Chapter Thirty-Nine #2
She hated John. He simplified—borderline infantilized—them both. Mylene needed psychiatric help, and just like Angela felt for Pham, she did for Mylene. Angela stood. “Then let’s go.” She moved to Sawyer’s side, not trusting John. “Will you make sure you’re on the other side of the door?”
“I’ll be where you want me.”
Her heart squeezed. Sawyer didn’t give two shits about John Patterson’s preferences. His only goal was hers. “Thank you.”
They entered the hallway and followed John around a corner. Two guards were posted outside of a door. Angela’s stomach dropped. She had so many questions for Mylene and felt that none would be answered.
John nodded to one of the guards. They unlocked the door and held it open.
Angela’s heartbeat galloped, and her purpose for being there suddenly disappeared. All she could remember was when Mylene had watched Angela from the sidelines as Pham pretended Angela was Quy Long. Mylene didn’t help. She couldn’t. She was just there.
Angela forced her clenched jaw to relax and then walked in. There sat the woman she’d seen from afar. The pained face from John’s video had nothing on the pain that radiated from the woman cuffed to the metal table.
The dark hollows of Mylene’s eyes pleaded when she saw Angela.
That desperation punched Angela in the chest. “Mylene.”
Mylene sniffed with her runny nose. “You know my name?”
“I know who you are. Do you know who I am?”
She nodded.
Angela inched toward the table as though her shoes were lead-lined bricks. “Do you want a tissue? Something to drink?”
Mylene’s vacant eyes didn’t register the question. “I need to talk to you.”
Angela glanced at the armed man behind Mylene. “Can she have a bottle of water? A tissue box?”
He didn’t move.
She looked from one security camera to the next. “Can someone get her a bottle of water and some tissues?” Nothing happened. This was ridiculous. “Sawyer? Please?”
Angela turned to Mylene again. She pulled her knees to her chest and rocked in her chair, as she had on the floor. Tears had swollen her cheeks and eyes. Her nose ran. She needed to sleep. Or probably take a sedative.
The heavy cell door unlocked. Sawyer appeared with two bottles of water and a handful of paper towels.
Gratitude squeezed Angela’s chest. “Thank you.”
Sawyer set them on the table, gave Mylene a once-over, and then eyed Angela with a quiet lift of his chin. Unspoken support strengthened her resolve to help Mylene once the headache with Pham ended.
“Anything else?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not that I can think of.”
“Just let me know.”
The heavy door closed behind him. Angela offered Mylene the paper towels. She didn’t take any of them. It was as if she hadn’t seen Sawyer or what he had brought in.
Angela took one of Mylene’s cuffed hands.
The guard stepped forward.
“I’m giving her a tissue,” Angela snapped and forced one into Mylene’s grip.
“Don’t touch her again,” he growled.
Angela ignored him and didn’t know what to do. Mylene didn’t wipe her face or even seem to notice the paper towel. Angela uncapped the water bottle. “Are you thirsty?”
The question didn’t register to Mylene.
“If you drink this, I will talk to you.” Angela nudged the uncapped bottle.
Mylene shook her head. “They’re going to poison me.”
This was why Mylene needed psychiatric help. Paranoia hadn’t even occurred to Angela. She took two long glugs and re-offered the bottle to Mylene. “If you go, I go.”
“They want you to die.”
“They who? This wasn’t from Pham.”
“They want you to die,” she repeated.
“Not everyone does,” Angela forced a half joke. “Do you?”
Mylene shook her head. “No.”
“Drink, Mylene.”
Warily, Mylene released the paper towel as though she didn’t notice it had been in her hand, and with her hands cuffed together, she took the bottle of water and drank.
Water dribbled from the side of her mouth.
She wiped at the drips and her running nose with the back of her hand.
“I don’t want you to die. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. ”
“Okay…” Angela opened the other water bottle and sipped. “I remember you.”
Mylene rocked in her chair.
“You came to the vacations,” Angela said. “I saw you other times. I can’t remember everything. It blurred together. But I know you were there a lot.”
“Watching.” Mylene’s unfocused eyes skidded around the room. “I was watching.”
Angela nodded. “Why?”
“Because I was supposed to.”
“Why?”
“Punishment.” Her face fell. “But that part’s over now. I have my house. I have my room. No one brings me anywhere anymore.” Her expression twisted then focused with laser-like precision on Angela. “Not until now.”
“Mylene…” She swallowed hard. “I was looking for you.”
Her eyes rounded.
“I think that’s why they moved you. They knew I was coming.”
Mylene rocked again. “Why would you do that?”
“I’m sorry.” It was hard to find the right words. Hell, it was hard to find any words. Who knew how many people were studying them just then? The cell walls seemed to close in on them. The stale air stank like desperation and misery. Angela couldn’t think. “I want to help.”
Mylene shook her head violently. Wild strands of hair stuck to her damp face.
“I saw the place where you’ve been living.”
“My house?” Tears streamed down Mylene’s face. “No. No. You didn’t see it.”
“I did.”
“No one knows about me. That’s my house. I need to go home.”
Why would Mylene ever want to return to the house of horrors?
“You can go anywhere now.” Except that wasn’t true.
Not with the handcuffs and the secret black-ops prison guards keeping Mylene right where she was.
Angela shouldn’t say what she couldn’t promise, but she couldn’t stop. “No one will make you go back there.”
“I have to!” Panic flooded over Mylene. “That’s my house.” More tears fell, and she pleaded, begging, “I need to go home.”
Angela glanced at the guard as Mylene’s words turned into an incomprehensible soup of mutters and cries.
She glanced at the security camera, helpless to know the right thing to say.
John Patterson would know. He’d click-click his pen and say things to make Mylene spill her guts if he were in Angela’s shoes. “Mylene.”
Mylene tucked her knees to her chest again and rocked. “My house.”
Damn it. They weren’t getting anywhere. Angela wasn’t helping, and Mylene was still losing her mind.
She needed Mylene to understand that they were on the same side—at least in some ways.
Frustration gripped her chest. Angela didn’t have the skills to help.
A growing helplessness squeezed her lungs.
“I know you didn’t kill your husband and sister. ”
Mylene jerked. The shock had left her slack-jawed, as though Angela had slapped her, and the rocking, muttering woman suddenly became sharp as a tack. “That’s not true.”
Words had broken through Mylene’s fog. Angela leaned into it. “Did you pull the trigger?”
“No.”
“Did you see them die?”
Once again, tears spilled down Mylene’s cheeks. Her bottom lip quivered. “No, but—” She threaded her hands into her hair. Her fists knotted into the disheveled mess. Mylene pulled until she cried out and slumped. “It’s my fault.”
“You did not kill them, Mylene.”
“I did. Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“I know you didn’t,” Angela pressed.
“You can’t know that.”