“That you and Dad are separating? Don’t you think I know this?” she asked. “I hear you late at night. I hear you discuss things and get angry at each other. I see that you sleep in the guest room. I’m not stupid, Mom.”
“Okay, no, you’re not stupid, but what does the fact that your dad and I are having some disagreements have to do with you getting drunk and driving across town? And skipping school and scaring us half to death because we don’t know where you are?”
She shook her head angrily. “I know what you are, Mom. I heard Dad tell Grandma the other day. It’s disgusting.”
My heart sank as I heard my daughter’s harsh words. It made me want to cry. But I held it back. I squared my shoulders and met my daughter’s gaze.
“What I am—who I am—is not disgusting, sweetie,” I said, firmly, steadying myself, pushing back the desire to cry and scream at the same time. “And you should never have found out that way. I was planning on talking to you about it.”
I could feel the heat rising in my face. Charlene crossed her arms and looked away; her anger barely contained. I took a deep breath and spoke again, keeping my voice gentle but firm. “I understand that you’re upset, but I need you to respect me, no matter what. What I am may not be to your liking, but I’m still your mother and I deserve your respect.”
She scoffed. “I won’t respect you for being some dyke.”
My eyes grew wide. My daughter had never talked to me like that before. “Excuse me? That’s three weeks of being grounded, young lady.” I struggled to keep calm and contain my anger as she looked at me angrily. I had to remind myself that she was just a child. My child. I was the adult here. But it wasn’t easy. “So, you’d better be careful that I won’t ground you for the rest of high school.”
“Yeah, right.”
I sighed, feeling a deep sadness. This was not who Charlene was. She was just acting out. I put my hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to accept my choices, sweetie. But you need to accept that they are mine to make.”
Then she left the bathroom, and I watched her climb back into bed, crawling under the covers. I shook my head, cleaned up the vomit in the toilet bowl and flushed. I couldn’t believe her. For a second, I felt like she understood the seriousness of the situation, but apparently, she didn’t.
Yet as I left her room, I couldn’t help feeling devastated by her comments. They were hurtful.
Tom called as I walked down the stairs, to get my keys and go to the station. I had asked him to go check out the pediatrician’s office for me, and to ask if either of the two children were Bryan Henderson’s patients.
“Neither of them was in their files,” he said. “I spoke to the nurse there and she searched in their system to see, but their names didn’t pop up. Not Emma or Cassandra.”
I walked outside, slamming the door shut behind me, leaving a note for Joe, telling him to let Charlene sleep and to walk Zelda before leaving for work. I had taken the younger kids to school, because I knew Charlene was in no state to go today.
“That can’t be right,” I said, feeling frustrated and disappointed. I had been so certain that Bryan’s job was the missing link. Now where did that leave me? Back to square one? Was Doyle going to confront me today? Demote me? Or just take me off the case? Who was going to get Emma back to her mother then? I wondered if I could convince him to let me keep searching for her. Seeing how scared Marissa was, I knew the girl had to be in danger. She needed to come home to her mother.
THIRTY-NINEMARISSA
Two can play that game.
Marissa had been taking it lying down all of her life. Never complaining. Never putting up a fight. Well, those days were over now. It was time for her to stand up for herself. To show the world what she was made of.
She didn’t own much. She could barely provide for herself and her daughter. She had no influential friends either, or even friends who could help her. And she knew she couldn’t trust the police. They were useless and hadn’t proven her otherwise so far. But she had her wits. She was smart. And she was stubborn. Once she set her mind to something, she didn’t rest until it was accomplished. She hadn’t always been like this, but lately, she had discovered that side of herself, and that’s what she used when planning her next move.
To get Emma back.
She parked her bike outside of the house where she had seen a little girl in the window, for a couple of days, keeping an eye on every movement inside, writing down every time someone left and when they came back, making sure to keep her distance so no one would see her. Soon she had prepared an entire schedule for their daily life, and now it was time to see when she could make her move.
Marissa dug deep into her resolve and started making plans. She had a few ideas, but she wanted to make sure they were airtight. After days of researching, plotting, and planning, she settled on a strategy.
As she stood in the street, watching the house, she felt a sense of satisfaction. This was her revenge. She had lost Emma, and now it was time to take her back. She had planned every detail, every move, and every step. She felt alive with power, ready to strike at any second she got the chance.
Finally, the moment arrived. The last person left the house. She hurried toward the front door, her heart pounding with excitement and fear.
She had brought everything she needed with her. A small hammer and a mask to cover her face. She slipped on the mask, and then smashed in a window next to the front door with the hammer. She waited for a few seconds to make sure that no one in the neighborhood, or inside of the house—in case she had miscalculated, and they hadn’t all left—reacted to the sound of glass being smashed. Nothing happened, and she figured the coast was clear.
It was dark inside, but she could see well enough. She walked through the living room, taking note of everything she saw. The pictures of the children, with their parents, some of them only with the dad, while fishing or going hiking. She paused for a second and studied them, feeling her heart drop even further.
Then she remembered why she was there.
She looked toward the stairs, where the children’s rooms were and the master bedroom. But then she spotted the backyard through the kitchen window.
The shed.
Where no one can hear her cry or even scream.
Heart throbbing in her throat, Marissa went through the kitchen and headed toward the back door leading to the long yard, gasping lightly at the sight of it, while placing a hand on the handle.
She opened the door, then walked outside on the back patio, spotting the shed all the way at the end of the backyard. It was covered by bushes and tall trees, but she knew it was there. Taking in deep, calming breaths to keep herself composed, she approached it, heart knocking against her ribcage, and hands shaking in fear.
FORTYBILLIE ANN
“I can’t believe every lead is a dead end,” I muttered, feeling my frustration rise.
Tom and Scott were sitting opposite me at my desk, the three of us desperate to find the thread that would lead us closer to a resolution. We had been going through the case and the evidence we had all morning, trying to connect the dots between the scattered information we had gathered. But nothing seemed to fit, no matter how hard we tried. We had no suspects in Cassandra’s disappearance—just her father acting strangely, but he was alibied. We had no new links to Emma, nothing to connect either girl to Bryan. No positive IDs for the blood in Ashley’s house. No surveillance cameras had brought up anything of interest—just Ashley and Bryan on a date at a local bar. And no one had heard from Marissa.
It simply wasn’t good enough.
I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me as I slumped in my chair. Tom and Scott exchanged a meaningful glance, and I knew that they felt the same as I did. We had to find something soon, or else this case would be lost forever.
And my career washed down the drain with it.
“What are we missing?” I asked. “What is it we’re not seeing?”
