Full Circle (14 page)

I giggled and squirmed. ‘Not in the living room!’

‘They’re asleep!’ he said, his tongue going for one of my shell-like ears.

‘Bessie,’ I said.

Willis sat up, rubbed his face, and looked at me. ‘Bessie,’ he said.

‘Sobering thought,’ I said as I too sat up and put my head on his shoulder.

‘What are we going to do?’ he asked.

I shrugged. He took one of his huge hands and placed it under my chin, lifting my face to his. ‘Do you really think somebody could be after her?’

‘It looks like it,’ I said.

Willis, pragmatic, practical, yet always one to put off anything disagreeable, got up and locked all the doors and windows. He came back and threw himself on the couch next to me, laying his head in my lap, reached for the remote control and flicked on the TV. It was ten-thirty, time to watch
Saturday Night Live
. Last week we’d sat in the same room, watching the same program, a bottle of wine on the coffee table, the kids upstairs, and Terry and Roy laughing at the Prime Time Players right along with us. We turned the show off halfway through without even discussing it and headed for bed.

GRAHAM, THE PRESENT

Day camp has been cancelled. I’d say ‘thank God,’ but under the circumstances, maybe not. I’ll never say this to my mother, but she was right and I was . . . well, not right. When Mrs Luna, or I guess I should say in this instance ‘Detective Luna,’ showed up at the scene where Myra had been murdered, they discovered some things. Like, in the bathroom, little tiny hairs – like stubble – covering the sink in the bathroom, rubber boobies in Christine’s drawer, along with a couple of heavy-duty jockstraps. So Mom had been right – the stalker had been among us all along, still stalking Liz, but this time as her friend. Elizabeth has been stuck in her room for two days now, and I’m not sure for which: grieving Myra’s death, or dealing with the betrayal. Even her friend Alicia can’t get her out of her room. Hell, Alicia can’t even get
in
her room.

Mom told me that Detective Luna had Myra’s car brought in from the junkyard and had the techs check it out. The brake line had been cut. So the broken leg was on purpose – well, maybe not the broken leg exactly, but the injury. I’m sure stalker-boy didn’t care if she broke her leg or her neck. Just so long as ‘she’ could get in to take Myra’s place. I figure he must have been planning this for a time, what with becoming email buddies with Myra and all. What I can’t figure out, at the moment, is how he knew we’d end up at the day camp as counselors. Maybe he just figured getting a job with the church was close enough. I don’t know. Either he’s a very lucky bastard, or he had some inside information that even we didn’t know. Nah.

ELIZABETH, THE PRESENT

I feel like screaming. But if I start I may never stop. The primal scream. I’ve read about it. That’s where I’m headed. Why is this happening to me? God, how selfish! I’m at least alive! That’s more than I can say for poor Myra! Oh, God, and that’s all my fault! If this freakazoid wasn’t after me, Myra would be alive today! I can’t stand this! I just can’t stand it!!!!!

ELIZABETH, APRIL, 2009

Megan sat at the computer, Elizabeth standing behind her, staring at the screen. They’d already emailed ‘Tommy/Aldon,’ and were waiting for an IM. The computer had just pinged, letting them know he’d finally answered. Elizabeth had been too nervous to respond, so Megan had taken over.

‘God, this guy really lays it on thick, doesn’t he?’ Megan said to Elizabeth.

‘But what if he is? Aldon, I mean?’ Elizabeth said.

Megan turned to her. ‘How can he possibly be Aldon, Liz? Do you really think Mom and Mrs Luna are in on some big conspiracy?’

‘No, of course not, it’s just—’ Elizabeth started, but the computer pinged again.

‘Ask him where he’s been,’ Elizabeth said.

‘Coyotes, maybe?’ Megan asked Elizabeth. ‘I swear this is total Lifetime movie.’

‘Does sound familiar, doesn’t it?’ Elizabeth said.

Megan wrote:

A picture began to fill the screen. Elizabeth sat down hard on the bed behind her. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said. ‘It’s Aldon.’

The picture was of a man in his late teens, early twenties, with dark hair, fair skin and freckles. He was smiling and had a chipped front tooth.

‘I remember when he chipped the tooth,’ Elizabeth said softly. ‘It was my fault. I was on the top bunk of his bed, and I wasn’t supposed to be. And I was playing with his baseball bat and he told me to drop it. And I did. Hit him right in the mouth and chipped his first permanent tooth.’

‘I wonder how hard it is to get age-progression software?’ Megan mused.

‘What?’ Elizabeth asked her, as if coming out of a trance.

‘You know, like they use on those shows about missing kids. They show a picture of what they looked like when they went missing, then show a picture of what they’d look like now – even if it’s like years later. They call it age progression.’

Irritated, Elizabeth said, ‘I know what age progression means.’

‘Then why did you ask?’ Megan demanded, as irritated as her sister.

‘But how can we tell? I mean, if this is real or age progression?’ Elizabeth asked.

Megan shrugged. ‘I have no idea, but I think it’s safe to assume that it’s age progression. Isn’t that a more likely scenario than the Lifetime version he’s spouting?’

Elizabeth sighed. ‘Yeah. It is. But why would Tommy or whatever his real name is go to all this trouble?’

Again Megan shrugged. ‘No idea. I don’t think your average pervert has to try this hard, do you?’

Elizabeth said nothing, just stared at the picture on the screen. Again, the computer pinged and Megan went back to the IM screen.

Megan looked at Elizabeth and Elizabeth nodded. ‘Say yes,’ she said.

BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, 1999

That first Sunday we walked into church like a family, heads high, little hands in big hands. Willis holding Megan’s, Bessie’s little hand in mine. Graham walked next to his father, his body language suggesting he was almost as tense as his mom.

The foyer outside the sanctuary was crowded, as it was every Sunday morning. People were talking, catching up on each other’s weeks, making plans for church activities and social events in the week to come. As we entered, the room slowly began to hush, like a concert hall when the maestro comes into the orchestra pit; not all at once, but little by little, until there was total silence. We were Moses and our church friends were the Red Sea parting silently before us as we walked into the sanctuary.

Behind us I could hear conversations start up again. This time, however, I doubt it had anything to do with church activities or social events.

Those already seated in pews turned our way, then quickly turned back to hymnals, programs, anything to keep eyes off us. Rosemary Rush, the Right Reverend Rush’s wife, already seated in the front row with her son, turned and saw us, gauged the reaction we were getting and stood, walking up to us and hugging me lightly. Part of me knew Rosemary Rush always knew exactly the right thing to do and was big on doing it; another part of me was never so glad to see anyone in my life.

‘Why don’t y’all come sit up front with Eric and me?’ she said smiling, her arm hooked in mine, leading us to the front pew.

We sat, picking up our hymnals, studying the program, biding our time until the choir entered and the service began. I sat there, staring absently at the program in my hand, wondering why people were reacting in this way.
We
hadn’t done anything wrong! When that thought entered my head, I realized that implied that someone
did
do something wrong. The Lesters? For getting killed? Shame on them! Part of me wanted to stand up and denounce everyone in the room for being the hypocritical bastards they were. And part of me knew if the shoe were on the other foot, maybe I too would be standing back, reticent, unable to put into words the mixed-up feelings such an event must bring.

Some of these people probably thought that their friend – our friend – Roy Lester had murdered his family. Some might have doubts. Some had read the Saturday paper and assumed old E.J. Pugh was being her controversial self – always trying to stir things up. Some, the really small and petty ones, would not want their pre-schoolers associating with Bessie because of what her daddy might have done.

I sighed. They were just people, with all the fears and hatreds that people have. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned in the pew to look behind me. Marilou Tanner sat in the second pew. She had chaired a committee I’d been on the year before. Marilou put her cheek to mine and whispered in my ear, ‘We’ve been out of town. I just heard. What can I do?’

Tears welled up in my eyes and threatened to spill over. I touched the hand still on my shoulder. ‘Just be there,’ I said. She hugged me from the back while her husband shook Willis’s hand, whispering something to him, something positive I was sure, because Willis smiled.

Ruby Gale Mason came up and knelt in front of me (one of the advantages I’d never thought of about sitting in the front row). Ruby Gale was the substitute nursery supervisor and had known Megan and Bessie since they were in the crib area of the nursery. She patted my knee and took Bessie’s hand in hers.

‘Hey, darlin’,’ she said to Bessie. ‘How you doing?’

Bessie just looked at her for a moment, then a small smile began to play at her lips and she reached out and hugged Ruby Gale. Tears sprang to Ruby Gale’s eyes as she hugged the child back. Patting my knee again, she said, ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’

I smiled and nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Ruby Gale went back to her seat as the processional sounded and the choir began marching down the center aisle. Willis was sitting on the aisle seat and I noticed several choir members pat his arm, squeeze his shoulder, and one elderly lady we barely knew patted him gently on the top of his head as they proceeded toward the choir loft.

Berry Rush’s sermon was as boring as usual. Rosemary sat rigidly next to me, her spine a study in military correctness, while Eric, her son, fidgeted next to her. Eric was the ultimate end product of a union like that of Berry and Rosemary Rush. Where the parents were stern, correct, earnest, and rigid, Eric was a nervous wreck.

He was a homely child of fourteen, his teeth in braces, his straw-colored haircut as short as a first-year Marine’s, and even so, it managed to have a cowlick. His face was matted with oozing acne, and he wore glasses so thick his eyes appeared huge and froglike behind them. Eric had no friends at the church and rarely spoke to anyone. The Rushes’ older child, a daughter, we’d never met. The story I heard was that she was born severely mentally retarded and had been in a private care facility since birth. She wasn’t mentioned much.

After the service more people came up to us, some hugging, some merely shaking hands, others just smiling and nodding their sympathy. No one said anything directly, not in front of Bessie, and I was grateful for that.

EIGHT

BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, THE PRESENT

Luna called me the next day. ‘This guy’s prints aren’t in AFIS or any other listing.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘I’m not saying he hasn’t done bad deeds before,’ she said, ‘I’m just saying he wore gloves or wiped down the area when he did.’

‘So we know nothing more about him than we did before we spent time working, playing, and having dinner with him,’ I said, exasperated. ‘So what do we do now?’

‘
We
do nothing. My people and I will check out the day camp, go over the apartment again, see what we can find out. You don’t happen to remember her license plate number, do you?’

I sighed. ‘No. Didn’t think I needed to make a note of it.’