It Ends Here

by Willow Rose

  "Because I know this. I know that is what she is, even if she's trying to run from it."

  I smiled politely, looking discretely at my watch. I hoped Julie wasn't too upset that I hadn't called her yet. I couldn't believe I was wasting my time listening to this woman instead of talking to my beloved daughter.

  "And how do you know this? How do you know Margot Addington?" I asked.

  Joanna grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

  I sighed, thinking this had been a mistake. "Well, if you can't tell me, then there's no story for me to tell. I need to make sure you're a reliable source and not just someone out to hurt her."

  "Ask her about it," she said. "Ask her if she didn't kill little Timmy forty years ago. Ask her if she didn't strangle him to death inside that old house on Second Street."

  Now, she had my interest. Little Timmy could only be Timothy Peterson, the boy whose murder I was investigating.

  "Timothy Peterson?" I asked.

  She nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes. That's the one."

  "But why would you say that Margot Addington killed him? As far as I know, she's from Missouri and could only have been about ten years old back then. She was only a child."

  Joanna leaned forward. "Children can kill."

  I cleared my throat, remembering what I had just read in the article about the chief medical examiner back in '79 and what he had told the journalist. I bit my cheek while wondering if this woman was just mad or if I should take her seriously. It didn't add up, though.

  "But she grew up in Missouri, " I repeated. "She told me so when I did the interview."

  Joanna shook her head and pointed at the picture once again. "This girl grew up here in Webster. Right down the street from here. She went to Webster Elementary School like all the other children around here. She climbed the same trees they all did, and she's a killer; I tell ya'. She can't run from that. She murdered that child using her bare hands. She's a cruel, cruel killer and now she has struck again."

  I looked at my notes, then up at the woman. I wasn't sure she was completely sane.

  "I’m sorry; I don't really know how to…" I said feeling tired. "How do you know all this?"

  Joanna leaned forward. Her breath smelled like alcohol and cigarettes as she spoke.

  "She can change the way she looks. She can change her name; she can change anything she wants to, but a momma always knows her baby when she sees her. And this woman here is no Margot Addington. Her name is Anna Mae Burke. I know this because I gave her that name. I know this because I am her mother. Now, do you want this story or not? ‘Cause it'll have to cost ya'. I need you to pay up if you want the rest."

  Joanna leaned forward, grabbed the pen from my hand, then wrote a number on my pad.

  "That's what I want. This is what it'll cost 'ya. But it'll be worth every penny; believe me."

  I leaned back in my chair with an exhale. "I’m sorry. I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong person. I don't pay my sources for stories. That's not how I work. Besides, I don't have the kind of money that you're asking."

  "But…but you have to. This is my price. Surely, that magazine you work for will pay? They have plenty of money; just call them up and tell them that you have a great story that they need to run."

  I shook my head. "I’m just a freelance reporter; I have no say in what they run and don't run. And, to be honest, I don't think a magazine like that will pay for such a story. They're not into sensational stories like that. You'll want to contact the tabloids, and I don't write for them."

  Joanna's face froze, then she rose to her feet.

  "Then I'll go somewhere else, but you'll be sorry that you didn't take this story when I offered it to you. It could have been yours."

  "Go ahead. It's a free country," I said and watched as the woman rushed out the door without even a word to thank me for taking my time. As the door slammed shut, I placed my pad on the desk, wondering if anyone else would bite onto that story. If so, then Margot Addington was in for quite a storm. There was nothing the tabloids loved more than the story of the fall of someone considered to be great.

  I, for one, would have no part of a story like that. This woman had to have some sort of grudge against Margot; that would be the only explanation. Or maybe she was just crazy. I wasn't out to smear anyone or destroy their lives based on loose rumors or crazy people telling stories. Besides, I didn't believe anything of what she told me. There was no way Margot Addington had ever hurt anyone in her life. I simply refused to believe it.

  33

  Margot Addington laughed. Not that fake laughter that she had taught herself for charity events or when invited to fancy dinners with Theodore's colleagues and they said some joke only surgeons would understand. No, this was real laughter. This was real joy.

  They were sitting around the coffee table in the living room, all three of them, playing Monopoly. Minna threw the dice and moved her figure. Then she looked at her mother triumphantly.

  "I'll buy this one, and next time you land here, I'll ruin you."

  Margot smiled. It felt so good just to sit there and be. Just be with her family, the two people she loved so dearly. Next to them lay the magazine. She had read the article over and over again, each time filled with more and more relief and joy. This hadn't been as bad as she had feared, not at all. As she read through it the third time, she had actually thought she had come out sounding quite intelligent, and she had remained mysterious.

  Edward, her agent, had called earlier and told her he was proud of it, and so was the publishing house. And the sales were already feeling it. Today, she had sold more books than the past week altogether. So, it wasn't just good; it was excellent.

  The only fear that still lingered in Margot was that now they'd ask her to do a lot more interviews. Now that they knew she could do them, that she could be pressured into doing them, it might not end here. But Margot had decided she wouldn't. This was the last one she'd ever do. Her agent and her publisher would have to live with that. It hadn't been worth it. It had almost torn her apart inside, and she never wanted to feel like that again. She didn't want to sell off her soul one interview at a time because that was how it would go. Each journalist would take it a little further, would want a little more of her, would want another story, one that was better than the previous one, and in the end, there would be nothing of Margot left.

  She couldn't risk that happening.

  "It's your turn, dear," Theodore said.

  Margot was pulled out of her daydreaming and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I was gone there for a second."

  She grabbed the dice and shook them, then looked at her daughter.

  "Give me a six; give me a six."

  She rolled the dice onto the table, and they all screamed in excitement as they showed a five and a one.

  "Nooo," " Minna complained as Margot took her figure to Times Square and bought it.

  Margot chuckled while Minna grabbed a handful of popcorn and threw it at her.

  "Why do you always win?"

  "I haven't won yet," she said.

  "Your mom is right," Theodore said. "We can still get her for this."

  "You're always so lucky," Minna said, grumbling. "It doesn't matter what game we play. It's unfair."

  "I am hardly that lucky," Margot said, thinking maybe her daughter was right. Maybe she had been lucky once again. She had dodged another bullet with this interview. There wasn't anything that could hurt her now, was there?

  "I don't want to play anymore," Minna said, then grabbed the remote and threw herself onto the soft couch. "Let's watch some TV instead."

  34

  Webster, Florida 1979

  "Another child is missing."

  Carol's neighbor, Joel, stared at her. He was standing on her porch, eyes torn in despair, his forehead glistening in sweat.

  "It's the Blacks’ little boy, Benjamin. He was playing outside in their yard when he disappeared. They can't find him anywhere."

  "That's awful,"
Carol said. "Did they try all of his friends' houses? Did they knock on all the houses on his street and ask if they’ve seen him?"

  Joel nodded and wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

  "They fear he might have taken off for the swamps. Who knows? He might have seen something…maybe a hog or somethin' and gone after it. He's four years old, for cryin' out loud; there's no saying where he might have run off to."

  Carol nodded. That was always the first thing parents feared around here. That their children would run off and drown in the swamps or maybe get pulled underwater by a gator.

  "We're creating a search team and thought you might join in?" he asked. "We need as many eyes as possible out there."

  Carol looked into the living room where Anna Mae was sitting on the floor, drawing on a piece of paper. She was completely absorbed in her own world. She had been doing well lately, ever since Carol took her in and started homeschooling her. Her grades had gone up a little, and she seemed less aggressive. Earlier in her life, there had been incidents where she had attacked other kids in the schoolyard. One time, she had been sent home after forcing a girl to eat sand; another time, she had tried to strangle a boy who had been bullying her. It was no wonder to Carol that the town didn't like her and that most people feared her. Many still believed she could have killed Timothy. The sheriff had even taken her in for questioning. The attacks on them had died off a little, though, and it had been a while since someone last painted on their garage or smeared their house with eggs. Carol kept the girl at home as much as possible, sensing that was the smart thing to do. But still, she had to let her go outside and play every now and then; she could hardly keep her inside all day. Usually, she went with Bella, and that made Carol feel safe. Anna Mae wouldn't get herself in trouble with Bella around.

  Carol sighed, wondering if she should leave the child in the house while she went searching for the Blacks’ boy, then decided that maybe people would act nicer to her if they saw her helping out for once.

  "We'll be right there," Carol said. "Just give me a second to get ready."

  Joel smiled nervously. "We? You're…you plan on bringing Anna Mae too? I thought it would just be you."

  "I’m bringing her. She has eyes and ears too, doesn’t she?" Carol asked angrily.

  "Sure. I just…well…"

  "She knows where the kids play around town," Carol interrupted him. "She knows more about where a boy like Ben would be than any of us adults. It would be a shame not to let her help out now, wouldn't it?"

  Joel nodded, looking down. "Of course, ma'am."

  "Alrighty, then. We'll meet y’all in front of the Blacks’ house in a few minutes."

  Carol slammed the door shut with a snort. She heard Joel's steps as he walked off the porch. She took in a few deep breaths, trying to gather herself, then smiled wearily at Anna Mae and walked over to her. Anna Mae didn't look up; she was too deep into her drawing. Carol looked down at what she was drawing, then gasped. A tightness in her chest made it hard to breathe, and she felt so dizzy that she had to sit down to regain her composure.

  35

  I called Julie and had a long chat with her. She sounded like she had the best day of her life. She and Maggie were back to being best friends again, and it seemed like nothing could throw her off the rails now.

  It made me relax a little and relieved some of the huge amount of guilt I was feeling for not coming home yet.

  William was his usual happy self when he came to the phone. We talked about the spring concert he was rehearsing for at his pre-school, and he sang a little bit of the ABC-song for me, but then stopped and told me the rest was going to be a surprise, so I'd have to wait.

  I hung up, then turned on the TV to watch the local news to relax for a little. I had been staring at my computer for hours, reading through all the old articles, and my head was beginning to hurt. I was wondering what I was still doing here, and why I didn't just go home, but a part of me knew I had to stay. There was something here that I couldn't just turn my back on. Out there somewhere was a killer, and it didn't seem like anyone else cared enough to find him.

  The news was filled with stories about furloughed government employees who were hurt by the government shutdown. I dozed off while they changed the subject to a local story about a manatee that had gotten itself stuck in a storm drain.

  I woke up with a start a few minutes later. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up straight and stared at the TV, rubbing the cobwebs away from my eyes. A second later, I was fully awake, my eyes big and wide. On the screen in front of me was Joanna. She was standing in front of the old abandoned house, talking to a reporter. Underneath her it read:

  BREAKING: FAMOUS AUTHOR REVEALED AS MURDERER

  Reporter: "She's not proud of what she is about to say, but this concerned mother feels the need to tell the public about what her own daughter has done."

  Joanna: "I can't believe she's back, and no one knows. She lives right outside of town, and no one has the slightest idea."

  Reporter: "In the town of Webster, they all remember that fatal morning forty years ago when the body of young Timothy Peterson was found inside this abandoned house. At first, they all believed it was nothing but a terrible accident, until the next child disappeared."

  Joanna: "That was when they started to suspect my daughter, but they couldn't prove it. Besides, no one would ever believe that a ten-year-old could have killed a toddler, right? But she did."

  Reporter: "Now, this mother claims her murderous daughter is living right outside of town, and no one has even realized it."

  Joanna: "I’m telling you…it's her. She has the entire world fooled. Margot Addington, the famous author, is the very same one who killed Timothy Peterson inside this house. And I’m certain she also killed that other kid recently."

  Reporter: "You mean Alexander Cunningham?"

  Joanna: "Yes. She killed him too."

  Reporter: "But the police says that Alexander died in an accident. Why do you say that he was killed?"

  Joanna: "They said Timothy's death was an accident too, but I know she killed him. A mother knows these things. She's back, and she's killing again."

  Reporter: "So, you claim that Margot Addington is your daughter?"

  Joanna: "Yes, she is. I’m not proud of it or what she has done, but she is. I recognized her when I saw that article today in some magazine. She is my Anna Mae, and she was convicted of murdering Timothy Peterson and poor little Benjamin Black back in nineteen seventy-nine. She's changed her name. She's changed the way she looks, but you can't run from who you are. Your momma always knows. I’ve chosen to come forward to warn our town. Margot Addington is Anna Mae Burke. And she's nothing but a murderer. Keep your children at home. Don't let them run out on their own."

  Next, Joanna held up an old photo of a child with a pageboy haircut and stated that this was what she looked like as a child. The reporter then turned to the camera and said:

  "Now, we have naturally tried to get a comment from the sheriff's office today, but Sheriff Travers says he has nothing more to add. Alexander Cunningham died in a tragic accident was all he had to say. Back to you, Chad."

  As they returned to the studio, I turned the TV off, heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't believe the reporter. She hadn't even tried to contact Margot Addington and ask her for a comment? And where was the proof of any of this? Had they just accepted this crazy woman's explanation because they wanted dirt on a celebrity? I knew that Margot Addington was especially interesting because she had managed to keep her life so private. It was almost as good as if they had caught the Queen shoplifting at Target. But still. Why would you just let a woman rant on like that without any proof to what she was saying?

  It made me so angry. How could they smear Margot Addington's name like this? This was going to hurt her deeply, and they didn't even care, did they?

  Sometimes, I loathed my own profession.

  I leaned back on the bed, an avalanche of guilt ru
shing through me. This was all my fault, wasn't it? My article was what led this crazy woman to begin her ranting. I was the reason this had begun, and now the media would throw themselves at it, at Margot. No matter if it was true or not; this was a good story…no, it was a great story. They weren't going to leave Margot alone about this. And to think that she clearly didn't even want to give the interview. All she wanted was to keep to herself and to stay anonymous to the public so she could write her books.

  But, what if it's true, Rebekka? What if it is really the same person? Could she have killed Alexander Cunningham?

  I shook my head. It was so easy to get carried away like that. I wasn't going to let it happen to me. I had to keep my cool and let the facts talk. Rumors and loose statements weren't enough. I couldn't do what every other journalist around here would over the next couple of days. I had to keep professional about it.

  Someone had to.

  36

  She couldn't breathe. Margot Addington stared at the screen in her living room, feeling like she was suffocating. It was too quiet around her. Both Minna and Theodore stared at the screen, even though Theodore had turned it off. It was so quiet that Margot could hear her own heartbeat.

  "Who the heck do they think they are?" Theodore finally said and rose from the couch. The remote in his hand was shaking.

  Margot didn't dare to look at him or her daughter. She stared at the carpet beneath her, unable to say a word.

  "I mean…why? Why would they run something like that, huh?" he asked. "That woman is obviously crazy as a bat. Anyone can see that. And to claim…to claim that she's your mother…when everyone knows you lost your mother when you were just a child. I can't believe them. Holding out the microphone for anyone these days to say whatever they like. That's not journalism."

  Margot felt her daughter's small hand leaning on her arm. "Are you all right, Mom? Are you okay?"