Molly pulled her shoulders back and her head up, as she approached her destination. She stopped just outside the open door, took a deep breath, and exhaled.
“Deal with it and go home. That’s all you have to do.” She reminded herself.
She took two steps into the room and came to a halt. The light over the bed was on, but the bed had been stripped. A chair in the corner held a cardboard box with get-well cards piled neatly on top of what looked like a folded bathrobe. Other than the box, the room was completely empty of personal belongings. Molly stepped back into the hall, checking the room number again. She was exactly where the woman downstairs told her she would find Joe. She walked over to the box and picked up the card on top. The signature inside included a message. “We love you, Joe. We miss you.”
“He’s gone,” a voice said, pulling Molly’s attention to the door.
The same dark-haired woman from the nurse’s station was standing a few feet inside the room. Any other time, Molly would have taken the time to check this attractive brunette out, but even the woman’s intense, almost violet eyes could not distract Molly from her mission. The woman wore an expression of immense sorrow. So much so, Molly knew instantly she did not mean Joe had been moved or gone home. Joe Webb was dead.
“You are Molly Kincaid, aren’t you?” The woman asked.
“Yes,” Molly answered.
“I thought so. I saw your picture on your webpage. That’s how I got your phone number for Joe.” She took a step toward Molly, with her hand extended in greeting. “I’m Leslie Walker. We spoke on the phone.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Molly said, shaking Leslie’s hand, but still clinging to Joe’s card.
Leslie continued, “I’m sorry you didn’t make it in time. He really wanted to see you. He just kept saying, Molly will make things right.”
Molly put the card back on top of the box. “Did he tell you what I was supposed to make right?”
Leslie walked to the chair and picked up the box. “I assume he wanted you to represent his grandson. He’s been charged with murdering Cheryl. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about the case.”
Molly remembered briefly seeing a news story about a son charged with murdering his mother in Waitesville. She also remembered quickly turning the TV off, not wanting to know anything about her old hometown.
“I’m not familiar with the case and I haven’t spoken to Joe Webb in twenty-one years.”
The words came out with more hostility than Molly intended. She was angry now. She could have gone the rest of her life without hearing Joe’s last words to her, never giving her mother’s death another thought. Now, the seed of doubt had been sown and the person who planted it was dead.
Leslie took Molly’s tone as a sign of indifference. The sweet, consoling nature of Leslie’s voice changed, as well. Molly clearly heard the edge of disdain when Leslie said, “I never could understand why Joe thought a high-priced attorney would give a damn about an innocent eighteen-year-old.”
Leslie turned her back on Molly, heading for the door.
“Wait,” Molly said. “I’m sorry. It’s just, this is all a lot to take in at once. Like I said, I haven’t spoken with Joe in a very long time.”
Leslie wheeled around. “Well, you lost that chance when you hung up on him tonight. His last words —” She stumbled a bit, the tears that were now falling taking her breath. She gathered herself and finished. “His last words were, ‘Tell Molly, I loved her,’ and now I’ve told you, so goodbye.”
Leslie turned to leave again. Molly took two long strides, reaching for Leslie’s elbow. “Wait. You can’t just drop something like that on someone and walk away.”
Leslie jerked away from Molly. “Why not? I don’t know what happened between you and Joe, but you obviously meant the world to him. He died right after you hung up and all he wanted to tell you was that he loved you. That was cruel, and I don’t think I like you very much.”
“I hung up so I could drive down here,” Molly said, defending her actions, “and that’s not what he said to me on the phone. He said my mother was murdered.”
Molly’s statement had the desired effect. Leslie’s demeanor changed. She was Molly’s only witness to what Joe said, a hostile witness at that. Molly appealed to the woman’s empathy to get the information she wanted.
Leslie’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, but you must have misunderstood.”
“He said, ‘Sarah murdered.’ That was my mother’s name.”
Leslie’s brow wrinkled with compassion. “I thought he said, ‘Cheryl murdered.’ His daughter, the one his grandson supposedly killed. Are you sure you heard him correctly? He was having a hard time talking.”
Molly took a step back. Maybe she did hear what she wanted and not what Joe actually said. “I could have sworn he said Sarah,” she mumbled, mostly to herself.
“I’m so sorry,” Leslie said. “I really think he wanted you to help his grandson, Joey. He was trying to tell you that his daughter was murdered.”
Molly was still concentrating on Joe’s words. She was certain he said Sarah. She walked to the bed and sat down, running the breathless words of a dying man over in her head. Leslie took Molly’s silence as a sign she needed to fill in the gaps.
“Cheryl was murdered a little over a week ago. Her son, Joey, was found on the scene, covered in blood, and would not let the officers approach his mother’s body. Joey didn’t kill his mother. Joe knew that. He seemed to think if you knew, you would help. Was he wrong?”
Molly did not answer. She stared at the floor, trying desperately to put the pieces together.
“Ms. Kincaid?” Leslie prodded.
Molly looked up. She had come to a decision. “I’m not able to become involved in this case. I would have told Joe the same thing and offered to help find a good attorney for his grandson.”
“Oh,” Leslie said, not hiding her disappointment.
Molly stood up and lied. “It’s just, I don’t have the time to dedicate to another murder case right now.”
Leslie’s disappointment turned to contempt instantly. “If that’s the best you can do for a man whose dying words were he loved you, well, I hope you can live with that. Goodbye, Ms. Kincaid.”
Leslie Walker turned on her heels and left the room without another word. Molly sank back down on the edge of the bed. Could she live with that? What did she owe Joe? Nothing, as far as she was concerned. Even to the end, he had manipulated her into coming here. She dismissed the possibility that he inadvertently said her mother’s name, instead of his daughter’s. He knew she would come if he mentioned Sarah. The two of them had forced Molly to keep a dark secret that, if it were known, would have presented Molly with a much different life. It was for the best they said. Molly had done as she was told, never telling a soul what happened that day, the day that changed her life forever.
It was one week after her tenth birthday. Molly heard the screaming when she popped out of the woods near the shack they called home. Her mother was there. She was almost always home, too drunk or high to go very far. Sometimes Molly would find her wandering the streets, out of her mind, but mostly Sarah Harris stayed in bed. Her mother would sober up whenever the social worker sent Molly to the group home, just long enough to get Molly back. Then the cycle would start all over. Molly knew not to tell anyone what was going on at home. Her mother was not perfect, but there were enough times when she showed Molly affection to make up for the bad. Sarah Harris would tell her daughter that she was the only thing in her life that was good, and she did not know if she could make it without her. Molly knew the burden of responsibility at a very young age.
In the short decade Molly had been on this earth, she grew to understand that her mother was a kept woman, and not kept very well. Daddy provided the shack they lived in, along with the booze and drugs that robbed her momma’s mind. Sustained by welfare, there was food, but not much. The only time Molly ate well was when school was in session, be
cause of the free breakfast and lunch. Her momma said Daddy could not take them to his big house in the country, because his family did not approve of their relationship. He would come one day to take them home, but for now, they had to live in the “shack,” as her momma called it. Molly hoped the day he came to move them she would be gone. She would rather go hungry and live in a shack than go anywhere with Evan Branch.
Molly dropped the homemade bamboo fishing pole and the two catfish she caught for their dinner. She was only a child, but she knew what the screams meant. Daddy was there and her mother was again the subject of his rage. This time the screams were more alarming than usual. As she ran closer, Molly could hear her mother pleading for her life.
“Oh God, no! Please Evan, I don’t know where it is.”
The sound of her mother being pummeled with angry fists greeted Molly at the door. He was going to kill her this time. Daddy never put a finger on Molly, but he beat her mother on a regular basis. In fact, he mostly ignored Molly’s existence. This would turn out to be a strategic error on his part.
Daddy screamed at Sarah, “You tell me where it is, bitch, or I swear I’ll kill you and that brat, and burn the house down with you in it.”
Molly stepped in the room unseen. Her mother was screaming while Evan Branch pistol-whipped her, his fist gripped tightly around a revolver. Cast off crimson drops flew in every direction, as his rage repeatedly came down on Sarah Harris’s face.
“Tell me, bitch! Where is it? Tell me or you die!”
Molly’s mother stopped begging for mercy and lost the will to fight. Her ten-year-old daughter found it. Molly picked up her softball bat, a gift from Joe for her birthday, took two steps, and swung with all the strength her small body could muster. The bat landed on the side of Evan’s head with a loud crack. He crumpled to the floor and the air went still.
Molly ran to her mother. “Get up! Get up! We can’t be here when he wakes up.”
Sarah roused slowly, taking in Molly, the bat, and Evan’s bleeding head all at once. She staggered to her feet with Molly’s help. Through her split lips and swollen jaw, Sarah’s words were difficult to understand.
“Pi — u — d — gu.” Molly stared at her. Sarah swallowed painfully and tried again. This time the words came more clearly, as she seemed to be gathering strength. “Pick up the gun.”
For the first time in Molly’s life, her mother produced a backbone. She took the bat from Molly and used it to steady herself. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth while she instructed Molly on what to do.
“Go on, pick up the gun and bring it to me.”
Molly tiptoed past the unconscious man, trembling in fear of him springing back to life and killing them both. She felt his skull give from the blow, but Molly could see that he was still breathing. She picked up the gun from the floor, where it had fallen when the bat connected with Evan’s head, and returned to her mother’s side. Sarah took the gun from Molly and made her next request.
“Call Joe.”
Molly went to the phone. They only had a phone because Evan wanted to be able to talk to her mother whenever he felt like it. He insisted it be a corded phone, so Sarah would have to be in the house to answer it. Molly was not allowed to use it, because if Evan found it busy, her mother had hell to pay. Molly had permission to call someone only in moments like this, when her mother would ask her to find Joe. The kind deputy would come, dress Sarah’s wounds, or take her to the hospital. He would hold Molly while the doctors sewed up her mother’s face yet again, calming her fears. She would watch as the doctors and nurses shook their heads, while Joe begged Sarah to press charges.
She always replied, “He’ll kill us, Joe. You know he will.”
Molly punched in the number to Joe’s phone inside his police cruiser. When he answered, she blurted out, “Come quick, Joe. It’s bad this time.”
Joe’s excited voice came back, “Is he still there?”
“Yeah, but he don’t look too good,” Molly said.
“Is Sarah okay?”
Molly looked up at her mother. “Yeah, but she don’t look much better.”
“I’ll be there in a minute. Hang on.”
Molly could hear the engine on Joe’s cruiser pick up speed. He was coming and coming fast. She looked down at the blood oozing from Evan’s nose and the deep gash on the side of his head. He had not moved since hitting the floor.
“I think I killed him, Joe.”
“Get out of the house, Molly. Hang up and get out now!”
Molly slammed the phone down on the receiver and grabbed her mother’s hand. “We have to leave now! Joe’s on his way. He said get out of the house.”
Sarah pulled her hand away. She tried to smile at Molly, but it hurt too much. She limped over to the desk in the corner. It was an old desk they found at the dump and pulled home on Molly’s refurbished dolly. She found the abandoned dolly in an alley behind one of the buildings near home, missing a wheel. Molly hunted the industrial alleys until she found a wheel that worked. When other kids were taking lessons or playing sports after school, Molly trolled the alleys, filling the dolly with whatever she could salvage from other people’s trash. Sometimes she could talk her mother into going with her. Sarah was having a good day when they found the desk. One of its stout front legs was broken halfway down. They took it home and Joe made another leg for it. It worked well enough for Molly to have a place to do homework.
Molly watched as her mother turned one of the sections on the desk’s intact front leg. To her amazement a tiny drawer, she had not known existed, popped out where the desktop joined the leg. Sarah reached into the drawer, removing a gold chain with a key hanging from it. She closed the drawer and limped back to Molly.
“Here, put this around your neck and don’t let anyone see it. If they do, tell them it’s the key to my heart. You’ll always have that, Molly. You’ll always be the best part of me. Now, go on outside and wait for Joe under the tree. Don’t come back in the house. Do you hear me?”
Molly nodded, said “Yes, ma’am,” and did as she was told.
She was sitting under the big white-oak tree when Joe pulled up. He only glanced at Molly and ran into the house. Evan Branch was probably dead by now. She waited for the inevitable sirens that would come to take her away for killing a man. Molly was going to prison and she knew it. Evan Branch’s family would make sure his bastard child and her mother paid for his death, of that, Molly was sure. She had seen the woman that was supposedly her grandmother only once that she could remember. Evan’s mother spat at her and called her trash, announcing loudly that Molly looked nothing like “her people.” Molly knew where she stood with those “people.” They would see her locked up forever for killing their precious boy.
Molly did not cry while she waited. She rarely cried except when she was alone in the forest, or lying on her pallet at night in the front room of the shack. Crying in public only made people ask her what was wrong. If she told people the truth, she ended up plucked from her mother and warehoused with the county for a few months. Prison was going to be much worse than the group home, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry about Evan killing her momma while she was gone. That’s what Molly did whenever they took her away, worried that she’d come home to find he’d finally gone too far, without her there to stop him. This was not the first time she intervened on her mother’s behalf, but she usually just stood over to the side and screamed at him until he left. Molly asked her mother once why he did not hit her.
Her mother had smiled and said, “He knows the law, honey. He can’t get away with beatin’ on a child like he can a woman. The law would never stand for that.”
Molly could not understand why the law would stand for this man beating the hell out of her mother when he felt like it. Joe explained that until Sarah pressed charges, the law’s hands were tied. He was sitting in his sheriff’s department vehicle with Molly on the passenger seat that day, not long ago. They had just brought her momma home from
the hospital again. He tried to explain to Molly why a woman would stand for the abuse her mother took.
“I knew your momma before she got tangled up with Branch. She was beautiful. You favor her, you know.”
“That’s what people say, that I don’t look nothin’ like my daddy. I’m glad. I don’t want to look nothin’ like that fart face.”
Joe laughed, then went on, “Branch has somehow convinced your momma that she don’t deserve no better than what she’s got.”
“She’s scared of him, too,” Molly said. “He tells her all the time he’ll kill her if she leaves him, but then he’s nice to her for a while and I guess she forgets how mean he is.”
Joe’s scowl left no doubt how much he hated Evan Branch. “He turned her into an addict so she’s dependent on him. You shouldn’t live here, Molly. You need to be somewhere safer.”
Molly stiffened. “I cain’t leave her here alone. She’ll die if she don’t have me to live for, she told me so.”
“That’s the alcohol talking, honey. She knows she has to let you go.”
Molly got out of the car and slammed the door. “Just try to take me away. I’ll run back here ever’ time. You just try it!”
Now, the ten-year-old murderer sat under the oak tree, biting her lip to keep from crying, and knowing her time here at the shack had come to an end. They would take her away today and her momma could not stop them. Molly had finally done what needed to be done, while adults stood around and watched. She was not sorry at all. Maybe now her mother could get well and come visit her in prison. That would be fine, she guessed. All she knew of prison was what she had seen in a few movies and books she read. Her frame of reference was small. Molly was imagining what being chained to a rock and swinging a sledgehammer all day would feel like, when she smelled the fire. She looked up and saw thick smoke billowing out of the back of the little house.
Molly: House on Fire Page 3