Don't Say a Word (Strangers Series)

by Jennifer Jaynes

  Standing against the back of the house, she drank and kept a close eye on the dark tree line. She knew that Detective Lambert suspected Gary had fled town, but she’d still be cautious. If she saw any movement at all, heard anything . . . anything . . . it would take her only two seconds to be back inside the house with the door locked.

  Warmth from the alcohol spread to her cheeks as she surveyed the yard. She thought about what Zoe had said earlier. When I look at you, it’s almost like I’m looking at her.

  When Zoe had said that, Allie had felt a little creeped out. She wasn’t so sure she liked resembling a murdered woman or, worse, a terrible mother.

  Shivering from the cold, she drained her drink and went back inside to make another one.

  A while later, Allie felt someone drape a quilt over her body. She realized she was still on the couch. That she must’ve fallen asleep. She’d drunk a lot; too much. She opened her eyes and saw that it was Bitty.

  Her face grew hot.

  She didn’t want Bitty to see her this way. She wanted her to think she was strong.

  “There’s a glass of water right here on the coffee table, in case you need it,” Bitty said. “And a plastic bowl next to the couch in case anything comes up.”

  “Thanks,” Allie said, tiredly.

  “I’ll put Sammy in bed with me,” Bitty said. She leaned down and kissed Allie’s forehead. “Get some good rest, honey.” Bitty headed to the hallway.

  “I broke up with him,” Allie said. “Tonight. I broke up with Johnny.”

  Bitty paused. “Want to talk about it?”

  “No, not really. I just wanted you to know.”

  CHAPTER 18

  ALLIE AWOKE TO the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of Curious George’s squeaky monkey chatter.

  She opened her eyes to find Sammy peering down at her. He covered his nose and giggled. “Eww. What that smell? Your breath smell . . . gross, Mommy!”

  She wasn’t surprised. Her mouth was dry and tasted terrible.

  She grabbed Sammy and pulled him on the couch. “Well, that’s not very nice!” she said and tickled his soft tummy.

  “No, Mommy, stop!” he squealed.

  “I brought you coffee,” Zoe said, her eyes bright. She held a cup of coffee between her small hands. “Two tablespoons of cream, no sugar. Bitty told me.”

  “That’s perfect. Thanks, Zoe.”

  Zoe smiled proudly.

  “Whoa!” Sammy suddenly exclaimed, bouncing off Allie’s stomach and running to the sliding glass door.

  Allie tensed. Was something . . . someone . . . in the yard? She sat up and, a little light-headed, followed him.

  “It’s snowing!” Sammy screamed. “It’s snowing!”

  He was right. Big, fat snowflakes were falling from the sky, blanketing the deck and yard.

  Bitty walked into the room. “Now look at that.”

  Sammy jumped up and down, his hands clasped together. “I want to go outside and play in it, Mommy. Please?!”

  Allie watched Sammy’s eyes dance with excitement—and she knew that she couldn’t say no. No matter what her gut had been telling her, Gary Willis was probably long gone. And if they played in the front yard, they could run into the house quickly if they needed to. She would just keep an eye out. She was certain Bitty would, too.

  “Please?” Sammy said again. “Pretty please?”

  “Okay, but you know the rules, right? If I call you, you come the very first time, okay?”

  “I know, I know. I listen the first time!”

  Allie bundled Sammy up, and Bitty found extra wool scarves for the girls. Then, as a family, they all went in the front yard and played in the snow.

  Despite a slight hangover, Allie felt strangely relaxed all day. Gary did, in fact, appear to be long gone, and she’d finally done the right thing about Johnny. She also had a refreshed determination to do her best by the girls. Both of them. She’d try to be at least a little of what Bitty had been for her during her darkest days.

  Therapy sessions at the Child Advocacy Center had been canceled due to inclement weather, and the local schools had closed for the day, so Allie and Bitty decided to treat the day like a snow day, too, and skip homeschooling.

  After playing in the snow for an hour, they all took warm baths and changed back into their pajamas. And even though Thanksgiving was still a week away, they pulled out the Christmas music, letting it play softly from the stereo.

  The energy in the house had completely shifted. Everyone suddenly seemed relaxed. Even Carrie had stayed awake most of the day. But still, Allie couldn’t help but think that her face looked more pale than usual . . . and her eyes maybe a little more vacant.

  While Bitty, Zoe, and Sammy played a game of Scrabble Alphabet Scoop at the kitchen table, Allie walked over to Carrie and took her small hand again. She held it and together they watched the snow fall in the backyard for a few minutes. “I’m here if you want to talk,” she whispered. “I want to help you. When you’re ready, please let me, okay?”

  Carrie didn’t react. Her eyes didn’t even move. She just continued to stare out at the yard. Allie turned her attention to the snow again, wishing she knew what Carrie was thinking. Why she refused to talk. When, and if, she would talk again.

  Bitty had told Allie that the head therapist at the Child Advocacy Center had diagnosed Zoe with dissociative amnesia, a neurological condition caused by severe trauma. She had explained that as a result of her parents being murdered, Zoe had repressed some of the events that led up to it as well as some of the events that immediately followed it. But the therapist was hopeful that she’d recover most, if not all, of her memories over time.

  Carrie, on the other hand, appeared to have selective mutism, which was thought to have manifested from the same trauma. While most kids who suffered from selective mutism talked again after just a matter of days or weeks—some didn’t for several months. Allie hoped that Carrie fell into the former category.

  After the game of Scrabble Alphabet Scoop ended, Allie drank piping hot coffee on the recliner and watched Sammy run around the house in a Santa hat and his Batman pajamas. They hung out as a family all day, and it actually did feel a little like Christmas.

  Then after dinner, they made homemade hot chocolate, popped popcorn, and slid the movie Frozen into the DVD player. Bitty had built a nice fire in the fireplace, and the fire popped and crackled in the dimly lit room as they watched the movie. To Allie’s surprise, when the movie started, Piglet jumped into Carrie’s lap, scooting the girl’s stuffed bear aside with her behind to make room for herself. The dog looked up at Carrie and licked her face, and nosed her arm a couple of times, still hoping to get Carrie to pet her. When she wouldn’t, the dog curled up in her lap and closed her eyes.

  Zoe shared a blanket with Bitty and pressed her head against the woman’s thin shoulder. Halfway through the movie, Sammy fell asleep in Allie’s lap, worn out from the exciting day. He was sucking his thumb again.

  Allie watched Carrie stare at the fireplace for most of the movie. And she couldn’t be sure, but every once in a while when she looked over at Carrie, she thought the girl’s eyes were glistening, as though she were crying. Again, she wished she knew what Carrie was thinking, but Carrie was unreadable.

  Watching everyone in the room, Allie realized they all seemed content. And that they also looked like a nice little family. For the first time in days, Allie felt happy.

  After everyone said their good-nights, Allie took her antidepressant and supplements, brushed her teeth, and slipped into bed next to Sammy. She replayed the day, then took a deep breath and found, for the first time since the girls had arrived, that she had no trouble filling her lungs.

  She also realized that in that moment she felt little fear . . . of anything.

  She yawned, and as she was drifting off, a voice inside her head whispered quietly: But how long can it possibly last?

  Allie got her answer a few hours later when her be
droom door flew open and the overhead light slammed on, bathing the room in bright light.

  She jolted up and saw Zoe running to her side of the bed. A millisecond later, Zoe was tugging on Allie’s arm.

  “Carrie’s gone!” she said, hysterical. “We’ve . . . we’ve got to find her!”

  “What’s going on?” Bitty asked in the doorway, her eyes still half-closed.

  “Carrie’s gone!” Zoe repeated. “She’s . . . she’s not in the house!”

  Worry flooded Bitty’s eyes. “My Lord. Do you know where she might have gone?”

  “Yes, I think so! Just hurry, please! We need to get in the truck. Hurry!”

  Allie pulled on her clothes and wrapped a jacket around a still-sleeping Sammy. As she hurried by the girls’ bedroom, she caught a glimpse of the stuffed bear in the bed—and found it odd that Carrie would have left it behind, wherever she’d gone.

  As she made it to the front door, she realized light was spilling from every room of the house. Zoe must’ve turned them all on, searching for her sister, before waking her.

  “Please! Come on!” Zoe begged, standing in the foyer. “We’ve got to hurry!”

  CHAPTER 19

  ZOE INSTRUCTED ALLIE to drive to Sherman’s Landing. Once inside the community, they sped past one huge house after another until they reached Zoe’s family’s house.

  Allie swung the SUV into the girls’ driveway, and Zoe and Bitty jumped out before Allie could even come to a complete stop. Zoe ran up the driveway to the back of the house and Bitty trailed her.

  Allie grabbed a still-sleeping Sammy from his car seat and followed them, noticing fragments of yellow crime tape partially buried in the spotty snow of the front yard. She also saw a set of small footprints.

  Carrie’s.

  They appeared to head in the same direction Zoe and Bitty had gone. When Allie reached the back door, it was wide open. Zoe and Bitty were already inside.

  Stepping in, Allie instantly brought her free hand to her nose. Her eyes filled with tears. The odor in the house was revolting—and it beckoned childhood memories.

  She shivered.

  Someone screamed somewhere deep inside the house. It was Zoe.

  “Oh my God, oh my God! Carrie, no!” Zoe screeched.

  Allie hurried through the kitchen and into the dark living room, and glanced down the connecting hallway that led to the bedrooms. Light spilled out from a room two doors down. It was where the screams were coming from.

  She hesitated to bring Sammy any closer to whatever was happening . . . or had happened . . . in case he awakened.

  She found a lamp in the living room, and with a trembling hand, flipped it on. She reluctantly set down her sleeping son on a brown leather couch. Sammy stirred a little and made smacking sounds with his lips. But he didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he plunged his thumb in his mouth, curled up, and became still again.

  Allie’s eyes went back to the doorway. She slowly made her way down the hallway, goose bumps breaking out along her arms, not knowing what to expect . . . and not knowing if she was prepared. When she was a few feet from the door, the strong metallic odor of pennies assaulted her nostrils.

  Blood.

  Her stomach turned.

  When she reached the doorway, a curtain of steam assailed her. Bitty was leaning forward on the floor, her hands moving swiftly in front of her. Allie could see Carrie’s bare, pale legs on the tiled floor. The bandage on top of her blistered foot. Next to her were several smears of blood on the tile. Blood glistened in Bitty’s gray hair. On Bitty’s frail, liver-spotted hands.

  Bitty’s voice was high and tight. “I need something else, Zoe! A shirt, another towel. Now, Zoe. Get them for me. Hurry!”

  Zoe pushed past Allie, then ran down the hallway.

  “Allie, do you have your phone on you?” Bitty asked.

  “No.”

  Bitty fumbled in her jacket for hers. “Call 9-1-1. Have Zoe give you the address. Tell them to send help fast. Carrie’s slit her wrists.”

  Her pulse thundering in her ears, Allie grabbed the blood-smeared phone and called 9-1-1. She hurried in the direction Zoe had gone, and found Zoe in a bedroom. She was sitting cross-legged on a bed with a pink comforter, her eyes closed. She was rocking and humming.

  “What’s your address?” Allie asked.

  Zoe kept humming.

  “Zoe!”

  The girl’s eyes flew open.

  “Your address! Give it to me, now!”

  Zoe did.

  As Allie spoke with the dispatcher, she found a dresser and threw the first drawer open to find a jumble of panties, training bras, socks. She threw open the second drawer and grabbed a handful of T-shirts.

  “Zoe, go in the living room and sit with Sammy.”

  Zoe didn’t move. “Now, Zoe!” she shouted.

  Zoe sprang up, her eyes wide . . . as though she was coming out of a trance.

  “Now!” Allie said again.

  Zoe scrambled off the bed and hurried down the hallway.

  Allie returned to the bathroom with the shirts. She dropped them on the floor, and Bitty quickly grabbed one. Allie knelt down and while Bitty retied one of Carrie’s wrists, Allie tied the other one.

  There was a lot of blood.

  Way too much.

  Carrie’s skin was paper-white and her clothes were sopping wet. Her eyes drooped and her trembling lips had turned blue. Allie’s eyes darted around the room, lingering on the crimson bathwater, the fine layer of steam covering the bathroom mirror.

  “Allie, find some towels,” Bitty said.

  Allie opened a cabinet and found two messy stacks of towels. She hurried back to Carrie and leaned down to drape them over her body.

  Suddenly Allie heard shouting above her head. Zoe. “You know how freaking selfish that was? Did you even stop to think about me?”

  Carrie’s eyes searched and slowly found Zoe. She stared at her for a moment, then her voice came out thick and thready. “No, but obviously you did,” she said. The girls stared at one another for a long moment. “Everyone always thinks of you. No one thinks of me,” Carrie continued. “Just let me go. If you do, your life will be much easier.”

  “What . . . what’s that supposed to mean?” Zoe shouted.

  Allie turned to Zoe and yelled: “Go sit with Sammy in the living room, Zoe! Now!”

  The girl vanished from the doorway.

  “You’re going to be okay, sweetie,” Bitty said, cradling Carrie’s head and shoulders in her lap. “Help will be here before we know it.”

  Carrie’s eyes found Allie’s. They looked drowsy and defeated. “You’re going to be okay,” Allie whispered, squeezing the girl’s bare calf. “Just hang on. You’re going to be just fine.”

  Allie wished she was as certain as she sounded.

  “Hang on, sweet girl. Hang on,” Bitty soothed. “You’re doing great. Just great.”

  Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes into what seemed like hours. Then Allie finally heard the sirens.

  CHAPTER 20

  CARRIE LAY CURLED up in her bed at Dallas’s Sunny Lawn Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Center, thinking about what she’d done, and wishing that Bitty hadn’t stopped her.

  She had searched everywhere for a razor blade earlier that day, while everyone enjoyed the snow, played games, and listened to Christmas songs, but she couldn’t find one. Then, the more she fantasized about having a razor blade in her hand, the more she realized that she didn’t want to just cut herself to soothe the pain for a little while.

  She wanted to release it forever.

  And as much as she had been afraid to, the only solution had been to return to her house. Thankfully it wasn’t very far.

  Her mind flashed to the look on Zoe’s face. How angry she had been when she discovered that Carrie had simply needed to end the pain for good. She hadn’t expected that from Zoe. Actually, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected. She hadn’t had the energy to think that far ahead. For onc
e in her life she was focusing only on herself.

  The staff at Sunny Lawn had given her a sedative much like the ones her mother used to give her and Zoe to make them sleep for long stretches of time, so her thoughts were moving slowly and painlessly—washing over her like pictures that didn’t carry any strong emotions.

  It was such a relief.

  The therapists at Sunny Lawn had tried to speak to her, just like the forensic therapist and counselors at the Child Advocacy Center had. But Carrie didn’t want to talk. She no longer felt she had a voice, because she no longer knew who she was. The person she used to be had shriveled up and died the night her parents died. She didn’t know how to act anymore, who to trust . . . and now who to even love.

  She closed her eyes and let herself remember . . .

  One Month Before the Murders

  “Oh my God! They’re driving me insane!” Zoe groaned, burying her face in her pillow. Carrie frowned, unsure how to comfort her sister. Their mother and Gary were in the master bedroom. They were doing it. And they were hardly quiet about it. Carrie figured Gary must be good at it, because he wasn’t very smart, and he wasn’t nearly as good-looking as her father.

  When Gary and their mother weren’t having sex, they were doing drugs, but Carrie suspected the drugs were different than the ones her mother had taken before Gary, because practically overnight her mother had gone from lazy to jittery, and had lost a ton of weight. And now she was a beanpole wrapped in raisin-like skin, just like Gary.

  Out of all of her mother’s friends, so far, Gary had stayed the longest. And instead of “friend,” their mother was now calling him her boyfriend . . . which bothered her sister a lot.

  Although Zoe would never admit it, Carrie knew she still wanted their parents to love each other again. Zoe also wanted a close relationship with their mother. She needed their mother’s love probably more than she needed anything else in the world. But Carrie knew beyond a doubt that their mother would never love Zoe again.