You Believers

by Jane Bradley

  “This story won’t have a happy ending,” Livy said.

  Livy heard the front door open, saw a man standing there, white shirt, gray slacks, all perfectly pressed, but his face, he was torn up inside. He nodded at Livy, looked to Shelby, and said, “She’s my daughter.”

  Shelby nodded. “Just say the word and we’ll be out of here.”

  The man gave a little gesture to come in, and a chill ran up Livy’s back. She kept her eyes on Shelby, who was leading the way. Livy took the hard first step, kept moving, one foot, the next, and again. She didn’t want to look up, but she would once she crossed that threshold. What would she say to the mother of Molly Flynn? You are the lucky one?

  She walked into the house, not seeing anything until they were led to the living room. Livy sat, trying not to stare at the girl. The girl had picked the darkest place in the room to sit, a difficult thing to do in a room full of light with vaulted ceilings and a wall of glass that opened to a balcony overlooking the ocean. She was tiny, had the body of a little girl made smaller by the dark leather recliner. When Livy was introduced to her, she just gave a little nod. Livy couldn’t remember the parents’ names. Now the mother was in the kitchen. Livy could hear the clink of ice being dropped into glasses. The father was standing by the girl, his eyes giving encouraging little glances to Livy, Shelby, Roy. The girl looked at Livy, seemed to be watching her for a sign of something. Livy looked her in the eye, gave a nod—how many times had she nodded at the girl? She probably looked stiff as a doll with her head about to fall off. She forced a flicker of a smile, looked to the man, said, “You have a beautiful home here.”

  “Thank you,” he said. He looked at his girl and lightly, so lightly, brushed his palm over the top of her head as if to make sure she was really there.

  The girl leaned back, closed her eyes, and made a sighing sound. One bandaged hand rested carefully in her lap. Livy could see little cuts on the fingers. The other hand lay cupped on her chest. The left side of her face was scraped, her eye black with the bruise reaching down her jaw. Her lip was swollen, scabbed. She wore yoga tights and a hoodie over her t-shirt. She was barefoot, her toenails bubblegum pink.

  The mother brought out a tray of iced tea. The father stood, patted his ex-wife’s shoulder, took a glass to his daughter. She sat and sipped small sips, careful not to bump the scab on her lip. The man went back to the mother, served them all to keep her from moving around the room. Finally he gave the mother her own glass, led her to her chair by the girl, and took the tray back to the kitchen. Livy wondered if they were always so polite. He came back into the room and went to them, touched his daughter’s head, squeezed the mother’s shoulder. She looked up at him smiled, patted his hand. He looked around the room. “Everyone have what you need?”

  They all nodded. Roy set up a recorder. “Miss Flynn, is it still all right if I tape? Sometimes when you keep telling a story, new things come up.”

  “Tape everything,” she said. Her voice was strong, furious. “Do whatever you can to bury that bastard in jail.” Then, as if everything she had was spent, she sank back in the chair, stared at the ice in her glass. A tear slipped down her face. She wiped it away with her finger, her movement careful, as if even her own touch could hurt. She sat back in the chair and softly shook her head.

  Livy couldn’t hold her glass for fear she’d drop it. Her hands were numb. She put the tea down, stood, and went to the glass doors, wished she could just slip out to the balcony, breathe the sea air, but that would seem crazy. Still, she had to move to keep from crying. She looked out. “I love the way the view looks out to just sea and sky. You don’t have to see the tourists on the beach.”

  “I do like my privacy,” the man said. “No one knows Molly is here. We said she’d gone to Florida.”

  “But I’m here,” the girl said. “I’m here.” She straightened as if ready. Her eyes darted from Livy to Roy and Shelby, back to Livy, then her dad. Finally her eyes settled on her mom. It would be the mother who would get things going. The mother looked at Livy. “I’m so sorry about your daughter. You must be—” She turned, looked at her girl. “I just hope we can help you in some way.” Her voice cracked.

  The girl reached to comfort her mother. Livy saw the bandage on her neck, a bruise there. If the man had done all this damage to a girl who had lived, what had he done to Katy?

  “Please have a seat,” the mother said. “Try to make yourselves comfortable.”

  Livy realized her sweaty hand was pressed against the glass. She rubbed her hands on her skirt, looked at the glass, and saw her handprint smeared there. “I’m sorry,” she said. She looked across the room to her chair, and she couldn’t see how she could get there without falling. She saw her handprints all over the glass. She stood there, looking at the girl, then back to the sea, the girl again.

  Finally Shelby took her arm. “Let me help you,” she whispered. She led Livy to her seat. Livy picked up her glass, sipped her tea. It was sweet and cold and soothed her. She leaned toward the girl. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you.”

  The girl nodded, looked at her bandaged hand.

  Livy couldn’t see how any man could hurt such a delicate girl.

  The girl sipped at her tea. “There are things I didn’t tell the detective.” She gave a glance to her mom, then looked directly at Livy. “There was someone there helping me. Someone talking to me the whole time, someone saying, Get him to tell you the story.” She turned back toward the ocean. “It was a woman’s voice. I did everything she told me. I’m sure that voice is the only reason I lived.”

  Livy could see that the mother was clenching her jaw. “You are a very strong young woman,” Livy said. “Not many women could do what you did.”

  The girl blinked back tears. She took a hard breath, said, “There was someone helping me. I couldn’t fight him by myself. He’s a monster. I didn’t know monsters were real. I didn’t know anyone could be like that.” She stood as if to get away from everything. Livy feared she’d run from the room, but she went to the glass doors, looked out. She stood there breathing hard little sounds that eventually eased. “See those little fishing boats way out there? They’ve been out since dawn. They go out in the dark. Every morning they head out into darkness. That’s very brave. Not knowing if the catch will be worth the effort. But out they go. I like to watch them heading home.”

  Livy looked at the mom. She wished she could remember her name. She was a beautiful woman. She looked like Marisa Tomei. She sat straight now, held her hands in her lap, perfect poise. She seemed to feel Livy’s gaze. She stood up. “Forgive me,” she said. “I meant to offer everyone a snack.” She looked at the father. “I did make those little sandwiches, didn’t I?”

  He nodded. “I can serve them.”

  “No, thank you,” she said, heading toward his kitchen. “I need something to do with my hands.” They all sat, listening to the sound of drawers opening, plates being pulled from cabinets. The girl went to the bookshelf, took a book, and sat with it in her lap. “The Old Man and the Sea.” She looked at Livy. “You know it?”

  Livy nodded.

  The girl looked at her father, tears running down her face. “They keep telling me I’m lucky.” She shook her head.

  Her father went to her. “You don’t have to talk if you’re not up to it.”

  She got up again, walked to the glass wall, stood looking out at the ocean. “I have to talk about it. I have to tell the story.” She looked to Livy. “There was this voice in the room, a woman’s voice, saying, Get him to tell you the story. So I asked. And he told me what he did to the other woman because he said I wasn’t going to live. He said the last one was a woman in a blue truck with Tennessee plates. And this voice kept saying, Get him to tell you the story. He told me it went so fast she didn’t know what hit her. He said she was tall and skinny. I’ve seen the picture of your daughter, and I have this feeling. This woman’s voice. It was like she knew what he would do. She said, Fight him l
ike a man, Molly. And I just have this feeling, that voice was your daughter.”

  Livy looked to Shelby, who sat at a table taking notes. The girl watched them, looked to Livy “They already know this part,” Molly said. They looked up, mouths tight. “I told some of this to my dad, and he called Shelby Waters.” The girl looked back to the ocean. “I don’t know if anybody will believe this. I could just be crazy. I don’t know if what I have to say will get your hopes up or down. I just know I should tell you.” Livy looked at the girl, who kept her gaze on the ocean. “I’m sorry,” the girl said. “He said she was tall and drove a blue truck with Tennessee plates. He said something about ‘positive.’ He said it was easy.” The girl turned, tears running down her face. “I hope it isn’t your daughter. But they told me any kind of information might help.”

  Livy heard the hard, sharp breaths rushing from her mouth. It felt like crying, but there was no real sound. She glanced around the room for some kind of sense to things. The mother sat across the room with her hand over her mouth. The father stood in the door-way of the kitchen. Shelby and Roy just sat watching her. “Am I all right?”

  Shelby stood.

  “No, don’t touch me,” Livy said. “Just let me . . .” She didn’t know how to finish. She stared at the girl standing by the glass, the gray ocean, blue sky behind her. The girl’s hand trembled on the glass. “I so appreciate your talking to me.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own voice. It was some other woman, a woman who’d gone to finishing school, a woman who’d been trained to be polite. “It’s just I hope it’s not my daughter. . . .” She thought the words, couldn’t say them. “And this voice. The woman’s voice.” Lawrence would say, What are the odds, really? “What are the odds?” she said. “Really. The mind under stress, it does play tricks. The voice could have been your own voice. Your stronger voice. Sometimes I hear voices in my head. Everybody hears voices. Sometimes I’ve thought it was my mother. Sometimes God. And if Katy would talk to anyone, seems it would have to be me. Or Billy. Why wouldn’t she talk to someone she loves?”

  They all stood watching her, waiting, knowing somehow she didn’t really want an answer to her question. “It’s just too coincidental,” she said. “I mean maybe she was the one that man . . .” She stopped. “But the voice. Katy’s voice? How would she find you? You’re asking me to believe in things. She wasn’t the kind to fight like a man.” She wanted to say, Katy was too weak for that, but couldn’t because she was the one who had taught Katy to be weak, to tolerate things because being passive was perceived as being good. “Katy liked to talk her way out of things.”

  The girl nodded. “She did tell me to keep asking him questions. Keep him talking.” She turned back to the fishing boats out on the horizon. “She said, Get him to tell you the story, keep him talking, he’ll get sloppy, and you’ll live. And she was right. She knew him. He got distracted. He kept drinking and talking.” She turned, glanced at Livy. “Maybe you don’t want to hear all I can tell you.”

  “I do,” Livy said. But she didn’t because if what this girl said was true, Katy was dead. She was suddenly deeply tired, as if she’d been running and running and the race was over, and she had lost. She picked up her glass. “Go on,” she said. “Tell me everything you can.”

  The girl’s posture shifted, suddenly taller, stronger. She kept her eyes on the boats. “He said she thought she could talk her way out of things. He said she had an old robin’s-egg-blue pickup. He said it went fast, and that she was brave all the way.” The glass crashed on the floor. Livy leaned forward, bent her head to her hands to try to stop the wailing sound. The girl’s father was cleaning up the mess at her feet. The girl’s mother was offering a wet towel for her face. How had they gotten to her so quickly? She rocked, felt the soft grip of Shelby’s hand on her shoulder. Roy sat back in his chair, shaking his head, lips sucked back as if he were fighting to keep words inside. Livy’s stomach dropped. “Not my Katy; it can’t be my Katy.” But she knew it was true. She sat back, letting the truth settle until her mind sought another direction, desperate for something to do. Finally the room stilled, the sobbing stopped. She wiped at her face with the cloth. “What else did he say? You can tell me. Did he say anything about where she is?”

  The girl was trembling, seeming to hold the glass door to steady her. “He said he forgot to rape her, before he . . . he didn’t rape her, if that’s something you’re worried about. He said he wanted to do it right with me.” The girl covered her face, sat bent over, her harsh, deep breath moving in and out. Her father stroked her back.

  The words kept bobbing in her head: He forgot to rape her. So what was he doing while he forgot? This was the point where a mother could go crazy, but she wasn’t going crazy. She clung to words Lawrence would say: It’s just too coincidental. “But there have to be dozens of girls with Tennessee plates in Wilmington.” She wanted Roy’s answer. “Roy?” He looked from reading a text on his phone. “I’m asking, couldn’t there be dozens of girls with trucks from Tennessee around here?”

  “Could be,” he said. He looked away.

  She looked to Shelby, whose eyes were on Roy as he got up and went out of the room. Livy felt a heat at her neck, her blood pressure rising. “Shelby,” she said, “what is Roy doing?”

  Shelby sat back, her eyes now on the front door. “My guess is he’s got something.”

  Livy stood, walked a few steps, then back. She couldn’t sit.

  “You gotta have faith,” the girl said.

  Livy wanted to scream, In what? Cops? God? You? But the girl looked so frail, so wounded. It wasn’t her fault. Livy sat, told herself to be calm, be strong. The words Get her to tell you the story hummed in her head. “That voice you heard,” Livy said, “the woman’s voice. Was there anything else? Was she peaceful? Was she crying?”

  The girl looked up, gave a deep sigh, straightened. “Not peaceful. More worried. And sad. She wanted to help me. She told me to be strong. She told me to have faith.” She faced Livy. “She said . . .” She paused. “You might have heard of this. She said, The Lord didn’t give us a spirit of fear.”

  “She said that?” Livy stood, walked across the room, touched the girl’s shoulder. Her heart was fluttering. “This woman’s voice you heard. She said that?”

  “‘The Lord didn’t give us a spirit of fear.’” Molly looked at her mom. “There was more, but I couldn’t remember it. So we Googled it. It’s from the Bible.”

  “I know where it’s from.” She felt calmer now, just with the memory of those words. “I have the verse framed in my bedroom. I taught Katy those words. It was all we had sometimes. Those are Katy’s words. I gave them to her: ‘The Lord didn’t give us a spirit of fear, but one of power and love and soundness of mind.’”

  “I don’t believe much in spiritual things,” the girl said. She sighed and took Livy’s hand “At least I didn’t. Now I think I do. I know it’s a miracle I lived. And I think it was your daughter.”

  Livy nodded. The knot of tears clenched in her throat relaxed. Tears slipped down her face, and she was somehow soothed by the grief spilling out.

  The girl reached into the pocket of her hoodie, gave her a tissue. “It’s clean,” she said. “Was your daughter spiritual?” Livy shrugged. “I think she tried. She liked to believe in guardian angels, but I don’t think she really believed, just liked the idea the way we like to believe in the luck of four-leaf clovers, the way we spot a rainbow and think it’s a sign of something good.” She closed her eyes, wondering if the pounding behind her eyes would ever go still. Would there ever be quiet in her head again? She had a sudden urge for Lawrence. She loved the way his arms wrapped around her, made her nervous mind go still. She wondered what he would say to this story. Coincidence? It wasn’t that common a phrase, The Lord didn’t give us a spirit of fear. Even he would have to wonder. She looked at the girl. “I will say this. If there is a way in the world a spirit can come back to help someone, it would be Katy.”

  �
�I know it’s true,” the girl said. “We can call it superstition, magical thinking. But there are some things, even crazy things, we know to be true. I think I’m standing here now, talking to you, because of your daughter.” She cried. “He tried every way he could to kill me.”

  The father pulled her into a gentle embrace, looked at Livy. Livy knew the words he would say: “We’ll let you know if anything else comes up.”

  Livy stepped closer to the girl. She could smell her perfume. It was Happy by Clinique. She’d bought Katy that cologne, but Katy had thought it smelled too clean. She reached to touch the girl, felt the girl soften under her touch. “But he didn’t kill you,” Livy said. The girl straightened, looked at Livy. “He wasn’t able to kill you, Molly. Because you are strong. You couldn’t die because you’re meant to do something in this world. Your story will help us find my girl.”

  The girl nodded, sat back down, picked up her glass of tea, held it to her face. “You have her voice,” she said. “That way you just spoke. It’s her voice. She said that: You are stronger than he is.” She looked off toward the horizon. “I’m sorry about your daughter. The doctors say there are all kinds of reasons I could have heard a voice. They say it was my own voice. But I know it was someone else’s. I’ve seen the picture of your daughter. She was pretty. At least she was spared some things.” She stared at the ice in her glass.

  Livy could feel the mother come behind her. She looked at Shelby. “Did the man say anything else? Anything at all that could help us find her?”

  “He said they saw her at a Dollar Daze store.” She paused, looked at Livy. “There must have been two of them. He said, ‘We saw her park by the Dumpster.’ He said she thought he might be a regular guy. He laughed about that.” The girl stopped speaking, closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”