Jackal, page 25
The air of the house is heavy with grief. Her house is losing its light. I can tell that things are out of place with items haphazardly put onto shelves or stacked in corners.
Stepping over the threshold reveals the house isn’t as empty as it seems. Garrett is in the kitchen with Nick. Garrett is still, eyes fixed on the door. Nick paces with a quiet fury.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Nick asks.
“She wants to talk,” Mel says, her voice a breath.
“Get out—” Nick starts, but Garrett stops him.
“Mel?” Garrett asks. “You want Liz here, right?”
Mel nods. “Yes.” She sits on a stool in her kitchen. It creaks under her weight. I didn’t notice before, but theirs is the opposite of Doug’s house. Nothing here is meant to last, it’s too white and shiny.
I stand in front of all of them. Though Nick wants me gone, it looks like he isn’t leaving.
“Why are you here, Rocher?” he says.
I know Nick will relay anything I say to the department. He’ll get the search changed, go after Oswald, and we are screwed if that happens.
“It’s important that the search continues as it has once I say what I have to say.”
Nick narrows his eyes at me. It’s so similar to Mel’s expression.
“Nick?” Garrett asks.
“Depends.” He shrugs.
Mel turns to him. “Nick, please?”
All eyes on him, temper abated, he agrees. “Fine.”
“Caroline is alive. Chris saw her with a woman in the woods.” I watch Mel intently. She silently reaches for Garrett. The moment they make contact, it’s like he’s absorbed all his wife’s questions. He launches into them while Mel quietly weeps tears of relief.
“What— How do you— Did you see her?”
I lay out all I know for them. The missing girls, the mothers, Keisha, the woman in the woods with Caroline.
“Thirty-two years?” Nick raises an eyebrow. “No way that would get past the department.”
“They’re in the department, Nick,” I say. Could telling Nick completely upend my entire plan to get Caroline out? Yes. But if I don’t involve him, he’s going to find out anyway. Then he’ll have no choice but to tell the department, and Caroline dies. “Oswald and his son, Tim,” I say. “And it looks like Lauren too. If any department behavior changes, they’ll get tipped off.” For the first time since I’ve known him, Nick falls silent. He has nothing to say to me.
“The cycle, solstice, the hearts,” Garrett starts, “it all feels like—”
“A ritual?” I finish. “I can’t figure out what or who they’re worshipping.”
“Do they always find them…” Mel runs her hand down her sternum.
“They don’t always find them,” I say. “And that’s not all they do.” I don’t mean to crush Mel’s hope. I need everyone in the room to know what’s on the line if we don’t get Caroline now. “I want to go out there and try to save her.”
“How did you figure all this out?” Nick’s not looking at me with annoyance or hate anymore. There might be a bit of admiration, but mostly it’s curiosity.
“I listened.”
“You need to speak to Detective Turner—”
“They’re building a case against me. Right? My DNA is at both scenes.” I face Nick now, no longer afraid. “Do you want me to talk to him, or do you want to turn me in?”
The concern that was once on Nick’s face is gone. The anger is back. He’s getting better at lying.
“They took family off searches this morning,” Nick admits. “They think things are going poorly and don’t want us there if they find her. Pulled me aside and told me to make sure everyone in the family had their statements together, just in case.”
“The rescue mission has been turned into a recovery.” Garrett takes a deep breath. Such simple words for a harsh thing.
“I can make sure it stays that way,” Nick offers. It looks like it physically pains him, but he says, “Rocher is right. We have to act fast. Using the search as a distraction is…brilliant.”
“The forest is huge. Where are we starting?” Garrett asks.
“The Rounds. Near Bonfire Night. That’s where Chris saw her, and the best place to hide her. Has the search been through there yet?”
“It’ll get there late tonight, early tomorrow. Don’t wanna be in there in the dark, but they want to find Caroline.”
There is more than one way to get out there. “Meet me at my mother’s house. At sundown. Be ready to hike.”
FOUR
At home, I grab jeans and sneakers, the outfit I was going to wear on my train back to NYC. Seeing what remains in my suitcase, I think back to what this trip was supposed to be. Forty-eight hours. A quick visit home, a best friend’s wedding, and a reclamation of self. Figuring out who and what I could trust. I roll my head. The tender spot on my neck has faded. The muscles there are releasing. Too bad they’re clenching everywhere else.
I head downstairs. The sun is setting. It’s dim in the house, but I don’t need to use any lights because I’ve relearned my home. Ten steps to the landing. Full ninety-degree turn. Then eight more down to the first floor. Directly diagonal, it’s six swift steps to a narrow hallway. As I walk twelve steps to the kitchen, I wonder about the history of my home. It’s far enough up the mountain to have avoided the flood. I make it just past the kitchen when the overhead lights turn on and blind me.
“Liz?” It’s my mother. She hasn’t sounded this tired with me since I was a teenager. I guess I’m asking for it since I’m acting like one. She’s sitting in the kitchen, waiting for me.
I start my lie. “I’m fine.”
“I do not think so.”
“I swear.”
My mother grimaces. She offers me a seat. I take it.
“I’m just going for a walk to clear my head.”
My mother gives me silence again. It’s finally happened. We’re somewhere we’ve never been. She can’t avoid it. I smile at her, but it doesn’t help. That’s never been how we communicate. We both press until one relents. For years, it’s been my mother pushing me. For the last few days, I know I’ve taken her to the edge. Now we might be across from each other as equals for the first time in our lives.
“I am making hot chocolate.” She rises and retrieves a ball of cocoa.
“It’s too warm for that.”
“Outside it is. But inside? You look cold.”
“Stop. I don’t want it.”
“More for me.”
I stand and watch her work. She grates the cocoa. Warms the evaporated milk. Adds cinnamon and anise. The secret pinch of spices. My nose reveals them to be cloves, cardamom, and dried ginger. The smells are overwhelming. Obvious secret ingredients. I didn’t notice them before because I didn’t want to. As long as I couldn’t name them, the cocoa retained its magic. Now everything about it smells sickly sweet. I start to feel slightly queasy. I want salt.
“Here.” She rests the hot chocolate in front of me. I don’t even touch the cup.
“That’s for you. I said I didn’t want it.”
“Just a sip.”
“It’s too hot.”
“It will cool.” She settles against the counter with her mug. “Tell me, cherie. What is going on with you?” She sips her cocoa for comfort.
I watch my mother and see the lack in her. She works hard to cover it. Some of it is deflected onto me. Other parts she swallows so deep in herself, I know I couldn’t remove them even if I were a surgeon. There’s a secret chamber in her where her doubt runs wild.
“I’m fine. Just tired,” I say.
“I had things I thought my mother could not understand when I was your age.”
I don’t respond.
Marie takes another sip. “For a long time, I longed for my home. I wanted to go back to the heat and the familiar trees and the language I dream in. Then I remembered, I brought all that with me when I came to this country. I had my family. My community. I need not go through anything alone. Neither do you.”
“Then why do you insist on being alone, Mom? Why ignore the flyers—why stay here?”
She looks pained. “That will be anywhere I go. What if it follows me? And is worse somewhere else?”
“But you lock yourself up here.”
She waves my concerns away. “I can visit you. And now you have finally come to see me.” She’s trying to dismiss me, but she’s made my point.
“And look what happened.” I need to handle this. “I grew up here. In this country, in this town, where, no matter how many times I come home, I’m still a visitor. We both are.”
My mother’s patients used to bring her articles from the internet, certain of their diagnosis. Most doctors deal with this. She always had to answer twice as much. Because her education was different from their own, her expertise wasn’t enough. I envy her ability to keep her doubt tucked away. All the other experts in my life are exhausted. I need her experience. I take out my phone. I scan the images and land on the ones I snapped of the deer.
My mother looks at the carcass, disgusted at first. “No, no—”
“You’ve seen worse, yes?”
“Of course. But when it is surgery, it is clean. Blocked off. I just see the problem, konprann?” I do. I take my fingers and zoom in to the chest cavity and nothing else. No strangely cocked head. No limbs. Just white displaced ribs, pink cartilage, and thick musculature that is supposed to come together like music, but has broken apart like a sour chord.
My mother looks. She was right about the liver. What can she tell me about this? At her direction, I do a few swipes and expands.
“They knew what they were doing,” she says.
“Like a hunter?”
“Maybe.” She points to the floppy arteries that remain. “It is impressive. The cuts here are exact.” She focuses on the bone. “But that is a saw. Not a knife or scalpel. It is straight and you can see some dust in the tissue. This deer was not slaughtered, it was deliberately pulled apart.”
I look again. I can’t believe I’ve missed it. The leftover tissues were there deliberately. Like in the picture of Brittany Miller, all of it was made to look like something else. Or to copy someone else. Like father, like son? This was taught. Learned. Hence the two styles. I remember how Sydney hovered over Doug. He must have done the same to Tim.
“And the cavity itself, it is cleaned the way I would do it. From the top down. That way, there is less pooling blood. What else do you need, cherie?”
“Nothing.” My mother looks pitiful. There’s nothing she can reveal, or say, or do, to change what is going on inside of me. I see the disappointment on her face, so I clarify. “Silence. I need some quiet.”
That’s the truth.
I need it now more than ever. Even though I can sense the hurt in my mother, I told that small truth to save her the pain of the lie.
“Do not lose yourself.”
I nod. “Yes.”
My mother adds, “Are you safe?”
“Yes.” I notice the comfort the second lie gives my mother, so I add a smile for extra measure.
“I do not think so. You were not safe in the city.”
Shame is a strong thing. It kept me silenced. Now it invites me to open up.
“He hurt me.”
My mother doesn’t say a word. I watch her try to put together the best thing, and I see her come up short. My mother has missed out on the truth of my life because she can’t tolerate it. I’ve given her the lies because anything except the narrow path of perfection is unacceptable. I had to be good. I have to be good. That was the only way for me to survive.
“I was too afraid to leave before he…” I look at my mother and see myself. I see a woman hurting and wondering how to build herself back up, and why she has to build herself up in the first place. I see my mother hurting both for herself and for me. I know she wants to fix this. I know she knows she can’t.
“I was supposed to start a clinic here. I had everything ready to go and then that girl disappeared from your school. I got scared. The threats came in their little baggies. I shut everything down because I was scared. The anger in this country, it is not like Ayiti. I used to think it was gone. Or neutered. But it is here. It is a matter of who gets to be angry and who gets to seek vengeance or claim justice. The anger here is not the kind that starts revolutions, it is the kind that wages wars. We fight other countries, the news, the politicians, all fight fight fight and bicker bicker bicker. There are lines and systems—rules of engagement. In Ayiti, the government and the people have an uneasy deal. They cross each other often. When I lived there, it made me edgy. The way things are here, people go so far out of their way to smile to your face and stab you in the back. Even with the language: English. You have to put together so many words to be understood. That is not even being heard, just understood.” Her eyes go back to the deer. She takes in the gore like a physician. It’s a problem to be solved. “When your patient dies and the vultures come, they do not come for your patients who were sickly in the end. They want the ones who could fight. They seek hearts like this. Strong hearts.”
I nod. Is this what all the girls are “guilty” of in the eyes of men like Tim and his father?
“Elizabeth? Promise me, whatever this is, you will come home.”
“I promise.” I do. But I’m putting on such a strong face for her that I can’t tell if I’m lying.
FIVE
I arrive at the edge of my driveway and find Doug, Chris, Mel, Garrett, and Nick waiting for me. We outnumber the foes we could be facing by three, but we’re going in blind, and at a disadvantage. If Oswald, Tim, and Lauren are doing this, they are united. Looking out at everyone, the cracks in our factions are glaring. Mel and Garrett are here for Caroline, both desperate for her to be returned home. Against the backdrop of the trees, they look delicate. Neither has had a full night’s rest in days. It’s cruel to ask them to do this. It’s worse not to involve them in a plan that could kill their child. I do my best to keep Nick in my sights. He says he knows where the search is going. He says he won’t try to thwart our attempt. I don’t trust him. But he is right, I need him. If we do encounter the search party, if we need to mask our presence—he’s too useful to leave behind. My best shot at this comes from Doug and Chris. Out of all of us, they are the only two who aren’t painfully connected to Caroline. If someone can be level-headed in the trees, it’s them.
I shove down my fear. This is the only chance we have. Here and now. We’re wasting time.
“Ready?” I ask.
No one responds. I notice Garrett eye Chris and Doug with suspicion. I quickly introduce everyone and some tension dissipates. I don’t say all of it is gone, because Garrett gives Chris one last lingering look before turning back to me. Now that we have an unsteady alliance, I look out at the woods and think through the next steps.
“What’s the plan?” Chris asks.
“We…” Doubt climbs into my chest. I don’t let it reach my voice. “We head out to where Chris saw Caroline before the search party gets there. Press them from both ends. We’re closer from here, and approaching from another angle, we have an advantage.” Too bad it’s our only one.
“Oswald is at the site tonight. He’ll be distracted. At worst, we face Lauren and Tim.” Nick pats his gun.
“We’re going at night and we’re looking for Lauren,” I insist. The group seems to side with me more. No one wants to start shooting in the dark. Still, we’re not going in unarmed. I have a knife, so do Doug and Garrett. Chris has a rifle. But I know we look more threatening than we are.
We head into the trees.
“You sure of the way?” Nick asks.
“I know it,” Chris says as he steps between us, giving me an excuse to walk with him for a while and leave Nick behind. Walking with Chris in the dark, I’m still so aware of him. His breath, the direction he’s looking, where his body balances as we head up the steep terrain.
“Damn it!” Doug hisses. I turn back and see him far below us on the path. It seems like he’s snagged his pants on some branches. His flashlight waves around in the dark as he frees himself. I realize I’ve never seen Doug in the woods until now. His movements are clumsy but assured. He’s putting on confidence here. Underneath it, he’s even more on edge than I am. Or was. This place doesn’t terrify me anymore. After facing the woods, I know it’s not the trees I have to be afraid of.
We get closer, and the paths disperse. We have two choices: walk in one another’s footsteps or spread out and trust one another not to alert everything in a mile radius to our presence.
“I’ll take front.” Nick pushes past all of us before anyone can stop him.
“You know where you’re going?” Chris asks.
“Of course.” A pissing contest of who has the best directionality starts. Looking at us all, I think the only people in danger of getting lost are Doug and Garrett. I give Mel a quick look and she gets behind me. Nick in the lead, followed by Chris, then Mel and myself, Garrett, and finally Doug. We all crest the mountain and head toward The Rounds.
Nick waves his light around every few moments, clearly something he’s been trained to do, or something he’s seen on TV. The harsh glow of his flashlight bounces between the leaves and cuts through anything I can make out. I hate that we’re blindly following him.
“Why did he want to come? To control everything?” I whisper back to Mel.
“He cares about Caroline,” she says back. “And”—she leans in—“he believes you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“When they started asking questions about you, he told them to back off. That you were helping in your ‘own misguided way.’ ”
