Chapter Two Marni
Chapter Two
Marni
Aubrey Tanner . . . Why now?
My already wrenching anxiety at being forced to take part in this courtroom spectacle spiked with her unexpected appearance.
Years of therapy forgotten in an instant. The breathing exercises I’d learned failed me. I couldn’t concentrate long enough
to begin a guided meditation through the app on my watch.
The procedure for moving forward now that the old bastard finally had died from whatever rot festered inside him was supposed
to be simple. Declare the members of the younger Tanner family dead, settle Xavier’s estate, and move on. Instead, Aubrey’s
sudden arrival kicked off an emergency. Just by walking in the room, she brushed away the filthy layer of dust covering the
memories of that horror-filled day fifteen years ago.
The judge ended up postponing the hearing to “give Ms. Tanner time to talk with counsel and come up to speed”—which sounded ominous—and with that Aubrey left the stunned room without saying another word.
She didn’t offer an explanation. Didn’t even bother with a sorry, I forgot to tell you I wasn’t dead.
She waltzed in and slipped out, leaving upheaval and chaos in her wake.
Nothing new there. Even at fifteen she’d walk into a room and a chill would sweep through it. “Accidents” would happen when
she was around, like her brother falling down the stairs while she insisted he tripped. That fire in her parents’ bedroom
on the Fourth of July weekend when she was twelve. The one she swore she didn’t start even though she conveniently disappeared
from the family’s pool party right before the flames consumed the curtains and the alarm blared.
I didn’t go inside. Ask Marni. She’ll tell you. I was sitting next to her the whole time.
A lie she repeated without blinking. Manipulative as a kid and being thirty only made Aubrey scarier. Potentially more resourceful.
A survivor . . . but of what?
I could have handled the hearing surprise in a bunch of objectively understandable ways. Gone up and hugged Aubrey. Lied and
told her how relieved I was that she was okay. Welcomed her back. Asked where she’d been. Begged her for the answers that
eluded the town for so many years, including the whereabouts of her mother. My missing friend, Victoria Tanner.
I didn’t choose a rational path. I bolted. As soon as the judge excused us, I got up and cut through the room’s choking tension
on the way out. I didn’t acknowledge Stella and Hanna as they pummeled me with heated side glances. Their building fear barreled
into me and threatened to drag me under its crushing wheels. I couldn’t handle their panic until I got control of my own.
Twenty minutes later, sitting in my car in the courthouse parking lot with the doors locked and engine turned off, I struggled to quiet the shouting in my head.
Years had passed but I would have known Aubrey Tanner anywhere.
She’d been blessed with her mother’s piercing ice-blue eyes.
For Victoria, they provided a blurry window into the brilliant but troubled mind behind the beauty.
With Aubrey, those dead eyes hinted at a future strike. A killing blow.
She creeped me out even as a teenager.
Aubrey being in town should have been a cause for celebration. A relief. But danger lurked. Anyone with half a clue would
know that.
The media would go wild. That guy who called me once, a month ago, claiming to be writing a book about the disappearances
would resurface. Rumors would surge again. The conspiracy theories would ramp up and outrun the truth. Just like last time,
some people would plow the facts under a fictional layer of bullshit. Camera crews would descend, all waiting for a word,
for a peek, into the woman who walked out of the Hudson Valley mist and back into our bumpy lives.
My heart ached for Victoria, the best friend I eventually betrayed. We met when I was Aubrey’s kindergarten teacher, just
out of college, and bonded over how to deal with the child’s obvious lack of empathy. My connection with Victoria grew and
deepened over the next decade despite our steep financial differences and respective places in the societal pecking order.
Mine being far below hers.
She said I was the one person who listened to her and didn’t judge. I loved her energy. Her style. The way she swept into a room and commanded attention while I sought comfort hiding in a corner.
She trusted me, which turned out to be her worst mistake . . . and my biggest regret.
As Aubrey skipped second grade, then sixth, and out-argued her teachers, school administrators made excuses for her behavior
and touted her brilliance. Victoria and I knew trouble loomed. The only solace when the family disappeared was that my worries
about Aubrey’s trajectory did as well. She was gone and I struggled to forget her. My mind rebelled at the idea of dealing
with her again.
Breathe in for four. Hold for seven. Exhale for eight.
I could hear my former therapist’s steady voice, encouraging me to feel the stress drain from my body like air leaving a balloon.
The usual coping mechanism didn’t work. Maybe I shouldn’t have canceled all those counseling appointments.
I knew from experience that dreaming up strategies and mentally testing them would shift my scattered focus and slow the adrenaline
coursing through me. My nervous jumpiness needed an outlet. I had to turn this negative energy into action.
Various options crashed and tumbled over each other in my head. I tried to pull them apart and assess each one, but my muddled
brain couldn’t hold on to a logical solution. A bonging sound echoed through me, rattling my bones. It came from a mental
countdown I desperately tried to ignore.
First, the phone call I dreaded. A quick look out the sedan’s windows confirmed no one had lingered or was spying on me.
With the car shut up tight my voice shouldn’t carry but strange things happened in Sleepy Hollow.
Ghost stories drove tourist traffic but every now and then it felt like an otherworldly hand reached up and squeezed.
I preferred quiet. Peace. No cheap thrills or unexpected visitors.
Apparently Aubrey didn’t care about what I wanted.
“Fine.” I whispered the concession as I fought off fidgeting and reached for my cell.
The phone rang twice. I started talking, cutting off any chitchat or useless introductory nonsense before it could start.
“We have a problem.”