by Jane Bradley
The detective stood up and paced, casual, shaking his head. “Thing about TV crime, Jesse, it just ain’t real. You ever notice that?” Jesse nodded, waiting for the next words. The detective went on, “Not once, not ever in my career have I seen the rapist, the sadistic fucking rapist who likes to tear girls up for the fun of it, not once have I seen him get the shits; not once have I seen him have to run from the girl all tied and naked and waiting for his next move; not once have I seen the man run to the john and sit and spray his shit. That’s some projectile shittin’, man.” He straightened, shook his head, winked at the other cop in the room. “Man, ain’t it nice to be the ones interviewing him here? I wouldn’t want to be the guy had to swab that shit—and I do mean shit—from all over that toilet.”
Jesse looked away, kept his eyes on his hands shackled on the table. The cop kept at it with the other cop. “You ever have to clean a rapist’s shit from a crime scene? Now, I know sometimes the victim shits, hell, no wonder with the things done to her. But the man, what kind of man gets the shits at the scene?”
The lawyer stood, said something like “We’re done here,” the way they say it on TV. I guess he couldn’t find his own words for getting out of that room.
After Roy clicked the screen off, we sat in the dim light. It took me a while to say the words: “So they’ll get him for Molly Flynn?” But I was thinking about Katy. Even though they had him for Molly Flynn, I knew it would be another long road to link him to Katy. We’d need more than some granny’s talk about a truck out of gas. We’d need more than Molly telling how he’d bragged about the blue-truck girl. We needed Katy, wherever she was.
Livy leaned into me, brought me back to the courtroom. She asked me how much longer they would make us wait. I watched the guards, who didn’t look like they’d be up to anything anytime soon. But to give her something, I pointed to the door where they’d lead Jesse Hollowfield into the room. “When the guards head toward that door, that’s when they’ll be leading him in.” She settled back and locked her eyes on the door as if willing him to come on and get it over.
I didn’t want Livy to see him, didn’t want her to hear that laugh, yet I knew she had to see him. Sometimes we can’t resist walking straight toward the beast we fear. If there really was something called evil in the world, it would move like Jesse. I kept seeing Jesse Hollowfield’s face on that videotape: dead eyes, mouth grinning.
Livy suddenly reached for my hand, and the courtroom went still, and I remembered where I was. One of the guards went to a side door, pushed it open to two guards leading Jesse in. He stood as straight as the shackles would allow, face cold, jaw tight. The room stayed still, leaving only the sound of his shuffling feet, the soft clanking of the shackles. I watched him pause, scan the room. Even though he was slightly bent from the chains pulling his hands toward his feet, he raised his head, turned from side to side so he could take us all in, his audience. He grinned. That was how he saw that crowd of strangers. We were his audience, and he was ready to show us the powers of Jesse Hollowfield. Even in shackles, he could hold us all frozen and waiting to see what would follow that arrogant, disgusted gaze. He shook his head as if we were hardly worthy, and he let the guard lead him to his chair.
We all knew where the hearing would go, a simple confirmation of what we knew, which was why I wanted to take Livy’s arm and leave. I looked for Roy. He stood at the back of the room, his eyes on his cell phone. I’ll admit that after one look at Jesse’s hard and grinning face, I wanted Roy beside me. I’d never tell him that. But the sight of Jesse’s face, seeing him taking his seat so easy and grinning like he knew it was all going to go his way, made me dizzy deep inside, made me want to grab on to anything steady and good. Which was why Livy’s hand was squeezing my arm, her eyes locked on Jesse Hollowfield, her face tight with wondering could this be the man, could this really be the man whose hands had last touched her girl?
I heard the all rise, and we stood while the judge came in, not looking at anyone, eyes only on where he needed to go. He sat, shuffled through his papers as if he didn’t know precisely why we were there. I watched Jesse. He kept his eyes on the judge as if this were his personal showdown. He really didn’t give a damn. He leaned back in his chair and shook his head as if to say, Enough of the bullshit now, and grinned.
Livy took my hand and whispered, “He’s not as big as I thought he’d be.” It was true. He didn’t look like a man capable of such violence against a girl. Put him in a polo shirt and khakis and a ball cap on his head, and he could have been any man’s kid. But I saw the mean strength in his arms, the tension in his jaw. He worked hard at being what he was. Probably did push-ups while they kept him locked in his cell, probably practiced that grin of his every time he passed a mirror. He wasn’t ready to give up anything easily, even while he sat shackled in a courtroom waiting for the judge to sentence him.
Roy had said Jesse’s lawyers wouldn’t even try to plead a way out of Jesse serving time. They’d gotten all the mileage they could on the last charge when he’d beaten that girl. He’d said she’d tried to steal his billfold, tried to grab the keys to his mother’s car. He’d said something in him had just clicked and everything had gone black. He had said he couldn’t even see what he was hitting, and when she’d dropped to the ground, all he’d thought to do was run.
I wondered what other assaults he’d committed. Like Katy. I knew this was more than his second offense, and I knew there’d be more to come. This was a man who would never be rehabilitated. He was far too happy with exactly who he was.
I know that behind every horror story is a horror story, but a man has to be accountable in some way for the things he’s done. Even when it’s some unseen hand reaching from back in time to make a man weak in spirit and then strong enough to hurt everything in reach and to feel vindicated by the pain he can cause in the world.
I heard the judge clear his throat. Livy squeezed my hand, and I tightened my grip. I watched the judge look around the room, making sure all eyes were on him and not on the man shackled in the chair.
The judge explained that there would be no bail, and there would be no leaving Jesse to his parents’ custody while he awaited trial for the assault on Molly Flynn. Assault, I thought; what an empty word. An assault can be something as simple as slapping someone in the face. Or burglary. Or rape. What words we find sometimes for the evil a man can do.
I leaned to Livy, said, “You need to be ready.” But she didn’t seem to hear me, just kept her eyes locked on Jesse Hollowfield.
The grin never left his face. He shook the shackles on his hands, said, “Damn, y’all must be scared of me.” Then he winked. “Don’t y’all know I’m Houdini? I can get free from any chains you put on me.” The judge banged his gavel, hollered for order. I thought about Houdini, how after surviving all his tricks, he died because he was a smart-ass. He died because he dared some college boys to punch him in the gut. Too much arrogance for one small man. He’d trained his pain threshold so high he couldn’t feel the internal injuries, told the boys to keep punching. He died days later, gone septic from all the damage done while he stood there grinning, saying, Hit me again.
I sat thinking that would be a good way for Jesse Hollowfield to die: death by his own arrogance. I kept seeing those images of Molly Flynn. I saw the tightly framed photographs of the violence done to that girl. I thought of Darly, Darly. What had they done to Darly all those years ago?
Back in the courtroom, I saw Jesse still grinning. The judge had heard all he needed. I had no doubt the judge had seen the tape, at least heard of it. The judge knew what Jesse had done. He wouldn’t be the judge to try the case. They were already moving to change the location of the trial. With all the news about the assault in Land Fall, it’d be hard to find anyone to serve on the jury who didn’t already have their minds made up that Jesse Hollowfield was a monster who should never be let out. So he’d be serving his sentence for the old crime while awaiting the trial for what they were
calling his second offense. They’d be shipping him to the work farm. He’d be locked up at night, chopping tobacco all day. It was just about the lightest sentence they could give. The crime against Katy would take time to surface. The cops, the judge, anybody who knew anything knew Jesse would have killed the Flynn girl if she hadn’t kicked free and run.
The judge asked Jesse if he had anything to say before they led him away. And I was thinking, Why give this man anything to say? Then I remembered it’s always a good idea to listen between the lines of a confident man. The firmer his stance, the more likely you’ll be able to see the little cracks between those proud words. He stood, faced his parents. “I told you I was the devil. Everybody in this room ought to stand back in fear of me.” He scanned the room, hoping to see the fear he could stir with his words. His eyes passed over me but locked on Livy. He made a move to look away from her, but something yanked his gaze back. He stood and stared, and she stared right back at him as if they knew each other from some other time. I could see her trembling. I squeezed her hand to bring her back to me. One of the guards nudged Jesse back toward his chair. Jesse jerked free, looked up at the judge. “Ain’t nothing but a devil can do the things I do. Go on and sentence me, judge. We’ll see how long that lasts. You go on and bang that gavel like you got some kind of power over me.”
And Jesse’s words, of course, set the judge to doing exactly what Jesse asked.
A Lucky Boat
Livy studied the blue-gray ocean rippling out on the horizon. She felt Shelby beside her but thought she’d lose all courage if she saw one more look of pity. “I know you’ve told me,” she said, “but what is the girl’s name again?” She hated the way things kept falling out of her head these days. But there was so much to hold on to, so many little facts, signs of what could have gone wrong. Anything could be a clue. The last time she had seen Katy, Katy had been nervous. She tried to hide it with a smile pasted on her face, but she kept fiddling things with her hands. The napkin she folded and folded into a little triangle just to unfold it and fold it again. The straw for her margarita, she chewed it the way she’d chewed things when she’d been a girl. They were at the marina restaurant even though Livy didn’t care for the food. But Katy said she’d heard it had improved. It hadn’t. The fish was dry and the salad drenched. Katy smelled like cigarettes, and Livy said something like, “I thought you gave up smoking.” And Katy just sipped her drink, squinted out at the sun, chewed an ice cube. Livy wanted to tell her to stop, she’d ruin her teeth. But the cigarettes were enough. “I just do it now and then,” Katy said, “when I’m drinking.” And Livy thought, You seem to be drinking a lot these days—Katy had had three margaritas. “Don’t fuss, Mom,” Katy said. “Aren’t you glad I came for a visit?” She kept checking the texts on her phone. She hadn’t made the sudden trip home to see her mom. Girls didn’t do that. A girl made sudden trips and watched for texts on a cell phone only for a man.
“She had secrets,” Livy said. “I know she did.”
“Who?” Shelby asked.
She glanced at Shelby, no sorrow, just confusion in her eyes.
“What were we talking about?” Livy asked.
“Molly Flynn, the girl from Land Fall,” Shelby said.
Livy wasn’t sure she would ever be ready for what she’d learn from the girl. She stood on the lawn of the girl’s father’s house: an upscale beachfront home, designed with gardens, stone paths, a pond where koi bobbed up for food. She felt Shelby waiting beside her, wanted to talk about how much water, how much dirt and work it must take to keep this beachfront property green. She said, “I don’t think I can stand this.”
Livy looked around at the hibiscus, the jasmine blooming. They were at the girl’s father’s house. The girl from Land Fall. “I was thinking about Katy. I was remembering. I know I should pay attention. It’s rude not to pay attention. This girl. What is her name?”
“Molly. Molly Flynn. We’re at her father’s house.”
“I know where we are,” Livy said. “The girl who lived. We’re at her father’s house. She doesn’t want to go back to her mother’s house. I don’t blame her. Who could go back to that place? This man raped her. How many times? You say he cut her legs, her belly, her throat? Her chest? He tried to choke her, but she fought him. She kicked free from the duct tape and ran out. You told me. It’s a miracle, you said.” A gull called, a hungry, screeching sound. She looked up to three of them circling above. “Hoping for a scrap,” Livy said. “Some things always want a scrap. I hate seagulls.” She felt a bead of sweat run down her throat. She tapped it with a tissue. “We’re going to melt if they don’t let us in soon. What’s taking so long?”
“Roy is making sure the girl is comfortable. And the parents. They’ve been through hell, you know.”
“I know hell,” Livy said.
“The girl doesn’t have to do this. She’s already made a statement. But she wanted to meet you.”
“She’s pretty sure it was Katy?” The words felt like stones dropped into the pockets of Livy’s seersucker jacket, heaviness falling. She tried to remember, who was the writer who had waded into a river with stones in her pocket? Katy would know. Livy looked toward the house, willing Roy to come out, let them in. But there was another urge for her to get into the car, drive away, take a plane home to where she could try to pretend something, anything but this. “The girl, she must be very strong.”
“She has a strong will,” Shelby said. “And she’s lucky. She’s very lucky. Lots of things come into play in something like this. Sometimes it just makes no sense at all.”
“No sense at all,” Livy said.
“You need some water?” Shelby said. “We can wait in the truck. I can turn on the AC. I didn’t think we’d be out here this long.”
“I just want to get this over. I like to think Katy is strong, but she’s not, really. Her daddy broke her spirit a long time ago. I guess he taught her how to live with fear, taught her to take it. I used to like to think learning to live with fear was a strength. But now I think it’s a weakness.”
Her phone buzzed in her purse. She checked, saw it was Lawrence, clicked the ringer off. She listened to his message, then set the phone to silence.
He wanted to come down. He thought nothing good could come from meeting this girl. He said she’d just upset Livy all the more. But Livy knew she needed to hear it. The girl said the man had bragged about the things he’d done to a tall, skinny girl who drove a blue truck with Tennessee plates. He’d said she’d gone fast. Shelby had told her that much. Lawrence said to leave it to the cops. Lawrence said she couldn’t solve anything. But Lawrence saw a problem out there as a simple thing: a woman missing; the cops will find her. He didn’t understand the tangle of wondering what Livy had done wrong to raise a smart girl who wanted to marry a pot-head bricklayer, a girl who couldn’t really tear her heart from the drug dealer named Frank.
She took out her phone, thought maybe she should talk to Lawrence, maybe he would say something sensible, maybe she’d believe whatever he said because whatever he said would be better than what she feared. When she’d told him about the other girl, he’d been doubtful. It seemed unlikely, he had said. “Too coincidental that the man who took Katy attacked this girl on the news. You’re hearing what you need to hear, Livy.”
She told Lawrence it was the sheriff who said this was a lead. She argued, and he kept talking over her until they were both talked out. “Just call me if you need me,” he started to say, but she didn’t want to hear it. She clicked her phone off. His words kept droning in her head: You’re hearing what you need to hear. But he was wrong. She wanted to hear that Katy was fine, that she’d just run away, the very words Lawrence kept telling her. She wanted to hear them from someone else, like Katy standing in front of her saying, “I’m sorry I scared you, Mom, but I just had to run away.” She tried to tell herself she would hear these words, but all she really heard was the voice deep and strong inside her whispering, Katy is gone
.
Shelby touched her arm. “Let’s move to the patio. There’s shade there.” As they walked, Shelby kept her eyes on the house. “This is taking longer than I thought. Maybe the girl has changed her mind about talking to you.”
“Maybe Lawrence is right. Unnecessary pain.”
Shelby stopped. “You don’t want to hear this?”
“No, I do. But I don’t. I mean all she has is a story. She must have been delirious. We don’t know anything for sure. There have to be a dozen girls driving trucks from Tennessee.” She heard her voice, the pitch rising with a desperate sound.
“You’ve got to follow every lead,” Shelby said. Her eyes went back to the door.
“I don’t want to hear what she says,” Livy said. “But I’ll go out of my mind if she turns us away.” Shelby nodded. “Lawrence keeps telling me I’m overreacting. We all knew she still wanted to be with Frank back home. She had a thing for the bad boys.” Livy paused, looked around her at the landscaping, the ocean view, the huge house of stone and glass that sat on the promontory. “This place is gorgeous,” she said. “This Molly, she comes from money, lives in a gated community. Horrible things aren’t supposed to happen to girls like that.”
“Horrible things happen to anybody.” Shelby was checking her phone.
“Don’t you hate it when you get a call? Always some new awful thing?”
“Not always,” Shelby said. “Sometimes it really is just a case of prewedding jitters. Sometimes we find a father has stolen his child for a good reason. Once we found this old woman with early-stage Alzheimer’s. Lost for three days. She’d been staying with a man she liked to call her gentleman friend. We found them in an IHOP having strawberry pancakes. It’s not always bad.”