Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
PAST
Zoe stared at the door to her home. Her mind had been busy, her skin slick with sweat from the heat outside. Before opening the door, she checked her watch. Gina had to be picked up from her playdate in an hour. Would her mother go instead?
Her mother had been acting erratic these past few days.
Paranoia had taken over her. She was always making sure the doors were locked and the curtains drawn.
She rarely stepped out, mostly sending Zoe to run errands.
Zoe would have chalked it up to the transition to a new house, a new city. They were always moving.
But it wasn’t. She had found a stack of passports a few months ago in the attic. She knew marshals came every now and then. And she wasn’t a kid anymore. She was fourteen years old. She knew exactly what was going on—her mother was hiding from someone.
They all were.
The key entered the lock. A twist and the door clicked open. Goosebumps sprouted all over Zoe’s arms. A frigid feeling blossomed behind her chest. There was a draft. The window to the fire escape was open, the curtain billowing in the wind.
Rachel never left the window open. Especially not that one that had a staircase outside. Was Rachel out? No, she didn’t go anywhere. Her shoes were still here. And then Zoe spotted something else—another tear in the fabric of normalcy. A chair in the living room had been knocked over.
“Mom!” Zoe shouted, her eyes searching the room. Why was it so quiet? She didn’t know what to do, but before she could panic an open door caught her eye. The door to the washroom. She pushed it open.
Her knees turned soft and she slipped on the floor. Rachel was in the bathtub, blood leaking from a deep cut in her wrist. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. Her lips slightly parted. Her body, still clothed, submerged in ankle-deep water.
Zoe somehow found the strength to rush forward, to get closer.
But then she saw water marks on the bathroom floor.
She couldn’t think about what that meant just yet because everything inside her was splintering—her soul, her thoughts, the very fiber of her being.
She cradled Rachel, forgetting how to breathe and for a moment forgetting how to live.
“No… no… no…” She wiped away her tears, but they kept gushing from her eyes.
After what felt like forever, she stood up.
Rachel’s instructions echoed in her mind.
And Zoe was a good daughter. She listened to her mother.
It was her last wish. Promise me you will forget about what happened to me.
Promise me you will cover up everything.
Tell them I killed myself. With a cold, brutal efficiency, she grabbed a mop and cleared the water marks on the floor.
Then she went to the living room and put the chair back in its position.
Finally, she closed the window and locked it.
A last glance across the apartment to check she hadn’t missed anything.
Someone had been here. Someone had broken in and murdered Rachel, making it look like suicide.
Zoe had done the first part and now came the second—to call the police.
But before she did, Zoe went to the bathroom and stared at her reflection.
What would happen now? Would she go into the foster system?
Would they separate her and Gina? Oh, Gina…
Zoe’s head was spinning. A name kept trying to resurface, some faint memory trying to solidify like some part of her was trying to wake up, like her dreams and nightmares were morphing into reality.
Zoe didn’t understand what was going on.
But she knew one thing—if there was one way to survive this horror, this total ruin of her innocence, this terrible knowledge of Rachel’s murder, it was by honoring her mother’s wishes.
She swore she would do as her mother had instructed: move on, forget. There was only one way to do that. She had to bury the truth, and all the feelings that came with it, deep inside her.
She had to split.
She opened her eyes.