She’s glad he can’t see her face, because she is certain it would give away her thoughts. He’d see that she’s having doubts about keeping his secrets. He’d see that she despises him. Her own son.
She has always feared him. Since he was little. That fear has curdled into loathing. The boy she raised, the boy into whom she repeatedly attempted to instill kindness, love,goodis gone.
If Meredith does what the world would callright, if she betrays her own blood, what will they call her? Will they brand her an accomplice, whispershe must have knownin grocery store aisles, post her name on social media alongside his, as if she too should be locked away?
Or will she be seen as a victim? A well-intentioned woman who never wanted anything more than a normal child. A woman who has been smothered for years by the devious spirit of a man who will never change.
Then there’s the indescribable worry that her son would never forgive her. He may do monstrous things, but he is her baby. Her only baby. He once physically relied on her to eat, latching greedily to her breast. She showed him infinite love, never letting him carry on crying in his crib, even when Michael screamed at her to let him be, to “let the boy toughen up.” She coddled him, nursed him, loved him. She can’t understand how it went so wrong. How she seemingly failed at the only important job she’s ever had.
Was it Michael? Or was it nature? She’ll never know.
Lost in her dilemma, Meredith suddenly notices the darkness. Night has fallen. She decides to get up and make Parker something to eat. He should be getting up any time now from his rest, and he’ll be hungry. He’ll be demanding a hot, homecooked meal.
She tips back the last inch of her green cocktail, wincing at its thick viscosity, like she’s throwing back a shot of cough syrup. Her shoulders shiver, but there’s a fresh tipsy confidence in her stride as she steps to the kitchen sink.
The house is too quiet. Too quiet for three girls, held captive, to be under the roof.
A heaviness settles in when she thinks of Imogen. When she recalls the day of the… episode. Of Imogen’s tiny hands passing her apie, her sweet smile welcoming her to the neighborhood. She thinks of Alice Bly looking at her now. How terribly scared she must be for her daughter. Her daughter who reeks of innocence, who never did a damn thing wrong.
Meredith begins to cry. The tears come out slowly, not violent enough to cause audible retching, but enough to bring quiet spasms in her chest. She grips the sweater over her décolletage, aching at her reality. She’s becoming torturously aware that she’s the only person enabling her son’s ways. And the only one who can save the girls from him.
She’s at the ultimate crossroad.
46
AMELIA
Madison and I sit on the rough carpet, talking in hushed voices. I can feel the relief radiating off her, this strange buoyancy that comes from simply having another person to speak to after all this time. It’s hard to fathom how lonely she’s been here, trapped in silence with no one to confide in. No one to confirm she’s truly alive.
I told her about Bodhi. How he’s suddenly obsessed with reading but isn’t so great at math. This brought a laugh out of her. I told her about my day, my little investigation that brought me here. I
told her about Wes, about Mom’s death, about all the new music she’s missed—the plethora of breakout pop stars. She was particularly sad to have missed out on Charli xcx’sBratSummer.
“God, I miss my job,” she’d said. “I miss live shows. I miss listening to music and walking through the rain. I miss… life.”
Her hair is brushed, her pajamas chic, which makes the whole thing feel somehow more grotesque. When I comment on it, sheexplains in a voice flat with defeat how Parker still bathes her, how he fusses over her like she’s his doll, how he’ll massage lotion into her arms before ordering her to use the bucket in the corner. He has convinced her to play along with his illusion, to pretend she still cares for him, even submitting to sex sometimes. Because she believes it’s the only way to stay alive.
“Will anyone be looking for you?” she asks me. “Will anyone know you’re here?”
Wes will notice when I don’t call him tonight. We always talk before bed when we’re apart. He’ll probably worry enough to act by morning—especially with the recent break-ins. My students will notice I’ve vanished. The school will scramble for a sub. But Imogen… I think she’ll act first.
“My phone,” I gasp. “It’s in my car. Which is right outside the house. Maybe someone will see it and make the connection.” But then my face drops. “Parker took my keys. He’s probably already moved it. Or thrown my phone into the lake.”
I drop my head into my hands, relief dissipating fast enough to give me whiplash.
Madison cups her jaw in her palms, elbows braced on her knees. “There has to be a way. Now that you’re here, maybe we can overpower him next time he comes down.”
Even the thought of having to fight him worries me. Especially when I picture his mother dutifully trailing behind him. What if they have weapons? If we try and fail… it could be a death sentence.
“I wonder about the padlock,” I say, thinking back. “That package I told you about today, the one addressed to Cale. If Parker’s been using his name, it had to be for him. And from what he said to his mom upstairs, he sent it to the wrong address. Which means… the padlock outside this door is broken. He told her he hasn’t replaced it yet.”
Madison tilts her head, studying my face. “There’s no way the door’s just… unlocked.” A dry chuckle slips out.
“Have you ever tried it?” I ask.
“No… not for a while,” she mutters. “I’m weak. I haven’t felt the sun on my skin, gone on a real walk, done anything in ages. I don’t even know if I could run if I was given the chance.”
We both glance at the door at the top of the narrow staircase.
