by Dan Noble
I pull out the slim paperback I’ve been hiding in my skirt waist and read the introduction to this thirteenth edition of Pinocchio, I’d underlined the introduction so deeply, I tore the page. I recall how desperate I was at those times. But what do I have to show for it?
There seems to be no game more beloved of all children in all lands than Pretend. Toy soldiers for the boy, and dolls—few or many—for the girl supply the only raw material required to play this, for of course, the charm of the game lies largely in the imagination of the doughty captain who endows his men with life and ability to go through exciting manoeuvres; and in that of the miniature mother who directs so wisely the behavior of her family.
After we grow up we are astonished to learn that this game originated with the old Greeks hundreds of years back, who used to make little jointed puppets of wood or cardboard representing men and women, moving them about in a life-like fashion which was hugely entertaining to both old and young. So popular was the game that soon the Romans wanted to play, too, and then later on the Italians, French, and English made puppets for their countries, only they called these little figures marionettes.
I let the connections wash over me and soon find myself leafing through to the famous scene where a piece of wood screams, “Do not strike me so hard!”
Master Cherry blames his imagination; is it any wonder I got to this point? At the end of the first chapter, I read the words, “What happens next is a story that really is past all belief, but I will relate it to you in the next chapters.”
I’m very mixed up, I think. And then I’m gone.
41
MILLIE
“Mummy,” Rose calls down, reviving me.
I look around me. Same old shit down here in the basement, yet everything looks different, broken. I feel panicked. Has someone been in the house? Who could have done this. Me. It must have been me. I’m so mixed up.
“Rose! Rose!” I yell.
“Are you okay?” she asks when I appear at the top of the stairs. Her hair is smashed in on one side, as if she’s been sleeping. I hug Rose tightly to me and tap her head with my fingers.
“I am now, darling.”
I breathe in her coconut conditioner. The shampoo smells like it, too, but it doesn’t have the strength of the conditioner which stays with her all day. The scent grounds me, reminds me she is my Rose, nothing sinister.
I find that Rose has been “reading” her magic charm book again. She’s just a child, reading a children’s book, I tell myself. A child whose father is a murderer.
“Where’s Daddy?”
He’s been out back, digging.
My mouth goes dry.
Am I crazy, or does Rose look guilty? Has she been enjoying having this secret from me? Has Kennedy been using her? Mother? No. I must stop trying to deflect this from Kennedy. He is not what I thought. I will have to face that—among other terrible truths. There will be no more Book World to save me from it all. If I survive.
To ground myself, I touch her hand, I feel her lovely squeeze. I brush my fingers along the inside of her palm—a gesture that has always made my chest flutter, has served as a touchstone to how far I’ve come from Mother’s fucked-up world. I nearly forgot, but I promise myself I won’t know. I will claw my way out, for my daughter. No matter what it takes.
I finger her magic charm necklace, telling myself it is just an adorable novelty. There will be no more denying reality.
“Do you like this book?” I ask.
“Yes, I do. Very much.”
“And you were fibbing that other day. It’s okay, I know Daddy told you to because he told me. You always had this book, didn’t you?”
She nods.
“That’s a good girl,” I say, trying not to show my fear.
“Mother, am I still a big girl if I have done a wee wee in my underwear? Look, I am all wet. You need to pay better attention.”
“Who told you that I need to pay better attention? Was that Daddy, too?”
Again she nods.
Suddenly Kennedy’s in the room and asking why she’s sitting in soaking wet pants. I don’t know how much he’s heard.
He pulls her from me, as if I’ve failed at my job. There is nothing worse than a poorly done by child. I turn away as he whisks her upstairs because I know nearly all of this is my fault, and I can’t stop my eyes filling with tears. He stops halfway up the flight.
“Don’t you go anywhere,” he says. He’s smiling, for Rose’s benefit, but I can see the edge in it, the way it hasn’t made it to his eyes, which lay into me like daggers.
When he comes back down, he’s alone.
“Where’s Rose?”
“She’s fine.”
“But where is she?
“I can see you are quite distressed about facing the reality of killing your mother. But, people are murdered all the time. Anyone can see it’s better this way. Just look at how the fates have shined on us: And we will live our lives. I have excellent news, Millie. It was a false positive. The cancer is not back. Not only that, but the oncologist said I don’t need to worry about it anymore. So you see, this has all just brought us closer together. A happy ending!”
At first I don’t realize what he’s said about the cancer diagnosis, couched as it was in all kinds of terrifying madness. And then I’m momentarily relieved. That quickly dissolves into the reality of where we are—the opposite of a happy ending. Even he doesn’t look like he’s very happy. And he certainly doesn’t look like he wants me to live happily ever after. Or even any way, at all.
When he’s called away on a phone call, which he takes at the edge of the yard, by, well, I don’t want to think what he’s by, I tiptoe up to Rose’s bed, where she’s already soothed herself to sleep. She’s passed out with one leg hiked out like she’d just collapsed after a long journey. The blackened magic charm is in her mouth and I should remove it, but I don’t.
I barricade the door with Rose’s child’s furniture—pink and white and full of everything I thought my life was. I do it for a different reason this time. In this context it looks so different. Nothing will ever be the same.
I tiptoe back downstairs and to install myself exactly where he last saw me. At the bottom of the stairs, I turn left directly into him and scream out.
“Why so jumpy?” he asks and takes me in his arms. I resist. I feel my arms flail against his strong grip.
“Shhhh,” he says into my hair. And I try to let the calming sound and feel of it wash over me. For so long he has been the only one to calm me. Mother never did anything like that. I feel him kiss my hair, then push it aside, and kiss my neck. Not like a psychopath, but gentle, loving. Could it be I’ve made this into something it’s not? It sounds like something I would do. I feel myself fall into him. In all the scenarios that’s always been the one constant. And now? How could it all be over so abruptly?
“The obstetrician said you might be feeling off from the IVF, that it could come and surprise you at any time. You were so insistent on being strong, saying you could handle it, even though the drugs could exacerbate the kinds of challenges you’ve struggled with in the past. But you wouldn’t hear it. You wanted to go ahead.”
It takes a second for the words to sink in. He’s mirroring the exact self-doubt I just felt. No. You must trust in yourself. You have been confused, that is true, but you are clearer now. You understand that you’ve been dissociating. The same way you did when all the problems with Mother were too much to handle. You came back then and you’re coming back now.
“What are you doing, Kennedy?”
“Sssshhhh,” he repeats, trying again to draw me to him, but I yank my arms away.
“Look at me. Everything’s out now. No more secrets. That did not happen. I am not doing IVF. I was pregnant and I lost it.”
“Millie you are confused. You are often confused and forgetful. It’s okay. I’m here. I don’t want you to worry. I told you, I love you. I know you love me.” Part of me still wants
to give in. He kisses me, and I respond, which terrifies me further. Maybe I can’t come back. Maybe it’s too late for that this time.
No. It can’t be. There’s Rose to think of. “No. No!” I run for the door. But he gets there first, blocks it.
For a moment, I feel real fear. Would he hurt me?
Kennedy’s body stoops. He takes my face in his hands. Tenderly, really tenderly. He puts his lips to mine.
“I love you and that will never change. But you seem incredibly confused and distressed. I don’t know what to make of it. The things you’re saying. They don’t make any sense.”
“I’m not making sense? Let me make this very clear: I know you killed Mother.”
“That’s just not true. You killed Emily. I have kept your secret all this time because I love you, and I understand why you did what you did. We have the truest, purest kind of love, Millie.”
“But I don’t remember doing that.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t remember, Millie.”
“Like you being in the psych ward with me?”
He darts back, like he’s been slapped.
“So you’ve been doing some digging after all. And not just in the garden.” It’s a new tone; one that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. He even looks different, this man who’s angrier than I’ve seen my husband before.
I have to know. “Did you kill her?”
He cocks his head. His features soften, from the eyebrows down, until I recognize him. I feel tears prick at my eyes. He pulls me into him and despite my terror and anger, I can’t help but dive in. Who else has ever comforted me?
“Oh, Millie. Why did it have to come to this? Millie, I love you as much as ever. You and me against the world. You know that. Everything changes, but not that. I promise you, not that.”
His words echo in my head. You and me against the world. It’s something Mother used to say early on. He always says just the right thing, knows exactly where my thoughts are leading. How? Wait. It’s the Quelque Chose lists! He memorized them. And he’s been using them to manipulate me all this time. Before I can talk myself out of the idea, I vocalize it.
He doesn’t say anything. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“You don’t want to do this, Millie. Trust me. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you. And now Rose.”
Rose. What will become of Rose?
His look is inscrutable. It sends a chill down my spine.
42
OFFICER LOU
“You look like shit, Lou.”
“And good morning to you, too. You’re right. Been up all night. Paid a visit to Malificent’s father’s house. And I’m glad because I think he’s been a big help.”
“Yeah, help with what?” Caroline’s drinking some perfumed coffee.
“It’s all a bit fishy, the mother’s disappearance, and now it looks like the doctor’s vanished. Maleficent was pretty upset at her father’s place.”
“Why are you calling her Maleficent?”
“You know, like the evil character from Sleeping Beauty? Fitting here. No one’s all good or bad was the moral of that story.”
“Look who’s a romantic.”
“Please, it’s called research. Committing yourself to the case. Anyway, Dad’s still convinced she’s dangerous. But he ID’d the mother’s ring, just about lost it. Confessed to knowing his daughter had killed his ex-wife all along. Apparently JFK convinced him to let the daughter live in peace. He said he thought he was doing the right thing. She wasn’t a bad person, she was mentally ill, and he thought he was protecting her all this time; after all, he’d deserted them and that had certainly contributed to the way things had turned out. He decided it was best to let Millie scrape up whatever bits of her life she could. And the daughter was getting married, seemed like she’d gotten her act together. Nothing was going to bring the mother back, after all.”
“That’s some fucked up shit. Those crazy Kennedys!”
I crack a smile. “We shouldn’t make jokes.”
“Then we’ll go crazy.”
“True enough. So I still haven’t gotten the green light to officially open the case.”
Caroline raises an eyebrow. “Looks like your old boss has still got some friends here.”
“Exactly. And you know how they are about closed cases.”
“Closed cases are closed cases.”
“Right. Whatever the fuck that means.”
I score one of her lovely smiles.
“But, I didn’t think we can wait on this. You know the rules: if we’re given consent to search, we don’t need a warrant.”
“Don’t tell me the sociopath husband let you dig around.”
“No. But the wife did. She was completely terrified. But I got the photos of the hand sticking out of the ground. I can’t believe that sicko didn’t at least cover it back up.”
“Well, you know sociopaths. Need to be in control. Probably likes her where he can see her. He wouldn’t be worrying himself with guilt.”
“Umm-hmm. So, got those in to the boss and I’m waiting for the green light.”
“Don’t you think the wife and child could be in danger?”
“I do, which is why you and I are heading over there as soon as possible.”
“Without the case being officially opened?”
“Yup.”
“And without the wife having to get in trouble with the husband?”
“Yup.”
“Urgent circumstances exception?”
“Yup. They haven’t given it to us yet using the closed case excuse plus the whole family’s nuts argument. But we’re going to go over there and watch. If I suspect he’s about to so much as touch a hair on either of their heads we’re going in. And if he steps near the body, we’re going in.”
“Understood.”
“And then you can sweet talk him if we need it. You’re so good at getting those men to open up, fantasy lady cop and all that.”
“If it weren’t true I’d get you for discrimination. But there’s no point. You’ll be stuck on a desk job if you bark up this tree.”
“There are so many holes in this case, it’s begging for someone to dive in.”
“Those are a lot of metaphors. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that copy of Moby Dick on your desk.”
“I’m immersing myself in the case.” I’ve made light of it, but I have to turn around to conceal the truth I know is in my eyes. I’ve been reading this Dr. P’s stuff all night, after the run-in with Millie Kennedy. Really intriguing. Always loved a good book. Once upon a time, thought I might write one.
And then there’re my parents. Dreamed about them all night. That stupid, unsnuffable hope that somehow, they weren’t really dead. Dumb. But. What if I could somehow get to them? This is the kind of promise stories give us. This is the kind of stuff this doctor spoke about all those years ago, after Emily Burns’ disappearance. About how Emily used the books to escape the pain of the truth. How she couldn’t always tell the difference. I can see the appeal.
“And you want me to be immersed too.”
“You know you want to.”
She sighs. “You’re right. But only because I can’t resist the chance to sweet talk a sociopath.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
In the car I get Caroline up to speed.
“So what’s the deal with the father?”
“From what Mr. Burns said, he’s got no relationship with the daughter since he divorced her mother and married this other woman—great knockers on her.”
“Again, if it weren’t true—”
Not like other women, Caroline. Got lucky partnering with her.
“Makes sense.”
“But then a few weeks back her husband, JFK, called Millie’s dad after many years of no contact, and set up a meeting, but Maleficent turns up and JFK runs off. The daughter was pretty upset. Turns out JFK is dying.”
“Are we meant to be sad about this?”
&nbs
p; “Let me finish.”
“Ever the storyteller.”
“Right. So whadja find on Kennedy?”
“He has some serious cancer. Thinks he’s gonna die. So he went to Mr. Burns pleading for him to help Millie out when he was gone. And the dad says no more. He’s going to turn his daughter in, that Millie would be a danger to herself and to her daughter, Rose, which he witnessed with his own eyes, and he said he couldn’t keep the secret any longer. He wasn’t going to have another life on his conscience.”
“Woah.”
“I know. And ironically, the cancer thing was a false alarm. Busty chick at the doctor’s office spilled the beans pretty easily when I told her I was a cop. Must have had a thing for them.”
“Lucky you.”
“I know, right?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“What do you think really happened to the mother?”
I shrug. “Until we get the okay to go in and get the body, it’s hard to say. I’m not sure who I trust here. Difficult to believe the mother was murdered by that beautiful, dark haired woman, with her quiet manner and her huge eyes. But it could be. I used to think the only one with a motive would be the daughter. How could she be a murderer? Detective Muller didn’t think she was guilty all those years ago. Doctor Disappearing Act said she didn’t have that type of personality, that she was troubled but gentle. Wouldn’t hurt a soul. But his case notes don’t exactly add up. And now she tells me it was the husband, that sounds about right. Still, Maleficent does seem to have a tenuous relationship with the truth.
