Their Last Secret

by Rick Mofina

  A banshee wail tore through the room causing Justice Claiborne to tap his gavel as the girls turned. One saw her father and mother, consumed with anguish, looking older, weaker and smaller. The second girl met the eyes of a stranger before she realized she was looking at her mother, who was now frail and wasted.

  The sobbing and gavel knocking subsided, then Justice Claiborne concluded by saying sentencing would come in several months.

  * * *

  Four weeks later, in Eternity, accompanied by a caseworker, a child services worker and two RCMP officers, Janie stood in the drumming rain as her mother’s casket was lowered into the ground.

  Her killer: liver failure.

  But Janie knew the truth. She’d had a hand in her mother’s death, too.

  She was taken back to The Brandon Correctional Centre, realizing that at fourteen she was a hated convicted killer, alone in the world.

  * * *

  Five months later, Justice Claiborne’s hands shook a little as he read his written remarks to a packed courtroom as he sentenced the girls.

  Blood had dried in a red dot on his chin where he’d nicked himself shaving that morning. The case had taken a toll on him and he’d lost sleep and a little weight.

  “The taking of four innocent lives, including those of two small children, was an unconscionable act, suggesting to this court that you had colder blood in your veins icing your souls,” he said. “That you were barely out of your own childhoods at the time catapults this tragedy to a realm beyond evil. I therefore am compelled to give each of you the maximum sentence and conditions allowed under the law. Whether you will work your way back to redemption only time will tell.”

  Under the law the girls were to serve six years and in separate federal institutions, in different undisclosed locations. After their prison time, the sentences called for four years of supervised release into different, undisclosed communities. After that, they would be released on their own but were required to report to the court monthly for two years before being completely free.

  “I can only pray that by the end of your sentences something salvageable and meaningful evolves in your troubled young hearts. God help you.”

  Claiborne tapped the gavel ending the case.

  Conversations erupted in the courtroom, with reactions to what most viewed as light sentences. The girls were escorted from the court. Reporters rushed to file stories on the conclusion of the tragedy in Eternity.

  Among those in the courtroom was someone very few people knew; an older teen dressed in a dark blazer, her face sober and calm. She sat quietly with her attendant from The New Dawn Sunrise Wellness Retreat.

  The teen had watched the proceedings from the first day, eyeing the three people who had annihilated her family, watching, studying and digesting every part wholly and slowly, the way a python devours its prey.

  Forty

  Orange County, California

  Present day

  Ben was planning his first trip to Eternity to examine the case.

  This can’t be happening, Emma thought.

  Why not tell Ben and Kayla everything and put an end to it?

  No, no I can’t tell them. The truth will crush them. It will destroy all of our lives. No, I have to protect them. I know Ben loves me and I know he will understand, and I can help Kayla understand the truth of what I did, but in time. Right now I have to survive and I’ll do whatever it takes.

  “Emma?”

  Someone said her name. Why was someone saying her name?

  “Yes,” she said, turning to Val Tyler, a science teacher standing next to her in the staff kitchen.

  “Are you done with the milk?”

  Emma, standing at the coffee counter, looked at the milk container in her hand.

  “Oh yes. Sorry, Val.” Emma passed it to her.

  “Are you okay? You look troubled.”

  “Just lost in thought.” Emma smiled.

  She returned to her office with fifteen minutes until her next appointment. It was enough time. Emma went online researching Marisa’s name for anything new.

  She found her obituary.

  Marisa Joyce Narmore, 32, of Santa Ana, passed away in a vehicle accident in Orange County, California. She will be missed, but never forgotten. She joins her mother Doreen, and father Wilfred, in death. Marisa was born in Long Beach, California and was raised there and later in Santa Ana. She loved music and her dog and was a valued long-time employee at AllanTynes Sporting Goods Outlet. Marisa recently followed her dream of becoming a law enforcement officer and was studying criminology at Orange Pacific Community College. A memorial service for Marisa is scheduled for 2 p.m. Saturday at Vane & Meechum Memorial Chapel in Santa Ana. Click for directions.

  Emma read some of the tributes that followed.

  This is a heartbreaking loss for our organization, Marisa’s family and friends, Ned Lober, owner of AllenTynes, wrote.

  I was so proud of her working hard to become a police officer, Avery Dodd wrote.

  The obituary was accompanied with a nice photograph.

  The memorial service was Saturday in Santa Ana, Emma thought as she read it again.

  Forty-One

  Eternity, Manitoba

  2002

  A year after her daughter was sentenced to prison for murdering four people, Flo Mitchell, waiting at the drugstore counter for the pharmacist to refill her prescription, heard women whispering behind her.

  “That’s the mother of one of them.”

  “How do you live with something like that?”

  In the time since the tragedy, Flo had faced ridicule and ostracism every time she went out shopping. Whether it was the grocery store, the bakery, the drugstore, it didn’t matter. The derision from other customers, people who used to be her friends, had grown unbearable.

  “What kind of mother are you?”

  “Too bad you didn’t abort that monster!”

  The scorn pretty much stopped her from going out. When she needed to shop, she went to another town. The stress led to her dependence on medication.

  Her husband drank heavily, was arrested for drunk driving, lost his license and his towing business. He’d managed to get a job emptying trash and cleaning toilets at the mall. Still, they couldn’t make ends meet. They sold their house and moved into an apartment at The Estates.

  So that day at the drugstore, Flo did what she always did: pretended not to hear the whispers, collected her medicine and walked home, taking stock of her life in ruin.

  No matter how much she begged, her daughter had refused to see her. The last time they looked at each other was in court the day of her sentencing. And the memory of the last time they spoke, ending with her daughter’s face contorted with hate, middle fingers jabbed at her, was seared into her soul. It was as if the jagged edges of a rusted tin can were cutting away piece after piece of her heart until there was nothing left.

  Late one night, unable to sleep, while Ned was passed out on the sofa, Flo kissed his cheek and left their apartment carrying a small bag.

  In the still of the night she walked across the tranquil town to the cemetery. She made her way on the soft, dewy grass to the headstone of her little boy, Pike. She reached into her bag, removed her small bottle of pills and shook every one into her mouth, washing them down with several gulps of whiskey from the bottle she’d brought.

  She reached into the bag for one more item, holding it tenderly, staring in the ambient light, smiling as she wept and lay down.

  The next day a groundskeeper discovered Flo’s lifeless body on top of her son’s grave. Her arms were folded on her chest over a framed picture, Flo’s favorite of her daughter holding her son on her lap, both of them embodying joy with huge laughing smiles.

  Their eyes were shining like dying stars.

  * * *

  Afterward, in a let
ter sent to his daughter in prison, Ned Mitchell wrote:

  I blame you for everything. You are no longer my child.

  In her cell, reading it through her tears, she crumpled it and was poised to flush it away. But she hesitated, smoothed it out on her table and tucked it away in a book with her other papers. She began humming the song, “MMMBop,” then softly, through tears, she sang all the lyrics, which she knew by heart, liking the line about pain and strife.

  In the months and years that passed, word got to her that her father had drifted to Vancouver, Toronto, or to the US, where he had an estranged brother.

  They were out of each other’s lives forever.

  Forty-Two

  Santa Ana, Orange County, California

  Present day

  The parking lot at the Vane & Meechum Memorial Chapel was filling up but Emma found a space. She took a moment to check her face in the mirror.

  She wore little makeup; a dark, conservative dress; little jewelry and flat shoes.

  Everything looked fine.

  She’d told Ben and Kayla that a custodian at her school had passed away and she was going to his memorial service.

  Another lie.

  Emma slid on large, dark glasses. She was taking a risk, but she didn’t have a choice, she thought while walking through the lot. It was busy with people arriving.

  I’ve got to follow this through.

  In the chapel she estimated there were more than a hundred mourners. She found a seat in a rear pew and her thoughts churned.

  Had Marisa’s threat ended with her death? Who was she? How did she know her and why torment her with her note?

  Emma removed her dark glasses, scanned the crowd and wondered.

  Is there someone among you who knows the answers? Is there someone among you from Eternity? No, no that’s impossible. Yet, Marisa’s note...

  For nearly an hour Emma listened to eulogies, praise, tributes and songs for Marisa. They were beautiful and heart-wrenching. But nothing in them shed light on Emma’s predicament. When it ended, she replaced her glasses and positioned herself outside near the door, studying faces as people exited and gathered into small groups.

  Emma floated from group to group, eavesdropping.

  “We were neighbors with Doreen and Wilfred, in Long Beach. Marisa was so sweet playing and watching out for our daughter,” an older woman told a group of older people.

  Emma moved on to another group.

  “...this old guy comes to the counter—he’d lost his keys in the store. So Marisa goes around, aisle to aisle, until she finds them by the fishing tackle. And the look on that guy’s face, like Marisa was an angel who’d saved his life.”

  She drifted to a cluster of women, all about Marisa’s age.

  “What I’d heard was she’d broken up with Preston just before the accident, told him to get out.”

  “She should’ve done that long ago. He was a creep.”

  “Maybe that’s why she crashed—she was upset about him.”

  “It’s just so sad because she was doing well at college—on her way to becoming a cop.”

  “I know, she told me she was working on some extracurricular project she was excited about.”

  Emma’s ears pricked up, and without thinking, she said, “Oh? What kind of project?”

  Heads turned to Emma.

  “I’m sorry. I interrupted,” Emma said.

  “No, that’s fine,” the woman said. “Marisa said she couldn’t talk about it. So I really don’t know.”

  “Excuse me, I’m Lee, Marisa’s cousin,” another woman said to Emma. “I don’t believe we met.”

  “Sorry, I’m Anne. I’m an old friend from Long Beach.”

  “Oh.” Lee eyed Emma, nodding politely.

  “It’s all so sad. Excuse me,” Emma turned to leave but after a few steps felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” It was the woman who’d mentioned Marisa’s extracurricular project.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just so sad,” Emma said. “She was working so hard on her dream job, even taking on that project you’d mentioned. What was it exactly?”

  “Oh.” The woman was startled. “I don’t know. She said she couldn’t talk about it but she was excited about it. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Emma nodded. “Yes, thanks.”

  Emma accepted the woman’s hug and over her shoulder glimpsed Lee staring at her for a moment before Emma left the gathering in front of the chapel.

  Was I Marisa’s secret project? It could have absolutely nothing to do with me. I have no way of knowing.

  Walking through the parking lot, Emma was frustrated at being no closer to the answers she needed. Struggling to think of her next steps, she neared her SUV and saw a flash of white on her door.

  Emma froze.

  Concentrating, she realized a white envelope was wedged in her driver’s side doorframe near the door handle.

  She stepped to the door, took up the sealed envelope. Nothing was written on it.

  She tore it open to find a single sheet of paper with the printed message.

  20 YEARS. YOUR RECKONING IS ALMOST HERE.

  Forty-Three

  Orange County, California

  Present day

  Emma’s knuckles whitened on the wheel as she drove home while glancing at the note on the passenger’s seat.

  Who is doing this? What do they want?

  A horn blasted. She’d drifted from her lane.

  Catching her breath, she concentrated on her driving and her problem.

  A second note.

  Emma had clung to a faint hope that the threat had ended with Marisa—and that she could unearth more about it. But this new note changed that. It meant there was more than one person behind it.

  How do they know about me? How did they find me? My name is sealed yet they’ve found me. I need to know who they are and I need to know why they’re threatening me.

  How would she find out?

  Unlike at school, she had no chance of gaining access to security cameras. She didn’t know anyone who might help her. What about going to Lee, Marisa’s cousin, or her friend? Was Marisa’s work on the “secret project” related to this?

  How far can I afford to push this?

  She didn’t dare go to police. She didn’t dare go to Ben. She had to protect him and Kayla—she could fix this.

  Emma swallowed. But Ben’s going to Eternity.

  The walls of her life were closing in on her; the pressure had her dying for a cigarette even though she’d quit years ago.

  Again Emma glanced at the note and wanted to scream.

  With the anniversary coming, could it be some kind of tabloid, slimy media types who pay people off for information? But how did they know I would be at the funeral?

  Are they following me?

  She looked at the traffic in her rearview mirror and vehicles flowing around her.

  Are they following me now?

  Again she drifted from her lane. Again a horn honked.

  Emma corrected her steering, gritting her teeth and making a vow.

  I’ll survive this. I’ll protect my family and I’ll survive.

  Forty-Four

  Cielo Valle, Orange County, California

  Present day

  I just know something’s up with Emma.

  The thought nagged at Kayla.

  It was Saturday afternoon. Emma had gone to a funeral and Dad was out, meeting with some FBI guy to help with his Canada book. Kayla was not sure when they’d be back.

  With her partner, Tug, behind her, Kayla headed upstairs to her dad and Emma’s bedroom and the walk-in closet. For a long silent moment she stared at Emma’s storage trunk sitting on the hardwood floor atop the area rug Kayla’s mom got in Arizona.

&n
bsp; Could be something to do with that trunk.

  Kayla knelt before it, pushed her thumbs against the latches, opened it, inhaled the cedar air and took stock of the contents, the boots, the hats, blankets and coats. Carefully she removed everything and searched every item. Finding nothing, she ran her fingers along the empty trunk’s walls, the bottom, the lid, the lining, feeling for hidden compartments.

  Nothing.

  She looked at Tug, who sat nearby watching.

  She replaced all the trunk’s items to their original places.

  Kayla closed the lid, then stood. When she took a step to leave, the floor creaked.

  She halted.

  Then she repeated the step, her eyes going to a seam between the hardwood panels. One of them was loose and lifted a fraction of an inch near the rug’s edge. Kayla repeated the action, watching the loose board.

  She gripped the rug and slid the trunk aside, then, using her heel, pressed down on one end, forcing it to lift. When she crouched, she was able to get a fingernail, then a fingertip, then her fingers, under its edge. She raised the loose panel, removing it from the floor, revealing a deep gap. Reaching into her pocket, she got her phone, switched on the flashlight, raked the beam over the space, then stopped.

  What’s this? A book of some kind?

  Reaching for it, she saw it was bound with a thick rubber band.

  She removed the band, opened the book, fanned its handwritten pages. She went to the first page. It was dated the day after Dad had married Emma. Kayla began reading.

  Started a new, wonderful life. Finally and truly, I buried my past. This new journal will be the last of many I’ve kept in my life. It will stand as testament after I’m gone.

  No one knows the truth about me, that I—

  Tug sat up and barked.

  Kayla stopped breathing. She heard a door. Someone was home.

  “Hello!” Emma called from the kitchen where Kayla had left her backpack. “Kayla, are you home?”