Atone

by Beth Yarnall

  “Because I’ve gotten more info on this case from girls on the Internet than I have from you and I’m starting to get fucking sick of it.”

  “I don’t know anything else that will help find Marie. What does it matter why he’s going after her? He’s after her. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Cora thinks we should go to the police.”

  “No. No way.”

  “Why not? Give me something here, Vera.”

  “You don’t get it. One of my regulars was an asshole cop who liked to brag as he fucked about all the power he had, what a big man he was. He was a fucking sadist coward who could only get off when I screamed in pain. There were more. I don’t know how many more, but there were rumors about someone in the district attorney’s office, politicians, businessmen—powerful men—fucking underage girls. None of them came to our rescue so how can you expect me to believe they would now? That’s one of the reasons I’m not safe and I never will be.”

  “What are the other reasons?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Why did we start this between us if you’re going to bail any minute and I don’t get to know why? So I just get left behind? I’m sick of getting left behind. Cassandra fucking left me and now you’re going to do it too. I know it has something to do with Javier and the reason you ran, changed your name, and your appearance. Why?”

  “I can’t. Please stop asking me.”

  “You’re the only fucking person who gets me.” He pounds his fist over his heart. Misery grinds his voice, making the edges rough. “That means something to me.”

  “You get me too. I know you do. Please try to understand. I’d give you more if I could. I’d give you fucking everything. But I can’t give you this. Please. Let it go.”

  Growling, he shoves his hands in his hair and presses his palms against his eyes. I hate seeing him like this. I hate that I brought him to this. I go to him and pull his arms down so I can see his face. Lacing my fingers with his, I try to get him to look at me. He’s pissed at me, but that’s not all he is. He’s hurt. The anger and frustration I can handle. The thought that I cause him pain shames me. He’s been nothing but good to me, even when he had no reason to be.

  I kiss him. He doesn’t respond right away, and then he wraps his arms around me, still holding my hands in his, and kisses me back. It’s a conciliatory kiss. I won, but I don’t feel like a winner.

  Chapter 21

  Beau

  I’ve run a thousand scenarios through my mind about what Vera isn’t telling me. I have a feeling they’re not going to come anywhere near the actual truth. And if I keep pressing her she’ll give something away without meaning to and I’ll finally have a clue to chase. Other than her real name. I’ve been tempted so many times to search it. I know I’ll find something if I do. The look on her face when I told her I found her is the single reason I haven’t. Stark terror. That’s the only way to describe it. I can’t be the one to put that look on her face again.

  So I give in. I won’t search for the truth. I’ll stop asking her why. I’ll hold off on calling in the cops. I’ll focus on the girls and on finding Marie. The closer we get, the closer I am to losing Vera. But I can’t think about that. I sure as hell can’t think about that when I’m kissing her. I can’t think about much at all except kissing her more. She fits so perfectly against me. With her arms behind her, her breasts thrust forward. I fucking love her tits. I fucking love everything about her. I can’t think straight for the thoughts she puts in my head. Like now, when she’s trying to be so sweet and distracting.

  It’s working. I am distracted. Or maybe I just want to be. I don’t want to look in the dark corners of her life any more than she wants to shine a light on them. But the time might come when that’s no longer an option and I’ll have to press her and make her tell me. And it’s looking more and more likely that will be sooner rather than later.

  “Fine,” I tell her, breaking the kiss. “You win.”

  “This isn’t a contest.”

  “I know that. I won’t keep pressuring you. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Let’s find Marie and then we’ll see where we are.” I release her and go back to my chair before I end up bending her over Cora’s desk. My willpower is shit where she’s concerned.

  She follows me and sits back down in her chair. The sideways glances she keeps sneaking while I work are filled with regret. She’s not any happier than I am about the line she’s drawn. That’s the only bright spot, because it shows I’m not wrong about her. She’s a good person in a fucked-up situation. I know what that’s like. I can’t fault her for trying to protect herself, even from me. It’s hard to share the worst shit with the people you want to think the best of you. I get that. I get her.

  The more I dig into the four other girls with the tattoo the more I’m convinced Emmaline is the key. Shortly after finishing their pregnancy-prevention classes they all met Javier or Jay or Daddy or whatever it is they call him. They’re swept off their feet, romanced, paid attention to. Then the tattoo, then they disappear. The pattern repeats with all the girls, including Vera, and with the exception of Emmaline not vetting Marie.

  We need to talk to Emmaline. She could lead us straight to Javier. This is where I need to bring Cora back in. She and the other investigators are much more skilled than I am at interviewing people. I’d have a hard time being calm if I met her. What she did to Vera and the other girls is fucking sick. Who does shit like that?

  I go get Cora to bring her up to date on the new information we found. Vera gives up her seat to Cora and wanders over to the map with all the pins. As I fill Cora in, I watch Vera study the map out of the corner of my eye. Cora asks me a question and I look away to answer her. It takes me a few minutes before I bring my attention back to Vera. When I do, I see her pick up a pin. She stares at it for a moment, glances at the map, then back at the pin again before sticking it in the map.

  “What’s that pin for?” I ask.

  She flinches at my question. At first I’m not sure if she’s going to answer. She looks at the map again, then back at me. “It’s where I escaped from. The last house he kept me in. It’s the only one I know the location of.”

  Cora and I get up from the desk and go to the map. Vera stuck the black-headed pin in almost the exact center of the area where all of the other pins are.

  “What’s the address?”

  “11841 Plymouth Drive.”

  I plug the address into a real estate site that will tell me who owns the property. It was sold three years ago, right about the time Vera escaped. I check the record before that. Conrad Investments Inc. was the previous owner. I switch windows and search the California secretary of state’s website for that corporate name. Bingo. I get a name of the agent for service of process and an address.

  “Do the names Conrad Investments Inc. or Chad Perez ring a bell?” I ask Vera.

  “No. I knew very little about the people who kept me captive. They never used names. We called the head guy Sergeant and the others sir or Private. If we needed a doctor, we called him Doctor. We weren’t people. We were property. I had very little interaction with the other girls. Even then, we were brought together for a job and separated right after. The rooms were monitored, so there was no way we could communicate with each other. I’m sorry I can’t be more help.”

  “Don’t be. That pin is another lead to follow.” I go to LinkedIn and pull up Chad Perez’s profile. “Come here,” I tell Vera. “Does this guy look familiar?”

  She leans over my shoulder. “No. Not at all.”

  “I’d be surprised if he did. I need to look more closely at what Conrad Investments Inc. does. I have a feeling it’s a shell corporation and we’re going to have to dig a lot deeper to find out who really used that house. Cora”—I turn to my sister—“we need to interview Emmaline and this Chad guy at Conrad. First thing tomorrow.”

  “I’ll get right
on it. I think it would be best if Mr. Nash tackled Emmaline. She’s going to need the lighter touch of someone with more experience than me. I can take Nolan with me to talk to the guy at Conrad. Chances are this guy is just a pencil pusher and has no idea what went on in that house. I think I know just the angle to take with him.” Cora puts her hand on mine over the mouse. “It’s late. Why don’t the two of you take off, get something to eat? You can work on this some more tomorrow.”

  I start to argue, but Cora gestures with her head toward Vera, who is studying the map as though it’s a viper preparing to strike. I know a little bit about the memories that pin represents. The deeper we get into this, the more Vera’s had to share her past, and it’s starting to take its toll on her.

  “Yeah. Okay. I didn’t realize how late it was. Why don’t we walk you to your car?”

  Cora gathers her stuff while I save my searches and make a couple notes for tomorrow. All the while Vera is quiet, keeping herself separate.

  Cora lays her hand on Vera’s arm. “I’ll only tell the guys the necessary information to get the job done. What’s been said in this room stays in this room.”

  “Thank you.”

  We all walk out to the parking lot. I make sure Cora gets in her car safely and watch as she drives off. It’s the first time I make the assumption I’m going with Vera to her motel room. Does that make this a relationship? What does that make us? She doesn’t comment as we climb into her car and she pulls out of the parking lot. Instead of turning left, she turns right. The last time she took me someplace unexpected was to Cassandra’s grave. I wonder what she has in mind this time.

  We drive for a while and then it hits me that we’re in the area on the map where all the pins are. I force myself to stare straight ahead and not have any reaction. I know where she’s taking me. What I don’t know is why. This is her trip, her point to make. I’m just going to have to ride it out with her and see where it takes us. She’s quiet during the drive, but I know her mind isn’t. I can practically hear the words scrambling in her brain. My pulse kicks up in response to hers as we turn onto Plymouth Drive. She makes a U-turn and parks across the street from the house where she was held captive.

  I can’t see her face, only a portion of her profile. Glancing past her, I stare at the house where her nightmare ended. It’s ordinary, like the others on the street. A dog barks. A dad plays catch with his daughter on their front lawn. A teenager washes his car in the driveway. A runner jogs by. Among all this normalcy, a monster sold girls into sexual slavery. Didn’t anyone wonder about the cars that came and went? How only men entered and exited the house? Didn’t they notice anything? All it would’ve taken was one person, one nosy neighbor, to save those girls, to save Vera.

  My mouth fills with the bitter taste of frustration and anger; my whole body vibrates with it. I can only imagine what Vera’s feeling. How many times did she hope to be rescued before she gave up? What did it take for her to finally free herself? How was she able to do it and the others weren’t? Where did she go? The questions keep piling up, but I don’t voice them. She brought me here for a reason, and it wasn’t to cure my curiosity.

  “My room was upstairs. The window on the right,” she says, pointing at the house. “It was boarded up with curtains over top so the men wouldn’t notice. Sometimes it was hard to tell when it was night and when it was day. They made two rooms out of one to house more of us. I don’t know who was in the other half. We never saw each other.

  “I always knew when it was Monday. Those were the busiest days. Something about the weekend not working out for them, maybe. I don’t know. They all didn’t come for a fuck. Some just wanted someone to talk to. I hated them the most. Stupid, right? But it’s like, why the hell should I listen to your whiny ass? I’m locked up here, forced to have sex with strangers, and you want me to sympathize with you not getting a fucking promotion at work? Not one of them got the fucking irony of that. Not one. Stupid fucking bastards.”

  She takes a deep breath and lays her head back on the headrest, still staring at the house. “This is the second time I’ve come back since I escaped. I was angrier the first time than I am this time. Isn’t that strange? I feel more defiant this time. You bent me, but you didn’t break me. I’m still standing. I’m free. That’s pretty much how I feel. I think you’re partially responsible for that. For just being quiet while I say all kinds of stupid, rambling shit. It’s a gift you have.”

  She holds her hand out to me, her attention still on the house. I take it in both of mine, pressing hers between them. If I could pull her memories from her and carry them for her for a while, I would. She did that for me with Cassandra. The pain is still there and some of the anger, but it’s not near what it once was. I hope I can do that for her.

  “Sex isn’t mechanical with you. I hope you know that. You’ve given me so many firsts, you have no idea. Thank you for that too.” She pulls her hand from mine and starts the car. “I’m done here. I don’t ever want to come back.”

  I glance behind us at the house as we drive away. I’m going to have nightmares about it. About Vera and all the other girls who were held inside. If I thought she was brave before, I was wrong. She’s a fucking superhero. I admire her more than anyone else I’ve ever met. She makes what I went through almost insignificant by comparison. She’s a rock star. A goddess. She’s fucking courageous. And she’s mine…for a time.

  Chapter 22

  Vera

  I don’t know why I took Beau to that house. It felt necessary, I guess. That’s probably the best way to put it. The only way to put it. Necessary. Like if I didn’t take him there right then I was going to fly apart into a thousand little pieces. I can’t give him the answers he wants, but I can give him all the rest of me. The good, the bad, and the seriously fucked-up.

  And there’s a whole hell of a lot of seriously fucked-up, that’s for sure.

  I don’t question why we work the way we do. We just do. We’re symbiotic. I’ve never felt this way with a person before, and I can’t help but wonder if he and Cassandra were like this or if this is new for him too. I don’t know anything about relationships. Maybe this is normal and everybody who has an affair feels the same way. I don’t dare ask him, though. I’m not jealous anymore, just curious. He might not like the question or might read something else into it. Something permanent. Something I can’t give him.

  We go back to my motel room and order pizza. People our age go out to the movies, parties, clubs, and friends’ houses. Not us. We’re more comfortable away from crowds. We don’t want to see or be seen. We’re not tied to social media. We don’t binge-watch TV shows. It hadn’t really occurred to me until this moment how odd we must seem to other people. How totally out of place we are in society. We don’t even talk unnecessarily to fill the void. There are no awkward silences. That’s unusual too. Over the past few years I’ve watched the interactions people have with each other to try to get a sense of what’s normal. I have no perspective on what’s customary. I’m relearning how to be a person and not doing a very good job of it.

  Beau never makes me feel that way, though. It’s one of the things I like best about him. There are so many things I like about him, from the way he looks to how I feel when I’m with him.

  He kicks off his shoes, lies down on the bed, stacking his hands under his head, and stares at the ceiling. His thinking pose. I lie down next to him and mimic him. Except I can’t concentrate, so I turn my head on the pillow to look at him, only to find him watching me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’re remarkable.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  “I think you’re remarkable.”

  “Not hardly.”

  I shift to my side, pillowing my head on my bent arm. “How did you keep track of time in prison?”

  This time he copies my pose. “Counted the days.”

  “Like with slashes on the wall or something?”

 
“No, in my head. I kept a running total.”

  “You never forgot or lost track?”

  “No. Not even once.”

  “I lost track,” I say. “A lot. I think it was not knowing night from day. There was no routine either. The days just kind of blended together. Plus, I lost chunks of time fucking. I’d zone out, then all of a sudden it was dinner or breakfast. There are no clocks in my head. I think maybe it was better that way. Made time go by faster. When I escaped, I found out how many years I’d been held—almost four.”

  “Two thousand two hundred and seventy-one days for me.”

  “You still remember the number of days? How long is that?”

  “A little over six years.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too.”

  I laugh at how ridiculous we are. “It’s kind of dumb we’re apologizing to each other, isn’t it?”

  “A few people told me they were sorry for what happened to me. How many people told you?”

  “You’re the only one.”

  “Then it’s not so dumb, is it?”

  “Maybe not.”

  “I could kill him for what he did to you.”

  “Please don’t.” I put a hand on his arm. “I couldn’t stand it if you spent another minute in prison. Especially if it was because of me.”

  “I hate what he and Emmaline did to you.”

  “Killing them wouldn’t make what I went through disappear. Please. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

  “I do a lot of stupid shit.”

  I shake him by the arm. “You know what I mean. Stop being stubborn. Promise me you won’t do anything to get yourself locked up again. It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it. Please.”

  He moves closer. “Don’t you know I’d do anything for you? Haven’t I already proven you’re more than worth it?” His gaze drops to my mouth.

  “When you look at me like that I start to believe all kinds of things.” He goes for a kiss, but I stop him with a finger to his lips. “Promise me.”