CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
PARKER
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T HREE HOURS LATER, I’m wide awake with Aurora curled up next to me fast asleep. She’d been tossing and turning, keeping me awake, and now I have a fucking second wind.
My mind is racing, wondering how I make this work with her. If it is even possible. And reminding myself I still need to find the evidence I’m seeking. It would be better to do it before I tell her how I feel.
There is a chance she might know something, but my instincts say she doesn’t.
I’ll have to sift through her emotional reaction before being given access to Mary-Anne’s personal things.
So...I have to take it.
Aurora lets out a loud snore, and I sigh. Throwing back the covers, I climb out of bed to use the bathroom. Not wanting to wake her, I leave the room and head to the main bathroom, then reconsider.
Aurora could sleep for hours and I need to do this now.
I head to her mother’s room and use the ensuite. Flushing after relieving myself, I wander around the master suite as I’ve seen detectives do in movies.
Perhaps the real ones do this. Seems like an excellent strategy. I remember some well-known actor asking, if I lived here and had fucked-up shit to hide, where would I hide it?
A safe.
I already looked in one part of the house, so I do the same in here, moving the prints on the wall to the side and moving furniture. Then I do the same in a few other rooms.
I return to her mother’s bedroom when I come up empty-handed.
Letting out a sigh, I stand in the doorway of her walk-in closet. Stepping inside, I slide some hangers over, pushing the dresses and jackets aside to view the wall behind.
Nothin—
Wait. What is that?
I push the hangers farther to get a clear view and curse.
No fucking way.
It’s a small button that I could’ve easily missed. Not a light switch, it's bigger and rounder.
James fucking Bond-like.
Who the hell are you Mary-Anne Whitlock?
Not knowing how noisy it might be, I push the door until it almost clicks shut, but not completely, and turn back to the goddamn button.
I stare at it, considering what could happen if I push it. If it’s an alarm or has one attached to it, then I guess I’m fucked and will have some explaining to do.
If not...
Fuck it.
I press it. A low buzzing noise sounds as the entire goddamn fucking wall and shelves start to move.
“Jesus Christ.”
I stand back, although it’s not necessary, and watch as a doorway appears leading to a dark room beyond. A dim light automatically turns on.
“What the fuck?” I feel like I’m in a movie or being punked.
This cannot be real
Wiping my forehead, I step in, wishing I was dressed in more than a pair of briefs. When my eyes adjust, I feel sick, like I’ve known since I saw that button exactly what this is. I just don’t want to admit it.
My shoulders tighten as I take in the sofa and video-player set up on a small cabinet with a TV screen.
I press a hand to my abs and draw in a breath as I take in the large bookcase-lined walls with what appear to be hundreds of VHS tapes and CDs.
Old school.
Meaning, this has been going on for a long time.
“Fuck me.” I walk to them, bile rising in my throat as I study the words on the spine.
Not words.
Names. Or what appears to be names, but also numbers. Like a code.
I grab one, the feel of it in my hands is evil. I know what’s on these and while I’d like to pretend that they are Aurora’s ballet dance performances or birthday parties, I know they aren’t.
This room wasn’t created to have friends and family over to watch Mary-Anne’s daughter dancing. This feels like a private space she comes to for...
Fuck.
I need to know for sure. So that I never question what I’m looking at. These tapes hold the evidence I’ve been looking for, I know they do.
I push the TV button and power on the video machine. I barely know how to work it, but I slide the tape in and it seems to start automatically.
Taking a couple of steps back, I wait for it to flicker onto the screen and play the video.
“Oh god.” I cover my mouth as the room— the room— appears on the screen.
Then I crouch. Don’t ask me why—it’s like I need to be as small as the little boy I once was—then lean my elbow on my knee and watch the evil of my past play out.
My body is shaking.
I see a small body, naked, from behind, with an adult thrusting behind him, but his head is down. Is it me? I can’t tell. Perhaps I don’t want to look.
I’m both the boy and the man as I turn my face away, wrapping my arm over my head, unable to watch anymore as my stomach churns.
This is what I have been searching for.
It changes everything.
We can find the people on these tapes. It could take days, weeks or years, but we will. Their names, whether they are living or dead, will be known as sexual abusers.
Moaning sounds fill the room. I’m almost certain it’s not me, but I’m not going to look too close—
“Parker.”
My head spins and like all those years ago, I find a pair of green eyes standing in the doorway watching me, looking innocent and confused.
Fuck.
“What is going on? What is all this?” Aurora steps inside and glances around.
Fuck! I need to get her out of here.
Her eyes land on the screen, and she looks horrified. I wonder if she recognizes the room, the people, the...kids.
There is no point trying to hide this. She needs to know the truth about her mother, about me, about our shared past.
Slowly, as her mouth falls open, she slides her eyes back to mine. Her face is pale, and she looks as sick as I feel.
“Aurora—”
“You knew.” She hisses. “You knew about this.”
Fuck. I should have known she’d put two and two together quickly. She’s an intelligent woman.
I nod. “Yes.”
Tears slide down her cheeks as I try to work through my own emotions and protect her. I can’t do both. Not in this very moment.
“Who was she?” Aurora demands, shocking me.
“What?”
“Who was my mother?” she yells, pointing at the screen.
I don’t understand what the hell is happening right now. Why is she asking me that? Does she want me to put a label on it? Call her a predator. A sexual abuser. A child rapist.
What does she want from me?
Because I’ll give her anything she wants.
“Aurora—"
“WHO is my mother? Her real identity. Tell me!” she screams.
I stand, confused, assuming she’s going into shock. She closes the distance and slams her fists against my chest. I let her hit me, the pain almost a relief as I go over her words.
Her real identity?
What just a goddamn minute!
Is Mary-Anne Whitlock not who she said she was?
I grab Aurora’s wrist and stare down at her. “What do you mean her real identity? Who the fuck is your mother?”
More tears flow. She brushes at them angrily as she stares at the screen once more.
I wait for her answer because this is important.
“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.”
Then she turns and runs out of the room.
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AURORA
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P arker finally left an hour ago, but I stay sitting on the floor of the bathroom with my back against the door.
He knew.
Whatever it was that I saw on the screen, Parker knew about it. Without examining them, it’s clearly some sordid past of my mother’s, from years ago, that I can’t make sense of.
I knew immediately it was our home.
The sounds.
The moans.
“Aurora come out so we can talk about this,” he’d demanded.
“Go away Parker. Go the fuck away. You are just as big a liar as her.” I’d yelled.
Silence.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” His deep, sure voice replied.
“Well, I did. Fuck you. Fuck her. Fuck whatever that was. Just leave!” I didn’t want to face him or what was in that room.
Over and over, he demanded I come out.
I don’t want to see him. Ever. Again.
Dropping my head to my knees, I fight the images from the screen I don’t want to acknowledge. The family room that Mom held parties in when I was a child. The parties I wanted to join. The colors on the walls, the bar stools I used to sit on.
The sofa.
The ugly, early two-thousands décor.
They are happy memories that are now damaged forever.
Are they happy? my mind asks, and I press my eyes closed tighter. But they don’t erase the small buttocks or the sounds.
No.
No!
Why were kids at the parties that I wasn’t allowed to go to? I know. Why would a buck naked boy be in our home? We didn’t have a swimming pool.
A flash of real memory comes back and I cry out in anguish.
Oh god. I saw them. Not more than once or twice.
What were they doing to... I know.
I know.
I hate that I know and yet still don’t want to believe it.
Who was the woman I called my mother? Surely she couldn’t have done those things. What if she was undercover and is keeping the evidence?
I know I’m grasping at straws. The room was set up to enjoy watching them.
My stomach lurches. I climb to my knees and scramble across the bathroom to the toilet, lifting the lid and throwing up.
There’s nothing in my stomach and it burns.
I don’t care.
Dropping back onto my heels, I flush and just stare at the tiles. It takes me a while, as I sit there and let my mind fill in all the blanks.
The little boy.
His blue eyes.
Oh, my fucking god.
Parker!
My world crumbles further beneath my feet and I collapse to the floor and cry. Full-blown sobs.
That poor little boy.
It has to be him. My mother was responsible for such horror...the last of the dots connect.
Parker was in my life for one reason. That reason was not me. He never wanted me. He was looking for those tapes.
Pain like I’ve never known crashes through me and I just stare at the wall like I’m dead inside.
Maybe I am.
Even if he did truly like me, I could never look him in the eye. The responsibility might lay with the adults of that time, but I am Mary-Anne’s daughter and will forever be a reminder of the pain he lived through.
“Mom, you fucking bitch.” I cry.
Not knowing who my father was and all the questions I had about my mother were difficult to process. This? This is a whole other level of hell.
She was a pedophile.
Or at the very least part of a ring that was. Not just once. But many times, by the number of tapes in that room.
Those poor children.
I had no idea that room existed. Hidden like some spy chamber in her closet.
I felt Parker leave the bed and waited for him to return. When he didn’t, I became more and more alert. I’ve always been a light sleeper.
Now I wish I’d stayed in bed.
But oh no , I got up and padded down toward the light I saw from Mom’s room.
Then I found Parker crouched before the screen. His face was almost green when he turned to me. Horror lining his eyes.
Grabbing a towel, I wipe my mouth and climb to my feet. Rinsing my mouth, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
“I hate you,” I say, and my words echo around the tiled room. “I fucking hate you, you evil fucking cunt. How could you have done those things?”
My entire life is a lie. Even my relationship with Parker is a lie. I have no idea who my mother or father truly is. Except that she was the worst kind of human.
I head back to my bedroom and climb into bed. I don’t care about anything. Not anymore.
I have no idea who I am or where I belong. I never really have.
Now I know why.