Within These Walls

by Ania Ahlborn

  “I’m serious,” he said. “We can go as soon as you’re ready, but pack a bag. You’re going to stay with Mark and Selma for a few days.”

  She stood motionless for a moment, her face a puzzle of confusion.

  “It’ll be fun.” He tried to play it up, gave her a smile that was supposed to be jovial but felt entirely stupid. “Selma will—”

  “Oh, right, Dad!” The words exploded from her throat. She shoved her cereal bowl away. Tiny toasts rode a wave of milk over the rim of her bowl, splashing across the counter. “Now you’re sending me away?”

  “Jeanie, I’m not—”

  “You are!” Her fists hit the Formica top.

  “Jeanie, stop.” He gave her a stern look. “I’m not sending you away. You said you didn’t want to move and we’re not—”

  “Well, good.” She cut him off. “That means I don’t have to stay at Uncle Mark’s, doesn’t it? We’re not moving, so I’ll just stay home.”

  “No, kid. I need to get some stuff done and it would be—”

  “Better?” Jeanie narrowed her eyes just enough to resemble her mother. He half expected her to do an about-face and stomp through the kitchen and back up to her room. But rather than fleeing the way she normally did, she stared down at the island as if in thought, as though trying to reel it in for once. “What kind of stuff?” she finally asked, and while she was trying to play it cool, he could see the muscles of her jaw clenching from across the room.

  “Work stuff.”

  “I thought you were giving up,” she murmured.

  “I thought so, too. But you convinced me to reconsider.”

  Jeanie lifted a hand, rubbed at the fading bruise beneath her eye, and sighed. “Well, either way, I’m not staying at Uncle Mark’s.”

  “Jeanie . . .”

  “No, listen, Dad,” she said, her face going rigid with determination. “You want to make it up to me? Don’t make me stay over there.”

  “What’s wrong with Uncle Mark’s?” Lucas asked, confused by her adamant refusal.

  “I just don’t want to stay there, okay? What’s the big deal?”

  “Even after . . .” He paused, not wanting to say it. Jeanie shook her head at him and scooped another spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

  “It’s just a house.”

  Except he didn’t want Jeanie there, not with what had happened the night before. But if he refused Jeanie’s request, there would be a battle. When it came to emotions, Jeanie took after Caroline. She was explosive, sometimes irrational. There would be screaming, probably some crying. She had a difficult time listening to reason, no matter what the circumstance. His gaze paused on the phone number he’d scribbled onto a Post-it Note tacked to the surface of the kitchen table. If he could get an alarm guy out there today, maybe he’d stop stressing so much, actually be able to get some work done.

  “Maybe,” he told her. Jeanie’s expression brightened for once. He grabbed his phone, ready to call the number and see how quickly the alarm place could do the job, but before he could dial, his cell buzzed in the palm of his hand. He peered at the bright screen, which displayed an unknown number, answered.

  “Hello?”

  Jeanie grabbed her bowl and left the kitchen. A moment later, the sound of the television cut through the otherwise quiet house.

  “Hi, Lucas?” A male voice, a slight Hispanic accent.

  “Speaking.”

  “It’s Josh,” the voice said. “Josh Morales from Lambert Correctional.”

  Lucas blinked at the unexpected but welcome call.

  “Hey! . . . Yeah, how’s it going?” Lucas asked. “Thanks for calling me back.”

  “Nah, don’t mention it. Sorry it took me so long, man. What can I do you for?”

  Lucas turned his attention away from the living room and looked back to his cup of lukewarm coffee. “I was wondering if we could set up a meeting; you, me, and possibly your friend Eperson if he’s interested. I thought we could talk about Halcomb, just your experiences with him as a guard at the facility.”

  “He’s interested,” Morales said. “I talked to him the afternoon you left, told him who you were. He bought your book the next day, the one about Ramirez.”

  But of course.

  “Well, I’d like to thank him if he’ll let me. I can drive up to Lambert, meet you guys at your favorite place to eat, buy you two a few beers, some lunch.”

  “Sounds good, but that’s why I’m calling,” Morales said. “Marty—uh, Eperson—he just had a family emergency come up. He’s going out of town and he’s not sure how long he’ll be gone. He’s still in town, but I think he’s leaving soon.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “It means if you’re on some kind of deadline and you want to talk to Marty about that visitor Halcomb keeps getting, we should do it today. If you can, I mean . . . I don’t know what your plans are or anything, so . . .”

  Lucas closed his eyes and silently exhaled. A stream of profanities slithered through his head. If he hadn’t had the phone pressed against his ear and Jeanie hadn’t been in the living room, he would have let them spill out onto the ugly linoleum beneath his feet.

  “I mean, we can do it mano a mano—off the record, of course. All this has to be off the record, or we can’t talk. We could get fired, and that would only be the beginning. But like I told you the other day, Marty works that part of the prison a hell of a lot more than me. He knows those guys better than anyone.”

  “Did you tell him I’m interested in figuring out who that visitor is?” Lucas asked.

  “Yeah, man. I don’t know what he can tell you, but he’s a good dude. I don’t think he’d be wanting to meet up if he didn’t have any useful info, you know?”

  Lucas let his head loll back to stare at the ceiling, the angel on his shoulder assuring him that Eperson would be back, he had to come back. He had a job. And even if he was out of town for weeks, it wasn’t as though Lucas was going anywhere himself. He could catch up with Eperson later, get whatever information he was holding and work it into the book later.

  But patience wasn’t Lucas’s best virtue. If Eperson had pertinent info on Halcomb’s secret visitor, it could change the entire trajectory of his work. Eperson could reveal a new lead and Lucas knew better than anyone that you had to follow up on leads as soon as possible, otherwise the trail could go cold. Had he started this project a mere three months earlier, January Moore may have still been walking the earth, willing to talk, ready to give him the story of a lifetime. He couldn’t take the risk.

  “Shit, okay,” he said, nearly spitting out the words. “What time should I meet you?”

  “I start my shift at three, and I don’t get off until midnight, so lunch would be good. I’ll call Marty, tell him to meet us at the Chili’s on Main. It’s the only Chili’s we’ve got, so you can’t miss it. One o’clock should give you plenty of time to get up here, no?”

  It gave him four hours, two of which he’d spend driving to Lambert. “Yeah . . . okay. I’ll see you then.”

  “Cool, see you, man. Oh, hey . . .”

  Lucas paused, nearly ending the call before hearing Morales speak. “Yeah?”

  “I know you probably get this all the time, and I’ll pay whatever it costs, but do you have any copies of your books lying around? Maybe one you could bring with you and sign for me? I know Marty’s going to have his . . .”

  “Sure,” he said. “No problem.”

  “Cool, man. I appreciate it. That’s awesome. Okay, see you soon.”

  Morales disconnected the call.

  Lucas stared at his phone for a moment, considering what he’d just done. Another broken promise. “Shit.” The word tumbled out of him in a muted whisper. He shoved his phone into the pocket of his lounge pants and stepped into the living room. Jeanie was watching Adventure Tim
e over the rim of her bowl. She eventually glanced away from the TV and at her dad.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m . . . the worst father,” he said. “I can be back by four or five. We can drive up after that, spend the night in a fancy hotel . . .”

  Jeanie gave him a who are you kidding look.

  “I’ll put it on a credit card.”

  “Forget it, it’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. Shit, I need to call Selma.” If Selma was going to watch Jeanie, she had to leave soon . . . if Selma could watch Jeanie at all. Mark said Selma would be home, but that was later in the day. For all Lucas knew, Selma was out of the house, taking advantage of her day off.

  “Or you can finally let me stay home by myself,” Jeanie suggested.

  No, absolutely not. Not after what happened last night. Only an insane person would allow their kid to stay home alone after a break-in . . . if that’s what it really was.

  “I’m not a little kid anymore,” Jeanie told him.

  “Says the girl who’s eating sugary cereal in front of a cartoon . . .”

  She made a face at him. “Like, what’s going to happen anyway? I’m not going to burn the place down.”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Lucas said. “That’s the whole point.”

  Jeanie rolled her eyes and slid her empty bowl onto the coffee table. “Well, what about that neighbor lady, then?”

  “Echo . . . ?” No way. She was a stranger. He appreciated the box of photographs she’d brought over more than words could ever express, but that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t know a damn thing about her. Leaving Jeanie with Echo seemed almost as risky as leaving Jeanie by herself.

  “Oh, come on, Dad. Is she a psycho or something? Is that why you were hanging out with her in your office while I was upstairs yesterday?”

  “What? No. I wasn’t hanging out with anyone. We don’t know anything about her. I’m calling Selma, okay?”

  She shook her head at him as he turned away and dialed Selma’s number. No answer. He left her a message, but unless she checked her voice mail in the next twenty minutes, she had no hope of arriving in Pier Pointe in time, even if she could come to begin with.

  Dammit. Maybe . . . maybe Echo wasn’t that crazy of an idea, come to think of it.

  She’d been nothing but helpful, and having her babysit would show that he trusted her. It would build rapport.

  This is your kid’s safety we’re talking about, and you’re thinking about rapport?

  Okay, that was the wrong way to think about it, but he had to get to know Echo better sometime, and she had seemed a little lonely. A family friend was far more likely to help him with his project, and it would be good for Jeanie to have someone other than him to talk to. Granted, he could drive Jeanie into town so she could find some kids her own age, but he couldn’t leave her alone in town anyway.

  “Okay,” he said. “You stay here by yourself”—Jeanie’s expression lit up—“for now. . . . I’m going to drive over to Echo’s place to talk to her.” Jeanie snorted and went back to her show. “I’ll be back in half an hour, okay?” She didn’t respond. “Jeanie.”

  “Okay, okay,” she mumbled. “Whatever you say.”

  33

  * * *

  VEE WAITED FOR her dad to pull out of the driveway before sprinting up the stairs. She grabbed her laptop, tucked it beneath her arm, and took the risers two at a time down to his study. Flipping open the laptop lid, she paused to peek out the window—just a quick double check to make sure he hadn’t decided to turn back. She tugged the printer USB cable out of her dad’s computer and plugged it into her own.

  34

  * * *

  LUCAS ROLLED UP to what he assumed was Echo’s house. It was the only place anywhere near Montlake Road for at least two miles. It was a little Craftsman-style house in need of a fresh coat of paint, but the flaking clapboard—once a bright red—gave the place a cozy feel. The faded cranberry color scheme was picturesque against a backdrop of never-ending green.

  He climbed the four steps to the covered front porch, cast a glance at an old wooden rocker that sat empty in the corner, and knocked on the edge of the wood-trimmed screen door. What looked to be a homemade wreath of lowercase wooden letters hung cockeyed over the door’s mullioned window, promising him that all you need is love.

  Echo appeared on the other side of the door a moment later, peeking through one of the glass panes before beaming a bright smile at him. “Lucas!” She greeted him with about as much enthusiasm as the oddly starstruck Josh Morales. Swinging the front door wide, she held open the screen door, waiting for him to come inside.

  “Hey, I hope this isn’t a bad time.” He stepped into a house far dimmer than he had expected it to be. Mismatched drapes hung from the windows, giving the place a bohemian feel. The scent of burned incense clambered up his nose. He cast a glance at a small table holding a vase, a strange bouquet of pine branches and twigs poking out from the mouth of the vessel.

  “No, not at all. I was just reading. Can I get you some coffee?”

  Lucas didn’t have time for coffee. Could Echo watch Jeanie or not? He had a long drive ahead of him, and if he got to Lambert early, he could stop by the prison and harass Lumpy Annie about seeing Halcomb before his meeting with Josh and Marty. But he couldn’t be rude, either. He was a guest here, and needed a favor.

  “Sure,” he said. “That would be great.”

  Echo motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen and he did so, taking in all the kitsch along the way. The walls were covered in various paintings and tapestries—old landscapes in frames of questionable quality, a macramé tapestry with wooden beads hanging from its fringe. A portrait of a woman with cropped dark hair hung just shy of the kitchen’s entrance. A little girl wearing a crown of daisies was poised on her hip.

  “Is this your mother?” Lucas asked, pausing to take in the photograph.

  “That’s her,” Echo replied from the depths of the kitchen. She pushed aside a few drapes to let in some light, illuminating a million dust motes with the motion. Gathering a couple of mugs from a cabinet, she placed a can of Folgers on the counter. “That picture was taken by Derrick Fink,” she said. The mention of Derrick’s name made Lucas’s skin crawl. It was strange to hear it brought up so casually, as though Derrick had been nothing more than a family friend, not a face that had made headlines.

  “That’s incredible.” He murmured the words more to himself than to Echo, but she heard him regardless.

  “Not really,” she said. “I mean, if you take away all the stuff you’ve read in the papers, they were all regular people. Good people.” She paused, scooped a few spoons of coffee grounds into the coffeemaker’s basket, and smiled. “Like you and me.”

  That was what got to Lucas the most—the fact that everyone involved with Halcomb had been “regular.” Normal. Not demented. Not psychotic. Not weird and creepy with inexplicable religious beliefs. They were simply people. Shelly Riordan, Laura Morgan, Audra Snow . . . they had been like Jeanie. And yet somehow, they ended up swept off their feet by a madman’s musings.

  “What happened to her?” Lucas asked, drawing his gaze away from the portrait and stepping into the kitchen. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “My mom?” Echo shrugged her shoulders, as though her mother’s fate had no real bearing on her life. But despite the casual response, Lucas could tell the question bothered her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m being way too forward.”

  She waved a hand at him. “Oh, please. I’m the one who brought all that stuff over to you. If I didn’t want you asking questions, I should have probably kept to myself.” She filled the coffeemaker with water and flipped the switch, then moved across the kitchen to the little table that sat next to the window. Sliding a mess of mail and books and
receipts away from its middle, she took a seat and motioned for Lucas to do the same. “Sorry about the mess,” she said. “I don’t usually have guests.” A pause. “Actually, I don’t ever have guests.” She laughed. Lucas cracked a faint smile. “After what happened over at your place, my mom got really depressed. I mentioned that she and Audra were best friends. Well, she took what happened to Audra pretty hard.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “When all of this was going on, I was staying with my grandmother a lot. She lived just outside of town, a quick fifteen-minute drive.” She shrugged again, gave him a wistful smile. “But something happened. Being so young, I can only assume what. Suddenly I wasn’t staying with Gran anymore. I remember that vividly. I just can’t remember if it was Gran telling my mom that she wouldn’t take care of me any longer, or whether it was my mom refusing to take me over to Gran’s anymore.”

  “What do you think happened?” Lucas asked.

  “I think my grandmother found out about Jeff,” she said matter-of-factly. “She probably got spooked by something my mom told her about the group. I ended up staying with an aunt just outside of Portland full-time after that. All the while, my mom was here. And then things got crazy—the group killed themselves, Audra died, Jeff got arrested. My mom killed herself a few weeks after that.”

  “Jesus,” Lucas murmured. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

  Another shrug. “Life is hard. Death is easy.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “Never knew him.” Echo leaned back in her seat. “For all I know, he might pop out of the woodwork one day. That would be a trip, right? So, the photos I brought over . . . they’re helpful?”

  Lucas looked away from the pile of junk on the table and gave her a nod. “Yeah, I can’t thank you enough. It’s all incredible. They belong to you? If I wanted to obtain rights to reprint them in the book, who would I ask?”