Lies We Bury

by Elle Marr

  “And be placed in the foster system? No, I don’t think so.”

  “Jenessa, why didn’t you tell . . . us? You could have come and lived with us—”

  “She never would have allowed it. She knew that’s what I wanted all along. She told me over and over that if I did tell, she would clean up her act, and then I’d be returned to her, and it would be worse. She told me how Chet raped her at least once a week, and taking photos for men was nothing in comparison when we needed the money. I confronted her about it, about the abuse she inflicted on me, at the beginning of this year. We were arguing, and my gun went off. It was an accident. I only meant to scare her, to torment her a bit the way that she tormented me for years.” She pauses. “I sobbed for an hour in this room.”

  I don’t say anything for a moment, heartbroken and dumbfounded by her confession. I can’t imagine Rosemary inflicting a fraction of what she lived—of what we witnessed as children—on me.

  “I had no idea. I’m so sorry that happened. Nora was more terrible than I realized. But I also know that, early on at least, she loved . . . well, she tried—”

  A snort flies from my sister’s nose. “She tried? She left me to rot in Chet’s basement for another three years after she escaped. You know the day after we got out and she met us at the hospital, she came directly from a date with a man she’d met in a bar? Her supplier, it turned out. She wasn’t thinking about me all those years as I had hoped.”

  Her foot taps an impatient rhythm on the floor, and I watch the gun bounce along with it.

  I need to calm her down. What was that song we used to sing as kids?

  Jesus, a song isn’t going to make her not shoot me.

  “The worst part is, by the time we got out, I considered Rosemary to be my mother. I was devastated when I had to go live with Nora.”

  “I know. I remember.”

  “Really?” she snaps. “What else do you remember? Watching me struggle through the years, growing up in an unstable home, relying on a woman who could barely care for herself?”

  “I had my issues with Rosemary, too. I’ve been taking care of her since I was eight years old. It wasn’t some picnic over in Arch.”

  “But you and Lily had each other! I had no one!” Her words ring out in the one-story house, seem to boomerang in the tight space. She breathes heavily like she just ran a race and watches me with tented eyebrows.

  “I had no one,” she repeats, and my heart breaks for her again, knowing it’s true.

  “So I made my own way,” she continues. “Made the bonehead decision to get into drugs, too, and spent too much time in rehab, but I figured my shit out.” She sniffs. “After drug running ran its course, I got a few over-the-table jobs. Working at the doughnut shop is what gave me the idea, seeing people take selfies in front of the sign every day.”

  “What idea?” I’m having trouble stringing together all these bits and pieces she keeps lobbing my way. My senses continue to feel dull, and I know I’m not nearly scared enough observing the wild way she gestures with that loaded pistol. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  Chet’s body begins to twitch, spasm. More fluid releases from beneath his torso, and I gag watching the pool of blood change color.

  “So many people in this city, screaming for attention, available to satisfy a variety of urges. I saw an opportunity. Look at Chet.” She nudges the lifeless foot with her boot. “He grabbed Nora to satisfy his need, and I knew he couldn’t be the only sick bastard with an unusual thirst.”

  The warmth drains from my face. “What did you do?”

  “I started practicing. After Nora died, I got into her stash of lithium and antipsychotics and found they made me more alert. Ambitious and clearheaded about my goals. Acutely aware that Nora made my life hell growing up, and she was gone, but that the internet would always pick up where she left off.

  “All those years of being followed, harassed, and objectified by the media as I got on my feet. I never understood why people sought out that notoriety online. Why some girls post naked photos of themselves, willingly and for free. Why they pursued that social media glittery fame, why the hell anyone would sacrifice their privacy—something I would have killed for even then—just to be famous for five minutes. So I began targeting them. Following these social media whores, going to the locations where they tweeted, or posted they were, and watching them.”

  My whole frame tenses, prickles at the scene she describes. The poker is out of reach from where I sit on the couch. “What then?”

  “I lured them to the Shanghai Tunnels underneath the doughnut shop. Sometimes I got them drunk first. The stripper was sober, so she was harder to convince, but the men were easy. I tied them up. At first I was sloppy—I didn’t remember the knots that Rosemary taught us—but I didn’t have to keep them for long. The buyers I found on the dark web paid eagerly. Once I had their cash in hand, they were allowed to do what they wanted.”

  I swallow hard, not sure I want to know more but unable to stop myself from asking. “What did they want?”

  She returns a deadpan expression. “To kill someone.”

  “But . . . I don’t understand. You received a note, too. Time to come clean.”

  “Didn’t want you suspecting me.”

  “That’s . . . Jay, how could—this is insane.”

  “Is it? Or is it nuts that out of all of us, you’re the only one who seems okay?” Black eyes bore into mine. “Lily? Pregnant with a limp and alone after her partner abandoned her, a hundred grand in debt from always cutting and running. Rosemary, too terrified to leave her box-infested house; Bethel died a long time ago; and Nora, trust me, is happier buried beneath her plants than she ever was caring for me. And then there’s me.”

  Hearing Jenessa’s callous summary of how our family’s lives turned out sharpens the hazy filter on my senses. “What about you? You think you have some sob story to tell, that adjusting to freedom was so much more difficult for you than anyone else?”

  “I think I got the short end of the stick, yeah, when I was promised a different life. I sacrificed myself for you, for everyone, and that’s the thanks that I got.”

  “What are you talking about? We all made sacrifices.” I sit forward on the edge of the seat, my strength and fire returning to me.

  “Are you high right now? Or do you really not remember?” Her gaze darts across my face, searching for something. “You don’t, do you?”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Jenessa? Whatever it is you think I did that makes me so deserving of punishment, just say it!”

  She lunges at me. “The day we escaped, Rosemary was set to raise all three of us—together! I was never supposed to go to Nora, and when the police asked, you were the one who contradicted Rosemary’s story that she gave birth to both you and me, and that Lily was Bethel’s child, whom Rosemary was going to formally adopt. Rosemary knew that Nora was mentally and emotionally unfit to be a parent, but you ratted me out. Then when Nora suggested I stay with you all anyway, you hit me so hard, my ears rang for a day. Rosemary said she couldn’t allow anyone to live in more violence. She chose you, her biological daughter, and sent me away.”

  Her words drop like grenades, shattering careful guardrails I’d built up around my memories of those early post-captivity days. “That’s not—”

  “I stayed behind in the basement. Reinforced the rope and fractured my ankle so that you, Lily, and Rosemary could escape without worrying that Chet would come after you. I sacrificed myself and was abandoned in return,” she whispers, now looking past me, through the shutters. “All my life, I wondered what it would have been like being raised by someone who genuinely loved me, who cared for me. And every time something terrible landed on my plate, I remembered that wasn’t my path, thanks to you. It was all your fault.”

  I peer at my sister. Take in the frothing anger on her lips, the unshed tears, and the intensity with which she glares at me. A stranger I thought I knew. “The reason why
the fingerprints found at each crime scene have all been different, the modes of killing distinct, is because each killer was a different buyer off the dark web. The clues you planted from our captivity, the messages you left me—they were all meant to frame me as the broker. To finally get your revenge after twenty years.”

  “A former drug-addict sister would be intriguing, but only if the normal sister wasn’t taking perverse photos at each crime scene, some even before the police were alerted to the crime.”

  My stomach pitches as I realize I did exactly what she wanted. I thought I was potentially preventing another murder while selfishly earning a buck from the Post.

  “Once the police catch up to you and serve that warrant they’ve issued for your laptop, it’ll be settled. Chet’s body will be the icing on the cake, and Nora will be thrown into the mix after I send an anonymous note tipping off the cops. Since you’ve gone to the trouble of killing perfect strangers, offing two members of your bizarre family won’t even raise an eyebrow. Sometimes, people are just born bad.”

  A sob chokes in my throat, hearing Jenessa voice my lifelong suspicion about myself. “But what about Shia? About Serena Delle? She sent that reporter the letter that gave my whereabouts, but she’s dead.”

  Jenessa taps the gun against her temple. “Think, Marissa. Serena Delle was so depressed that you rejected her over and over again, she jumped into the lazy river in Arch after swallowing horse tranquilizers. It was all over the news, but of course you don’t pay attention to anyone else’s pain. Another casualty on the list of lives you’ve ruined.”

  “That’s not fair—”

  “Anyone can sign someone’s name. I did.” She folds her arms, soaking up my pained expression. “I knew you would react all crazy to the reporter and I’d have more evidence of your wild temper. Rosemary wouldn’t give up any of those damn boxes that contain your juvenile offenses. Said she couldn’t handle parting with them when I offered to clean her house for free.”

  “They were misdemeanors. Childish forms of acting out. I got into a few fights and stole grocery store makeup. What would they prove?”

  “You broke Felix Tempe’s nose, then stole makeup to wear at juvenile court when his parents pressed charges.”

  “He tried to corner me in the girls’ bathroom and stick his hand down my—”

  “Then, when you finished house arrest, you found him again and broke his leg.”

  “He . . . he fell down a flight of stairs,” I mumble.

  “Did he? You were a loose cannon, but somehow you managed to cover it all up. To glide into adulthood without anyone the wiser, get a few jobs, change your name, and that was that. Everyone accepted the trite bullshit you fed them, that you’d been depressed at the time or were desperate for attention from someone other than your therapist. Everyone just looked the other way when it came to you.”

  I shake my head, try to stay calm. “Jenessa, you’re giving me way too much credit. Yes, I was selfish and lashed out at others as a kid, but I was punished for those acts. I didn’t get away with anything.”

  “No skeletons? Except for your guinea pig, whom you force-fed to death. Lily was afraid of you.”

  “That’s a horrible—Lily? I would never hurt—”

  “Lily was safe because she was never going to compete with you for the limelight with that limp. Those surgeries for her defect would always mean she played second fiddle to your need to be Rosemary’s favorite and everyone’s exasperating troublemaker.”

  A tear splashes the bare skin of my knee, hearing the depth of my sister’s hatred for me. “That’s not true.”

  She returns my gaze with cold indifference.

  “Whatever you do with me, you’ll be looked at next. The police will investigate everyone.”

  “Sure they will. But with the only conclusive evidence pointing to you, Lily and I won’t be given a second glance.”

  Panic tightens my chest, knowing she’s right. “And Shia? Did you plan this whole thing together? Is that why you gave me a story about rejecting being a source for his book, so I wouldn’t pair you two as partners? Have our interviews all been part of your plan for me?”

  A shadow slides down Jenessa’s face, wiping clean her smug grin. “I wasn’t sure you’d meet with the journalist after I told you to stay away from the media—told you how they ruined my life. But, true to form, you put yourself first. Even after you started working with the Post and no longer needed money, I followed you over the last week, watched you provide him with all the details.”

  Too late, I realize my mistake, and she takes a step closer to me. Cocks, then uncocks, the gun. Cocks. Uncocks. Frenzy casts a red hue on her skin. “But I should be used to your betrayals by now. What matters is you have photos of the dead bodies on your laptop.”

  The words sting, feel amplified, given everything I’ve learned in this room. “I still don’t understand. How could you have orchestrated all of this by yourself, kidnapped your victims, restrained them, and deposited the bodies in the tunnels alone? Who was your partner?”

  Jenessa laughs, then scratches her head with the gun. “You think you have this distrust of men because of Chet or whatever, but you can’t imagine I could do all of these things alone because I’m a woman. Well, hate to disappoint you, but I didn’t need anyone else, and I had all the tools necessary. Chloroform, chains, restraints, transport dollies. I had the knowledge that each of these idiots deserved what they got.”

  I shudder at her satisfied expression. “I didn’t think you could do it all on your own because I love you. Because I thought you were a good person.”

  “Sure you did.” She waves the gun, then points it at her temple and pretends to shoot herself.

  “Jenessa.” I breathe deep. “How do you think this ends? You skip town after the police clear you of all involvement, taking the money that your dark-web assassins paid you? It can’t be that much for only four victims. What happens then?”

  “Actually, it’s close to a million dollars. Rich freaks from out of state keep moving here and find that spending their real estate money can be difficult in a sweet city like Portland. The cost of living is so low; the cost of recreation isn’t what they’re used to, either. Tack on the fifteen grand reward I’m about to get for turning you in, and I’m set up for a little while.”

  I try to swallow and find my mouth is dry. The puddle around the water glass on the coffee table continues to spread, but I can’t move. Can’t do anything except stare at this stranger, my sister. She’s right. The plan she’s just described will work out fine.

  I brace myself to whisper the question that matters most. “We’re sisters. How could you do this to me?”

  She raises the gun and points it at my heart. Cocks. Uncocks. “The same way you betrayed me all those years ago.”

  I hear another click and shut my eyes.

  “Easily.”

  Thirty-Three

  When Shia asked me about my earliest memory, it wasn’t Lily’s birth announcement or Bethel’s pregnant belly that came to mind, not really—it was playing with Jenessa. We would have been around three years old. Nora had us coloring pumpkins that she must have drawn on paper. Jenessa and I reached for the orange crayon at the same time, beginning our first battle of wills.

  As kids, we called each other “Twin.” From the time we were born to the time we went to live in separate homes. I’m sure the nickname probably came from one of our mothers—Go play with your twin—as though we were from the same womb instead of two different women. Siblings are often our first friends. And Jenessa was mine. We were best friends until Lily came along, but even afterward, we were close.

  Looking at the grown woman brandishing a gun before me, I don’t recognize her anymore, my “twin,” or recognize any shred of decency in this husk of a person.

  “Here,” she says, throwing a pair of workman’s gloves in my lap. “Put these on.”

  I do as I’m told and glance at the fireplace poker again. My eyes
land on Chet’s body. What might have happened if I hadn’t arrived when I did? Did Jenessa intend to kill Chet all along? He kept saying he wasn’t there to see Nora but to build bridges between us, to reconnect as a family. Did he speak to Lily?

  I stand and plant my feet closer to the poker than is necessary. Jenessa scoffs. “Tut-tut. Outside. Now.”

  She uses the pistol as a crosswalk attendant might, directing the flow of traffic. “Through the kitchen. Let’s go.”

  “Do you live here?” I ask.

  The gun barrel answers with a jab to my back. “Keep walking. For several months, off and on. Nora used my share of the settlement before I turned eighteen to buy this place, so it was only fitting that I take it over when she died.”

  “You mean when you killed her.”

  The barrel acts like a battering ram between my shoulder blades. “When you killed her,” she corrects.

  I wince from the pain still throbbing from my right shoulder but say nothing.

  We step out the back door and into the garden. The high wooden fence I first noted upon sneaking up the side makes sense now. The impulse to scream rises in my throat like a cough that won’t be contained, but I have no doubt Jenessa would pull the trigger and end this whole debacle. She already has everything she needs from me, all the evidence she could hope for pointed squarely in my direction.

  “What are we doing out here?” I ask the flower-bush perimeter. Jenessa’s casual chuckle behind me promises nothing good.

  A shovel lands next to me on a flower bed Nora must have spent hours cultivating. “Start digging. Under the white hydrangeas.”

  Nausea turns my stomach. Jenessa said Nora was buried out here. “You want me to—”

  “No talking,” she snaps. “Or I’ll shoot out a kneecap and still make you dig. Your choice.”

  Neighbors must be able to hear us on a Monday afternoon, right? How is no one coming out to investigate? Unless they’re all at work. Or—as a delivery truck passes on the main thoroughfare out front, belching exhaust and leaving a trail of clanging noise—maybe they can’t hear us over the street traffic.