38
“I’m not sitting down until someone tells me what the heck is going on here!”
Helen is rightfully upset, no matter that Alicia has apologized profusely for drugging her and securing her in her SUV. Understandable. Who wouldn’t be upset?
As for the newcomer to this escalating fiasco, I told Helen that she is the long-lost Wendy Neely.
Further, I withheld the fact that Acacia is not really Acacia—at least for now.
It is essential that we move on to the next step.
My plan—my very survival—depends on certain events occurring before whatever is set to happen in their scheme.
There is no more time to waste. I set my full attention on Helen and infuse my voice with uncertainty. “There’s a man—”
“That guy who came to my house and wanted me to bring you a message?” she interrupts. “I got a bad vibe from him, Julia. I have to tell you.”
“He may be the man who abducted me twenty years ago. Or someone connected to him.” I’d rather not get too specific just yet. Particularly since I know exactly who he is and hired him to play the part. He won’t be back, but no one else knows this but me.
Helen’s jaw drops. “Are you kidding?” Her hand goes to her throat. “A killer came to my house!”
“We think so,” Julia, the real one, says. “But we can’t be sure since no one ever saw his face. Even the FBI hasn’t been able to identify him.”
Still lying after all these years. But then, so am I.
“We’re calling Rick Howard,” I explain. “We don’t have any solid proof of what we’re saying about this man who has suddenly showed up,” because there is none, “so we have to present this to Rick in a way that’s calm and logical.”
Helen nods her understanding. “I get it. We can’t be all hyper and scattered.
” A frown furrows her brow. “So you’ll tell Rick, and then what?
He has to investigate? Check in with his people, since he’s retired.
But that sort of leaves you hanging in the wind if this guy is out there waiting to make a move. ”
Fair assumption. “We’re going to batten down the hatches and keep our eyes and ears open.”
Helen shakes her head. “That’s not enough. No offense, but you need firepower.”
The weapon at the small of my back feels suddenly warm. “I don’t suppose that would hurt, but the only weapon here is the old shotgun under the bed in my room.”
“Da—your father’s gun,” Julia says.
I nod. “Phillip doesn’t like guns.” I don’t, either, really, but now is not the time to worry about that.
“I’ll make a run to my place,” Helen offers. “My husband had loads of them. I’ll bring all the weapons and ammo we’ll need.”
I’ve never once heard Helen say much about guns one way or the other.
I was aware she owned one or more. Still, I really don’t want her to leave alone.
Mostly to make sure she comes straight back and doesn’t drop in at the chief of police’s office.
She may think we’re all batshit crazy, and she wouldn’t be far off the mark on two out of the three.
“That’s a great idea, Helen,” I say. “Ali—Acacia, you go with her and help. Move fast so we can lock everything up and decide on a watch strategy.”
I have a bad feeling about all of this, but it’s the only viable route I can see at the moment. Survival is the singular goal just now. If the boyfriend shows up, he may decide it’s time to cut their losses and disappear.
Alicia glances from me to Julia. “I’ll be back as quickly as possible.”
As they leave by the kitchen’s side door, Helen is gabbing about how she intends to bring extra flashlights and batteries just in case the power and the generator go out.
I tag along behind them and lock the door.
For a moment I stand there staring out at the gloomy day.
Looks like the weather isn’t ready to behave yet.
Helen may have the right idea about the power.
Most people in the area have generators for that reason.
I almost laugh out loud since the weather is the least of my worries. I turn to find Julia watching me.
It feels strange to be alone with her, especially in this house—her house.
“I guess we should call Agent Howard.”
I nod and go in search of my cell phone.
Thankfully the aspirin is softening the edges of the achiness that is my constant companion when I’ve overdone it physically or when the weather is like it is now.
I pick up my phone from the coffee table and notice that it’s almost two.
Olivia will be headed to or arriving at her friend’s birthday party about now.
I wish I could protect her from all this.
But the truth is, I realize, I can’t, not fully, anyway.
Whatever happens tonight or tomorrow or the next day, none of us will be spared some element of the fallout.
I tap Rick’s name in my contact list. He may still be annoyed at my dismissal of him the other night, but he should have known better than to beat around the bush about the delivery guy. It would have been so much better had he simply told me the way things actually happened.
I have him pegged as someone who just isn’t capable of the simple truth. A good liar should always recognize a fellow fabulist.
“Rick, I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday afternoon.”
Of course he insists it’s no bother and reminds me that he has been bugging me about calling him if I need anything.
“Something’s happened that I think we need to discuss in person. Can you come over? I realize it’s short notice, but it’s important.”
He’s in a meeting with a prospective client but he assures me he will come within the hour.
I end the call and turn to Julia. “He’s in a meeting, but he says he’ll be here within the hour.”
“When I was out of that house . . .” Julia hugs her arms around herself, appearing vulnerable.
“I thought, thank God it’s finally over.
” Her gaze connects to mine. “But it wasn’t.
It was just the beginning of a new nightmare for me.
You had taken over my life. How could I expose you without exposing myself?
I’m not looking forward to seeing Rick’s judgment, much less the rest of the world’s. ”
“We won’t tell him anything he doesn’t need to know.” Personally I would prefer to leave him out entirely.
Julia returns to the sofa. Maybe because she’s tired of standing or maybe because she thinks I need to sit down.
We’re both pretty screwed up. I bypass the dining room chair where they tied me up and settle into the side chair that is my favorite.
I am so tired, but I’m not saying that out loud.
And I’m cold. Not giving any indication of that either.
“Alicia told me the details of the accident. It sounds as if you were very lucky to survive.”
“Very lucky,” I agree.
“Otherwise, you’ve certainly done well for yourself.” There is a distinct edge to her voice now.
“I’ve done well enough.”
She should know this life better than me. I’ve only lived in it for ten years. Before that I was on the street as often as I was housed. At least until I was a prisoner. That nine-plus years didn’t count as a home no matter how rich the guy was.
“How did you and your husband meet?”
This is beyond strange. Having this conversation with my old friend like nothing apocalyptic happened. The same friend who left me without a backward glance. Who would ever have thought it?
“I was the counselor at one of the women’s centers, and he was on the board that oversaw a number of the centers.
This was the newest one to be opened, so the board members were there for a tour of the facility.
” I sigh. “The director asked me to conduct the tour. By the end of it, Phillip had asked me to dinner.”
“Nice story.” She stares out the window that looks onto the lake as I often do.
I have imagined her doing that a million times. Even now I remember her laughter . . . her enthusiasm over every little thing we talked about or did together. Of course, our adventures were always a secret. Her parents couldn’t know about me. I suppose that made us all the more exciting.
Then again, there was a lot they either didn’t know or overlooked about Julia.
“I wasn’t really looking for a relationship,” I say no matter that she didn’t ask. “A man was the furthest thing from my mind after what I’d been through. But Phillip was persistent.”
She watches me now but says nothing.
“The following Sunday there was an article in the newspaper about a missing woman. The moment I saw her, I knew she was like me. I guess that’s when my secret plan started to form in the farthest recesses of my brain.
Phillip’s position in the city—my God, the man knows everyone—could help when the time came.
So I allowed him to sweep me off my feet.
We married three months later. Manhattan society was aghast at the short courtship. ”
“Even with the perfect life,” she says, “you never forgot and still went after the bad guys. Doesn’t that make you the hero.”
Not a question. More a jab. But I knew what I had to do, and I did it. “Like I told you before, it wasn’t until after Olivia was born that I really understood what I had to do. So yeah, one by one,” I acknowledge, “I took those motherfuckers out, and no one ever suspected a thing.”
“I never thought I would be saying anything like this,” Julia admits, “but that was very brave of you. You could have been killed many times over.”
I can’t decide if she’s serious or being facetious.
“It wasn’t bravery. It was desperation. I couldn’t let them get away with what they had done.”
The silence wraps around us for a moment.
It’s heavy, like the cocoon trapping a moth until it’s ready to emerge as a butterfly.
I wish I knew the words to say that would clear the air, but there are none.
First and foremost perhaps because I am not sorry.
I can’t be. Not after what she allowed to happen to me.
Secondly, because I know her. Far too well.
“I was young,” Julia confesses.
I meet her gaze.
“I was scared,” she says, “as much for you as for me. But there wasn’t enough courage in me to tell the police the truth. I made up a story about being kidnapped that kept my parents off my back, and I told it over and over until I almost believed it myself.”
“Like you said before,” I allow, “I can’t just let that go and pretend it never happened. But what I can say now—looking back—is that what you did or didn’t do might not have mattered. No one could prove where Casey had taken me. Chances are he never went back to that house in Norwalk.”
“He did. I know he did. I went back looking for him. The place was cleared out.”
At least she went back. Except she was looking for him, not me. “We also know now that Duval wasn’t his real name. The police were never going to find him, even if you had come forward.”
I remind myself that this is necessary since I need her to feel uncertain about her intentions . . . about me.
Julia shakes her head. “I truly am sorry, Wendy. About what happened. I had no idea he was capable of doing what he did to you. I would never have walked away and left you there with him if I had known.”
I refuse to respond for fear I will say more than I need to at this point. Because no matter how much I would love her words to be true, they are not. “So what was the plan in all this?” I ask. They obviously had one. Both said as much.
She frowns as if she doesn’t know what I mean.
“What did you have in mind for me? I mean, how did you expect to get this past my daughter and husband?”
“Oh.”
Yeah, oh.
“I intended to tell him the truth. He’s running for public office. I’m certain he would want to work something out—quickly and quietly.”
“You could have just had me killed the way they did Eleanor,” I point out.
She stares at me for a long moment. “I didn’t come here for that. As I explained, what happened with Eleanor was not a part of this. It was an accident. The others who died by my hand . . .” She looks away a moment. “I had no choice . . .”
On that score we agree.
“What you did was not murder. It was survival,” I tell her. “What I did was not murder. It was justice.”
There are situations that sometimes force us to do the unthinkable.
As for the rest of her story, nothing but lies. Absolute lies.