The Ruining

by Anna Collomore

  I struggled to do as he said, to center my mind. I looked into his green orbs and let them hold me steady. “I’m listening,” I told him.

  “I did some research. I went to the library and dug up what I could. And when I started finding stuff that didn’t seem right . . . I hacked into some police files and the Cohens’ home computer. I dug up some really serious stuff, Annie. The Cohens lived in Pennsylvania before they moved to Marin County. But Walker was married to a woman named Adele first. Zoe was his daughter with Adele. And Libby was their nanny.”

  “Yeah, I already know all that. Walker had an affair with Libby. And his wife died, and he and Libby got married and had Jackson. Walker stopped by and explained everything. To clear his guilty conscience, I guess.”

  Owen didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “If you know all this, why were you keeping it to yourself?” he asked.

  “How will any of this help me? What does it matter?”

  “Annie,” Owen said. “You don’t know everything. When I was looking up birth and death records, I realized that Libby had Jackson just about six months after Adele died. Libby was pregnant when Adele died.” I still wasn’t seeing a point here.

  “Okay,” I said. “So they didn’t exactly fall in love after the fact, like Walker said. But he didn’t deny having the affair. He didn’t seem to mind my knowing that. I still don’t see what you’re trying to say?”

  “They lived in a house in the country, by a river,” Owen told me. “Did Walker tell you how his first wife died?”

  “No.” I found myself dreading what Owen was about to say. I still felt squeamish about implicating Libby. I still cared about her, despite my efforts to hate her.

  “Well, she drowned,” Owen said. “Libby was there.”

  “That’s awful. Poor Libby.” I couldn’t imagine how traumatic it would have been for Libby to see her employer drown and not be able to do anything about it. It explained why she was so fragile from time to time, why she always worried about being second-best to Adele.

  “Annie, set your feelings for Libby aside for a second, okay? She’s not who you think she is.”

  “Owen,” I said, getting impatient. “I have no idea what you’re getting at. Just say it.”

  “Don’t you get it? Adele’s death was not an accident.”

  I was getting angry and impatient. “Owen, what are you talking about? Stop accusing and just say something I can actually understand!” I’d started biting my fingernails, trying to make sense of it all.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that I put it all together just yesterday, and I’ve gone over and over it, and I’m pretty sure it’s foolproof. I’m just really excited, I guess. I just want you to get out of here.” I glared at him silently, willing him to continue.

  “So Libby told the police that Adele had been behaving strangely, that they’d just had a disagreement over laundry or something silly: Libby had accidentally ruined Adele’s favorite silk dress. Libby didn’t want Adele driving in such a state of anger, but she couldn’t convince her to stay, or to leave Zoe behind. She was watching from the door as they drove away. Halfway down the driveway, a squirrel darted in front of the car. Adele swerved, lost control of the vehicle, and drove straight into the river. Libby ran after them, but she only managed to save Zoe, who wasn’t fully strapped into her car seat. Libby was able to grab her easily, but Adele was trapped. In the end, Libby had to swim back to shore with Zoe, and by the time she got Zoe to safety, Adele had drowned.”

  “Oh god,” I said, shocked. “That’s so horrible. Thank god Zoe survived. But to see her mom die like that . . . poor baby. No wonder all the nightmares. I still don’t get what this has to do with Libby being responsible, though. It seems like she was trying to help, if anything.”

  “Yeah, and that’s basically how the papers painted it. One of the articles I read cast Adele as a totally neglectful mother, not properly strapping Zoe into the car seat and all. But Adele’s cause of death wasn’t drowning. Her heart gave out almost instantly from panic, even before she drowned, according to the coroner’s report. Libby was regarded as a hero for dashing into the river to get Zoe. There were pictures of Walker embracing Libby and Zoe, almost like they were a family. He was so happy that his little girl was saved.”

  “So Libby saved Zoe, and Zoe watched her mom die. How awful.” Suddenly Zoe’s moody spells were making a lot of sense. Everything was falling into place.

  “But, Annie, think,” said Owen. “The will that you stumbled across. Walker stood to inherit a lot of money, and if Libby could get Walker to marry her, then so did she. I thought about that, and then I dug a little further. Apparently Adele left a note. The ‘accident’ was supposedly purposeful.”

  “Oh god. You’re telling me it was suicide? But how did you get all of this information? The police reports and all?”

  “You’re forgetting that I’m an expert when it comes to computers,” Owen said. “I can hack into almost any system. But, Annie, seriously. Think hard. You found the will. Libby started treating you differently. She convinced you to come to this hellhole to get you out of the way. Libby killed Adele. I’m sure of it. And she saved Zoe to secure Walker’s loyalty. She was pregnant with his child. She wanted Adele out of the picture. And she had a motive. We know that. You discovered her motive! That’s why you’re here, Annie. It all makes sense.”

  “Owen!” I gasped. “It was an accident!”

  “It’s too weird,” he said. “It doesn’t add up. Unless Adele was suicidal, there’s no way she’d have swerved all the way into the river. It was twenty yards from the road. I would’ve been willing to buy that maybe she was suicidal—her medical condition and all—if she hadn’t brought Zoe with her. She wasn’t a killer, and everything I found points to the fact that she adored Zoe. I thought it seemed a little too convenient, so I poked around on Libby’s work computer. I was able to hack into her e-mail account. And I found something I’m pretty sure proves everything.”

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  “Libby saved every piece of correspondence Walker ever sent her via e-mail. One of the letters said he wished things could be different—that if he had met Libby sooner, he would have married her instead of Adele. He thought Libby was his soul mate, but he didn’t think he could break apart his family. And then Libby replied by saying she’d do whatever it took to be with him.”

  “But that isn’t proof,” I said. “What do you think she did?”

  “I think she cut the brakes. That’s my gut instinct. You’re right, the letter isn’t proof. But it’s enough to spur an investigation. And even better”—he leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs—“I found the car.”

  “What do you mean, you found it? This was ages ago! Where was it?”

  “It’s at a parts shop in Pennsylvania,” he said. “Untouched. The investigation originally stalled, apparently because of the note—they found it the following day in her jewelry box. But the car was initially held as evidence. And as long as there’s a chance for the case to open back up, the car has to be left alone.”

  “Oh my god,” I said, putting my face in my hands. “Oh my god, Owen. How could I have missed this? It makes so much sense—the will, the inheritance—but how could I have trusted her so much? I loved her, Owen! I thought she cared about me.” I was shaking and crying then, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close.

  “I know, baby. But it’s not your fault. She’s obviously a very, very messed up person. Maybe even a sociopath. She betrayed you. She lied.” He spit the last words in disgust. “You couldn’t have known, because you’re not like that. You’re a good person.”

  “She’s a murderer,” I whispered. “I’ve been living with a murderer all this time! What am I supposed to do, Owen? And, oh my god, the kids! What about Zoe and Jackson? They aren’t safe in that house! We need to tell someone what’s going on. What do we do?”

  “Go to Clarkson, I guess. Is he the only option?�
��

  “He’s the one who runs the place. Do you think Walker knows?”

  “I don’t know,” said Owen. “Nothing in the correspondence suggested he does. I think she’s so twisted she played him as easily as she played you. Think about how far she’s gone to drive you crazy, Annie. The door, the wallpaper, our breakup—for all we know, she’s had a hand in everything that’s come between us.”

  “I’m so sorry, Owen,” I said, my eyes welling up. “I didn’t mean to bring you into this. You’re always saving me.” My heart thudded madly at the implication of what he’d done for me: he’d uncovered a murderer on his own. He’d wanted to do it for me. He’d exposed the truth, and in doing so, he’d given me my future back.

  “Annie?” Owen said, taking my hand. “Do you know how I feel about you?”

  “I do now,” I told him, bringing his fingers to my lips. “And I feel the same way. I’ve loved you all along.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “ANNIE, I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU in my office.” Dr. Clarkson’s authoritative voice rang out across the hallway. Nine heads turned toward me, their eyes appraising me curiously. It was rare that Dr. Clarkson wanted to see patients outside of scheduled appointments. He disappeared again before I had a chance to stand. My heart thudded with expectation; he’d heard Owen’s and my theory and had promised to check it out. That was more than a whole day ago. Twenty-seven hours with no word.

  “Sit down.” He gestured to the leather-backed chair, an unexpected luxury in the hospital, and waited until I got settled. I still felt nervous around Dr. Clarkson, even after our sessions. He had never put me at ease. “I had a private investigator look into your theory,” he began, “and I have to admit I was skeptical. I’ve known Mrs. Cohen for a while and had believed her to be an exemplary individual.” He crossed and uncrossed his legs and gritted his jaw as though he were about to say something distasteful. “However, even I can be a poor judge of character at times. Especially when it comes to master manipulators of Mrs. Cohen’s variety.”

  “So you found something.” I leaned forward in my chair, eager.

  “Yes. It’s almost as if she wanted to be caught. She wasn’t very careful at all. The police opened up the case, and sure enough, the brakes in the former Mrs. Cohen’s vehicle had been slashed. The police determined justified cause to search the house, and they seized both her computer and Mr. Cohen’s. Libby’s hard drive was riddled with allusions to the late Mrs. Cohen’s murder. It seems she was fairly obsessed with Adele Cohen. Libby is in custody now, and there will be a trial. Naturally Mr. Cohen is devastated. The family is ruined. Those poor children.” The news seemed distasteful to Dr. Clarkson. Rather than reacting as if a murderer was about to be put behind bars, he seemed to think Libby’s arrest was somehow regrettable.

  “As you know, you are able to leave the facility at any time. However, it is my recommendation that you remain here under my care. Frankly, Annie, I believe you must.”

  “No,” I said, trying to prevent the smile from spreading across my face too quickly. The thought of freedom was dazzling. And terrifying. “No, I would like to leave.”

  “I thought as much. You may leave tomorrow at noon unless you inform me otherwise. You and I will meet tomorrow morning at nine o’clock as usual to discuss your medication and outpatient options. For now, you are free to take advantage of group therapy and say your goodbyes as you see fit.”

  I tried not to let his voice haunt me all the way back to my room, where I unearthed the outfit I’d arrived in from my cubby. I tried not to let it mirror the tiny seed of doubt that wondered if I was truly ready for the real world.

  “Why are you pulling that out?” Aurora asked timidly. She was lying on her back, reading. Books were the only form of entertainment allowed from the outside. Aurora let me borrow from her stack of novels sometimes. She was eager to please. Her mother brought new ones every time she visited, and she was happy to share.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow,” I told her, trying to keep my voice even and quiet. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” I didn’t want the others to know.

  “Okay,” she said dreamily.

  “I’m not meant to be in here. I was never meant to be here in the first place.”

  “I know,” she responded seriously. “Neither am I. Bring me McVittie’s from the outside, okay? If we’re not playing pretend, I mean.”

  “We’re not playing anything,” I snapped.

  “We’ll never forget you, you know.”

  I sighed, taking her hand in mine. It was frail and crisscrossed with scars. “I know,” I told her. “I’m sorry I snapped. I’ll bring you entire cartons of McVittie’s, okay?” Aurora leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek so light, it could have been the brush of a feather.

  • • •

  IT WAS EIGHT FIFTY-FOUR. Just over three hours until I could leave. I only had to get through my appointment with Dr. Clarkson and bide my time until Owen arrived. It was only then, as I lay on my bed killing time, that I realized something so terrifying it made me turn on my side and gag, a series of painful dry heaves that felt endless. All the times Libby had told me she was behind me despite my history ran through my mind. I thought of the times she’d told me she’d checked out my background in advance and that we were two of a kind, she and I. And then I thought of the times she’d turned from Zoe’s embraces, carelessly disregarding even her most pitiful needs. And how Zoe’s bedroom was the only room in the house that was practically bare, completely free from Libby’s designer touch.

  Why had Libby hired me? Why had she hired someone who had been indirectly responsible for a child’s death? The only plausible truth was so cold that I reeled from it, hardly able to believe it despite everything I knew now.

  Libby had wanted Zoe dead. She’d wanted a perfect life with Walker and her baby, all traces of Adele eliminated. She’d wanted me to be held liable if an “accident” happened. It was the only thing that made sense. No one else would have hired me to watch their kids. No matter how much they believed I deserved a second chance.

  I walked into Dr. Clarkson’s office confidently. I hadn’t bothered to take my medication the night before. I wanted to be alert and ready to leave. But now I felt strange, like the whole world shifted when I moved my head too much. Like my brain was sloshing around in there and trying hard to keep up. But it was also like a sheet had been lifted from my eyes, erasing some of the fog.

  “You’re looking well today,” he said dryly as I entered.

  “I feel well,” I said. He squinted at my eyes.

  “Are you taking your proper dosage of medicine?” he wanted to know.

  “I cut back a little,” I admitted, glossing over the fact that I hadn’t taken any the night before. “I figured I’d need to taper off.”

  “I see,” he said. “Though I wish you’d have consulted me first. Stopping psychotropic drugs abruptly can often cause dangerous withdrawal symptoms. I’m going to go ahead and prescribe you a lower dose right now. I want you to take this dose once per day for another two weeks, just to make sure you do this safely. Can you promise me you’ll do that?”

  “Yes,” I promised him. “I will.”

  “And Annie,” he said, handing me a folded piece of paper. “Here are some numbers for fantastic psychologists in the area. If you return to school, you should be covered under a good insurance plan. I strongly urge you to contact one of these doctors. I think you should continue seeing someone after you leave Richmond-Fost.”

  “Why?” I asked, my voice guarded.

  “You experienced a great tragedy at a young age,” he said. “That sort of event doesn’t just disappear from someone’s psyche once it’s done its damage. You need to work through those feelings so you can heal properly. And, Annie, can I be frank?”

  “Of course,” I told him. I would have given him anything just then.

  “Libby is clearly a master manipulator, and a very dangerous one. There’s no ques
tion that she toyed with you, exploiting your weaknesses. But the fact remains, Annie, that you were able to be targeted. If you had been stronger, things may never have reached this point.”

  “Are you saying this could happen again?” I asked warily.

  “Theoretically, yes. But is there a likelihood that you’ll encounter another person as pathological as Libby in your life? I’d say the odds are slim. Nevertheless, you need to get well. These kinds of people are eerily adept at targeting victims. They recognize psychological vulnerability a mile away. So I need you to be careful. I need you to get well.”

  “Okay,” I told him. “I’ll make sure to see a doctor.”

  “At least once per week,” he said firmly. I nodded in response. For the first time, I felt something like affection for Dr. Clarkson. Maybe he did care how I turned out. Maybe he wasn’t so awful after all. Or maybe Libby was just that good: she’d been able to manipulate both of us.

  “Tell me about your friend Owen,” Dr. Clarkson prompted, just as I was about to dismiss myself.

  “Well,” I began, a question in my voice. “I trust him. I really do, and I don’t think I’ve ever said that about anybody. I think he genuinely cares about me and wants to help me get my life together.”

  “I only ask because he hasn’t really come up previously,” Dr. Clarkson said. “And I want to make sure you’re protecting yourself. That you’re going to be with someone who can support you.”

  “I know,” I said.

  It had occurred to me that with Owen’s support, I could reconnect with my mother. Maybe when I was well enough.

  “Does Owen resemble anyone you know?” Dr. Clarkson persisted. “Your father, maybe? Try to remember back.”

  “No,” I said, shifting around in my chair impatiently. “Why would he remind me of my father? I barely remember my father.”