by Rachel Caine
Mom’s face goes so pale that I think she’ll collapse, but she doesn’t. She stares, but I don’t think she’s watching, not really, and when the video’s over, she hands it back to Javier and bends forward to put her face in her hands. I think for a second she’s crying, but when she comes upright again, her eyes are dry and almost dull. “That’s not me,” she says. Her voice sounds like torn metal, rough and sharp. “It’s fake. Absalom created it.”
“Sorry, no,” Javier says. “This is too good for some casual hater to do. I see you. Helping him.”
“It’s fake! If it’s real, why wasn’t it shown at my trial? Think, Javi, please! I know it looks bad, believe me. It makes me sick, and it makes me angry. But that is not me. This never happened!”
“Just shut up,” I tell her. “It’s right there. It’s staring you in the face. You did it.”
“Lanny, honey—”
“Don’t,” I say sharply. I want her to leave now. I can’t stand to look at her. She makes me want to vomit. “Shut up. I’m sick of your bullshit.”
She’s crying again now. Good. I’m glad it hurts. She has no idea how much it hurts me.
“How did you get this?” she whispers.
Connor lifts his head for the first time and says, “I found it.” He doesn’t sound angry. Just empty. I’m scared of that, because my brother isn’t as angry as I want him to be, at least not that I can tell. It’s like he expected the world to fail us.
“Where did you—”
“Doesn’t matter, does it?” I break in. “Because he did. It proves you’re a liar.”
“It proves people want you to believe I am,” she says. “Please, Lanny—”
“Don’t talk to me!”
Silence. We’re all looking at her, except Sam; he’s busy pouring himself a cup of coffee, trying to pretend everything’s normal, but I can see the stiffness in his back. His expression is so blank it looks like a Halloween mask. Is it him, too? Is he a liar? He lied to us in the beginning. Maybe we shouldn’t trust him, either. Or Javier. Or Kezia.
Maybe there’s nobody in this world left for us to trust but each other.
Mom turns to Javier and Kezia. “Where did he get this? How?”
“I found it,” Connor says again. He’s not looking at anyone.
Kezia’s watching him like she wants to come and scoop him up and hug him. I think she would, if this wasn’t so tense. “I checked his phone,” she says. “He hacked the parental locks. Smart kid. Unfortunately, this is where it led him. And us.” She transfers her stare to Mom. “And you’re not helping yourself by focusing on where he found it. Question is, what are you not telling us?”
“The FBI knows about the video,” Mom says. “They’re analyzing it. They’ll prove it’s fake, because it is.”
Sam says, in a voice so cold that I feel it even through all my anger, “There’s more than one video. There’s a second one that shows Gwen helping him in the garage.”
“That’s not me!” Mom nearly shouts it at him.
He just shrugs. “Okay. Gina, then.”
“No, Sam, it was never me, I didn’t do—”
Sam turns on her and slams the coffee cup down on the counter. “Goddamn it, you walked away from murder and accessory charges, so just stop lying! Why the hell would Absalom fake those videos? The one on Suffolk’s USB has been there for a whole year!”
Mom draws in a pained breath and says, “And Absalom has been attacking me and my kids for four years. Photoshopped pictures. Harassment. Death threats. Vigilante justice. They’ve made my life a living hell, you know that! Why do you think this is any different? Why can’t you believe me, Sam?”
“Because I can see what’s in front of me,” he says. “Unlike your jury.” Sam turns to me, then. To Connor. His tone goes gentle. “Kids, I’m sorry. I really am. This isn’t your fault, not at all. I wish I could help you. But this—” He shakes his head. “This is just . . . enough.”
“Sam!” Mom comes to her feet as he walks for the front door. “Sam, please don’t!”
“Leave him alone,” I tell her. “You’ve hurt him enough.”
I don’t know if she even hears me, but she stops trying to talk to him. She watches as Sam leaves. The door shuts behind him.
She looks helpless now, and lost, and afraid. “You can’t believe this. I understand why Sam would. But not you, Lanny, you know better. You know who I am.”
She reaches out to me, and I don’t come toward her. I pull back.
“I never want to see you again. You’re not my mother. I don’t have a mother.” I mean it. I mean every word, and I can hear the rage shaking my voice. I want to slap her so hard that just thinking about it makes my hand feel hot. I want to punish her. I want her to feel like I do. Beaten and wrecked.
And I think she does now, because the shock and horror I see in her face is almost enough. Almost.
“I never helped your father!”
It comes out as a strangled sort of cry, and I don’t believe her. I don’t even think she believes herself.
Connor says, “You did. We saw. Stop saying you didn’t. We’re never going to believe you again.” That’s it. That’s all. It’s the most he’s said since he saw the video.
It hits Mom hard, and she gasps like she’s been punched in the stomach. She looks at Javier. At Kezia. Nobody has anything more to say to her. I see something break inside her, and she sits down again. My mother looks like she wants to die.
It hurts me to see that, but it’s the weak part of me, the one that still, stupidly, always wants to believe things will be all right, and they never will. They never were right from the start. Maybe, finally, this is the last time I’ll believe stupid, childish bullshit.
“What do you want me to do?” Mom finally asks. She sounds defeated now. She’s given up. I wait to feel good about it, because I should, but I just feel empty. The anger that’s been driving me is starting to drain away. All that’s left is silence and ruin, and I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life.
“I need you to go, Gwen,” Javier says. “Don’t come back until this is over and you’ve got real proof of what you’re claiming. You shouldn’t be around your kids right now. It’s not healthy.” That surprises me, somehow. I didn’t think he’d be on our side. Or that Kezia would, really. But they’re standing with us, against Mom.
It helps.
Mom can’t believe it, either. “Javi—”
“If you can prove what you say, that Absalom is behind this, then we can talk,” Kezia says. “I’ll be the first to say I was wrong. But right now, I’d be a fool not to believe what’s right in front of my face, and what I see is you helping Melvin Royal carry some poor girl in to cut up. If that’s true, any part of true, you don’t deserve to ever see these kids again.”
Mom puts a hand to her mouth, like she might scream, or vomit. The look on her face—shock, panic, I don’t know. But she’s in pain. I don’t care, I tell myself fiercely. Good. I hope it hurts.
“If I’m really what it shows on that video, why am I out hunting for him now?” Mom asks. Her voice is shaking so badly it sounds like it might fall apart. “How does that even make sense?”
“Makes sense if you’re trying to get back to him and join up,” Kezia replies, and that stops my mom cold. It also makes me feel sick to my stomach, because maybe it’s true. Maybe Mom and Dad have always been working together. Maybe whatever sick thing they had is still there.
“I’m not,” Mom says. It sounds weak. It sounds like a lie, and I start to hate her all over again.
“Yeah, you say. Maybe all this innocent-victim act was a lie from the start, and Absalom had you right all along. Which is another reason to keep these kids away from all that mess.”
One image suddenly comes through to me, and it stops the flood of anger inside me. Mom, coming down the steps in Lancel Graham’s basement. The horror on her face when she realized what she was looking at.
The joy when she saw me and Conno
r, unharmed.
It doesn’t make sense with everything else, and it’s the truest moment I know, the moment where I saw, really saw, how much she loved us both. Mom came for us in that dark place when I thought we were going to die alone. She was bleeding and wounded, and she’d fought her way back to save us.
That isn’t something a liar and a killer does. Is it?
Maybe she does love us, I think. And then, But maybe she just loves Dad more. That’s an awful thought, one that makes my stomach drop, and I put my arm around Connor. I can’t take any chances. I have to protect him. And that means I have to make Mom go away.
I’m tired all of a sudden. I just want to curl up in a ball on my bed and cry.
Mom’s scarf slips enough that it reveals a whole universe of bruises—dark red spots, threads of broken blood vessels connecting them. Somebody’s hurt her, and for a second I’m scared, and I’m worried for her, and I have to stop myself from feeling that because she’s a liar and she probably deserved it.
My head hurts, and I hate this—I hate all of it. So I say, “Just get out, Mom. We don’t want you.” I meant to say, We don’t want you here, but it came out the way I really felt it. We don’t want you. It’s the worst thing I could say to her, and I know that. I really do.
Mom draws in a sharp breath and puts a hand on her stomach, like I’ve stabbed her there. Her lips form my name, but she doesn’t say it out loud. Maybe she can’t.
Kezia says, “Lanny’s right. Go. Don’t come back until this is over.”
“I swear to you, I’m going to protect these kids like they’re my own,” Javier adds. “I’m going to protect them from every kind of threat, and right now, that includes you. Get me?”
Mom’s eyes fill up with tears, but she doesn’t cry. She says, “That’s all I want.”
And then she looks at us, and I can tell she wants to come to us, hug us, cry. I can feel her need to do that shivering in the air around her, like thunder.
I can feel my whole body craving it, too, because bodies are stupid; they just want to be loved. But I’m better than that. I’m stronger. Mom taught me to be stronger, and I am. No matter how much it hurts, I just stare at her and will her to go away.
And Mom leaves.
She leaves.
I wait for her to look back, but she doesn’t. The door shuts behind her. Even though I wanted her to go, demanded it, the fact that she did it still feels like she betrayed us all over again. My stomach hurts. My chest feels tight. Nothing’s good anymore, nothing in the whole world.
I keep my arm around Connor, holding him close. He usually squirms away when I do that, but not now. My hug is telling him, I’m here, I’m with you, I’m not letting go of you.
It’s saying, I’m not like her.
We’re all quiet for a while. I guess Sam was waiting outside, because we hear the engine start, and the gravel crunch, and when it’s gone, Kezia lets out a deep, gusting sigh and says, “Damn. I’m sorry. That was rough. You kids okay?”
I nod. Connor doesn’t do anything. He’s staring down at the floor, wearing that mask he gets when he’s just too overwhelmed to feel anything at all. I don’t know what this is going to do to him, but I know it can’t be good. Kezia turns to Javier, and though she says it quietly, I hear her anyway. “I can’t leave now. I’ll call Prester.”
“You can’t keep tap-dancing around him on this,” he says. “Kez, he already checked in here, trying to figure out what was making you and me take so much time off work. He’s either worried about you, or suspicious. Neither one’s good. You haven’t been a detective long enough to get a free pass. Go to work.”
She gazes at him for a long moment, then shakes her head. “No, I have a better idea.”
“Kez. Querida.”
“I’m serious.”
Javier shakes his head, but he doesn’t say no when she pulls out her phone and dials. I watch her numbly as she walks back and forth. My anger’s gone now. It’s like it left with Mom, and all I have left is a chilly, empty space where my guts should be. I sink down on the couch and pull the heavy knitted afghan from the back to wrap around my shoulders, because I’m shivering now.
Kezia says, “Prester? I need to tell you something. And I’m thinking maybe you should come here to Javier’s house to hear all of it.”
Detective Prester is an old man, so old I’m surprised he’s not retired, but he’s still smart. You can see it the second he looks at you.
He takes everything in with one long glance, including the two of us on the couch. We haven’t been told to go and hide this time, and I’m not sure we would have, anyway. “Well, damn,” he says, then closes the door behind him. “Guess that answers my questions about the kids. Where is Gwen?”
“Not here,” Kezia says. “Have a seat.”
Prester does, at the kitchen table. Javier’s made coffee, and he pours three cups and sits in the third spot. Prester accepts and sips, but he keeps looking over at the two of us. I wonder what he sees. Little orphan children, I think, and I hate that. But it’s true. We’re alone now. Mom isn’t coming back, and even if she did, I wouldn’t go with her. I can take care of myself, but what about Connor? He’s not old enough. He needs help. I’m smart enough to know they won’t let me be his Mom stand-in.
We need help.
For the first time, the size of what happened hits me, and I feel the wobbly burn of tears in my throat and my eyes. I look over at Connor. He’s staring at his book again, but he hasn’t turned the page in minutes. He’s not reading. He’s hiding. He’s good at that.
I envy that right now, because I don’t know what to do.
“Gwen and Sam—” Kezia begins, but Prester holds up a hand. It trembles a little.
“No, Claremont. I been doing this awhile now. I think I can solve this little mystery. Gwen and Sam went running off on their own investigation. They figured the kids would be safer here, with you. How am I doing so far?”
“You’re on it.”
“And from the look on all these faces, something’s gone pretty wrong,” he says. “Pretty damn wrong. They missing?”
“No,” Javier says. “But things are getting complicated. I didn’t want you thinking Kezia isn’t a good cop, or we’ve got some family trouble, or something. This isn’t that.”
“Looks exactly like family trouble to me,” Prester says. “Just not your own.”
As an answer, Javier powers up his tablet and hands it over. Prester watches the video, and I can’t tell if it affects him at all. He just nods and hands it back. “You believe it?”
The question hangs in the air for a long few seconds, and then Kezia says, “I don’t want to. It does seem really damn convenient that this video was out there and somehow nobody got it to the cops before her trial. Why’d they hold it back?”
“People do,” Prester say. “Answer’s always the same. Money or power. Somebody was hoping for a payday, if it’s genuine. If it isn’t, it’s about power. And that all depends on who benefits.”
I think about that. What did that mean? Who could possibly benefit from something that horrible? What good did it do?
I don’t work it out until Javier says, “Having this hanging out there puts Gwen on the defensive. It makes people look for her, and she has to stop looking for her ex to watch her own back.”
Dad. It benefits Dad. My head hurts. It doesn’t make sense, but it does, too. I just can’t believe anyone would do something like that deliberately.
“Benefits Absalom, too,” Kezia says. “Right?”
“It does, since she must be on their trail, too,” Prester agrees. “Not saying it can’t be real, but like you said, Kez. Seems too easy. And you have to ask yourself: Who the hell was creeping around in the bushes filming this in the first place? Seeing them carrying an unconscious girl in, and not calling the police? If that landed on my desk, I’d have to first ask where it came from, and why.”
I’m starting to feel a little sick now. He’s making it sou
nd like some story out of a movie. But it isn’t. Not at all. He’s making it sound like she’s innocent.
She can’t be. Because I made her go away.
“I already walked Connor through how he found it,” Kezia says. “I can show you. Apparently, he’s been on a message board that talks about his dad’s crimes. There was a link. It’s been taken down now, but that’s where he got the video.”
“You really buy her story about it being faked?” Javier says. “It looks so real.”
“You gone to the movies lately? People with PCs and a decent skill set can make impossible things look damn real nowadays. It takes forensic analysis to work out what’s real and what isn’t. I think this hit everybody in an emotional place, not a logical one.”
“So you don’t believe it,” Kezia says.
“I’m saying that I’ll keep an open mind until the tech geeks tell me different, one way or the other.” Prester drinks some more coffee and cuts his gaze toward me and Connor. “You sure this is the best place for these kids?”
“No,” Javier says. “But I’m sure it’s better than being dragged out there on some road trip looking for trouble. If Gwen finds it, last thing any of us wants is them in the cross fire.”
Prester nods in agreement. “Appreciate you bringing me in on this. I’ll keep it quiet.” He turns to Kezia. “Far as I’m concerned, you can be out in the field most of the time. If the field means you’re here looking out for them, that’s all good, too. We get something to investigate, I’ll call you. Otherwise, you stay close. I don’t want anybody else coming after them. Might look bad on my record.”
He takes his cup to the sink and rinses it, and then he shakes hands with Javier and Kezia before he goes. He never talks directly to us.
When the door closes behind the detective, Kezia and Javier look at each other for a few long seconds, and then Kezia comes to sit down in the armchair, across from the two of us. “You guys okay?” she asks.
I want to laugh. Seriously. We are not okay. How could we be okay? I’m shaking all over.