by Rick Mofina
“Who?” Lucy asked.
“The Tullocks. Mostly at night before I fall asleep, they come to me. Pleading. The boy and the girl are the worst, screaming and screaming. Anything like that happen to you?”
Lucy’s face hardened, and she said, “Shut up with that. You gotta let it go.”
“Let it go? Look at how we’ve lived, how much we’ve paid.”
“We were kids.”
“That’s right. We all come from the same place. We all hurt the same. And we all know what really happened. Our pact was broken.”
Rita stared hard at Lucy, then said: “It was a long time ago.”
“And how long do we have to keep paying? We can’t go on living like this, waiting to die. It’s been twenty years—the anniversary is coming. We’ve suffered long enough. I’ve got a plan for all of us to set things right.”
Lucy took up the ring and thrust it toward Rita’s face.
“We’re sisters,” Lucy said. “We’re bonded by blood. We made a pact!”
Rita stared at her, thinking. “How’re you going to make things right?”
“We’ll start by confronting her.”
“Why?”
“There needs to be a reckoning with the truth.”
“We all know the truth, Lucy. I’m not going with you.”
“You’d prefer to die here on food stamps while cleaning toilets?”
Lucy reached into her bag and set down a slender brick of cash, held together with rubber bands.
Rita’s eyes widened a little, then Lucy put it back in her bag.
“You’ll get it and more when we see her. I’ve got a plan and I need you to make it work, to do what we need to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
Rita’s mind churned for several long, life-defining seconds.
She looked at Lucy, then took up the ring, slid it on her finger. She stared at it—at all it signified—then looked at Lucy. “All right, sister.”
Fifty-Five
Cielo Valle, Orange County, California
Present day
It was all coming together.
The keyboard clicked softly as Ben finished the outline for his new book. Running about ten pages, it flowed nicely.
He was ready for Emma to read it.
As a fan, she had read all of his books. She knew his work, understood what he was trying to do. She was smart, sensitive, and he trusted her judgment. But lately, she seemed preoccupied. There was that incident the other day with that guy in the park, which reminded Ben. Before he’d washed Del Brockway’s plate number from his palm, he’d written it down.
The guy was odd. I still need to check him out at some point.
He looked at the time.
Tug padded in and Ben rubbed his head.
Deciding he would give his outline to Emma after dinner, Ben went over his research. The list of people who’d agreed to talk to him face-to-face when he arrived in Canada was growing but he still had more work to do.
He wanted to reach Torrie Tullock, the sole survivor of the family, and needed to follow up on calls he’d made to her aunt and uncle.
Most important, he still needed to locate and talk to the Skull Sisters.
* * *
After dinner, when the dishes were done, Emma withdrew alone to their bedroom with Ben’s outline and shut the door. Her heart was throbbing.
This is really happening. He’s going to write about Eternity.
She’d agreed to read Ben’s outline to help him, but more so to see what he’d learned and to find a way to ward off what was looming. Mystery still enveloped the threatening notes. Emma was no closer to finding out who was behind them. And then there was the encounter in the park with that character, Del Brockway.
Was he connected to any of this?
Before Emma started the outline, she glanced anxiously at the closet door, unable to suppress her suspicion that Kayla had been snooping there, had discovered her journal. The rubber band was missing. It could’ve snapped, or been chewed by a mouse or something.
Still, to be safe, Emma had moved it.
I should destroy it, but I plan to leave it with a lawyer so it stands as a testament after my death. But now, with everything happening so fast, maybe after the anniversary has passed, I could reveal the truth to Ben, so we can rise above it all. I know he loves me. I want to protect him and Kayla from the lies and let them know the absolute truth about what happened. But I need to do it on my terms.
I’m not sure how long I can hold myself together.
Hands trembling, she began reading.
Eternity: The Story of Homicide in a
Small Town
(Outline)
By
Benjamin Grant
Emma raced through his strong, clear writing, which so easily encapsulated the facts and major points. Reading it pierced her with anguish, jerking her back to that horrible night, forcing her to stop several times.
As she forced herself to continue, panic began setting in.
How could this be happening? When I fell in love with Ben, for his compassion, for his understanding, I never believed there was a risk he would write about Eternity. Not for a moment. It was separated by so many years, and so many miles. And there were so many other cases in the world for him to consider. So many. And I believed with all my heart from reading his books that even if he somehow learned the truth about me, he’d be the most likely person in the world to understand.
Emma pushed through the outline. Hope rose when she came to his mention of how a couple of earlier domestic books on the case failed to include input from the killers.
Laws protect their identities. They can never be disclosed...
Emma found refuge in the fact that Ben would never know the entire truth, but as she read on, her heart sank.
...however, a check with justice officials confirms that nothing prevents a biographer from including the voices of The Skull Sisters, now grown women, as long as they agree to be interviewed and their identities remain concealed. The challenge will be locating them.
Gooseflesh rose on Emma’s arms.
Even if she proved untraceable... What if he talked to the others?
* * *
“Hello.”
The voice of the man who’d answered the phone sounded older.
“Hello,” Ben said, “Paul Tullock?”
“Yes, I’m Paul Tullock. Who’s calling?”
Buoyed at success in reaching Roy Tullock’s brother in Vancouver after many attempts, Ben sat up at his desk in his office where he was working while Emma read the outline.
“Mr. Tullock, my name’s Ben Grant, I’m calling from California...” Over the next few minutes, he explained his intentions, allowing Tullock a moment to digest everything.
“It’s all still as fresh to us as it was on the day we were told,” Tullock said. “You just never get over a thing like that.”
Ben respectfully conveyed his sympathies and made his request.
“Yes, we’ll talk to you for your book,” Paul said. “It just so happens, Lynn and I were planning to go to Eternity to tend to some things. We could arrange to meet and talk to you there.”
“I appreciate that,” Ben said. “I’m also trying to reach your niece, Victoria. I’d like to talk to her. Could you help me with that? Or offer any direction?”
There was a long pause before Paul Tullock let out a breath. “Torrie? She doesn’t talk to anyone, much less about the murders. She’s something of an introvert, I guess.”
“Do you have a number, email or address for her you could share?”
“Not really, we protect her privacy. She travels, keeps to herself. You see, she inherited the bulk of my brother’s estate. His farm equipment
operation was franchised and is doing well across the country. She’s a board member of the corporation. I was too, until I retired.” Tullock exhaled. “That said, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.”
Ben ended the call and a knock sounded at his office door.
* * *
Emma entered holding the outline and sat in the chair in front of his desk.
Putting his elbows on his desk, Ben steepled his hands. “So?”
“It’s very good, Ben. A few typos I circled.” She handed it to him.
“Thank you for doing this.” He took the outline. “I’ll give it another look, clean it up. I’ve got folks in New York and Toronto waiting for it. Was that it, just the typos?”
Emma blinked several times.
“Go ahead, tell me.”
“One thing. It’s about the identities of the girls.”
“What about it?”
“They’re confidential and it’s against the law if you identify them.”
“Right.”
“Wouldn’t your publisher’s lawyers have a concern?”
“No. I’ve talked with them and with justice people involved in the case. You’re correct, the law protects them from being identified but if they agree to talk and their identities are kept confidential, in keeping with the law, then they’re free to speak to me, to have input in the book.”
“How will you find them?”
“I’m a bit rusty, but there are ways. With some help it can be done.”
“What if they won’t talk to you? I would think that this is something they would not want to talk about. It might be too difficult for them. What if you can’t find them, or they’re dead? Wouldn’t that weaken the book, send you back to square one, leave you with a lot of wasted time and energy?”
“Boy, you really don’t want me to do this book, do you?” Ben smiled.
“I have a bad feeling about it, Ben. It’s just so—so—disturbing.”
“Listen, honey. First off, I’m contractually bound. Second, you raise very valid points. Yes, anything’s possible. But I’m confident I’ll find these killers and present them with a chance to open up about that night and how three young multiple murderers have been living all these years as free adult women.”
Emma was silent as Ben looked at papers scattered on his desk.
“I just need to book my flight, hotel, car rental.” Then his eyes found hers. “Is there something you want to tell me, Emma?”
Another moment passed.
Emma smiled, then shook her head.
Fifty-Six
El Paso, Texas
A few days ago
The flat monotony of the Chihuahuan Desert sweeping by the bus window contrasted with the images Lucy showed Rita on her laptop.
An array of Google photos, Street View and satellite frames of a home in Orange County, California. It was a cream-colored, Spanish-style two-level house with a triple garage. Shaded by palms, it had lush gardens and stone block fencing. Aerial pictures showed the in-ground pool, patio and vibrant flower beds.
“That’s her house?” Rita asked.
“Yes, and look.” Lucy clicked on other photos of a beautiful cabin surrounded by trees. “They got this little getaway in the San Bernardino Mountains, too. There’s more.”
She clicked to a video of a short TV report from KRVZ about a charity book sale.
“This is a terrific cause and you can see, a lot of people support it...”
“That’s her behind the sunglasses. She’s Emma Grant now,” Lucy said, pointing to the woman being interviewed. “The next one’s longer.”
Lucy then played the KTKT TV news feature with the reenactment of Emma Grant, a school counselor who’d saved a troubled student’s life.
“I try to make a difference every day,” Emma said in the piece, while the student’s mother, her identity concealed, said: “What our son’s counselor did was nothing short of a miracle.”
After the clip ended, Rita shook her head slowly.
“It’s like she’s a hero or saint,” Rita said.
“And nobody knows the truth about her.” Lucy closed her laptop.
Both women pondered their old friend’s life, measuring it against theirs.
Somewhere between Pecos and Van Horn, Rita fell asleep again, craving a cigarette. As she dozed and the miles passed, Lucy worked, revisiting and refining her plan.
For twenty years she had crawled and struggled, like something discarded to the dung heap while her blood sister thrived at living a lie.
This had to end. A debt was owed.
Lucy was going to collect.
* * *
As they neared El Paso, Lucy saw the distant mountain peaks to the north and south of the city, reflecting for a moment about the city’s mass shooting tragedy.
The bus made its way downtown to the station, where they got off to board a new bus for Phoenix. Rita was relieved to smoke and Lucy joined her. While waiting, Lucy glimpsed the unique sneakers of one of the fellow passengers who’d stepped from their bus.
It struck Lucy that those were the exact shoes of a woman she’d seen on the bus from New York to Atlanta. Exact.
Studying the woman, Lucy noted that her hair was different but above her right ankle was the same butterfly tattoo.
What were the odds that the same woman would also be on this bus?
“What’re you looking at?” The woman interrupted Lucy’s staring.
“Didn’t I see you on my bus a few days ago from New York to Atlanta?”
“You’re mistaken. I got on at Abilene. You got a problem?”
“No.” Lucy crushed her cigarette under her foot. “No problem at all.”
Half an hour later Lucy and Rita, along with some new passengers, boarded the new bus to Phoenix.
Not long after they’d left the western fringes of El Paso, a powerful stench invaded the bus before Las Cruces. The stretch along the I-10 was known as Dairy Row. Manure management was in full swing and it took Lucy back to the slaughterhouse of Eternity.
The memories the smell evoked lingered, stirring Lucy to work on her laptop and her plan.
She paused to look at Rita, asleep next to her.
She hasn’t changed. I knew she’d come. I need her to make this work and one way or another, it’s going to work. When this is over, I promise you, sister, things will be better. I won’t need you anymore. I’ll be so done with you. You won’t have to clean another toilet for as long as you live. You’ll get what you got coming to you.
Fifty-Seven
Cielo Valle, Orange County, California
Present day
Kayla was grabbing some green seedless grapes from the bowl in the fridge when her father appeared before her.
“Geez, Dad.”
“Come with me for a little ride.”
“Why? Where?” She closed the fridge door.
“To the plaza to get my mail from my PO box. I want to talk.”
Ben snatched his keys from the peg and headed out with Kayla, who popped a grape into her mouth.
What’s this about? Did Emma tell him I was looking in her closet?
Ben was a smooth driver. Guiding the SUV through the streets of their neighborhood, he glanced at her.
“Put your phone away. I want to talk.”
Like most teens practiced in the handling of parents, Kayla knew her father’s many tones. This was not his stern voice. No, it was softer, more like his there’s-something-I-want-to-know voice. And that made her wary.
Sighing, she lowered her phone.
“Thank you,” he said. “Look, it’s just that I’m leaving in a few days and I wanted to be sure you and Emma will be okay.”
Is he fishing? What if she told him she thinks I’m snooping and he’s giving me the c
hance to fess up?
“It’ll be the first time you two will be alone together. It could be a chance for you to get closer to each other, you know?”
Kayla said nothing and Ben turned, blinking as he looked out the driver’s window. Kayla couldn’t read his expression. Was he sad or disappointed that she didn’t own up to violating Emma’s privacy?
I haven’t heard back from Emma’s college. I don’t have all the information yet. Still, should I just come out with it and tell him what I know?
“What is it, Kayla?” Ben asked.
“Dad, don’t you think Emma’s been acting a little weird lately? Like how she was the other night at dinner about your book. It’s like she knows something and she’s not telling us, you know?”
Ben took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Kayla, how would you feel about talking to Doctor Hirsch?”
“What?”
“I called her, updated her on your situation with Emma, and at school...”
“What? You talked to her about me, my personal stuff?”
“Doctor Hirsch said it’s possible your struggle to accept Emma is because you feel that by doing so you would be disloyal to Mom. So you portray her as an unacceptable replacement, an imposter. But it’s a normal response. And I understand that—it’s okay to have those feelings.”
Kayla was shaking her head. “Dad, listen to me. Emma told me her mother died when she was working at a restaurant called Tony’s Diner in Beltsville, Maryland—”
“Kayla—”
“Do you know this? She said it caught fire, that it happened about twenty years ago, but I checked, Dad, and there is nothing—”
“Stop, Kayla, please. I know this is difficult. I know you ache for Mom. God, there are days when I miss her so much. But Emma’s helped me to heal, not to forget but to heal, sweetheart. There’s a difference. She loves you and can help you, if you let her.”