4. Margo
Chapter 4
Margo
Past
T he room was cold. The surface of the table in front of me was sticky. Spilled milk maybe, or coffee that hadn’t been wiped away.
I avoided putting my arms on the table, keeping them crossed over my chest instead. The entire house smelled like spoiled food. It was rotten, and the scent seemed to have climbed into my nostrils and dug in.
Even when I went outside, I still smelled it.
“Some lady is here for you.” The foster mom swept into the kitchen like she was the queen of the castle and she didn’t notice it was rotting. “Not sure why anyone would want to visit with you. Did you even brush your hair this morning?”
My hair was often a wild tangle, even after brushing. I was fourteen, not four. Basic hygiene had been part of my routine for a while, without any oversight from previous foster parents.
I left my cereal— maybe that was the spoiled smell? —and went to the front door. If it was my social worker, Ms. McCaw, the foster mom would’ve said. She probably would’ve seemed more anxious, too, seeing as how the state of the place was not great.
But because she didn’t, I was left with a mild curiosity about who awaited me.
I yanked the door open.
Houses like this always had porches. Big wraparound ones that made everyone else in the neighborhood jealous, but it was the inside that was bleak. Pretty outside, sick inside.
My mother stood on this one, within reaching distance. Only a screen separated us.
Shock filtered through me. Her brown eyes, much like mine, bore into me. She fidgeted. There were spots on her neck, bruises. A scrape across her cheek.
My heart kicked against my ribs.
She hated me, but she checked up on me.
It was our little secret.
I pushed past the screen door and took a few steps out onto the porch. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, fighting an immediate shiver. Winter was sliding into spring, and more often than not the days were warm. But at this time of the morning, before school, the air still had a bite to it.
Her attention went from my face to the thrift store clothes, then down to my boots. They were falling apart. The laces broke the other day, and I had to duct tape them back together so I could keep wearing them.
Boots were more practical in everyday life than soft-topped sneakers. You could run in boots. Kick shit in them. Stomp on your enemies in them. Never mind that my classmates laughed at me for them. They always pointed and whispered about my clothing, my hair, my boots. The worn, hand-me-down backpack, the short pencil I meticulously sharpened to make sure it lasted.
I cleared my throat and waited for her to speak.
Her gaze snapped up. “I heard you moved.”
“Shithole house.” I slipped past her. Down the stairs, all the way to the sidewalk. It wasn’t often I got to take a deep breath of clean air, but sure enough, that rotten stench was still there. Ruining it once again. “The foster mom’s a bitch. Her husband is even worse.”
He leered.
They had sex in the middle of the night when they thought we were asleep. The box spring squealed loudly, never failing to jar us awake. She never made a noise, but he did. Grunts that filled our ears. The smallest girl would climb into bed with me, burying her head in my chest under the covers.
At my age, I knew about sex—but I didn’t want to think about it. And I definitely didn’t want to hear it almost every night.
Mom followed. “Karma’s a bitch, too.”
I snorted. “Gee, thanks.”
“They giving you an allowance?”
Part of me still wanted to be loved by my mother, and I would do anything to get her to stay. If I gave her money—like I had in the past—she would come back.
It wasn’t guesswork.
She would run out of money again, and then she’d show up wherever I was. Even if it was only for a few minutes.
But right now, I had nothing.
“Can you tell me about your adventures?” I stall. “Where you’ve been, or…”
“I’ve been dealing with a loss,” she told me. She kept tapping her finger against her arm. Crossed and uncrossed them. Shifted her weight. “And coping the only way I know how.”
I sighed. “What is it now?”
I knew it was drugs. Ms. McCaw and Lydia Asher had both told me, in very different ways, that my mother was giving up her parental rights. She’d been checked into a rehabilitation center only a few months after Dad was locked up, but that didn’t seem to solve anything.
They let her go when the state funding dried up, and as soon as she had something to barter, she was getting high.
I blamed Dad for her addiction. But while I hated him for what she’d become, I couldn’t give her the same level of loathing. Some little voice in the back of my head whispered that it wasn’t her fault.
I wondered who she’d lost. Dad, maybe?
“You could go see Dad,” I suggested. “If you’re feeling like he’s gone.”
She scowled.
It’d been four years. Maybe she saw him and didn’t want to tell me. She tended to be petty like that. Everything was my fault in her eyes, just like her addiction was Dad’s.
Simple… but sometimes I wondered how we got here.
“Margo, I need to go.” She inched closer. “You were right. I’ve been traveling a lot. I had a job in the city, but I was late because my car broke down, and they fired me…”
“What do you need?”
She turned away from me. I hated the sharp angles of her body. She used to be soft—someone worth hugging. Now, her bones threatened to slice through her skin every time she moved. There were pockmarks not only on her neck and face, but track marks in the crooks of her elbows. I saw them even when she tried to hide.
“If you can’t help me, I’ll leave.” She took three quick steps back, her shoes scraping on the concrete.
“I can find something.” I reached for her, but she was already out of range. “Please. I don’t have anything right now, but?—”
If I couldn’t make her stay, she wouldn’t come back.
“It can’t wait.” Mom shifted again, pulling at the hem of her shirt. Strands of dark hair slid from the clip on top of her head and caught in the wind. She finally turned around and walked away. She went down the sidewalk like she wasn’t fleeing from her daughter.
The pain started slow, but it grew the farther away she got. There wasn’t a kind word she could’ve said to staunch the flow. Not that she would’ve said it.
“Take care of yourself,” I whispered. She was out of earshot, so it didn’t even really matter. I’d only said it to make myself feel better.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
I hastily wiped it away and glanced back at the house. The new coat of paint, the manicured lawn. Nothing but the ivy burrowed in the stucco walls, gripping like its life depended on it, betrayed what was on the inside. Rotten hearts.
They wouldn’t notice if I went for a walk.
All my belongings were on my back anyway. Shirt, pants, shoes. I reached into my pocket and ran my finger across the threads of the blue-and-gold bracelet. I stopped wearing it some time ago, afraid it would fray and break. But I didn’t trust this house. It stayed in my pocket, safe and comforting.
Mom didn’t want me. The foster system certainly didn’t want me.
Caleb…
I exhaled, and my stomach cramped. I missed him, but he was so far away. There was no chance of his family taking me in. The angry look on his mom’s face, the way she told me, with no small amount of gleeful malice, that my mother wouldn’t be taking custody of me…
No one would take me.
Maybe I’d just keep walking until I found someone who did.
Present
Pain crashes through me. It goes straight to my head, and so do my hands.
Someone rushes in. Their warm fingers wrap around my wrists, pulling my arms down.
“Margo, Margo. Can you hear me? You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.”
Stars burst behind my eyelids, but I recognize Lenora’s voice. She eases me back, muttering about the lights. A second later, everything in my peripherals goes dim. I lower my fingers away from my eyes and blink.
It still hurts, but not nearly as bad.
Lenora hovers at the side of the bed. She strokes my hair, leaning in. “I was so worried, honey. Oh my God. You gave us a scare.”
A nurse comes in, followed quickly by a doctor. My foster mother’s expression is worried… and afraid. Why is she afraid?
“You have a concussion,” the doctor says. “Expect headaches, maybe memory fragments. And… there’s a detective outside who wants to speak with you.”
I just woke up.
I glance at Lenora, whose lips flatten into a straight line. “Do you think she’s in any state?—”
“No,” the doctor agrees. “We can put him off for a little while, but he knows you’re awake. Now, ma’am, let us check out your daughter.”
The nurse takes Lenora’s place. She checks my eyes, blood pressure, heart rate.
“You’re not going to tell me how I got here?” I ask her.
“The detective wanted to speak with you.” He gives Lenora a look. “You should be present, as her guardian.”
“Of course.”
I think back. It’s hard with the headache pulsing behind my eyes. I was at the prison visiting my father. He said some upsetting things… like how he was there because he murdered Caleb’s dad.
He said he didn’t do it .
There was the plea deal. I told him I went to see his lawyer, and that upset him.
When I got outside, I fell into Robert’s arms…
The collision of cars is suddenly all around me. Like I’m reliving it. I jerk. The weightless feeling of rolling, the crush of my seat belt across my chest…
“Where is Robert?” I grab for Lenora.
She slides her palm against mine, gripping tightly. “He’s in intensive care. His lung collapsed, and he has a few broken ribs, but he’s going to be okay.”
I bite my lip. The metallic taste of blood blooms across my tongue.
Someone pulled me out of the upside-down car. Away from the wreck. But instead of helping me, they were taking me away.
They knocked me out, and when I woke up…
Shit .
“Where’s Caleb?”
A man walks into the room as I’m asking. “He really fooled you, huh?”
Who the hell is this?
The doctor groans. “Really, Masters? You’re supposed to wait for Angela?—”
“I’m here,” Ms. McCaw comes in behind the detective. “Traffic. I was across town. Margo, how are you feeling?”
Overwhelmed, scared. Confused.
None of those seem satisfactory, though. Growing up in the system—and also being literally torn away from my father when he was arrested—I do not trust the police.
So this guy, who seems like he could easily strip out of the leather jacket and enter a caged MMA fight, who has a badge on his belt and a scowl painted on his rather scary face, flies to the top of my Do Not Trust list.
I school my features into some sort of stoicism. “I’m alive, so…”
“Detective Masters wants to chat with you about what happened,” Ms. McCaw explains. “I’m here to be your advocate.”
I haven’t seen her in a while.
The nurse and doctor file out with a warning to take it easy on me.
The detective drags a chair over to the side of my bed and makes himself comfortable.
He has piercing blue eyes and a smooth head. His leather jacket doesn’t scream detective , but it definitely fits his personality. Besides the badge at his hip, there’s a holstered gun on the other side of his body.
I don’t like guns.
He leans forward, staring like he could see straight through me. “As your social worker explained, I’m Detective Jim Masters. I’m just going to ask you some questions about yesterday.”
I shoot up. “ Yesterday? It’s been?—”
“About twelve hours since the accident,” he says. “Your abductor brought you in around eight-thirty last night.”
Making it eight-thirty in the morning. I glance toward the window, at the pale sunlight streaming in. But then the first part of his sentence registers. My abductor brought me in?
I frown. “Why would they do that?”
There were two of them . Talking. I cross my arms and pinch my skin where he can’t see. The localized pain centers me, although what they were talking about, even their voices, slips out of my mind.
He leans forward. “They? How many? Did you see anything that could identify them?”
“I…” I hesitate. “No. I didn’t see anything.”
My head freaking kills . At my request, they turn off the overhead lights, letting the picture window illuminate the room.
The detective stares at me in a way that tells me he thinks I’m lying. “A friend of Caleb’s?”
I freeze. “What?”
The detective waves his hand impatiently. “Come on, Margo. I know Caleb had something to do with it. So who was he working with?”
“Are you saying Caleb brought me to the hospital?” My mouth dries. I risk a glance at Lenora, who nods carefully.
Yes. Okay. Caleb brought me in—but he wasn’t the one who took me.
“He would never hurt me, Detective,” I say in a low voice.
Not quite the truth. He’s hurt me plenty the last few months.
But to this degree? Never .
Masters watches me. “Caleb Asher orchestrated the whole thing. He has motive and the arrogance to pull it off. You said you heard another voice. Was it one of his friends?”
No, no, no.
No matter what dark hole you go down, I will find you and bring you back . Isn’t that what he promised me?
He kept that promise. He found me.
I have to keep mine.
I glare at the arrogance of this man who thinks he has everything figured out. “It wasn’t him, Detective. I know him. I know his voice . The person who dragged me out of the car talked to me before he pressed a cloth to my face. I’d know Caleb’s voice anywhere—and it wasn’t him.”
He narrows his eyes.
I focus on Ms. McCaw. “Can you get a nurse? I have to use the restroom.”
She nods and ducks out. The detective and I lock into a staring contest until she and a nurse return.
The latter takes one look at me and faces Detective Masters. “I think she’s had enough for today.”
After a long moment, the detective nods and exits the room.
The nurse flips the blankets off my legs. She quickly disconnects the wires that monitor my heart, and the long cord attached to my IV port taped to the back of my hand. I swing my legs over and touch my socked feet to the cool tile, and she helps me stand.
“Slowly now.”
I’m as wobbly as a newborn deer. The room slants and spins. We pause, allowing me to close my eyes for a second.
“Head injuries do nasty things to our balance,” the nurse murmurs.
I heave a sigh. I really do need to pee—but I could also use a moment alone. Thankfully, the nurse agrees to my request for privacy. She tells me to ring the bell when I’m done and closes the door.
I hover by it, listening as hard as I can.
It’s quiet, and then, “He really carried her in here?” That from Ms. McCaw.
My heart picks up speed.
“Her arms and legs were still duct taped,” the nurse says. “Although the detective didn’t see how distraught he was.”
Caleb. My heart gives an extra kick.
I focus on my wrists. The skin is red and angry. There are little abrasions around where the tape must’ve pulled as they removed it.
I scratch at my wrist and groan at the slice of pain.
“You okay, Margo?” The nurse’s voice is jarringly loud through the door.
I sit on the toilet and reply, “Yep, almost done.”
When I’m finished, I scrub my hands under hot water until they match my wrists. Stinging and pink. I rip open the package on the sink counter—a toothbrush and little squeeze tube of toothpaste.
My mouth feels a thousand times better with a minty freshness.
Then, slowly, I cast a glance at myself in the mirror. I’ve avoided it until now, afraid of what I was going to find.
There’s a wound on my head that’s been bandaged—and presumably stitched underneath. Various scrapes across my face. A bruise on my temple, coming down onto my cheek, and the skin around my eyes is puffy. If I had more time, I’d do a more thorough examination. I imagine my ankles, hidden under the thick socks, are in the same sort of shape as my wrists. Unless they went over my pants…
I take a breath. My ribs don’t hurt as much as they did when Ian kicked me, but there’s still a deep ache. My hair is a wild mess. I finger-comb it as best as possible, but it really needs washing to tame it.
Enough stalling . I open the door and smile at the nurse.
“You’re supposed to ring the bell,” she admonishes.
“I’m already feeling better.”
She doesn’t have to help much on the way back, and soon enough, I’m tucked into bed, hooked up to the monitors and IV of fluids.
Detective Masters returns not long after. “Can you walk us through the day? Everything you remember.”
I heave a sigh. What I really want is to go back to sleep. But since Lenora hasn’t moved from her spot on the wall, and Ms. McCaw seems impatient for this to be over… I should just answer his questions.
As long as they’re not incriminating.
“I got home?—”
“Who dropped you off?”
“Caleb.”
“So he knew where you were going?”
I narrow my eyes. “Objection—leading the witness.”
He jerks, then laughs. “Okay, okay. Proceed, Ms. Wolfe.”
“Caleb dropped me off at my foster parents’ house, then left. Robert and I went to the prison soon after that. I visited with my dad for the first time in…” I shrug. Not relevant. “I visited with him. Once it was over, I left and got in the car with Robert. On our way home, we were hit by another vehicle.”
I try not to think about the crunch of metal. The car flipping. Or the way he hung upside down. He’s in the ICU while I’m being interrogated.
And what about Caleb? Did they arrest him? Masters already seems to think he did it, and since Caleb isn’t here…
Is he sitting in a jail cell?
“We went off the road,” I continue. “I hit my head, so everything is kind of blurry…”
“Just do the best you can,” Masters urges.
“Someone helped me out of the car.”
“Did they unbuckle you?”
I frown. “No… I think I did that. I released my seat belt so I could get to Robert. I was right-side-up, trying to reach him, when I was yanked out.”
I was dragged over glass. I flip my hands over. There are scratches and cuts from the glass on my palms. Probably elsewhere, too. Little pieces everywhere. I can smell the snow and smoke.
“The guy who had ahold of me kept apologizing. Saying it was going to be okay.” My fingernails are on my wrist again, scratching. “I believed them up until they put something over my face. It hurt to breathe.”
“The nurses took a blood sample,” Ms. McCaw tells me. “The hospital is running a full lab to figure out what happened.”
Searing pain flashes through my head. I cover my face with my hands and groan. My heart monitor shrieks.
A nurse rushes in, followed by the doctor who helped me.
“Out,” he orders the detective. “Thought we already told you she was done for the day, Masters.”
He puts the bed flat, his hand on my shoulder. “Margo, it’s okay. We’re going to give you oxygen to help you breathe. Okay?”
He lowers a clear mask over my nose and mouth.
I’m so sorry ?—
It’s too similar to what just happened to me. My head pounds. A ringing noise fills my ears. It takes a second to realize I’m the one screaming, pushing at the mask.
A sob breaks through me like a crashing wave.
Is it too much to ask for a little peace?
“I’m giving you something to help you sleep,” the doctor says.
Ice rushes into my vein through the IV. It spreads through my body, weighing it down.
Panic still crushes my chest, though. Just because I’m about to be dragged under doesn’t mean all my fear goes away. No, it’s being pulled down with me… right into my own personal nightmare.
My memories .