining away over for the last two weeks.
“The farmer said that speaking with Mr. Fordham ended up reminding him of an old friend, who happened to be Mr. Aiken’s mother. She’d gone missing years before, and his friends, who were her parents, died shortly after. He began wondering where the young, or not-so-young woman now, was. So he came to us. He asked if anyone else had wondered or come by.”
“Forgive me, but I’m confused about why you’re telling me all this. That’s nice he looked out for Aiken and all, but Aiken’s gone. Left town, or whatever, without an explanation about three weeks ago. Haven’t heard from him since. I assume his house will go up for sale soon.”
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come right out. We believe that Mr. Fordham’s mother, Jeannie George Fordham, was involved in the blast the night your daughter was killed.”
It felt as if a thousand sticks of dynamite exploded inside my heart, ricocheting through my spine, bone and blood splattering inside me. I had no rational thoughts, my brain turned to mush.
“Our first clue was when new information came forth regarding the death of Mrs. Fordham’s parents. A local mechanic who was selling some of the parts from their car came across a clipped wire. It’s crazy, I admit. Because of the untimely deaths, that car sat rotting on the end of his lot. Nobody wanted it. Not that it was worth much, but he decided he’d scrap it. When he found the wire, he said it was too clean of a cut to be due to age. They never looked at the wires after the accident. It was an older car, and everyone assumed either brake malfunction or user error.”
I didn’t respond, only nodded and encouraged him to get on with it. Better to rip the Band-Aid off quickly. The sooner he got his story out, the sooner I could be rid of him.
“The mechanic brought the wire to us. We looked for fingerprints, and right there was Jeannie’s print. We looked a little deeper and found she’s in the system for some altercation during a protest in college. There was a screening of a documentary about a rapper’s life and the challenges he faced growing up destitute amid a drug war. He apparently used drug money seeded in violence to get out of the ghetto. The protest was outlandish, considering they were protesting with violence. In the end, it looks like it was based on a black/white thing. Do you need a minute?”
He stopped dead in his monologue and stared at my shaking hands, which also happened to be dripping with sweat. I wiped them on my robe and shook my head. I needed him to hurry up and finish, leave, get out of my life for good.
I felt psychotic. I felt as if I needed to do something rash, and I didn’t really care. I wanted to act on the crazy that I’d felt for so long. Impulsivity coursed through my veins, and I fucking loved it. I’d wanted to let go for so long. It was long overdue.
“Anyway, when we found the print and the info about the past altercation, we snooped some more, and as it turns out, another mechanic said Jeannie hung around his shop one day while getting an oil change and asked a lot of questions. It appears as if she played a role in the untimely deaths of her parents. At the time, we didn’t share this with the farmer informant. He later came back to us to see if we had discovered anything more on Jeannie. He’d finished his business with Mr. Fordham, but said he knew the young gentleman still wanted to find his mother. Then, a few weeks ago—two, to be exact—police thwarted a second explosion at a concert—a concert by the same rapper your daughter went to see.”
“What?” My voice was weak, almost not audible.
Two weeks. When Aiken left. After we woke in each other’s arms, he’d gone out to get the paper and was gone later. His house sat empty and dormant, like my heart.
Of course, Mary had started acting weird about the same time and began giving me a million research papers to look over, keeping me busy with work over spring break, and burdening me with her lackluster personal life.
She’d intentionally buried me in work, and I had been able to barely come up for a breath.
I had literally run myself ragged with work and emotions until I physically took sick.
“Yes, another explosion. Thankfully, the blast was intercepted and the real suspect apprehended, who happened to be none other than Jeannie Fordham. It was in the national papers, no memorial services though, since no one was injured.”
“I didn’t hear anything about it,” was all I said.
“It was hot news for a few days. We thought you’d see something and come to see us, but when you didn’t…we waited to be sure we had all the facts. Ms. Fordham recently admitted to arranging the explosion at the arena here too. More of her racist hatred. I assume that’s why she targeted the rapper.”
“My paper hasn’t been out there in the morning. I keep calling—I like a real paper newspaper. The smell, the feel. Anyway, they keep saying my subscription was suspended and asking for payment. I know I paid them in full, but they refuse to honor it. I’ve been so busy with work, I haven’t had the energy to fight it or care. I’ve been too tired to get on the Internet. I don’t know, I haven’t been myself.”
Why the hell am I explaining myself to this guy?
Who stopped my newspaper?
“Christ.” I stood, suffocating myself with the tie to my robe, squeezing it tighter and tighter against my abdomen, until I felt as if I was going to throw up.
“Ma’am, I didn’t mean to upset you. We thought you should know.”
“Don’t be so meek.” I turned on my heel and stared the cop down. “My daughter died. I didn’t even know you’d reopened the case. Have you told the other parents?”
“Well, they came to us when the story broke on the Internet. But you didn’t.”
I’d been busy acting like a heartbroken baby when the younger guy I fell for skipped town. Now I knew the truth. His mother killed my baby.
“Did they say if they were going to contact me?” My voice was shrill, my nose leaking.
“They said it was in your best interest not to know, that you were going through a rough time and we should be sure before we told you anything.”
“Jesus,” I swore. “Why does everyone act like I’m an emotional wreck?”
“I didn’t mean to get in the middle of this…”
“No! You’ve been fabulous,” I yelled. “You just made it abundantly clear how everyone…and I mean everyone…has basically been in on my not knowing this. Keeping it from me. Why? Because I’ve basically been sleeping with the enemy. And for God’s sake, where the hell is Mr. Fordham? You must know, because he must be the one sabotaging my newspaper.”
“He’s been cooperating with us for a while now. He’s been showing us what he found while trying to find his mom. Most of it is irrelevant, except for a dark political blog she frequented and left comments on. He’s pointed us toward another key witness. Ms. Fordham had another child. Here in central Pennsylvania.”
“So he knew? Mr. Fordham? And who the hell is this second child? Where does he or she come into the picture?�
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“I don’t know all the specifics, ma’am. I know Aiken’s partly behind us locking his mother up. His own mother. He tipped us off. I shouldn’t tell you that, but you sound upset, so…and this new witness helped him unearth a lot of the clues.”
“Why have I not heard any of this until now?” I shrieked, wringing my hands together.
“We’ve been trying to keep most of it quiet. There were a lot of students at the concert a few years back. We don’t want to worry parents any more than we have to, especially the new ones who are sending their kids here to school. We didn’t want this school to look like a target.”
“Get out.” I turned on my heel. I’d had enough of the police and the school. All the red tape and incestuous collusion to preserve the university’s positive image hadn’t changed a bit since the day Abby died. I was sick of putting up with it. It was like the sexual-assault cases that were swept under the rug… No, no, our campus is safe, send us your kids and your money.
“I’m going to leave my card here. Right here on the table, if you need anything, Dr. Richards.”
“Just get out.”
I stood up, slammed the door behind Detective Land, locked it, and slumped into my chair, staring into space until the tears came so hard I had to shut my eyes.
The man I loved…his mother killed my daughter…and the last few months played on a continuous loop in my head. Aiken moving in, wearing me down, convincing me to let go of memories.
Then there was us running, us fucking, Abbie…and Allison…making a mess of everything.
Abbie? Was she the other witness? Or Allison?
I stood so quickly my head felt hazy. Waiting a second to regain my balance, I ran upstairs to the shower. I needed to go to the police station, find out where the hell Aiken was, and ask him who Abbie really was to him and all of this.
My cell phone rang. The screen said it was Mary. Ignoring the call, I went to my bathroom, dropped my robe to the floor, and turned on the shower. She could wait. After all, she’d been lying for weeks.
Fuck her.
And Aiken.
And the damn horse he rode in on.
It was time for me to take control of my life.
Claire
I stared at the jewelry on my vanity, willing it to disappear, wanting to erase every clue suggesting Aiken had ever existed.
I wanted him gone from my life.
Not really.
Sadly, the amethyst earrings and bracelet winked at me, the light catching the gems, purple specks floating around the room.
The damn broach too.
Christ.
It had been two days since the police officer visited me.
I’d been down to the station, my nose red and raw from being sick and crying nonstop, demanding for someone to call Aiken.
Mary had sat with me, holding my hand, rubbing my back, warming my cold body, keeping me tight next to her.
“What about my classes?” I didn’t even care about the part she’d played in all of this. I needed a friend.
“Don’t worry about those. I have someone covering them.”
“I have to worry about something,” I said to her while sitting in a private room at the police station. Why was I always left by myself with no one to worry about? I missed Abby. And Aiken. Even David, for a split second.
I felt like I’d crack in half from loneliness when a federal agent of some sort finally met with us. He showed us??? a picture of Jeannie and a copy of her statement taking responsibility for the explosion that took Abby’s life. Jeannie had also laid claim to the most recent bombing gone wrong. The agent had a lengthy file of chat rooms Jeannie had visited, commenting as Peace4A&A, her screen name. I wasn’t sure what it signified, but I knew it was a clue.
My head ached.
“I don’t think there’s anything else to show you,” the agent said, Detective Land stoic by his side.
I stared blankly at the evidence in front of me.
“Oh.” I thought of what I wanted to ask. “I hope you told the parents of those two college students what they were mixed up in. Clearly, they were misguided and under the influence of a terrible person. Maybe those parents can have some closure now.”
“We did, but don’t concern yourself with them. Take care of yourself. I’m sorry for this outcome.”
“That’s it, then.” I stood, not wanting his insincere compassion.
Mary stood with me, took my arm in hers, and helped me out.
Outside the station, I buried my face in her shoulder.
“I finally have my closure,” I mumbled, cried, and squeezed Mary closer and closer.
We were quite the spectacle.
Now I sat in my damn bedroom, Smitty on the bed, looking at me, pondering what was going on, his head cocked.
“You have to go out?”
He just plopped his head down on the bed. I guessed he felt much like I did.
We got our closure, but lost our happy ending.
I tucked the jewelry inside my sock drawer and crawled back into bed. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. Mary had told me to take the rest of the week off, and for once, I didn’t argue.
Smitty barked, startling me out of a deep sleep. I turned to the clock and checked the time. Five o’clock. Shit, my dog probably had to fucking pee. I tossed my legs out of bed and scrambled downstairs in my elf pajama pants and St. Patrick’s Day T-shirt. I was no doubt a sight to behold, and I was pretty sure I heard a trespasser in my kitchen.
“Heya, good boy. How ya doing?” I heard from afar and considered getting a Rottweiler next time around.
Smitty barked, and his wagging tail came into view. Crouched in front of him was Aiken, in a black long-sleeved Henley, worn-in jeans, and shitkickers, looking like he hadn’t been missing for weeks.
“Aiken…what? I don’t think this is a good idea. You need to get out.”
Despite trying to calm myself, I heard my words crack in my throat. My heart jumped in my chest, trying to get to its source of life.
“Let me explain, Claire, please,” he said, standing up, staring at me like I was water in the desert.
Walking forward three paces, I grabbed the bowl full of keys and knickknacks on the counter and hurled it at him. The bowl hit the sink, shattering, the keys and other shit clanging all over the floor. Smitty whimpered. Aiken started moving toward me.
“Stop!” I eyed him, warning him not to get any closer. “So it’s Claire now? No more Mr. Young Stud Muffin with the cute nickname, Richards?” My voice was a shriek, my jumbled emotions clogged in my throat. I felt the vein pounding in my forehead, raging like a rapid.
Aiken looked like I’d stabbed him.
Good. Fuck him. Who does he think he is?
The man I fell in love with…
“Smitty, come here.” My dog ignored me.
I was definitely getting a Rottweiler next time.
“Claire—don’t do this.”
“How long? How long did you know? Tell me,” I yelled.
“Let’s sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down.” I crossed my arms and stood still as a soldier, ass tucked into the wall, tears raining down my cheeks. “I want an answer, and make it quick. I’m thinking of other things to throw.”
“Go, Smit.” He pushed my dog toward me. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit?”
“Speak, Aiken. I’m not going to stand here all day.”
Truth was…I’d stand here all day just to look at him. I’d been desperate for the man for weeks. My heart pumped blood furiously, faster than it had since he left. My desire to live was back, even though I told myself to stay mad at him.
“My mom was responsible for the explosion that killed Abby.” He leaned his head back and blew out a long breath.
“I know that. Now, question is…how long did you know?” I tapped my foot in front of me, nerves running sprints in my body.
“A little more than a month. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure,
but I thought I’d figured it out right when there were threats of a second explosion on a message board on the dark web.”
“I don’t understand how you knew, but the cops never did. The police are shit.” A sob caught in my throat, but I refused to let it surface. “You? Who the hell are you?”
He didn’t speak, but moved to the sink, avoiding stepping on any of the tiny fragments strewn about. He filled a glass with water and brought it to me, handing it over with a shaky hand.
Good.
“Something clicked after I found out what a wild child my mom had been. I went to the library and pulled up some old papers on film, found a picture of my mom at a protest after she’d left my dad. She was wearing a T-shirt that read peace, the number four, and the letter A.”
“That was like the screen name the officer mentioned. But he added another A.”
He leaned against the counter, but never took his eyes off me. “We’ll get to that in a minute. After I saw that shirt, I began googling ‘peace four A,’ with the number spelled out, and then tried with the number itself. I kept getting links to encrypted message boards. Now I know where I get my computer smarts from…my mom. Anyway, right before Christmas, I found the screen name, but with the extra A, and started following conversations. Then Abbie dropped a bomb on me. Shit, that didn’t sound right. Abbie came to me and said she’s my half-sister. She was the other A.”
“What? Your sister?” This time, I let the sob tear through me. My throat felt like a knife was shredding it.
I was in Aiken’s arms and on my couch, crying, yelling, “Did she know? Is that why she came after me? Did she know about Abby the whole time? Did she know who did it? How could she not tell anyone?”
I was a hysterical, wet mess, dripping in tears and snot.
“Shh, she was interested in you, yes, because of all of this. Her dad said something after the explosion about her, our mom, always being fascinated with explosions. The thing sat in her brain for a long time. She never really knew our mom. She wanted to meet you, hear about the explosion, but then she became somewhat infatuated with you on a professional level. I don’t know, maybe it’s all twisted together.”
Heart Stronger Page 19
