I also got to work on Rosie’s heavy makeup. Every day since she’d moved in, she’d painted harsh black lines on her eyelids, extending them far beyond the outer corners of her dark brown eyes.
Marcus had started letting the girls wear makeup in their teenage years and early twenties, when they went to work, saying he wanted them to blend in so no one would ask questions about the family’s lifestyle. However, he also took the girls on trips—without Elizabeth—to San Francisco, where he had them dress in heels and provocative outfits as they walked together through crowded public places such as Fisherman’s Wharf. When Elizabeth was pregnant with Adrian, he’d sexualized her in the same way, buying her a pair of denim shorts and cutting them even shorter.
I thought Rosie would look softer and prettier without the black eyeliner, so I asked her about it.
“I was going to get eyeliner tattooed on before everything happened,” she told me. “I still want to.”
“Please don’t,” I said. “You’ll regret it. I promise.”
“Then I won’t have to put it on all the time and it will never smudge.”
“But Rosie, when you get older, your skin will sag and it will look uneven and it will fade. Plus, you may not always want to have black eyeliner on like that.”
“Yes, I will. Trust me.”
I, like every other TV reporter, had collected a stockpile of foundation, powder, lipstick, mascara, blush—all the essentials for putting on the best face. After Rosie accepted my offer to do her makeup, I went through my three drawers and two large makeup cases to find soft shades of beige and brown for her eyes, a soft pinky brown for her cheeks, and a golden brown gloss for her full lips.
“What do you think?” I said, spinning her chair around so she could see herself in my large bedroom mirror.
“Wow,” she said, surprised to see her new look. “I actually like it. I really like it.”
Rosie slowly phased out the black liner.
ROSIE AND I were both animal lovers, so we had a lot to talk about. She was amazed that I had had a pony growing up and wanted to hear all about him. She also played with Cosmo constantly, loving to touch his little pink nose.
She was cuddling up with my affectionate ferret one day when she said, “I miss Betty,” her black Chihuahua, which had run away the day of the murders.
“Aaaw, I’m sorry, Rosie,” I said, seeing her sad expression. “You love animals so much, have you ever thought about becoming a veterinarian?”
Rosie’s face lit up as if it was something she’d never considered. “Oh, Alysia, I would love that,” she said. “But I don’t have a diploma.”
“Maybe it’s something for you to work toward,” I said. “You could start as a veterinary assistant, or you could work at a pet store while you’re going to school.”
“That would be nice,” she said.
When I got home from work the next night, Rosie ushered me into their bedroom.
“Close your eyes,” she said with a nervous smile. “Okay, open them.”
I could see she was cupping something in her hands. As I leaned in to take a closer look, I heard a faint chirping noise. It was a scrawny, almost featherless baby chick that was barely moving.
“I think one of the stray cats got it out of its nest,” she said. “Would you mind if I tried to save it? I can keep it in the room with us.”
“Sure, Rosie,” I said, not having the heart to tell her it wasn’t going to make it. “I think that would be fine.” I did caution her, however, to keep Cosmo away from the chick.
I walked into my closet, grabbed a shoe box, and handed it to her. She stuffed the box with tissue and grass to make a nest for her little patient.
At least it will keep her mind off her kids. God, please let that bird live.
As I watched her nurse the fragile bird back to health, I wondered how Rosie could have been the toughest woman in the Wesson clan. For at least five years leading up to the murders, Marcus had considered Rosie his “strong soldier.” He had trained her to do whatever he said, even if it meant putting herself in danger, so the other children were all afraid of her and knew better than to get in her way.
For the first week she was at my apartment, she had seemed ridiculously shy, but as she grew more comfortable with me, I found it increasingly difficult to imagine her being Marcus’s merciless watchdog. The Rosie I knew was amazingly gentle and kind and only grew more so as time went on.
Somehow, she managed to save the helpless little creature. For days, she woke up every hour on the hour to feed him a special formula by eyedropper. Before long, he had grown a mane of soft feathers and developed a loud chirp that never stopped. We named him Seinfeld after the sitcom the four of us watched together each night. I knew every episode by heart, but I enjoyed watching reruns with my roommates, who were hearing the jokes for the first time.
Then came the day for Seinfeld to fly our coop. Rosie coached him through the air in the apartment and caught him before he crashed onto the carpet. Soon, he was ready for the outdoors. Although she knew it was for the best, Rosie wasn’t ready to say good-bye. She’d become attached to the little fellow.
We had a small good-bye ceremony on my balcony and wished him well, but Seinfeld stayed perched on Rosie’s palm.
“It’s time to start your new life,” she told him proudly. “Go ahead. Fly away.”
With that, Seinfeld took to the sky, circled above us a few times, then disappeared into the clouds. While I recalled the image of the doves being released outside the funeral home, I looked at Rosie’s sad eyes and wondered if she was thinking about Ethan and Sedona.
“It’s okay, Rosie,” I said, hoping to comfort her. “He’s in a better place now.”
I was referring to the bird, but we both knew that my comment was also meant for her two children, who were free and somewhere good, too.
THE MORE I got to know the Wesson family, the more I liked them. It was obvious to my parents and the few friends who knew about my situation that Elizabeth, Kiani, and Rosie weren’t moving out anytime soon. I didn’t come to that realization myself, though, until my mom brought it up.
“It’s been a couple months, now, huh?” she said.
“Yeah, it doesn’t seem that long,” I said, doing the math in my head. “A little more than two months, I guess.”
“You like having them there, don’t you?”
“I do.”
I didn’t tell my mom, but I decided right then that I needed to confess to my boss that the Wessons were living with me, especially if this was going to be a more permanent thing.
But before I had a chance to tell him, he asked me if I would be willing to change jobs. He needed me to work indefinitely as a reporter on the morning show in our South Valley bureau. My new office would be about fortyfive miles from my home, and my new schedule would be 2:30 A.M. to 11:30 A.M., the exact opposite of my current 2:30 P.M. to 11:30 P.M. shift. Although that was difficult to swallow at first, I figured it would be better for everyone if I were so conveniently removed from the Wesson story, at least for now.
I decided not to say anything to my boss until or unless he told me I was back covering the case. I still felt no regret about my decision to help the Wessons, regardless of possible future consequences.
FOR THE FIRST few weeks of my new shift, I got only two or three hours of sleep each night, but that had its benefits. Getting home around noon meant I had a full day of sunlight to go swimming or lie by the pool.
I knew that the Wessons had lived periodically on boats, so I was shocked to learn that Marcus had never taught them how to swim. I wondered if they were ever afraid to make the journey to and from work in their little rowboat each day.
“Let’s go to the pool and learn how to swim,” I suggested one afternoon.
Rosie and Kiani giggled, as if they weren’t sure I was serious. Elizabeth said nothing, so I figured she’d never take me up on the offer. I had been a swimming instructor when I was a teenager and as
sured the girls I had taught plenty of beginners. I saw no reason to tell them my students had all been under six years old.
“What will we wear?” Kiani asked worriedly.
They still wore modest shirts, skirts, and high heels every day. I knew there wasn’t a chance I could get them into bathing suits, so I didn’t even try.
“Whatever you want,” I said. “I have some shorts and T-shirts you can put on.”
I glanced back and saw that they were blushing. I couldn’t believe Kiani and Rosie were more embarrassed by the thought of wearing shorts than they’d been by talking about sex with Marcus.
They followed me to my room, where I gathered my most conservative workout gear for them to try on. They disappeared into their bedroom for twenty minutes, during which time I could hear consistent laughter and playful screams.
Kiani stuck her head out for a minute, hiding her body behind the door.
“No one will be there, right?”
“Right,” I said. “If anyone shows up, we’ll leave.”
My apartment complex had three pools. The two with showers, vending machines, and bathrooms were usually busy, so I planned to take the girls to the one without those amenities, which was always quiet.
Kiani disappeared into their room for another twenty minutes of screaming and laughter. Finally, she and Rosie tiptoed into the hallway and stopped near the front door.
I was determined not to comment on their outfits, but it wasn’t easy. Kiani was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and sweatpants, while Rosie wore a T-shirt and her regular black skirt; both were still wearing high heels. I’d put on a bikini and flip-flops and had wrapped a towel around my waist.
“Let’s go,” I said, ushering the girls out the door. “Elizabeth, why don’t you at least come watch us?”
“I’ll be out there in a minute,” she said, relieved to see that Kiani and Rosie were so excited. “Have fun!”
Our odd trio sauntered across the asphalt parking lot until we reached the tall iron gate surrounding the pool.
I unlocked the gate and swung open the door, holding it for the girls.
“Oh, good, no one is here,” Kiani said with a nervous giggle.
I followed, relieved as well. The gate slammed shut, which caused Kiani to jump and let out a high-pitched scream. Her yelp startled Rosie, but the emotional chain reaction stopped with me.
“This is not off to a good start,” I said, trying to calm the girls. “Are you okay?”
“We’re fine,” they said, laughing.
I threw our towels on a patio table and kicked off my flip-flops. The girls bent over and unstrapped their shoes, which they placed neatly under a chair. Almost in unison, we started skipping across the scorching pavement toward the pool, yelling “hot, hot, hot.”
We hopped onto the first step in the shallow end, then Rosie continued down to the second step, which put the hem of her skirt an inch below the water line.
“I hope the chlorine won’t bleach your skirt, Rosie,” I said, worried she would ruin her favorite article of clothing.
“It will be fine,” she said.
I scooted past the girls, then plunged all the way under. “It’s not that cold,” I said. “Get in.”
Kiani and Rosie waded down to the three-feet marker and waited for further instructions. I had them put both hands on the edge of the pool and extend their bodies while kicking their legs. Because they had never engaged in any sporting activity before, their bodies looked awkward, but they were good sports about it.
I reached under Kiani’s torso and held her up with my forearms to give her some leverage. She began kicking harder and was nearly keeping herself afloat.
“You’re doing it, Kiani, you’re swimming,” I said.
“I want to try,” Rosie chimed in.
As I eased my hold on Kiani, she panicked and tried to grab my wrist as she started to sink. She sprang up, spitting out water, with a terrified look on her face.
“You okay?” I asked. “You just have to relax. You were doing so well.”
“I want to try,” Rosie repeated, just like one of the fiveyear-olds I used to coach.
I supported Rosie’s upper body as I had Kiani’s, and she began kicking ferociously, splashing water four feet into the air.
I could see Elizabeth peeking over the gate. Kiani gladly jumped out of the water to let her in.
“Oh, good job, Rosie,” Elizabeth said, pulling a chair into the shade. “It’s so hot out here.”
Half an hour later, the girls were making good progress, especially with treading water. Elizabeth fanned herself and clapped each time the girls looked over at her. It was the first time I’d seen them so carefree; I didn’t want the moment to end.
We’d been so wrapped up in negativity lately, talking for hours each day about the darkest things imaginable: child abuse, murder, mind control. The Wessons needed an escape, not only from the guilt and pain of losing their children but also from the grim realization that they didn’t fit into mainstream society. I needed a break from all the heavy emotions, too. I’d begun feeling like an outcast myself, and I yearned to feel normal again, even if it was just for an afternoon.
“Let’s go to the movies,” I suggested.
“Really, Alysia?” Kiani asked, excited. “We’ve never been to the theater before.”
“I know. That’s why I want to take you. Let’s go change.”
The girls jumped out of the pool, their clothes sagging with water. We grabbed our towels as Elizabeth held open the gate for us. On the way back to the apartment, I was pleased to notice that, for the first time, the eager girls were walking ahead of me.
The chill of the air conditioner hit us as soon as we walked in, and I warned the girls that movie theaters were even colder than my apartment.
“Maybe you should wear some of my pants,” I said, teasing them.
“I’ll wear pants sometime,” Rosie said.
“Just not yet, huh?”
I didn’t push it. I was too excited to take them to their first movie. I imagined this was what it felt like to introduce your children to new things.
It was a Wednesday afternoon, so there were only a few people in the theater and I didn’t worry about anyone seeing us together. I had already told the girls about the concession stand, so that was the first place we headed.
“Wow, the ceiling is so high in here,” Rosie said, her chin in the air.
Kiani, whom I’d playfully nicknamed Candy for her love of anything sweet, was preoccupied with the huge selection, ranging from M&M’s to Sour Patch Kids and Goobers.
“Pick something out,” I said.
I ordered an extra-large popcorn with extra butter for us to share. Kiani was in charge of ordering the candy, but she was taking forever to make a decision and the cashier was growing impatient.
“We’ll take this and this and this,” I said, pointing to items on the top shelf. “The movie’s going to start soon.”
We wanted to see Spider-Man 2, but the showtime was a few hours away, so we chose The Bourne Supremacy instead.
“Where should we sit?” Kiani asked.
“I’ll follow you guys,” I said, chuckling at their enthusiasm.
They chose a row in the middle of the dimly lit theater. I watched the three of them plop down into the overstuffed seats with blue velvet cushions. I couldn’t help but smile as I thought about Marcus sitting alone on his cold, hard prison bed under the harsh fluorescent lights.
The lights went dark, and as the previews started rolling, I saw Kiani clapping next to me.
“Wow, this is loud,” she yelled.
“What?” I asked.
“This is loud in here, I said.”
“What?” I asked again, smiling.
“Alysia!” she said, swatting at my arm, never taking her eyes from the big screen.
This was the first time they’d ever heard surround sound, and they flinched at every sudden noise. The movie was one long series of car
chases and explosions, so it probably wasn’t the best choice. Luckily, there weren’t any love scenes, which made the girls uncomfortable. I always thought it was weird that Elizabeth covered her eyes whenever two people even came close to kissing on TV. Kiani and Rosie always looked away but didn’t go to such extremes.
I ended up not seeing much of the movie—I was too busy watching them. I marveled at how the dimple on Rosie’s left cheek never left because she and the other two women never stopped grinning.
Eleven
From the moment Elizabeth married Marcus, her husband took her on a religious journey the likes of which most people have never seen. Her children got the same treatment and then some.
After giving birth to Sebhrenah in 1978, Elizabeth was baptized in the Seventh-day Adventist church, donning a white robe and being immersed in a heated pool behind the minister’s pulpit. She gave up her jeans and makeup for long skirts and long-sleeved shirts, while Marcus, who had been baptized at fourteen, rededicated himself to God. Together, they changed their diet and gave up Elizabeth’s favorite foods—hamburgers, spareribs, steaks, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and pizza—to become vegetarians as the church required.
The Wessons lived on peanut butter, rice and beans, oatmeal, whole wheat bread, vegetables, and fruit. There was no alcohol in the house, no candy and no caffeine. Elizabeth even used baby formula to make Cream of Wheat for the kids to comply with the restrictions against butter, milk, and sugar.
After years of watching her fellow churchgoers line up and salivate for vegetarian hot dogs and veggie burgers, Elizabeth persuaded Marcus to allow the family to eat the real thing on special occasions and at family barbecues at her mother’s house. Elizabeth saw no difference in God’s eyes between craving meat and actually eating it.
Marcus, on a continuous quest to expand his religious knowledge, studied Mormonism, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Eckankar, Hari Krishna, and Buddhism, adding facets of these belief systems to his Seventh-day Adventist base. He also collected literature about groups such as the Children of God, whose founder, David Berg, preached free love and polygamy. Marcus was fascinated by Berg, who encouraged his female followers to seduce men in bars, a calculated method of bringing nonbelievers into the fold that won them the nickname Hookers for Jesus.
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