“Mars attacks!” she answers the question.
Oliver makes a face. He doesn’t particularly like movies that depict little green aliens with gigantic brains who come to destroy the world with their warships and body-disintegrating pistols. His attention turns to the screen. It shows a scene of the arrival of the Martians. “I don’t know if I should be laughing. Should I be laughing?”
Sarah chuckles. “It helps if you have a sense of humor.”
The Martian ambassador fires his cosmic gun at a dove some hippie lets loose, zapping it in mid-air. “Oh yeah, I see it now. It’s hysterical beyond belief.”
“Check out Jack Nicholson as President of the United States. Things could not get any more hilarious.”
“What’s his deal?”
“He wants to be popular and keep the people happy, but the Martians are out to kill everyone. I love the scene where they blow up Congress.”
“How dare they destroy our national landmarks!”
She giggles, a girly smile that lights up her entire face.
Oliver speaks up, in a way that doesn’t disrupt the peaceful atmosphere. “Hey, so, you want to tell me what happened back there?” He tilts his head toward her, coaxing her openness. He watches her hands tremble. “Why did you defend John against those reporters?”
Sarah replies after a moment’s silence. “I didn’t like what they were saying about him.”
“What is there to like? He’s not a good person.”
“You don’t really know him.”
“And you do?”
“Yes, and he knows me.”
“I don’t understand why you would take his side. He hurt you. He hurt your sister.”
She shakes her head dejectedly. “Just leave it be. It’s too complicated.”
“You know the saying, ‘if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it?’ Well, I disagree. I’m not a conformist. I don’t leave anything be.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t think I’m going to stay here very long anyway.” She looks at him with sad, guilt-ridden eyes. “I don’t belong here. Why should I stick around?”
“Why do you say that?”
She looks up at the ceiling, transfixed by something in the corner.
Oliver follows her line of sight, wonders what she’s looking at. “Sarah?”
“What?”
“Why did you say you don’t belong here?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
She shakes her head. He can’t possibly understand. “What’s the point, Oliver? I don’t want to burden anyone with my problems. I’m too much. I’m a lot to handle.”
“Sarah, give this some thought.” He touches her hand as he speaks. “We all make mistakes and do things we regret. I know it better than anyone. But this is your house. Your family. There is a place for you here.”
Her heart falters. She registers the warmth of his hand on hers. She doesn’t relax into the tickly feeling that comes with it, but she also doesn’t want him to let go. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that just because it’s family, doesn’t mean they won’t hurt you.”
Oliver leans forward on the bed, his mind spinning. Sarah breathes again. He looks over his shoulder and says, “Does Sophie know?”
“No, I haven’t talked to her.”
“Well, where does she come into all this?”
“I’ll just be happy if she doesn’t hate me.”
He sits back again, rests his head on the wall. “She doesn’t hate you. She’s going through a rough time. That doesn’t mean you have to pack up your things and leave. She wouldn’t like it if you took off.”
“What about you?”
The question takes him off guard, even though his mind is sharp, always processing the world around him with abnormal velocity.
“I wouldn’t like it either.”
They fall silent for a little while, the TV bustling in the background with the Martians killing everyone in sight. “Do you think aliens exist?” she muses.
He looks at her, then at the TV, then back to her. “Statistically likely,” he replies, unsure of the abrupt change of subject. “Considering we are only one planet in the tens of billions of solar systems in our small Milky Way galaxy, and from there onward, clusters of other galaxies in the observable Universe, it is extremely probable that life exists elsewhere. Maybe not intelligent life, per se, but life nonetheless.”
Sarah smiles. “So you’re a nerd?”
“I have a certain proclivity for science and the universe.”
“Thank God, you have a brain. You have to be pretty thick in the head, almost stupid, to not believe life exists beyond our planet.”
Oliver is surprised she’s sharing this much with him, that she’s even speaking at all. He thinks it’s because the door is closed. Because there’s no one else around. Because he’s giving her his absolute attention.
“What you said about mistakes…did you do something wrong?”
“I’ve done many wrong things, Sarah.”
She looks at him, serious. “Oliver, can I trust you?” she whispers in a voice as fragile as she seems.
“It depends on what you want to trust me with. Why are you whispering?”
She likes his answer. It’s honest. Most people lie without thinking about it, then screw you over. She leans closer to him and whispers, “Because I don’t want them to hear.”
“Them? Who’s them?”
“The people who implanted voices inside my head.”
The door opens and Sophie emerges. She takes a long, disapproving look at Oliver and Sarah sitting on the bed. She seems as though it’s killing her not to shout.
“Hey,” she says simply.
“Hey,” replies Sarah.
“Aunt Peg said I would find you here.”
“You found me.”
Oliver has his IQ in the stratosphere, but he cannot understand what just unfolded. He stands to his feet from the bed. Before heading out, he tells Sophie he’ll be downstairs if she needs him. She softly looks up at him and grabs his hand just because he’s there, just because he’s her anchor.
Sophie sighs, then walks toward the bed and sits next to Sarah.
“Are you mad at me?” Sarah probes, her voice unsteady and small.
“No, I’m not mad at you.”
“You look mad.”
“Why did you do that, Sarah? Why did you tell reporters to leave John alone? You know that really messed things up. You’re not supposed to defend a murderer.”
Sarah chuckles one forced, dry chuckle. “I don’t need you to make me feel bad. I do that myself, thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t do what I was supposed to do.” Her biting sarcasm does nothing to improve Sophie’s displeasure.
“Yeah, sorry isn’t going to do it for me. I need an explanation.”
“It’s got nothing to do with you. Just things I’m still resolving.”
“Are you insane? It has everything to do with me,” Sophie bristles.
The word insane makes Sarah’s face harden noticeably. “Right, well,” she scoffs, “whatever. You don’t know the whole story. Obviously, you are clueless,” she says, her own temper suddenly rising. “You don’t even pretend to care. This is all about you. Everything is always about you, and if things don’t go your way, you lash out.”
“I lash out?” Pure exasperation floods out, soaking her mind with corrosive pangs. “That is absolutely ridiculous.”
“Everything is you, you, you.”
“Sarah, I’m trying to—”
“No, no you’re not!”
“You didn’t let me finish!”
“Because you only want to find a way to gain an upper hand against me. You’re one of them, aren’t you? Who put you up to this? Did they get to you?”
“What are you talking about? I’m not—”
“I won’t let you in my head, Sophie. I won’t let you! You’re just trying to twist things for your own convenience.”
“For God’s sake, Sarah, will you let me speak? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m trying to make this right for the both of us. The media will destroy you if you let them. They’re either for you or against you. We don’t want them playing court or taking sides. Not his side. Not Bridge’s side. I’m trying to clear both our names and not lose my sanity throughout the process. And it’s hard, very hard.”
“I’m sorry, it’s hard? It’s hard for you?” She chuckles again, her expression full of contempt. “There you go again. You’re so full of it. Just like they told me.”
“Who the hell is ‘they’?”
“I can’t believe how selfish you are, going on about how hard this is for you.” Her chest heaves deep, uncontrolled breaths. Sarah stares at her, wanting to slap her across the wall. “Just get out. Leave me alone.”
“I guess you should’ve thought about that before you decided to plot my kidnapping with your psycho lover.”
T E N
* * *
The Truth Shall Make You Worry
“WHAT HAPPENED?” AUNT Peg puts a pink crayon down and gazes straight at Sophie, then exclaims, “Where did Sarah go? Why did she storm off like that?”
Sophie comes around the dining table where Oliver is helping Lily with her math homework and Aunt Peg is coloring with Gracie.
“I don’t know, Aunt Peg. For effect, I guess,” she answers. “She runs away all the time.”
“Sophie, what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything! Why do you always think I did something?”
“Okay, what happened?”
“Nothing. I said a lot of things. She said a lot of things.”
“This is not good. Sarah has been very nervous and touchy lately, and something else is going on. I don’t know what. I still don’t know Sarah well enough, but surely I’m not going to figure it out with her gone.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” Sophie asks irritably. “Was I supposed to read her mind?”
Oliver pulls away from the girls and rises from the table. “Ladies.” His rasping voice echoes. “Come on now, don’t do this in front of the kids.” He looks to where the girls are disturbed by seeing them squabble with one another.
Aunt Peg exhales, and goes to stroke their blonde heads. “I’m sorry. We’re just having a stressful day is all. Will you please go to your room?”
“What do you think is going on with Sarah?” Sophie asks after the girls leave.
“Something,” answers Aunt Peg. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”
She huffs. “That’s not very convincing.”
“I made a discovery today,” Oliver says in a low voice, enticing their worry and curiosity.
Both women turn to look at him.
“Sarah is unstable.”
“If by unstable you mean crazy, then yes,” Sophie says. “She stalked me, sent me disturbing messages, planted a doll in my room, and lured me from my apartment and right into Bridges’s sinister trap.”
“She’s mentally ill, Sophie.”
“As in…?”
“As in diagnosed by her psychiatrist, John Henry Bridges.”
Aunt Peg covers her mouth at the revelation.
“How did you come up with that?”
“The question, Sophie, is how did I not come up with it sooner? When you went missing, I spent every single day leading up to your rescue, reading everything the police have on Bridges; every major contribution, every publication, every job he’s taken. I’m talking years’ worth of content.”
“But that was more than a month ago,” Aunt Peg says.
“He has a good memory,” Sophie tells her, at the sight of her overwhelmed countenance. “It’s his thing. He doesn’t forget.”
“In 2009, he started psychosocial treatments and received recognition for his work with difficult patients. In 2010, he instituted the Second Chance Program for older youth offenders and partnered with community agencies to provide Pro Bono counseling at mental hospitals. In 2011, he installed the program at Thomas Sykora Hospital, where most patients are from the criminal justice system.”
“Hold that thought.” Sophie points her finger in the air. “How do you know Sarah was a patient there?”
“Excellent question,” he replies. “Thomas Sykora is the only psychiatric hospital in the New Jersey vicinity where Bridges has worked helping troubled delinquents. Sarah said she met Bridges at a discipline program in Jersey. She also very uniquely mentioned she was given a second chance. What she failed to mention was that Bridges ran the program. It’s a tiny detail, only relevant if you are a person of detail such as myself. The rest is connecting the dots. Remember fractions? Elementary math: find a common denominator and you can solve the problem. Margaret, that pill you took from Sarah’s drawer? I looked it up just now. It’s a prescribed antipsychotic. She must keep them in an organizer to monitor her dosages.”
Aunt Peg is unable to conjure this reality because it seems unbelievable.
Sophie is white as chalk. “What kind of drug is it? What is it used to treat?” she asks, with her heart in her mouth, trying to remember every word Bridges said to her. It’s all part of a plan, he said over and over again almost religiously. It will all make sense in the end.
“Schizophrenia.”
Aunt Peg closes her eyes. “Oh, God, help us.”
“What about Billy?” Sophie asks. “He’s in on it. He must know something. We have to ask him.”
Oliver answers, “He went off the grid after I offered him a deal.”
“A deal? What deal?”
“Immunity in exchange for cooperation. You know he’s the reason I found you.”
“He’s not going to jail?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“If what you’re saying is true, why don’t the police know about Sarah’s condition? Why doesn’t anyone know about it? The story has been all over the news for weeks. There’s nothing in the papers. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“I don’t know, Sophie. I have questions too. Unfortunately, her psychiatrist can’t give us answers.”
“I’ll go talk to him,” she blurts out.
Aunt Peg shrieks. “Talk to Bridges? Are you out of your mind? No, no way. Absolutely not.”
“Yeah, I’m going to second that.” Oliver folds his arms. “Over my dead body. We don’t even know where he is.”
“We need answers. And we need them fast.”
“Agreed. But we have bigger problems. We need a plan,” Oliver puts forward. “He pled not guilty. He wants a trial. My guess is, he knows one of the lead witnesses in the case will be deemed mentally unfit, and therefore won’t be competent to testify.”
Sophie stares blankly at him, absorbing it all. “What about me?”
“You can only testify to the elements of the crime you witnessed.”
Her shoulders slump. “Not the murders.”
“That’s right.”
“But Bridges told me. He said he killed many women. He sat right in front of me and laughed and prophesized about life and death. Johanna. That’s the last girl he killed. He mentioned her. Said he almost didn’t kill her because she was no fun. And that’s what he likes, resistance.”
“Does Johanna have a last name?”
“He said she was tall like me. Blonde, too. I know, I know, it’s no use. Goddamn it, we have nothing!”
“In any case, I’m not sure your testimony will hold up in court.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Who do you think influences a jury in a high-profile case?”
“I’ve seen Nancy Grace at work. The media.”
“Precisely. As we speak, people are developing biases about the case. You lost public trust today at the press conference. Whose side do you think the people will take: a renowned psychiatrist with no record, or a celebrity with a sketchy story? Who do you see as Goliath here? Or David?”
“I’m going to take a guess and say I’m t
heir biggest cash cow right now.”
“Not anymore. You know five tornadoes hit Oklahoma this week?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Bridges. John Henry Bridges has everything to do with anything. His story is so profitable it’s knocking news out of the lead position.”
“Why? He’s a buffoon!”
“Women love him. He’s all hype and spin. He’s charming, well spoken, polite, and appears so decent.”
“And I’m not any of those things. Yes, I understand.”
“I’m saying don’t underestimate him.”
“I don’t underestimate him at all, Oliver. He’s a master of deception, so I estimate him to be a scumbag. Look, I know the media feeds off human misery. Ergo, the papers love me. I know how marketing works. But falling out of favor with the press is not number one on my list of things to worry about right now.”
“Sophie, the media only builds you up to knock you down. And when you’ve fallen, who will help you up again? Bridges has an army of female fans. He’s a national obsession. Oprah has the African-American community. Jennifer Lopez has her Latino base. Who is going to have your back? It can’t be me. It can’t be any of us. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Victims.” It pains her to admit it. “I have to reach out to victims.”
“Now you’re thinking like a businesswoman.”
“I don’t even know what to do.”
“And now you’re thinking like a politician.”
“Well, this…this is just…great. Things gets worse and worse by the second. Next thing I know, I’m shaking hands and kissing babies.”
“Pre-trial publicity has started, Sophie. It’s a real threat.”
“Can’t the court do something about that?”
“First amendment: Right to freedom of the press.”
“What about moving the trial to a location not touched by this media blitz?”
“Like where? Mars?”
Aunt Peg sniffs delicately, swallowing down a sob. “I’m…I’m sorry, this is…this is all very hard to take in. What do we do now?”
“We calm down,” Sophie says, in good sense. “Please don’t worry, Aunt Peg. I’m sorry you have to be in the middle of this. I’ll talk to Sarah. See if I can get anything out of her.”
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