“The other day we took a different road to school. We passed by a small church. Becca asked what had happened to the statue. The one where children would pose for photos after first communions. She was so insistent.”
Jack sat down across from her. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but later it occurred to me — it was Carmen’s church we passed. Rebecca had such a frightening look on her face, like she was someone else for a moment. But that doesn’t prove anything.”
“Maybe your coming back here is what set Rebecca off, triggered a memory?”
“Rebecca has nightmares. She’s upset.”
“Yes, but—”
“Look, there’s nothing you can say to make me believe she witnessed Carmen’s murder. Or was Carmen. Or whatever that lunatic told you.”
“Then how do you explain what happened at the hospital?”
Laura’s eyes opened wide. “You do believe it.”
Jack leaned back. He placed his notepad and pencil on the table. “My job gives me plenty of reasons to assume life has no meaning. So I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued.” Laura shook her head defiantly. “Laura, you called me, remember?”
Laura bit her bottom lip. She wanted so desperately to unload everything on someone. It had been so long since she’d had a normal, adult conversation. She’d experienced enough negativity in human beings to be able to recognize when someone was genuine. And something about Jack felt real and true. She couldn’t ever remember a time when her ex-husband sat across from her and truly listened. Had they shared even one night of coherent discussion, they might still be together.
“Why’d you call me?” Jack asked.
“Last night, I went in to check on her. She looked at me as if I was a stranger. My own daughter. I got scared.”
“I think whatever power granted Rebecca this window into the past did it for a reason.”
“It has to stop. I can’t go on like this.” Laura hung her head. Jack studied her, trying to envision what Laura was like during happier times. He felt for her.
“Maybe there’s a way we can help each other.”
“How?”
“The type of criminal I’m hunting often has a pattern to the way he operates. Comfort zones, familiar places, the type of victim he chooses. Every other girl was unceremoniously dumped in plain view. But Carmen was different. He buried her body. He was more careful. I think he knew her. Maybe she was his first. Like I said, without Rebecca we’d have never—”
“If you think I’m going to let that doctor—”
“No. No, I just want you to take a ride with me. I want to bring her somewhere, see if something happens. Maybe jar more memories like the church.”
“What good will that do? She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. How can she help you?”
“All I know is I’ve made more progress with this case in the three days since I’ve met her than I have in the last three months. Maybe she knows more than she realizes, it just needs something to…stimulate it to the surface.”
“She’s been through so much already.”
“Maybe facing this problem is what she needs.” Laura rubbed her eyes, then clasped her hands around her nose and mouth, resting her elbows on the table.
“Think it could help?”
“I think there’s a voice inside her crying out. She’s suffering. If she can help solve this case, if her ordeal can help save another life, it will all mean something. Maybe we can right a few wrongs.”
She looked Jack straight in the eye. “I just want my daughter back. She’s all I have left, I don’t want to lose her too.”
“Then you’ll bring her?”
Laura drew a deep breath. She looked up towards the staircase behind her, then back at Jack with uncertainty. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
Just then a loud crash jolted them upright. Laura leapt from her chair and ran out of the kitchen. Jack followed.
Laura raced up the staircase so quickly she’d scaled it before Jack could even reach the bottom step. “Rebecca?” she cried out.
Laura burst into Rebecca’s room, but she wasn’t inside. “Rebecca?” She listened for an answer. She heard water running and moved quickly towards the bathroom, passing Jack on the staircase.
“Is she okay?” Jack asked the blur racing past him.
Laura opened the bathroom door. The shower was running, steam filling the room. The mirror was shattered, shards of broken glass littered the sink and floor. The striped blue plastic shower curtain was drawn.
“Rebecca!” Laura threw back the curtain, taking a few rings off the rail with it.
Rebecca was curled up in the corner of the tub, half naked. There was blood mixing with the water. Laura traced the bleeding up to Rebecca’s hand.
“What did you do?” Laura cried.
Jack stood in the doorway. “Can I help?”
Laura held Rebecca’s bleeding hand under the water. “Why did you break the mirror?”
“I don’t want to go to any more doctors.”
“Come on, stand up.” Laura helped Rebecca stand. She reached over and turned off the water, then grabbed a hanging towel and briskly dried off her trembling daughter.
“I’m not crazy,” Rebecca said, as Laura wrapped one towel around her body, then grabbed a smaller one to wrap around her bleeding hand.
“No one said you were crazy.” Laura pressed the makeshift bandage tightly. “It’s not that bad, hold still. What were you thinking?”
“I heard you talking,” Rebecca said, looking past Laura at Jack standing in the doorway, watching them through the steam.
Laura looked over her shoulder at Jack, then turned to Rebecca. “No, that’s not what we were talking about.”
“I don’t want to go to any more doctors,” Rebecca spoke softly, but defiantly.
“Detective Ridge was just asking for our help.”
Rebecca pulled her hand away. The look on her changed, a darkness suddenly consumed her.
“No one helped me,” Rebecca muttered, staring right at Jack.
“Rebecca?” Laura asked, again wondering who had just traded places in there with her daughter.
“No one helped me! No one helped me!” Rebecca shouted. Laura threw her arms around her, trying to comfort her. It only incensed Rebecca more. Rebecca shrieked, “Don’t touch me!”
Jack took a step inside. “Laura, can I help?”
“Maybe you should go. I need to be alone with her. I’m sorry.” Jack respectfully stepped backwards through the wafting clouds of steam and closed the door.
He moved down the hall, passing Rebecca’s bedroom. He stopped to peer inside, briefly admiring her artwork. A portrait of a little girl caught his eye. The girl was smiling, a simple smile, the detail miraculous. The serenity of the child’s expression in the picture contrasted the wrenching shrieks coming from the bathroom. It prodded him to keep moving.
As Jack walked downstairs, he heard Rebecca’s voice change, the same way it had done on the tape. “Nadie me ayudó!” he heard her shout. She repeated it over and over. Jack knew enough Spanish to translate: No one helped me.
Jack felt as if the words were directed at him personally, verbal daggers in his spine. As he neared the front door, he wondered if Angelina was screaming the same thing at that very moment.
He exited the house, letting the silence of the night air wash over him. Not too many things stressed Jack out, but he was shaken. He exhaled, watching his breath form clouds in the cold night.
He made his way towards his car, the frozen grass crunching beneath his shoes. He looked back at the house, two silhouettes struggling behind the upstairs blind. This wasn’t finished. Laura wanted the truth as much as he did.