And she deserved it. That's just the way he wanted it. He wanted her at peak crazy and peak paranoid. It was all part of his master plan.
The guilt would destroy her from within, and he would destroy her from without.
Chapter Twenty
Harry sat with his wife Molly at the breakfast table, each with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast and a cup of coffee―black for the detective, cream and sugar for the detective's wife. Rex, their white and brown Jack Russell Terrier, was in his customary place beneath the table, hoping for a scrap or two if the detective or his wife didn't finish their meals.
No kids. Never had them, never wanted them. It was something that each knew about the other when they started dating, and it brought them closer together. It must have been fate, they joked with each other on occasion. It wasn't that they didn't like children; they just valued the freedom to get up and go at a moment's notice without the encumbrance of caring for a child or multiple children. And they just didn't want the responsibility.
But they did want to be married. On the surface, it didn't make much sense without the prospect of children. But they had been relatively young. Harry had been twenty-eight; Molly, twenty-seven. And they had been swept up in their love for one another, and it just seemed like the thing to do. It wasn't the marriage; it was the ceremony. They wanted it to be different, low-key. So they gathered a few of their closest friends and family on the edge of a Long Island river ten years ago and never looked back, never regretted it. The whirlwind romance had settled down, but the love hadn't.
They each saw things in the other that they sometimes couldn't see in themselves. It was something akin to a sixth sense. It was a skill that each utilized with the other on occasion, and it was a skill that Molly was utilizing at the breakfast table this morning. But it didn't take the Mighty Kreskin to figure out what was troubling Harry Mitchell. Who wouldn't be troubled by the grisly deaths of four teenagers? Most saw the story on the news or read it in the paper; Harry was right there. He saw the macabre aftermath up close. Sure, he was a detective; this was his job. But he was also a human being.
This wasn't just another morning at the breakfast table. The air hung heavy, and it was silent, so silent that Harry heard the ticking of the clock over the kitchen counter louder than he'd ever heard it.
His wife could see that he was troubled, Harry knew. He saw it in her downcast eyes when he braved the occasional glance in her direction the way a teenage boy sneaks a glance at a girl he has a crush on. But his wife didn't know the exact nature of his troubled mind. Sure, he was troubled by the murders. But what was really bringing him down, what made the air especially heavy, was the fact that his partner was way too close to this case.
"How's Darlene?" Molly asked, her voice cutting into the silence like a battle-ax. "I mean, how is she handling all this?"
Harry bit back a smile. He'd underestimated his wife's intuitive abilities. "She...uh...she says she's fine."
"But you don't believe her."
Harry shook his head. "No, I don't."
"Neither do I."
There was no need for Harry to question how Molly could come to such a conclusion. She knew Darlene better than Harry did. Darlene wasn't just his partner; she was his friend, one of his best, and she was a close friend to the couple. She was a frequent guest in their home. Molly and Darlene were close, so close that it occasionally made Harry jealous, though Harry wasn't sure why he was jealous or who he was jealous of. They often spent time together when Harry wasn't around, and it had become clear that the two had become closer than he'd expected when Darlene began confiding in Molly about the loss of her daughter, something she rarely did with Harry.
"She hasn't called you?" Harry asked.
Molly shook her head and sipped her coffee.
"I'm surprised."
Molly set her mug down. "Why?"
"She tells you everything."
"She tells me a lot. She doesn't tell me everything. She talks to me about Brittany when she's in a better place. But when she's really hurting, well..." Her voice trailed off.
"Well, she must be really hurting when she's with me because she never talks to me about Brittany."
"Have you ever tried talking to her about it?"
Harry felt his brow furrowing. "Only all the time. I asked her about it yesterday."
Molly narrowed her eyes. "Yesterday? After you found the bodies? Please don't tell me you asked her about it at the crime scene."
Harry felt his face flushing. "Well...yeah."
Molly sighed. "Jesus, honey. What were you thinking?"
Feeling defensive, Harry said, "I was thinking about helping my partner."
"In what way? By asking her if she would be able to handle the case?"
Harry looked away. "You know me too well."
"Let me ask you something that I already know the answer to. Do you ever ask her about Brittany? Not about whether or not she's too close to a case. Not about Brittany's case. But about Brittany?"
"If you already know the answer, why are you asking me?"
"I'm making a point."
Harry had met Darlene about a year after Brittany's murder. He'd assumed that the wounds were still there and would always be there and had healed as much as they were going to heal. He hadn't wanted to reopen them. At least, that's what he'd told himself. The truth was that he'd been afraid to ask her about her daughter. He felt like an emotional cripple when it came to talking to friends and family about personal losses.
"No," he answered. "But you already knew that."
"You should try it."
"How did you know I never asked her about Brittany?"
She shrugged like the answer was obvious. "She told me."
"Of course she did."
"But she really didn't need to."
"Of course she didn't."
"I know my husband. I know this isn't your area of expertise."
Harry kept his eyes on the linoleum floor, hoping his silence would be the hint she needed to move onto something else.
She took the hint. "Any leads?"
Harry shifted his eyes from the floor to the table. "We have the girl. We have what she told us, which isn't much. She wasn't exactly in the best frame of mind to talk about what happened to her."
"I wonder why."
"Anybody would be severely traumatized after what she's been through, but she didn't act like it. I'm not saying she wasn't, but the way she told the story, I don't know… She just seemed like she was in a trance. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was fascinated by the whole thing."
He looked at his wife. She was giving him an incredulous, sidelong look. "She was traumatized. There can't be any doubt about that. And she was probably doped up."
"Yeah," he said skeptically, "I'm sure you're right."
Chapter Twenty-One
Her mother had done this to her. Helicopter parenting, they called it. With the exception of that one night―Two nights ago, had it been?―when everything had gone straight to hell, Jill’s mother had been hovering over Jill her entire life. She was hovering over her now, sitting next to her bed, ensuring that Jill would stay on the straight and narrow, that something like the horror of two nights earlier would never be repeated. And Jill was thankful for that. She had been tempted her entire life. She had given in to that temptation by going to the campsite with those sullied kids from school, and look what had happened. The faceless man in the background of her life, her guardian angel, had ended four lives that would have sullied her own. She was thankful that her life had not been sullied, but she was sad that it had come at such a high price. She would never let that happen again. She would never risk being sullied.
Her mom was holding her hand, a reminder that she was always there and that she always would be. As thankful as Jill was to have her mother’s protection, there was a minor conflict, a tiny bit of resentment that crept into her soul every once in awhile―like now. There was that primal part of herself tha
t wanted to live like the other kids lived, and her mother and The Man with the Pushed-in Face were keeping her from living that life. But that desire to live like the other kids lived, to live a sullied life, that was the devil talking. That’s what her mother would tell her. And Jill believed it; she knew it to be true. The devil had a special way of talking to people, especially kids like her, and it wasn’t always with words. The devil could reach into you, make you want things that you shouldn’t want. So it was her job to fight the devil, and when she couldn’t fight the devil, her mom was there, and when her mom wasn’t there to fight the devil, The Man with the Pushed-in Face was there.
The Man with the Pushed-in Face was a last resort. When an extreme situation required an extreme measure, he would be there. Thankfully, he had only needed to come to Jill’s rescue once, so far.
Jill shook her head emphatically. No, never again. She would never allow herself to be sullied again.
She realized her mother was watching her. “You okay, honey?” her mother asked.
Jill forced a smile. “I’m fine, Mom.”
Her mother patted her hand. “Is there something on your mind?”
Jill resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “There’s a lot on my mind.”
“Silly question. Of course there is. You can talk to me about it. I’m here for you.”
“You’re always here for me,” Jill said without a trace of the cynicism she could have injected into those words.
“Well...that’s not really true is it.”
And there it was. Her mother was finally ready to talk about it. That was her M.O. Her mother didn’t want want to talk about it when Jill wanted to talk about it. No, her mother wanted to talk about it when her mother was good and ready to talk about it. And Jill was suddenly ashamed.
“It’s not your fault,” Jill said.
“Then whose fault is it? I raised you better. At least, I thought I did.”
“You raised me just find, Mom. It was a moment of...temptation.” That last word felt like acid on her tongue. It was akin to confessing that she’d been holding hands with the devil. “I was weak. I gave in.”
“You gave in, and four people are dead, four people who probably deserved it.”
Jill felt the heat rush to her face. “Please don’t say that!”
“They were dancing with the devil. They were sullied.”
“They didn’t deserve what happened to them, nobody does.”
“But the Lord spared you, didn’t He?”
Jill managed a subtle nod.
“And why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because you have a chance, honey. Those kids were sullied, but you’re still clean, so the Lord spared you, gave you a second chance.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, honey.”
“Does it bother you at all that four people are dead?”
“It bothers me, but it would bother me a lot more if I thought you were still in danger. The sullied boy who did this, he’d dead. You killed him. It’s over.”
If only that were true. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“What if it’s not over?”
Her mother trembled noticeably. “It’s over, honey. The sullied are dead, and you’re clean. You’re never gonna allow yourself to be sullied again because we’re gonna pray on it. We’re gonna pray longer and harder than we’ve ever prayed before.”
Jill wondered if that were possible. But she did as she was told. She pressed her hands together, closed her eyes, and listened intently as her mother, kneeling beside her bed, began with “Oh, Heavenly Father” as she always did.
And after a few minutes of hard praying came the slapping of footfalls that stopped just outside the open door to her room. Her mother heard it too and stopped praying. Jill took that as a cue to open her eyes.
Detective Moore was standing just outside the door.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Darlene stepped into Jill’s room to find the girl sitting up in bed. Amanda sitting by the bed, dismay etched into her features.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Darlene said.
"That's quite all right," Amanda said, getting to her feet.
"I'd like to ask Jill a few more questions if she's feeling up to it." She looked between Amanda and Jill as if she didn't know whose permission to ask.
Jill didn't react. She didn't even look at Darlene.
Amanda looked to her daughter. "Jill, honey, you feel up to answering some more questions?"
Jill didn't look like she felt up to it; she looked like she wanted Darlene to go away. But the girl nodded her half-hearted assent, anyway.
Amanda patted her daughter's hand. "I'll be right outside."
"You don't have to leave," Darlene said.
Amanda smiled politely. "My daughter's okay. She's alive and well. I don't need to know any more than that."
Darlene approached the bed as Amanda stepped out of the room. "Jill?"
Jill turned her head slowly. There was a trace of fear in her eyes, and the soft smile she offered Darlene did nothing to allay that fear. "Hi."
Darlene returned the smile. "Hi. Mind if I sit?"
Jill frowned and shook her head.
Taking that as an answer from the quiet girl, she sat in the still warm chair Amanda has been sitting in.
"Where's your partner?" Jill asked.
"Oh, he's taking care of something else," Darlene said. "How are you feeling today?"
Jill offered her a smile. "Much better. Thanks."
"Good. You look much better. So I know we asked you a bunch of questions yesterday, but..."
"I was a mess."
Darlene chuckled. "That's one way of putting it. Well, I know this is something you're probably not comfortable going over again, but I just want to talk a little more about what happened to you and your friends."
"They weren't my friends," Jill blurted out.
Darlene was not surprised. The girl's mother had told her as much. "If you don't mind me asking, what were you doing with them if they weren't your friends?"
"I wanted them to be my friends, or I thought I did. But more than anything, I just wanted to break free for a little while, live another life, I guess." A pause. "It's my fault."
"What?" Darlene asked. "What is your fault?"
"They died because of me. I didn't kill them, but I might as well have."
Darlene could see a day and a half of pent up grief rising to the girl's eyes. In a moment, the tears would form, and they would spill down her cheeks, and Darlene would do her best to suppress her own tears.
"Jill," Darlene said, "I don't know what drove Richard Caulfield to do this, but I do know that it's not your fault."
The tears formed and pooled over the girl's eyes. "It is." They flowed down her cheeks.
And as Darlene expected, she felt the tears rising to her own eyes and did everything in her power to push them back. When she was confident that she wasn't going to fall apart in front of the traumatized girl, she took another moment to consider the best way to handle the situation.
"Tell me," Darlene said.
Jill hesitated. "I went to that campsite with those kids to sully myself." She gave Darlene the briefest of looks. "I went there to drink alcohol," she continued, "and make out."
Darlene suppressed a smile. "Listen, I'm not endorsing underage drinking, but it's not unusual. Some teenagers do that."
"The sullied do. I don't. I'm supposed to be pure...like my mother. But I am pure. That's why I'm still alive. That's why he let me live."
Darlene was stumped. "Who?" she asked. "Who let you live?"
"The man who did this." A pause. "My guardian angel."
So the girl was clearly not out of the woods yet. On the contrary, she seemed to be getting worse. Still, Darlene knew that a sliver of truth could be found in the girl's delusions. She just had to be patient with her.
"Jill―"
"I saw him last nigh
t," Jill cut her off. "The man who did this. I saw him―" She pointed toward the window. "―out there." A pause. "I felt him. I felt him standing outside the hospital." Another pause. "I got up, walked to the window, and there he was, standing by the trees...watching me."
Darlene took a moment and said, "Jill, Richard Caulfield did this. He killed your friends; then he attacked you."
Jill shook her head. "No, it wasn't him."
Darlene was taken aback by the girl's declaration. "Are you sure about that?"
Jill nodded.
"We have his fingerprints on the murder weapon."
"It was staged."
"Staged by who?"
"The man who was outside my window last night," Jill said. "The Man with the Pushed-in Face."
Darlene hesitated. "The Man with the Pushed-in Face?"
Jill nodded. "The man who killed my friends, he has a pushed-in face." The girl took one look at Darlene and said, "I'm not crazy."
Darlene put her hands up in a mock-defensive posture. "I didn't say you were."
"It's written all over your face," Jill said before looking toward the window.
"Jill, I'm sorry. I was just kinda..." She trailed off. She didn't know how to finish the sentence.
"It's okay," Jill said.
Darlene took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Yesterday, you told us that Richard Caulfield did this."
"I lied."
"Why did you lie?"
"It's what he told me to say."
"The Man with the Pushed-in Face?"
Jill nodded.
"He told you to lie?"
Another nod.
"Why would you lie for this...man?"
A pause. "He's my father." She said it with such conviction. It wasn't a lie as far as she was concerned. Delusion, certainly. But not a lie.
"Your father is The Man with the Pushed-in Face?"
"Yes."
"Why does he have a pushed-in face?"
"I pushed it in...when I killed him."
Darlene wasn't sure how far this crazy story was going to go, and she wasn't exactly sure she wanted to push it any further, but she suspected that the truth was somewhere in the details. Darlene just had to dig it up.
The Final Girl Page 10