Page 63 of Traces of Kara

There had been a time, shortly after Roland had been placed in the Lowrey Home For Children, when Mimi’s home life had been peaceful, the atmosphere no longer electrically charged with Roland’s unpredictable behavior. Mimi remembered thinking they had done the right thing by removing Roland from their home, and—as much as she’d hated it at the time—by having Al go to live with him, too. Roland’s behavior had been such a shock to Mimi, she’d blamed herself for the change in his behavior, but Al had handled it as if he’d seen it before, as if he’d almost been waiting for it. When he’d suggested he live with Roland at the children’s home and leave Marissa—his daughter, his flesh and blood—with Mimi, she had been stunned. But Roland had become such a menace, with trying to hurt Marissa, and never letting her out of his sight. It wasn’t normal. Al was older and wiser. He was their father. Surely he’d known best.

Mimi remembered being proud of herself for ignoring the suggestions of the therapists and physicians, and placing him in a home that fostered children rather than institutionalized them. When they’d had to relocate, a modicum of that guilt had dissipated with the help of Al’s constant encouragement of her mothering skills. Now, she wasn’t so sure Al had been right—or honest. Had he encouraged her to move so he wouldn’t feel the guilt and stress of the broken family? No, she reasoned, that couldn’t be it. Could it? Why would he have allowed her to remain with Marissa, or encouraged her to change her name? At the time, Mimi had felt it was overkill. Could Al have known this was to come?

Now, she knew he’d been murdered, and Kara was holding onto her life by a thread. The old guilt layered itself upon her current fear, overriding any rational thoughts she might have of not being to blame.

“Marissa!” Roland’s voice broke through her thoughts like a pitchfork through paper—fast and sharp. She scrambled back to Kara, positioning herself between her daughter and the door again. Fear filled her lungs, severely hindering her desperate attempts at breathing. She closed her eyes, timing her breaths as she’d seen others do in movies and had read about in books. One…two…three…Her breathing became even. Stay calm.

“Marissa!”

Mimi’s eyes flew open. She pulled Kara closer, squeezing her to her breast. Kara’s heart beat faintly against the pulsating rhythm of her own pounding heart. Kara’s head flopped back. Mimi put her hand gently on the back of her daughter’s neck and righted her head against her chest, rocking her back and forth, as if soothing a small child.

Her fear sucked the air from the small room. A familiar voice rang out in the distance. She listened. It wasn’t Roland. The words were unclear.

“Marissa!” Roland’s voice boomed just outside the door. “Mimi! I’ll find you, you bitch!”

Silence.

“Mimi!”

Ted. Hope surged through her, then reality squashed it like an ant. Ted. No, not Ted. Oh, God. Mimi pulled Kara from her chest. She ached to cry out to him, to tell him where she was, but Roland was too close. She listened, silently pleading. Please, please help us.

Silence.

Footsteps neared, stomping past the door and fading into the distance. Ted. He’d gone to get Ted and Jackson. Mimi laid Kara on the floor. She had to help. Surely three against one were good odds. But she knew Roland. She knew what he was capable of, and neither Ted nor Jackson were large or strong. She had to help them. She moved quietly toward the door, looking back at Kara’s still body. What if he killed her? Who would find Kara? She hesitated, torn between wanting to help Ted and remaining with Kara. Her heart ached with each beat. She could run out, find them, jump on Roland’s back, or try to get away and find help. She could run upstairs and find her purse and phone, and call Mitch. She could gang up on Roland with Ted and Jackson.

She stood in the dark for what felt like an hour, but in reality was only moments. What if he found her before she found Ted and Jackson? She looked at Kara again, envisioning her as a small girl, humming in the kitchen, Roland behind her, a knife in his hands. She shook her head, mumbling under her breath, “No. Not again.” She had to protect Kara, no matter what the cost. For once, she was going to do the right thing. She wouldn’t let Kara down again.

Ted moved through the mist of coal dust, standing at the edge of the frigid room, unable to speak. He’d lost so much blood, his thoughts were jumbled. Dizziness begged to overwhelm him. He stumbled forward. He tried to reconcile the man tied to a pole to Jackson as he knew him. Jackson’s slim body trembled. His arms and legs were bound. A gag clung to his chin, wet and threatening.

Jackson squealed like a child, the terror he’d gone through evident on his sheet-white face.

“Jackson, it’s me, Ted.” Ted rushed to his side, assuring him he was not his captor.

Jackson blinked, then stuttered. He clamped his mouth shut, as if trying to regain control of the muscles that allowed him to speak. Words tumbled from his lips, “He’s coming back. Hurry. He’s coming back.”

Ted fumbled with the ropes on Jackson’s arms. His side screamed out in pain with every tug and use of his muscles.

“Jesus, what happened?” Jackson asked.

Between untying the ropes and taking in the disarray of the room, Ted didn’t answer. A broken Barbie doll lay cracked and mangled on the floor. Puddles of liquid and pieces of food were everywhere. Bottles of alcohol lay on their sides. It was like a teenager’s party gone bad. Ted pulled the ropes free of Jackson’s arms.

“Help me,” Ted commanded.

Jackson leaned down and tried to untie the ropes that bound his legs. His fingers shook, making each tug an impossible task.

Ted crouched down and went to work. The pain in his side sent him to his knees. He put one hand on the floor to steady himself. He focused on the rope binding Jackson’s legs together, and, finally, he untied the knots.

“Ted, are you okay?” Jackson pulled himself to his feet, his eyes staring at the bloodied shirt around Ted’s midsection.

Ted walked to the back room. “Fine.” The smell of feces and vomit filled the small area. Ted took quick note of the grating in the floor, the sub-basement below, and the water running through the culvert.

“I saw her,” Jackson said.

Ted spun around. “Who? Mimi? Kara?”

“Mimi. I saw her. I was down there.” He pointed through the grate. “She was with him.”

“Who’s him? Who the hell is that guy?”