You Can't Hide

by Theresa Sneed

  A curious look spreading over his face. “Yes?”

  Elle turned to the minister. “Please do not say, ‘until death do we part’.”

  The minister’s eyebrows rose. “No?”

  “No,” she said, in a whisper. “We’ve already done until death do we part.” She managed a faint grin. “I want him forever.”

  Eighteen

  Proof

  A week had passed since Ricky had sent the death photo to Merrick. The phone rang. No one ever called him. No one had his number, except for Merrick. “Hello?”

  “The picture is good.”

  A sigh of relief his throat. “Then, I’m done?” He had spoken too soon, sounded too anxious. He could almost see the veins in Merrick’s neck pop and his eyes blaring red.

  “Find out what her brother knows,” Merrick barked.

  “Yes, of course.” Ricky hung the phone up. Leaning against the side of the phone booth, he grimaced. He’d been a fool to speak to Merrick like that. It’d taken years of pretending, to dupe the old man into thinking he revered him. He did not.

  But, he did fear him.

  He’d seen what he’d done to his mother—the thought of her bruised face made him cringe. Merrick had destroyed her in degrees, until he made her certifiably insane. Last he’d heard, she was weaving baskets in Lakeshore Mental.

  He tried to go see her once, but she lunged at him and tore her fingernails into his flesh. Not really the best memory of his mother and enough for him to stay away. All these years later, he had no desire to see her again. She wouldn’t know him anyhow.

  With reluctance, Ricky turned his attention to Edward McKechnie, the very large man he had met at the church. Unfortunately, the man had seen and spoken to him, and hadn’t been too pleased that he was at his sister’s viewing. There was no way of getting past it. Either he’d have to come up with some story to appease Merrick, or some proof of the kid’s whereabouts.

  He watched from afar. But all he found was a man and his wife in great sorrow. If Edward knew anything, it would be a surprise. It seemed that whatever Nancy knew, went with her to the grave. He’d have to let some time pass first, return to his home, and think of another way to find what, if anything, Edward knew.

  A few weeks later, Ricky pulled back up to the hotel in Scranton, PA. He hoped it wouldn’t take long to find the proof he needed—proof that would finally get Merrick off his back.

  It was a small town and people liked to talk. He started at the church and asked questions.

  Before long, he had answers. Edward McKechnie was a carpenter who lived with his wife on Salisbury St. A month ago, his mother had passed on just days before his sister. Poor man, he thought, but then grimaced. At least the man had had someone he’d called mother and sister.

  His wife’s name was Gertie McKechnie, and she worked at the diner by Kmart. It was a good place to start.

  Inside the small café, Ricky sat on a stool at the counter. Some things are just too easy, he thought, as he read the nametag on each of the employees. Gertie was at the cash register.

  “Morning, Gert,” a customer said. “How are you today?”

  “Oh, to be expected, Pam,” Gertie replied. “It’s still quite a shock, y’know.”

  “Heavens, yes,” Pam said, her eyes wide. “That happened to my husband’s cousin, too. First her mother and then her sister. Gone. Just like that.” She waved her pudgy arms in the air like a magician performing a disappearing act. Gertie gave her a look, and she stopped. “Oh, sorry.”

  Gertie’s eyes lowered. “Y’know that theory you had about the whole thing?”

  Pam squinted her eyes. “Uh-huh.” She waited for Gertie to go on, but when she didn’t, she gasped. “Really? You mean it?”

  Gertie bobbed her head up and down.” “Uh-huh,” she blubbered, her eyes twinkling.

  “No way.”

  “Shh.” She waved Pam down and gave her customers a quick glance, but no one seemed to be paying attention. Ricky dropped his eyes to the newspaper he’d opened.

  Pam’s voice lowered. “Seriously?” She leaned in. “Well, where is she?”

  Gertie grinned. “Oh, I can’t tell you, that, but, I do know.”

  Pam’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If I was you, I’d be a heading out to see her.”

  Gertie’s fist tightened on the cloth she was wiping the counter with. “Don’tcha think I’ve told him that?” She was silent. “Anyhow, he locked the pictures up, all except one. He keeps it in his wallet.”

  Pam drew her head back. “He has pictures?”

  Gertie laughed. “Yes.”

  Ricky knew exactly what he had to do. He’d been trained to pick pockets by a master of deception, but how to get close to Edward, was another thing.

  He lay awake in his hotel bed. In the back of his mind, he hoped they’d survived the fire, but he doubted it. But, it made sense that if Sally survived, Edward would have a picture of her—anyone else in the photo was a bonus.

  The next morning found him out of the hotel early. The best thing way to get close enough to pick Edward’s pocket, was to go straight to him. He wondered if he’d remember him. After asking around, he went to the job site where Edward worked. Keeping his distance, he studied the man.

  A man’s voiced shouted. “Hey, you! Are you the new hire?”

  Ricky nodded.

  “Put this on and help me with that board.” The man tossed him a hardhat.

  The rest was all too easy, though unplanned. Ricky hefted the heavy board on his shoulder and followed the man partway up a ladder. The board slipped from his grasp and the end clanked against the ground. Edward ran over to help. He pressed close to Ricky and helped to heft the board up the ladder. While that was happening, Ricky faked a fall, his hand grazing Edward’s pocket, where he’d seen the outline of a wallet.

  Minutes later, he was flipping through it inside the construction porta potty. He nearly dropped the wallet when he saw the picture.

  The sweet, little girl stood next to a very much alive Elle, and they both stood in front of what looked like a fairy castle. He removed a camera from his pocket, snapped a few shots of it, and then put it back in the wallet. He laid it on the porta potty floor, next to the door. Soon, he was back in his car and heading out of town.

  He had his proof, but now was unsure of what to do with it. Back home, he developed the film. The castle was an enigma to him, though he knew it had to be in Europe somewhere.

  He picked up the phone.

  “Yes. What’s taken you so long?” Merrick growled, obviously irritated.

  Ricky leaned against the door trim. He stared down at the innocent girl—his uncle’s child, his birth cousin—the only good family he had. His voice quivered, and he cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, I broke into his house. Didn’t find a single thing. Whatever Nancy knew, went with her to the grave.” He held the phone away from his ear, while Merrick cursed.

  Merrick’s voice dropped low. “Don’t think we’re done, kid.”

  Kid, thought Ricky. “I don’t.” Truthfully. Whatever he did find would remain his secret. Merrick had ways of finding out things without Ricky, and whoever was still out there could do the same investigating he’d done. He’d have to find Elle first and warn her. It would be the most right thing he’d ever done. Save Elle and save his little cousin.

  In the years that passed, Ricky, now called, Rick, heard very little from Merrick. Bewildered, but relieved, he left well enough alone. He’d had not been able to locate the castle, so it remained a mystery, a hidden place he was determined to find.

  Nineteen

  1986

  Elle twisted the ring around her finger, mesmerized by the sheets of rain pelting against the windowpane. An occasional flash of lightning filled the sky, and she glanced down at the letter in her hand.

  She had read it so many times, she knew it by heart. This is to inform you that Merrick Snyder will receive death by lethal injection on . . . A flurry of emotions overwhelm
ed her. This was the moment they’d all been waiting for, especially Nancy. She looked over at another letter laying on the table addressed to Nancy O’Brien.

  They’d taken on new surnames to protect their identities, but kept their first names intact. Sam’s new last name was Hadlock and with their wedding a few years back, it was now hers, too. Karen and Todd chose the surname Brennan. They’d given birth to two children, a girl, now three-years-old, and a baby boy, just six-months-old.

  Elle and Sam tried to have children, but so far, had not. She’d had two miscarriages, and for the time being, settled into watching Sally grow, along with Karen’s little ones.

  A loud crash of lightning and a series of brilliant flashes lit the room. Elle jumped up from the window seat and went to the table. She picked up Nancy’s letter and turned it over in her hands, wondering how she would react from the news. Merrick had dealt her a blow worse than Elle’s—he’d murdered her husband, and as his twin, had assumed his identity.

  She shuddered, anguish burning in the pit of her stomach. “Gah.” She was glad of that wicked man’s impending doom, and only wished she could see it happen. Morbid, she thought, berating herself. She had no intention of going to the execution, Years had passed since the fire, and life was as calm as a clear, blue lake, on a summer day.

  The FBI had given Sam all the teaching credentials he had earned in Maine, under his new alias, Professor Hadlock, and Sam had been teaching at university since then. Elle and Nancy took a few creative writing classes at university together, while Sally attended the neighborhood schools.

  At thirteen, Sally had grown into a brilliantly smart, young teenager. Just like her two mothers, she had an aptitude for writing, which she intended to pursue in her later years. Her resemblance to her birthmother was astounding. Except for the color of her hair, she matched her mother in every aspect. The odd thing was how much she actually resembled Elle, too.

  The rhythmic beating of the rain and stillness of the quiet house brought a rush of emotions to Elle’s heart. She opened the writing desk and took out the manuscript. Over the past few years, she had written and rewritten the experiences deeply etched in the recesses of her mind. Revisiting the torment and fear was an arduous task, but getting it written down on paper, and out of her head, had brought her great relief.

  The door opened and Nancy came in, wet umbrella in hand. She shook it out and placed it in the umbrella stand. “Hi, Elle.” She looked around the dark room. “Are you okay?” She glanced at the manuscript in Elle’s hands. “Oh.” With a deep sigh, she wrapped her arms around Elle’s shoulders.

  Elle returned the warm embrace. “Yes, I’m okay.” She looked up into her eyes. “It’s finished, Nancy.”

  Nancy’s eyes widened. “Your book?”

  Elle pursed her lips and nodded.

  “That’s great!” She tilted her head. “When can I read it?”

  Elle bit her lower lip. She wasn’t sure she’d ever intended for someone to read her book. But that was silly, wasn’t it?

  Nancy’s voice was soft. “I’m in it, right?”

  “Yes, but I changed all of our names.”

  “I figured as much,” Nancy said, “but, maybe you shouldn’t. I mean, it is our story.” She frowned. “You do what you want, but, I, for one, am okay with you telling my story with my real name.”

  Elle shuddered. “Can we wait until he’s actually gone?”

  Nancy’s face turned somber. “Yes, of course we can, but Elle, he is no harm to us now.”

  She wished that she could believe that, but the fire at the cabin and Sally’s abduction had happened while Merrick was behind prison walls, and they never did find his accomplice. “Oh, wait.” She hurried to the table and picked up the letter addressed to Nancy. “This came today.”

  Nancy took the letter. “Oh, my.” She sat by the window, as long streaks of thin lightning tore through the sky. She sobbed, as her eyes followed the words. Forcing a smile, she waved the letter at Elle. “You see? It’s just as I said. He is of no harm to us now.”

  His lethal injection was set for next spring, six months away. Until then, they would stay as sequestered as ever, living the lie that his acts of terror had forced them to live.

  Elle glanced down at the manuscript. “Perhaps, after he’s gone, I’ll change the names back,” she whispered, “once, he’s gone.” How could he have such a hold on her from inside prison walls? He was still tormenting her from thousands of miles away. “No,” she said with newfound courage. “I will change them back now.”

  Nancy placed her small hand on Elle’s arm. “Good for you, Elle. Good for you.” She gave a faraway gaze, as if deep in thought.

  She had grown stronger and healthier with each passing month. Elle guessed that being with Sally had been the best medicine for her. But though her body appeared healed and healthy, Elle worried about her mind. Years of imprisonment in an underground cave had seemed to bring about the nighttime anguish and horrid dreams that Nancy had said still haunted her.

  Elle had been somewhat more fortunate than Nancy in her abduction. She nearly gagged on that statement. Merrick had at least kept her above ground, after a period of time. And she had had the lifesaving company of little Sally to keep her mind clear and uncluttered. Merrick had tormented Nancy in unfathomable ways. She had believed that her infant baby was buried in the cave. A grave, she had to see every day for five horrific years.

  Nancy waved to her to sit. “I need your advice.”

  Elle took a seat next to her. “Okay.” Nancy seemed so serious, like she was about to reveal some awful secret. Cut it out, Elle. She really was becoming quite the author with all kinds of scenarios surfacing in her mind. “What’s up?”

  “Well,” she said, taking Elle’s hand, “I’d like to go to the states for a few weeks.”

  Elle’s eyes popped open. “What?” They had explicit instructions to stay away from the states.

  Nancy sighed. “I’m not well, Elle.”

  Elle jumped up. “What?” She grabbed her hands. “Are you sick?”

  Nancy gently pulled her back down. “No, it’s not like that—it’s not anything that you can, um, see.”

  Elle thought she knew what Nancy was talking about, but waited for her to continue.

  “It’s my mind, Elle.” Nancy looked away. “I’m afraid of everything and jump at every sound. I just need to get away for a bit.” She stared out the window as lighting filled the sky. “My therapist told me about this place just for women—everything about it is done by women, even the security, it seems.”

  Elle patted her arm. “Okay, but surely, there must be something like that here. Why the states?”

  Nancy stood and walked to the window where the storm had receded into a heavy rain. “I’ve thought about this for a long time. I mean, I’ll miss Sally like crazy.” She wrung her hands. “But, I feel like I need to do this for my sanity.” She looked at her with worried eyes. “I need help, Elle.”

  Elle leaned forward. “Okay, but why in the states?”

  Nancy circled the room once. “The place is for abused women—a sanctuary of sorts. It’s private and secluded. I read up on it, and I think it would be the perfect place to go—just for a few weeks.”

  Elle sat back. “After the execution?”

  Nancy looked away. “No.”

  Elle’s eyes widened. “Now?”

  Nancy sighed. “Yes, and then perhaps, I can travel back there again, when Merrick receives the injection.” Her voice wavered. “I’ll need to be there, when that happens.”

  Elle wrapped her arms around Nancy. “I understand. Okay, we’ll set it up then.”

  In the days that passed, Elle worked hard revising and editing her book. The creative writing classes had helped, but she knew there was a meridian of mistakes that needed fixing. It took weeks to change all of the fictitious names back to their real names, and she feared that the most. Even with Merrick’s approaching execution, she worried what her revelations
might stir.

  After all, whoever had caused the fire at the cabin, if it hadn’t been Marvin, was still out there. Something troubled her about the fire—some memory that wouldn’t surface. She shrugged. It probably wasn’t anything. Marvin had simply perished in the fire and paid the price for his own treachery.

  Nancy packed her things in the early part of the morning, even though her flight wasn’t until the evening. It was obvious to Elle that leaving Sally, even for a few weeks, was hard. “Hey, Sweet Pea,” Nancy said, pulling her close. “I’ll write you every day. I promise.”

  Sally returned her embrace. “Okay, Mother.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I have something for you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a wrapped package.

  Nancy unwrapped it. It was a picture of them in front of the castle. “Oh, I love it.” She pulled it to her chest. “Love, love, love it!”

  Sally exchanged a thumbs up with Elle. “I sort of guessed you would.”

  Nancy grinned. “Oh, you two. What would I do without you?” Her smile faded, and she shook her head.

  Elle knew why—Nancy had already experienced that exact loss.

  Nancy sighed. “Silly me. “It’s just for a few weeks.”

  On the plane to the states, Nancy searched her carryon bag for the book she had brought. “What’s this?” In tears, she brought Elle’s manuscript to her chest, knowing how hard it must have been for Elle to part with it. A note was taped to the front.

  I thought you’d want to read this while you’re gone. Feel free to add side notes, like we did in our writing class. I struggled with letting it go, but I figured this is your story as much as it is mine. Love ya, Elle

  The thin, handwritten manuscript had a title neatly written on the cover page, Escape. Underneath the title there was a subtitle, My Life, My Mess by Eleanor Elizabeth Heard. She thought it curious that Elle hadn’t used her married name, Hadlock, but maybe it was just as well. Neither one of them were ready to reveal their new surnames.