Chapter 6 #2
“You’ll have to forgive me. I have such a jaded view of the world, and most of the people in it, that I came in here thinking you might be just another red-blooded human taking advantage of a situation.”
This seems to amuse her. A lighthearted smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.
“Detective Leroux, I could see that your guard was up the moment you walked in. I don’t blame you for that. I think we should always be wary of the intentions of others, but I like to believe that everyone has the capacity for goodness somewhere inside them.”
He bites at his lip, peeking over his shoulder to confirm that the door to this office is shut tight. “That’s another place where we deviate, Sister Moreau. True goodness is rare. Evil is a commodity that’s available almost everywhere you look.”
“Why don’t we get to the reason you are here, Detective? You’re here to discuss Melissa and Beth.”
He nods. “I’m looking into the missing persons cases of Melissa Evans and Beth Landry. Both these young women stayed here off and on, correct?”
“That’s correct. In fact, I am the one who reported them missing.” The sadness returns to her eyes. Her lips purse together, as if she’s keeping something from tumbling out.
“Can you tell me anything about these young women? Anything that could help me find them?” he asks, trying to keep the desperation from coloring his voice.
Sister Moreau pauses for a moment, taking in Leroux’s question. He watches as she tosses it over in her mind, not speaking before she has considered what he has asked of her.
She quietly opens her desk drawer and pulls out two photos.
These photos are different from the ones he has been looking at on the corkboard in his office.
One is of a girl in her mid- to late teens.
She’s posed playfully on a park bench and has long blond hair half pulled up into a messy bun.
She wears bright pink lipstick and has a massive smile; it’s unique because of a missing right incisor.
On one side of her neck is the phrase All you need is love tattooed in delicate cursive.
The word love bends slightly across the top of her shoulder. Leroux knows this to be Melissa.
The second photo is a selfie of a young woman appearing to be in her late teens or early twenties. She’s smiling, but it’s more of a close-lipped grin than a cheerful smile. She has too many earrings to count and wears her dark hair in a blunt bob with bangs. This is Beth.
Sister Moreau taps the second photo, and when she speaks, it’s soft and warm, like a mother telling a bedtime story.
“Beth is fierce. She is the kind of girl who can take care of herself. Sometimes it could come off as stubborn or maybe even defiant, but I always saw it as strength. She’s capable, so capable.
” She pauses. “She doesn’t trust easily, and I always thought that would keep her safe.
” She looks down at Beth’s image like it will come to life in front of her.
It’s a soulful look of concern mixed with admiration.
“Was Melissa like that too?” Leroux probes.
“Oh, no. They couldn’t be more different.
” She touches the first photo of the blond young girl in front of her, brushing her finger over it gently.
“Melissa is a naturally trusting soul. She always thinks the best of people. They both are kind and loving, but in their own ways. Melissa is more outward with her emotions and feelings. She confides in me often because she is desperate for a place free from judgment and criticism. Melissa decides there is goodness in someone within her first conversation with them, and as beautiful a trait as that is, it made me worry about her.”
“Did she ever give you a real reason to worry? Was there someone in her life she was being too trusting with? Too open with?”
He watches her take in a deep, shaky breath as she tries to keep her emotions down deep.
“I just want to give these girls a home. Everyone deserves a home. I try to provide structure and love in equal amounts, but maybe in my attempt to provide an environment free from judgment, I failed them somehow. Maybe I should have tried to rein them in closer?” The emotions are leaking through; her eyes are sad and thoughtful.
He notes how she uses the present tense to talk about them. It’s obvious she can’t bring herself to truly consider a grim outcome. To her, they are coming back home. To Leroux, it becomes less likely with every passing minute.
“Listen, I’ve spent less than an hour with you, and I can tell how much the young women here mean to you.
You give them a safe place, but you can’t stop the world from rotting outside these walls.
That’s not your fault.” He sees her shoulders drop a bit, a sense of gratitude washing over her sad expression.
He continues, “We are doing everything we can to find Melissa and Beth, but we are going to need your full cooperation.” He feels a sense of urgency low in his gut and aches for this piece of the puzzle to click into place.
As he fixes Sister Moreau with a stare, he senses that she’s holding back a true expression of emotion.
She clears her throat, blinking her eyes a few times and pursing her lips again. After a moment, she stands.
“To answer your question, yes, there was something.” She crosses the room, taking a bracelet off her wrist that has three keys instead of jewels or charms. Using one of the keys, she opens a cabinet and pulls out what appears to be a journal.
“After your people came through and took what they needed, I came across this. It was hidden under a loose board in the room where Melissa was staying.”
She sits down, sliding the journal across her desk.
Leroux takes it in his hands and runs his fingers across the buttery leather cover.
It’s bound with a fraying suede cord with a heart keychain jammed through one end.
He opens it slowly, taking in the bubbly lettering of a teenager.
He flips through pages of daily musings, deep thoughts, and rants written in capital letters.
Interspersed between the entries are sketches, and in some places other items have been glued or taped to the page.
It’s a perfect encapsulation of a troubled but hopeful young life.
He pauses, touching a glittery sticker in the shape of a peace sign.
Something about it feels so innocent. The girl who put it there had no idea she would vanish.
She just saw a sparkly sticker, and she wanted to keep it somewhere safe.
“It’s the last entry that might interest you.” Sister Moreau watches him carefully, appearing to be stopping herself from reaching out and grabbing the journal back. He can see it’s precious to her, the only thing that keeps her tied to one of her missing children.
He’s turning a few more pages, coming toward the end of the journal, when a specific date catches his eye.
It’s the last day Melissa was seen alive.
It’s a short entry with a small drawing of a fleur-de-lis at the bottom of the page.
He reads the words, trying to take them in like she is speaking to him.
Hey,
It’s finally getting easier. Finally it doesn’t feel hopeless.
I feel like things could be taking a turn for the better!
I know I have said this before, so you are probably like, “Melissa you have said this before,” but trust me this time …
things are looking up. Sister Moreau is helping me find work.
I have an interview at the theater on Monday and it would be such a kickass place to work.
The hours would be awesome and I could finally start saving money! Fingers crossed for me!
I ran into Jeremy again.
Leroux can feel his entire body stiffen upon reading that name. He looks up, ignoring the rest of the entry, locking eyes with Sister Moreau. She stares back at him, knowing the secrets that are laid bare in his hands.
“Jeremy?” he asks flatly.
“A very unfortunate synchronism, I imagine,” she says, rubbing her hands together. The look in her eye tells him she doesn’t quite believe that.
It’s clear how deeply Jeremy Rose’s crimes have impacted the community.
When just the mention of a common name inspires such emotions, it’s noteworthy.
It pisses Leroux off. The last thing he ever wanted was for Jeremy Rose to become a legend.
He would love knowing that people utter his name like a bogeyman’s, like he’s a monster you warn your kids about to get them to behave.
It’s out of Leroux’s control, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.
He shakes his head. “Has to be. Rose is rotting in prison right now. But it’s a little strange, don’t ya think?”
She purses her lips again. “I think a sovereign God does not allow for coincidences.”
“What do you mean by that, exactly?” he asks, leaning forward on the desk.
“I am not entirely sure, Detective. Melissa did mention this Jeremy to me a few times.” She hesitates, looking down at her hands and then straight up at the ceiling, like she’s silently calling for help.
He can tell she is holding something inside, not ready to dive too deep. But he needs her to dive.