Out of Her Mind

by Ragan, T. R.

  “Did you have your camera with you? Take any pictures?”

  “No. Why would I have?”

  “Maybe you didn’t see any blood because that’s not what you were looking for.”

  She wondered if he could be right. The answer ricocheted back at her with a resounding no. She could see it in her mind’s eye. There had been no blood on the gardenia bush when she was here.

  A loud noise drew their attention to the tow truck being used to put Mark Brennan’s car onto a flatbed. Farther down the block, about twenty feet away, reporters and photographers were gathering. “Looks like Detective Perez has agreed to talk to the press,” she told Palmer.

  They walked that way.

  “When was Mark Brennan arrested?” a reporter asked Perez from the back of the crowd.

  Perez glanced at his watch. “About an hour ago.”

  The questions were shot like bullets, one after the other. “Has he confessed to killing Riley Addison?”

  “No,” Perez said.

  “When was the blood found?” asked a reporter from Channel 10 News.

  This time Perez referred to his notes. “Approximately 6:35 this morning.”

  “Has it been determined whose blood was found?”

  “Not at this time.”

  “But the man was arrested.”

  “Other evidence that I am unable to share was also found.”

  Sawyer wondered what else they might have found as she wriggled her way into the crowd and asked, “When police questioned Mark Brennan immediately after Riley Addison disappeared, did anyone notice blood at that time?”

  “Not at that time.”

  “How did you know to come take another look?” another reporter asked, exactly the question Sawyer wanted answered.

  “We got a call from an anonymous tipster,” Perez said before pointing at another reporter.

  Sawyer left the huddle to find Palmer again.

  He stroked his beard. “What are you thinking?”

  “That either Mark Brennan had Riley Addison hidden away until sometime between when I saw him yesterday and now, someone planted the blood to cause confusion and take the case in another direction, or Mark Brennan simply cut himself before or after leaving his house.”

  “Hmm.”

  Sawyer crossed her arms. “It’s your turn to say what you’re thinking.”

  “I worry that once you get an idea stuck in your head, you can’t shake it loose.”

  “You can rest easy,” she said. “Nothing is stuck in my head. I’m simply throwing out ideas and theories while remaining open-minded, just like you.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll play. Instead of focusing on one missing girl, you’ve decided to focus on six missing girls, including the one who escaped.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re hoping to find a connection.”

  “That would be great. But what I really want is to get people, everyday citizens, talking and thinking. Most cold cases are eventually solved because someone decides to talk.”

  “But Riley Addison’s case is not cold.”

  “Not yet.” She didn’t like the unsettling feeling creeping up on her. She knew what was bothering her. If Mark Brennan was guilty, then there was a good chance Riley Addison was dead.

  “And now,” Palmer said, continuing with a thought, “we have Riley’s blood—”

  “We don’t know whose blood it is,” she cautioned.

  “True.”

  “Perez said evidence other than the blood was also found. Do you know anything about that?”

  “No. That was a surprise.”

  “When I mentioned the blood possibly being planted,” Sawyer went on, “I was merely tossing out ideas. But since we’re theorizing . . . If the blood was purposely and conveniently placed in the exact location where Riley Addison was last seen, then my guess is that it was planted by whoever took Riley Addison.”

  “Why would anyone take such a risk when the authorities have no suspects?”

  “Because of the bones,” Sawyer said as the thought struck. “She wasn’t counting on anyone finding the bones.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  On the drive home from work, Bubbles switched the radio from her favorite station to the local news to see if there were any updates concerning Mark Brennan. After her walk late last night past Mark Brennan’s house, she’d tossed and turned until dawn. After showering and dressing and leaving Molly with food and water, she’d used a prepaid throwaway phone to make an anonymous call, letting the police know she’d seen blood on the gardenia bush outside the music teacher’s house as she was walking by.

  Focusing at work was becoming increasingly difficult. Her darling Molly was finally home, and she wanted to spend time with her. She had only a few sick days left, and she’d used most of her vacation time driving around searching for Molly.

  She was nearly home when the story she’d been waiting for blasted over the airwaves: “Authorities say that Mark Brennan, suspected of kidnapping Riley Addison, has been arrested. He is believed to have led the young girl to his dark-gray Prius under the pretense of giving her a ride home. The location of Riley Addison is still unknown.”

  The garage door clanged shut. Relief floated through her body as she used a key to make her way from the garage to her kitchen. They had a suspect in custody. The music teacher had been the last one to see the girl before she disappeared. Her blood was everywhere. Case closed. “Molly,” she practically sang. “I’m home.”

  Bubbles knew it would take some time for her and Molly to get reacquainted after all this while, but her daughter would come around. She hadn’t tried to run off when the cuff was removed, which was a good thing considering the idea of getting rid of the girl did flash through her mind. Not only had authorities found bones belonging to sweet little Cora with the broken neck, but that meddlesome reporter from the Sacramento Independent seemed to be a nosy young woman and a Sherlock Holmes wannabe. After seeing Sawyer Brooks with Paige Owens at the coffee shop, Bubbles had done a little prying of her own. Sawyer Brooks had so many issues it had been difficult to pick just one to focus on. She finally settled on Sawyer’s best friend, Rebecca. The poor girl had been put in the crawl space in Sawyer’s childhood home. They’d found Rebecca’s bones during Sawyer’s last visit to River Rock. Sweet, sweet Rebecca, according to family and friends, had spent her last days trapped right under Sawyer’s feet.

  A tiny little cackle slipped between Bubbles’s lips as she envisioned the trauma Sawyer must have endured upon discovering that her father was a pedophile and her mother was a cold-blooded killer.

  A chuckle escaped. She was getting the giggles.

  Her plan was to take Sawyer Brooks’s anxiety to the next level by focusing on Rebecca. Bubbles had used the computer at the local library at lunchtime to search for pictures of the town of River Rock and the school Sawyer and Rebecca had attended. She’d struck gold.

  Everything was going to be fine. She and Molly were going to be a family, a happy, happy family.

  Humming a little tune, she brushed her fingers lovingly over the ladybugs on her favorite cardigan, the one her mom had given her on her eighteenth birthday.

  Two of the ladybugs were hanging by a thread. Beneath her cardigan she wore a crew neck T-shirt. She took off her cardigan and went to the kitchen, opened the drawer where she kept a needle, thread, and scissors—everything she needed to reattach the embroidered bugs.

  After she was done, as she put the items away, a fly landed on her arm. She swatted at it and missed. The dirty insect then landed on her shoulder. She left her cardigan on the counter and walked slowly toward the pantry, surprised that the fly remained. Very slowly, she reached for the cooking spray, then aimed and fired. She’d made contact, but the insect managed to land on the counter next to the sink. Acting fast, she grabbed a dinner plate still in the sink and slammed it down on top of the fly. Pieces of porcelain flew through the air. But the fly was dead.

  She p
icked it up by its wing and held it in front of her face. “That’ll teach you to fuck with Bubbles.” Laughter followed as she slid the fly into her pants pocket.

  Ignoring the crunch of porcelain beneath her shoe, she examined the red sweater. Happy with her work, she then headed upstairs. The door to Molly’s room was open just as she’d left it. Molly was in bed, the homework Bubbles had left for her this morning stacked neatly on her lap.

  She sniffed the air as she entered the room.

  Something seemed off, but she played it cool as she went to her daughter’s side and planted a kiss on Molly’s forehead.

  Fear, she thought. She smelled fear.

  “Did you have a good day?” she asked her sweet daughter.

  Molly nodded.

  “Use your words, darling.”

  “Yes, Bubbles. I had a good day,” she said, her voice like honey.

  Bubbles put a hand to Molly’s chin and cocked her head so that she had no choice but to look directly at her. “I think it’s time for you to call me Mom.”

  The girl looked different . . . disheveled, even. Bubbles held tight to Molly’s chin as she took a look around the room. “What have you been up to today?”

  “I did my homework like you asked me to.”

  Molly tried to pull away, but Bubbles was not ready to let go. “Do you know how to tell when someone is lying?” Bubbles asked.

  “No.”

  “A change in voice is number one. Number two is when the liar tries really hard to stay perfectly still. Just like you’re doing now.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  Bubbles looked from Molly to the closet. “Have you been inside that closet?”

  “No,” Molly said in a squeaky voice. “You told me to stay out of there.”

  The closet was locked, which is why Bubbles knew the answer even before she asked it, but she figured this was a teaching moment and a chance for her to make sure Molly never lied.

  Her fingernail cut into Molly’s soft skin as Bubbles used her free hand to reach into her pocket and pull out the dead fly. She held the insect in front of Molly’s nose and said, “Stick out your tongue.”

  “No.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do it.”

  “No,” she said, her bottom lip quivering.

  “Come on. It’s protein and it’s delicious.” She dug her fingers hard into the area on both sides of Molly’s mouth so that she had no choice but to open her mouth so Bubbles could place the fly on her tongue.

  As soon as Bubbles released her hold, Molly spit it out and kept spitting.

  Bubbles rolled the fingers on her right hand into a fist and slugged Molly in the shoulder. “Don’t be such a baby. I’m just having fun with you.” A giggling fit hit her again. She couldn’t stop herself this time, and she nearly doubled over in laughter. When the fit finally subsided, she said with watery eyes, “Do you want to know what’s so funny?”

  Molly said nothing. The girl could be a real bore. “That fly was too stupid to live out his twenty-four-hour life span.”

  “Only mayflies live that long,” Molly told her. “Houseflies live for twenty-eight days.”

  The little shit was definitely going to eat that fly before the night was over.

  Downstairs, a knock at the door sent an electrical current through her body. She looked at Molly. “Do I need to chain your hands and tape your mouth shut?”

  The girl trembled like a Chihuahua. “No. I’ll be quiet.”

  The doorbell sounded. Somebody was impatient. “Shush,” Bubbles said with a finger pressed against her lips. Then she exited the bedroom and shut the door tight behind her.

  Riley tried to swallow, but her throat was dry; her water bottle was on the floor across the room where she couldn’t reach it. Her heart was still beating out of control. She spit again, afraid that parts of the dead fly were stuck to her tongue. She’d been dreading Bubbles’s return, afraid she’d discover that Riley had found a way inside the closet and gone through her things. The way Bubbles had looked at her when she first came into the room had freaked her out. She was certain the crazy woman knew what she’d done.

  But apparently Bubbles had only wanted to mess with her.

  Riley wasn’t sure how much longer she could handle this. And yet she knew she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Not unless she could find a way to escape. After doing her assignments earlier, she’d spent most of the day staring out the window, too far away to press her face against the glass, but close enough to see if the little boy wandered outside again. But he never did.

  As hard as she’d tried, she couldn’t get the images of all those girls out of her head. Whenever she nodded off, she prayed that it was all a nightmare. But then she’d wake up, and the cold heaviness of the metal cuff around her ankle reminded her it was real.

  Bubbles was real too. She was scary. And yet sometimes her face would soften, and she looked almost normal. Riley didn’t like that she never knew what Bubbles was going to do next. She was worse than the villains in her brother’s comic books.

  The worst part was feeling as if she was losing hope. If that happened, she might not be able to find the courage to make a run for it. That’s why it had to be tonight. She had to get away.

  Voices sounded below.

  Not only Bubbles’s voice, but another woman’s. A friendly voice. Riley couldn’t make out whole sentences, but it sounded as if she was talking to Bubbles about her son. He’d heard a sound, a loud bang.

  Riley could hardly breathe. The lady was talking about the boy who had been playing in the backyard, tossing his ball in the air. He’d seen Riley. Or at least he’d heard her.

  This was her chance. And yet every muscle in her body felt rigid. Fear held her in place.

  Don’t just sit there, stupid! Make some noise!

  Looking around, her heart pumping wildly against her ribs, her gaze fell on the chain around her foot. Move! Go!

  She jumped off the bed, grasped on to the middle of the chain, and began thumping it against the floor.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  It was loud. This could work. It had to work!

  She kept picking up the chain and dropping it against the floor, over and over again until her arms ached.

  The door to her room opened wide. Bubbles stood there, her big eyes like shiny marbles, unblinking and filled with rage.

  Riley wondered what had happened to the neighbor. Where was the nice lady? The one with the friendly voice? Where did she go? Hadn’t she heard her?

  Bubbles marched past her. Across the room, she opened the top dresser drawer, pulled out a roll of duct tape, and walked back to her.

  Riley dropped to the floor on her butt and pushed herself backward with her legs, trying to avoid whatever the crazy lady had planned for her. But it was no use. Bubbles grabbed hold of Riley’s arm, her fingernails digging into her skin as she dragged her across the floor to the bed. She forced Riley to her feet and then made her sit back down on the edge of the mattress.

  Bubbles’s hands were shaking and her cheeks were a deep shade of red as she rolled duct tape tightly around Riley’s legs. Once that was done, she removed the key from her pocket and unlocked the metal cuff around her ankle.

  “Stand,” Bubbles demanded.

  Riley hesitated a second too long. Bubbles grabbed her arm, hoisting her upward, and then told her to turn around and put her arms behind her back.

  Riley did as she said, unable to stop the tears as her wrists were bound together. “Please stop. You’re hurting me.”

  “Maybe you should have thought of that earlier when you were making a racket. The neighbor was worried I was being burglarized today. It seems her little boy thought he heard someone upstairs in this very room. But don’t worry, she felt much better when I told her there was a plumber upstairs fixing the pipes. When you continued with your game, I had to explain that he was still here and that I needed to go check on him.”

  Bubbles made a tsking noise as she went
to the closet and unlocked the door. “Your disobedience is such a shame. I was going to take the cuff off you tonight, and we were going to bake cookies. Just you and me in the kitchen all night long. I can almost smell those warm, buttery chocolate chip cookies, crisp on the edges, chewy on the inside, but thanks to you our plans have changed.”

  Bubbles reached inside the closet and flipped the switch. Her gaze instantly took in the bins that were no longer stacked quite so neatly as before. She stepped inside, bent down, and picked up the piece of wire. She looked at Riley. “You clever girl.”

  As Bubbles came toward her, Riley squeezed her eyes shut, unsure of what was coming. Suddenly she was in a death grip, Bubbles’s arms wrapped tightly around her, hugging her so fiercely her feet came off the floor.

  Her perfume was so strong and sweet Riley thought she might be sick as Bubbles waltzed across the floor with Riley in her arms. When Bubbles finally stopped moving, she set her down and took a step back. “Get in the closet.”

  “Why?” Riley asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry. I miss my mom and dad, and my brother. I just want to go home.”

  “Well, that’s too bad.” She jerked her head, gesturing toward the closet. “Get in there now.”

  “What about dinner?” Riley wasn’t hungry, but she needed to stall.

  “You won’t be eating for a while, dear. See what happens to little ungrateful brats?”

  “Please don’t make me go in there.”

  She smoothed a hand over Riley’s head. “It looks like you went to a lot of trouble to get inside the closet today. So now you’ll have plenty of time to look around and play and think about what you’ve done.”

  “For how long?” Riley asked. It was a dumb question, but the thought of being locked inside scared her.

  “Oh, gosh, I don’t know. It’s not a big deal, silly. My mom kept me in the closet for over a week one time. Two days. Maybe three. Okay?” She pointed toward the closet. “Now get in there, or I’ll have to take drastic measures, and I’m really not in the mood, Molly. It’s been a rough day. Now!”