Don't Say a Word (Strangers Series)

by Jennifer Jaynes

  “But I no like Zoe. Zoe mean.”

  “Sammy, you know that’s not true. Why would you say that?”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “She killed my ant!”

  “Your ant?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh.” Allie knew how Sammy felt about ants.

  “Yes. She mean, Mommy!”

  Zoe, in her pajamas, walked into the room. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it would upset him. I saw it in the family room and I just didn’t want him to get stung.”

  “I understand,” Allie said. She turned back to Sammy. “I’m sorry she killed it, but some people don’t love ants the way we do. She was just protecting you. She wasn’t trying to be mean.”

  “Yes, she was!” he said.

  Trying to stifle another yawn, Allie finished tying her shoe.

  “You no listen to me, Mommy!”

  She looked up at a red-faced Sammy and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Look, honey. Mommy’s not feeling very well, and Zoe’s helping a lot. I really need her help right now . . . until I feel better. And I need you to listen to her.”

  “But Zoe mean!”

  “Sammy, that’s not very nice to say. She’s been very good to you. To all of us. Look, let’s talk about this when I get back, okay?”

  CHAPTER 33

  HEAVY RAIN CLOUDS blackened the afternoon sky as Allie climbed into the truck. Shivering, she turned the ignition, and the engine roared to life.

  She hadn’t wanted to leave Sammy, but she’d had no choice. The weather was supposed to get bad, and she was feeling awful. It was definitely best that he stay home. But it would only be a twenty-minute round trip. She’d be back soon.

  Power through this, she told herself.

  Take control.

  You’ve got this.

  She drove past the patrol car that was parked outside of the house, her breath coming out in moist clouds, but she didn’t bother to switch on the heater because she knew it would only shoot freezing air until the engine had a chance to warm up.

  Raindrops began pelting the windshield, and suddenly tears were streaming down her face. She’d drunk a whole pot of coffee earlier, yet was still tired. It was also impossible to think a positive thought and actually believe it. And she couldn’t twist the negative thoughts into positive ones no matter how hard she tried.

  Anyone would be having trouble coping in your situation, she told herself. Not just me . . . not because I am predisposed to extreme mental illness.

  “Right?” she asked aloud. “Right,” she answered, trying to bolster her confidence.

  But then those ugly words crawled in, her mother’s prophecy and her worst fear:

  You’ll turn out no different than me, Allie Cat. Wait. You’ll see.

  “Shut up,” she said through gritted teeth. “I will never be you. I’m nothing like you.”

  She shivered, wondering who she was even talking to. Was it really her mother, or was her brain just playing tricks on her?

  Bitty had once told her that only a fine thread separated the spirit world and the physical world, and very few really knew for sure what was real or imagined anyway. With the voice coming and going like it had been, she really needed to believe it.

  She felt her eyelids get heavy again. She stretched her eyes open wide and concentrated on the dirt road as it curved sharply in front of her.

  Depression was treatable.

  Millions of people suffered from it.

  Allie just feared where it could lead. That it was just one small step away from slipping into something not so easy to treat . . . or reverse.

  Slick asphalt shone ahead. As she pulled onto the paved road, she flipped the heat to its highest setting and tepid air blasted through the vents. About a minute later, she felt warm. But the warmth, along with the steady squeak of the windshield wipers as they crawled back and forth, was making it extremely difficult to stay awake.

  Her headlights drilled through the darkness as she sped down the rural road. She yawned, and focused hard on staying between the lines on the road. The sooner she had the supplements and was headed back to the house, the better.

  But just as she turned onto Main Street, a curtain of rain blanketed the windshield. The storm had escalated and the rain was now pouring from the sky. She couldn’t even see an inch in front of the windshield.

  Her hands strangling the steering wheel, she tapped the brakes as gently as she could, trying not to hydroplane. As soon as the shoulder came into view, she carefully pulled over and eased the truck to a stop.

  The rain had turned into a torrential downpour. She had no business driving right now. She’d end up killing herself. Or someone else. Listening to the windshield wipers march across the glass and the roar of the truck’s heater, her mind flickered with confusion.

  She watched as rain streamed down the side windows, and waited.

  She could feel her eyelids drooping again. The fight was draining out of her. She flipped off the windshield wipers. Barely feeling the tears roll from her eyes, she watched the windows fog up around her . . . and let her eyes close.

  CHAPTER 34

  CARRIE WAS GOING to do something awful, the second scariest thing she’d ever done.

  It had taken her forever to get to the paved road. Now she stood on the side of the road, shivering. It was freezing out. She saw the glow of oncoming traffic. She blinked owlishly in the bright light and waved her hand in the air.

  A truck passed her, splashing up muddy water in its wake. She dodged the onslaught just in time, then blinked rain out of her eyes and started walking again.

  She noticed the brake lights glow red, then the vehicle reversed. When it was alongside her, the driver’s window slid down.

  A plump middle-aged woman was in the driver’s seat. “What in God’s name are you doing out here in the rain, honey?” she asked, concern creasing her face.

  Tears and rain rolled from Carrie’s eyes. “I’m lost. Can you help me?”

  The woman nodded. “Yes, of course. C’mon. Get in.”

  A few minutes later, Carrie was sitting in the woman’s truck, completely soaking the leather passenger seat. After asking a few questions, the woman had gone quiet. But Carrie could see her shooting sidelong glances at her every few seconds. The radio was turned low to some man preaching. The trees whizzed by as she got closer to her destination.

  Last time, she’d snuck out the window to get back to her house. But this time she was going somewhere different—and would do something much more difficult.

  Carrie closed her eyes and remembered the feeling of Allie’s hand in hers. Allie’s soft, nurturing hands, knowing that after today she’d never feel them again.

  She was going to do something that would make Allie very angry. Something that would make a lot of people very angry.

  She closed her eyes and tried to breathe.

  One Week Before the Murders

  Time always crawled on the days that their father was supposed to return home.

  Carrie’s father had bought a lottery ticket at a local gas station a couple of months earlier and had won $1.2 million. It had enabled their family to move from the trailer where the girls had been raised to Sherman’s Landing, a neighborhood Carrie had never seen before. The house was about ten times the size of the old trailer, if not more.

  It was a big, beautiful house her mother didn’t seem to have the inclination or know-how to fully furnish. Right now the living room furniture just consisted of a leather couch, a side table with a lamp, and a big-screen television.

  The house was so sparsely furnished, if someone yelled loud enough their voice echoed. But the girls didn’t want to yell, not when their mother was around, because she used anything she could as an excuse to slap them, scream at them, call Zoe names . . . basically just make their lives miserable.

  Her family was living proof that money didn’t buy happiness, because they weren’t even close to being happy. In fact, Carrie was pretty s
ure that since winning the money, her parents fought even more.

  The only thing her parents still seemed to do together was it. And when they weren’t doing it, her dad slept in a separate bedroom on a mattress while her mother slept in the master bedroom on a brand-new bed.

  That evening, Carrie was surprised when she saw headlights splash across the ceiling of the girls’ bedroom. She looked out the window and recognized the truck that had just pulled up. It belonged to one of her dad’s coworkers, who usually dropped him off after he returned from a run, because he wasn’t allowed to park his rig in the neighborhood.

  She and Zoe were in bed. Zoe sleeping, Carrie reading.

  “He’s home!” Carrie squealed, shaking her sister, but Zoe didn’t move.

  “Zoe, it’s Dad.” Zoe grunted and turned over. Usually Zoe was the first one to be out of bed and flying out the bedroom door to see him, but not tonight. She hadn’t been acting like herself at all since the day their mother told Zoe she hated her. Carrie was worried about her. But she didn’t want to think about that now. She wanted to see her father. She was so happy he was home.

  A few minutes later, Carrie and her dad sat on the couch in the living room together. It was rare to get the time alone with him. As much as she loved her sister, Zoe always hogged up the little time they had.

  He’d started a fire in the fireplace and they sat together, Carrie eating raisins while her father drank beer. She liked the smell of beer on his breath. Both girls agreed it was one of their absolute favorite scents because it made them think about their father.

  Carrie wasn’t blind. She knew that her father had faults. He didn’t spend nearly enough time with his family. Didn’t always say the right thing. Didn’t always obey the law. Sometimes he did violent things out of plain meanness, like shoot at wild pigs in the woods for sport—something that had always turned Carrie’s stomach.

  But she preferred not to think about those things. She just wanted to enjoy him. Their father was the only safe place in their life. He wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t need him to be.

  Unlike their mother, their father never raised his voice—or his hand. He was kind to her and Zoe . . . and she loved him, unconditionally. She and Zoe both did. When he was around, he usually liked to take them places: car shows, tractor pulls, rodeos, shooting clay targets and at beer cans on tree stumps.

  When he was home, both of them would fetch him beers. Make nachos for him by layering American cheese on tortilla chips and microwaving them. Pull his shoes and socks off and replace them with his favorite slippers. Their mother did nothing for him. She hadn’t even bothered coming out of the bedroom since their father had gotten home, but he didn’t seem to care.

  Her thoughts went back to Zoe. How odd she’d been behaving. Glassy-eyed, distant, exhausted. Much, much quieter than usual.

  “We really missed you.”

  “I missed you, too, darling. Sorry I have to work so much.”

  She stared at the wood crackling in the fireplace. “But we’re millionaires now, right?”

  He grinned. “That we are.”

  “Then, why are you still working?”

  He took a long sip of his beer. Stared at the fireplace. “Well . . . I guess there are certain things that make a man feel like he’s a man, sweetheart. Working is one of those things for me. It’s really all I’ve ever known. But I promise, I won’t be working as much after this next run, okay, baby?”

  Tears stung her eyes, because she hoped with all of her might for what he said to be true.

  “Hey. Don’t cry.”

  She was upset at herself for crying. She wanted to just focus on enjoying him while he was there. She forced herself to smile.

  He pulled the tab off another beer. “My li’l Carrying Carrie . . .” he said. “Mama Carrie . . . your sister’s keeper.”

  He’d called her those names for years.

  She felt her smile falter a little. “Yep.”

  Instead of the nicknames being good things, right now they felt like they limited her. Like they put her in a straitjacket and she could be nothing else. Was her life just about Zoe? Or could it be something more? Did she dare wish it could be? And why was she even thinking these questions? She never had before. Was it because Zoe had been acting so strange?

  She looked up and saw her father was staring at her. “What’s wrong?”

  She wasn’t sure how to tell him. Or if she even wanted to. She doubted he would understand. “Nothing.” She smiled big, so he’d believe her.

  He smiled back at her, then opened up his arms. They sat holding one another in front of the fire for what seemed to be a long time. She breathed in his cologne. Felt the roughness of his skin.

  Her dad took his last sip, then crushed his beer can. “Let’s play a game,” he said. “Think of all the cool stuff you’d like to buy now that we have money . . . and I promise, when I get back, we’ll go shopping. We’ll get some nice stuff for you and your sister. Maybe even a few things for your uncle Tommy.”

  “What did you just say?” someone asked.

  Both of them turned to find her mother wearing a flimsy nightgown. She’d been eavesdropping and was now glaring at them.

  “Go back to bed, Julie,” her father said gently.

  The woman’s hands were on her hips. “That brother of yours isn’t getting one red cent of that money. You understand me?”

  Carrie’s mother hated Uncle Tommy. Always had. Carrie didn’t understand why. She barely knew her uncle. She’d seen him maybe three times her whole life. But her father was the one who had won the money. So shouldn’t he be able to decide if Uncle Tommy got any gifts or not?

  “You didn’t answer me,” she said, her voice hot.

  “I don’t have an answer for you.”

  “Tell me Tommy will not get any of that money. Tell me, Buddy!” she yelled.

  Her father kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you go to bed, Carrie?” he said, softly. “I need to talk to your mother.”

  Carrie did what her father had told her to do. She crawled into bed and listened to the two arguing in the distance. They argued for several minutes, then everything went quiet. A few minutes after that, she heard her mother’s headboard hitting the wall. Then the pipes clanked, indicating that they’d gotten into the shower.

  It was a routine very familiar to her. Too familiar.

  She turned on her side and tears began falling across her nose and down her cheek. She wasn’t sure why she was crying. She didn’t feel any worse than she usually felt. Maybe she feared her father wouldn’t keep his promise. That he would continue to work just as much.

  Or maybe she was afraid that her mother would eventually drive him away forever.

  CHAPTER 35

  ALLIE HEARD A tapping noise next to her ear. She tried to ignore it, but then she heard it again.

  She opened her eyes and tried to get her bearings.

  Where was she?

  Slowly, she realized. She was in the truck, on the side of the road. She’d fallen asleep . . . but for how long? She shivered, although she was sweating. The vent was still blasting heated air.

  She heard the tapping sound again.

  Louder.

  Then a muffled voice. Someone was knocking on her driver’s side window. She turned and was able to make out Detective Lambert through the foggy glass. She clicked the unlock button on the driver’s door.

  He opened the door and concern flooded his eyes.

  “Allie? You okay?”

  She stared at him, her eyes fighting to focus. His face was hazy, as if she were seeing it through water.

  She was seeing two of him.

  One of him.

  “I thought I’d be fine to drive,” she said, her words coming out garbled.

  He frowned. “Have you been drinking?”

  She shook her head. “No . . . Of course not.” Her words came out wobbly again. Even to her they sounded as though she’d pounded some serious alcohol.

 
“I need help,” she said. “I . . . I can’t drive.”

  “Let me take you home.”

  He helped her out of the vehicle.

  A thought flicked quickly across her mind . . . of how awful she must look. But the concern melted away almost instantly. She didn’t have the energy to care right now. She just needed to preserve the little bit of energy she had to make sure she got back to Sammy and let Bitty know what was happening to her so she could help her get well again.

  Detective Lambert walked her to his Crown Victoria and helped her into the passenger seat. Then he reached across her and fastened her seat belt. When he shut the door, she rested her head on the back of the seat. The car smelled nice. Of leather conditioner and coffee.

  The driver’s door clicked open and Detective Lambert climbed inside. The dash radio let out two quick beeps and a voice covered in white noise blared in the closed space.

  “Detective Lambert,” a disembodied voice called. “Sergeant Glass here.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “We need you back at the station. A young lady is here, asking for you. One of the Parish twins.”

  Allie’s eyelid twitched. Obviously her mind was playing tricks on her, because she could swear the man had just said one of the Parish twins was at the station. She let out an uncontrollable yawn.

  “Is Bitty Callahan with her?” Detective Lambert asked.

  “That’s a negative. The girl came alone. She hitchhiked here.”

  She had heard right. Adrenaline shooting through her bloodstream, Allie opened her eyes. She and Detective Lambert traded a look.

  One of the girls was at the station? What? Why?

  “Zoe?” she asked. “She’s at the police station?”

  “Is it Zoe Parish?” Detective Lambert asked.

  “Negative. She said her name is Carrie.”

  Allie frowned, knowing it couldn’t be Carrie.

  “Are you positive? Carrie Parish doesn’t even speak,” Detective Lambert said.

  “Well, apparently she’s started.”

  The hairs on the back of Allie’s neck rose. She straightened in her seat.