Don't Ever Forget (Adler and Dwyer)

by Matthew Farrell

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you serious?”

  She shrugged and smiled as if we were arguing about who was going to do the dishes.

  “Do you have a better idea?” she asked. “Because I don’t. Do you want to confess?”

  “I want to call the police. There’s nothing to confess. It was an accident.”

  “They won’t see it that way. A little girl is dead at the hands of two adults who were having an affair. How do you think that looks? How do you think the police and the judge and the jury and the rest of the town will see it? You can’t kill a child and get off on a misunderstanding. Her parents will want to see justice. They’ll ask for the death penalty.” Noreen started crying again. “I was just trying to make her stop.”

  It was my first step into the abyss. Love, fear, guilt, confusion overwhelmed me, and so I simply handed my freedom over as if we were trading baseball cards. “Okay, I’ll do it. You go home and act normal. No hysterics. Be yourself.”

  “I’ll try,” Noreen replied. She was shaking all over. “Do you love me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then we have no choice. We have to do this.”

  I got my arms under the little girl’s body and lifted her off the floor.

  “Wait,” Noreen said as she fumbled through my desk. She came away with a pair of scissors. “I want a piece of her hair to remind me of what I’ve done. I don’t ever want to forget. I don’t ever want to give myself the satisfaction of moving on. I want to remember what we did and what we’re doing. Always.”

  We didn’t know we were passing the point of no return on that sunny afternoon, but we should have. We should’ve realized you can’t do something like that and go back to the way things used to be.

  That’s not how fate works.

  12

  James sat in the middle of the basement, his arthritic hands gently caressing the rubber treads of his wheelchair. He looked at the digital clock that had been set up next to the television. It was flashing 12:00 over and over. What good was a clock that didn’t tell the time? At least he had the windows to tell him if it was day or night. He couldn’t see out of them, but he could see that it was night outside. The woman whose name he couldn’t quite reach in the fog had told him it was raining, but he had no proof of such news. His room might as well have been on Mars. He couldn’t see anything but light and dark. There were no other details beyond the concrete walls that surrounded him, dressed in drywall and painted a calming yellow to try and make him feel like he was living in an apartment. But the reality was, he was trapped in that room, in his chair, and within his failing mind. He was a prisoner in every sense of the word.

  James spun around and wheeled himself to the landing when a different set of legs started down the stairs. These legs were thicker. Longer. Brown leather boots and khaki pants.

  “You look familiar,” James said as he backed away and let the man come all the way down. “We’ve met, I think. I can’t remember what you told me your name was.”

  “Not important,” the man replied. “It’s time for bed.”

  “Where’s Bonnie?”

  “Who?”

  “Bonnie? Where is she? I need to see her. I think something might’ve happened. I think Noreen got ahold of her.”

  The man ignored him and walked behind the wheelchair before grabbing the two handles and pushing James toward the bedroom portion of the space.

  “I think she might be hiding,” he continued. “I can’t find her, and if I can’t find her, then that means something might’ve happened. Have you seen her?”

  “You’re not making sense,” the man said without any inflection in his voice. “No one knows who Bonnie is, and it doesn’t matter if you think she’s hiding or whatever. You won’t remember any of this come tomorrow.”

  “Well, that’s a hell of a thing to say.”

  The man remained quiet as he pushed the wheelchair to the edge of the bed, engaged the brake, then came around to face James. He unhooked each leg from the chair but left them in the braces, easing them to the floor.

  “How long have I been here? I don’t remember ever doing this before. Please.”

  The man bent down, laced his arms under James’s, and lifted him out of his seat, spinning him quickly and dropping him onto the bed. Before James could move himself, the man straightened his legs, positioned his torso so it aligned with the rest of his body, gently placed his head on the pillow, and pulled the covers up to his chest.

  “Am I going to bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need to change into my pajamas.”

  The man pulled the covers back. “You already did before.”

  James looked down and saw he was wearing blue-and-white-striped pajamas. He had no memory of putting them on. “I . . . I . . .”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me you don’t remember doing this tomorrow night too. That’s why it doesn’t matter what my name is or where Bonnie is or whether Noreen has her or whatever else you have on your mind. None of it will matter because you’ll wake up with the same questions tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, and to be honest, I have enough to worry about. When we get to the end of all of this, we can take a breath, but for now, I just don’t have the patience or the time.”

  Even in the dim light, James could see the man’s eyes were almost vacant.

  “I think something might’ve happened to Bonnie.”

  The man took James’s hand and dumped two pills into his palm. “Take these.”

  “What is it?”

  “They’ll help you sleep.”

  “Do I usually take these?”

  “Yes. Every night.”

  “Is Bonnie doing the laundry? Maybe that’s where she is.”

  “Take the pills.”

  James popped the pills in his mouth, and the man helped him sip from a glass of water that was on his nightstand.

  “You need the bedpan?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then. Go to sleep.”

  “Is Bonnie up there?”

  The man didn’t answer. He crossed the room, his boots thumping on the tiled floor. When he got to the landing, he shut off the lights and plunged the room into a thick darkness.

  “Please tell me your name. Even if I’m going to ask again tomorrow, just tell me anyway.”

  A sigh. “Trevor.”

  “Thank you.”

  The only reply was the sound of the man’s boots stomping up the stairs and the basement door quietly closing.

  13

  Cindy was waiting in the kitchen when Trevor came up from the basement. He closed the door, and they looked at each other as the noise in the house settled.

  “How is he?”

  “Physically, he’s doing fine. I don’t think the bump he got is affecting him. As for his mental state, he’s a mess, but we knew that going in. Has no recollection of what happened, which is definitely a good thing. He kind of knows he hadn’t gone to bed down there before, but I played it like he’s been here for a while. He kept asking about someone named Bonnie.”

  Cindy pushed off the counter she was leaning on. Her eyes grew wide. “That’s a good thing,” she said. “He’s remembering. Bonnie was one of his victims. I knew he’d start to remember. I knew it.”

  “I don’t know if you’d call it remembering,” Trevor replied. “More like random thoughts popping into his mind. He just thinks of something, and it comes out of his mouth.”

  “No, he’s remembering. Same with the ghosts he’s seeing. They’re the kids he abducted. He’s remembering.”

  “Okay, whatever.” Trevor made his way over to the table and sat down. “Just work on the old man so you can get your answers. If you think Hagen wants to hear his confession, then get it before he comes up, because once he’s here, it’s over.”

  “I know. I’ll push a little harder tomorrow.”

  “How’s our girl doing?”

  “She’s fine. She’s in be
d. I gave her a couple more Valiums.”

  “She’s getting pretty amped up.”

  “Yeah, well, this isn’t something that people do every day,” Cindy said. “Of course she’s gonna be a little freaked out. We killed two people, and now we’re stuck up here. The original plan crumbled the second those red lights started flashing.”

  “No, the plan crumbled the second you decided to go twenty miles over the speed limit.”

  Cindy ignored the jab.

  “I’m sorry,” Trevor said. “I know you didn’t mean to do it. I’m just saying she’s making me nervous. If she wants to help her mom, she better learn to calm down.”

  Cindy sat down at the kitchen table across from him. “She’ll be fine. I’ll watch her. Help her through it.”

  “Okay,” he said. “You’re the boss.”

  14

  Susan followed the trooper back to the barracks, and they put David Hill in one of the two small interview rooms. He was seated at the far end of a tiny table that looked like it would be more appropriate for a poker game than an interrogation. The room itself was no bigger than a walk-in closet. A camera mounted in one corner recorded the interview and fed a live feed to the flat screen hanging in the investigators’ unit. There was no large two-way mirror or separate viewing room. There simply wasn’t enough space.

  Susan opened the door and slipped inside. She dropped a file and her notebook onto the table and then made her way toward the camera. “We have to record this. For your sake as well as ours.”

  David nodded.

  “You ready?”

  “Am I going to need a lawyer?”

  “Eventually,” Susan replied. “You’re going to be charged with trespassing, breaking and entering, and disrupting a crime scene. You can ask for a lawyer at any point, but if you cooperate here and talk to me, I won’t file charges for running from the scene. I just want to know what you can tell me about your sister and James Darville.”

  David fell back in his chair. He wasn’t crying anymore, but his eyes were red and swollen. “The quicker I tell you what I know, the quicker you can find Rebecca. Ask me what you want. I’m good.”

  Susan nodded. She ran through the details of who was in the interview for the benefit of the video record, asked David to confirm that he was aware he was being recorded, then opened her file.

  “When we spoke with you and your mother earlier, your mother indicated she last talked to Rebecca two days ago. When was the last time you spoke to her?”

  David thought for a moment. “I’d say about two days ago also. My mother had been in the hospital for a couple days, which is why Rebecca called.”

  “She wasn’t there when your mother was discharged?”

  “No, she couldn’t leave Mr. James. I took care of it.”

  “Is that unusual? Your sister, a nurse, not being there after your mom was sent home from the hospital?”

  “I don’t think it was that unusual,” David replied. “Sometimes her patients have to come first. We get it. It happens.”

  Susan made a few notes. “When you spoke to Rebecca two days ago, did you notice anything different about her tone or her mood? Was she worried or stressed or nervous? Anything like that?”

  David nodded. “She was worried about my mom. My mom needs a liver transplant, and time’s running out. She’s older, so she’s always at the bottom of the donor list. We thought this might be the end, so we were both freaking out a little.”

  “Could she have been worried or stressed for another reason?”

  “I have no idea. She didn’t say anything.”

  More notes. “Did you ever meet James Darville? Rebecca ever introduce you?”

  “No. Like my mom said before, we knew about him, but we never met him.”

  “Did Rebecca ever tell you about what’s going on in his life? Friends? Relatives?”

  “No.”

  “Enemies he might’ve had?”

  “No. Nothing like that. Just that he had dementia and she was taking care of him. That’s all she ever told us other than a funny story here or there.” David leaned forward. “We’ve already been through this. Why is Mr. James’s house a crime scene? What happened to him?”

  Susan ignored the questions. “Did Rebecca ever come across as nervous or uncomfortable talking about James?”

  “No.” David sat back and looked up at the ceiling. A fresh set of tears ran down his face. “Where is my sister?”

  “Believe me, everyone’s looking for her.”

  “She would never kill anyone.”

  “Yet her car was used in a state trooper’s murder.”

  “No way she did that!” David yelled. “You have to believe me.”

  He began to cry again, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in his hands. Susan leaned forward and spoke softly.

  “Where were you last night?”

  David looked at her. “Me?”

  “Yeah. Where were you?”

  “Home. Why? You think I had something to do with this?”

  Susan shook her head. “Just trying to figure out where everybody was. Anybody at your house who can verify you were home?”

  “No. I live alone.”

  David gently slapped the table with his hands. “I know breaking into Mr. James’s house was stupid, and I’m willing to accept whatever charges are filed against me because of it, but I refuse to waste time being some kind of suspect here. What makes you think I had anything to do with my sister missing and that cop’s murder?”

  Susan flipped a few pages in her file and looked up at David. “James Darville is missing too. That’s why there was tape on his door and his house was a crime scene. There are signs of struggle inside, and from the looks of your sister, I don’t think she’s strong enough to overtake Mr. Darville without some help. You, on the other hand, look like you’re in pretty good shape.”

  David buried his head in his hands. “You’re wasting time.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I guess I’ll take that lawyer now. Didn’t think I’d have to fight for my innocence, but if you wanna go down that road, I guess we’ll go.”

  “So?” Crosby stood up from his desk and stretched.

  Susan leaned against his office door. She was tired, and her back hurt from sitting in a metal chair in the interview room.

  “I think he’s telling the truth, but he sure looks strong enough to move the heavy furniture at Darville’s place. I don’t know.”

  “There are a thousand people who could move that furniture.”

  “But how many are directly connected to Rebecca Hill?” She paused for a moment, thinking. “I don’t have anything to hold him on, and, for the record, I think what he did was more anguish and desperation than breaking and entering. He was scared for his sister and did something dumb. We’re booking him now for the B and E, and his lawyer’s on the way. We’ll get him in front of a judge tomorrow morning with a notice to reappear.”

  “DA okay with that?”

  “Yeah. Just got off the phone with him. We’ll keep an eye out, but I’m pretty certain he’s clean.”

  “Okay then.”

  Susan rolled off the door and stopped. “I’m going to set up a couple of our minicams at the old man’s house and at the nurse’s place. I can’t have friends and family disrupting these places with the case still active. If someone tries to break in, I want them on camera.”

  Crosby nodded and snatched a mug of coffee from his desk. “Sounds good.”

  Susan made her way back out through the investigators’ unit and into the hall. She was beat and wanted to hit the road to try and make it home before Eric dropped off the kids and her mother put them to bed. A hot meal, a cold beer, and a set of hugs from the twins would set her straight. It would take about another twenty minutes to officially charge David Hill. If he kept his mouth shut and didn’t ask any questions, she could get it done in fifteen. Maybe even ten.

  15

  It was strange walking into the
house without hearing the patter of feet running down the hall or the shouts of excitement welcoming her home. There was no television blaring or music pumping. No crunching of plastic toys being played with or the high-pitched laughter of children having fun. When Susan walked through her front door and placed her bag down at the base of the coatrack, there was only a curtain of silence to greet her, and in that brief moment, she realized how much she missed her kids.

  She made her way into the living room while reading an email that had come in on her phone. Triston had been able to get a list of Darville’s doctors from the physical therapist who’d called 911. She’d make some calls after the kids got home to try and line up interviews starting in the morning.

  Her mother was lying on the couch, eyes closed, a thin rumble of a snore rising from her throat. Beatrice looked peaceful and pain-free, which were two adjectives that had recently been stolen from their vernacular. A year earlier she’d suffered a pierced liver, nicked intestine, and collapsed lung as a result of being attacked while trying to protect her grandchildren. But she was a fighter, and although the physical therapy and general recovery had taken their toll, she refused to give in. Beatrice always liked to say living fine and free was the best revenge. Susan couldn’t have agreed more.

  She sat on the edge of the couch and rubbed her mother’s leg. “Ma, get up. If you sleep now, you’ll never get to sleep tonight.”

  The old woman opened her eyes and looked around. Perhaps she, too, was confused by the silence. This had been the first time the twins had been gone overnight since she’d moved into the house full-time.

  “I was reading. Must’ve dozed off.”

  “Did you eat?”

  “I had a bowl of cereal earlier.”

  “Cereal isn’t dinner. I’ll cook us something quick.”