THE FIRST PICTURE IS OF my mom, very pregnant, and my real dad with his hand on her belly. We look like a normal happy little family. Yet we were anything but. A pang of something I can’t quite identify echoes through me. Loss for the happiness we never had. Sorrow for the nightmare they were. Anger over the deceit of it all.
The second picture is of my mom, my real dad, and that same dark-haired lady, who I now know is Marji. They’re sitting in a bar, toasting with beer mugs. I study her face for a second and think of the drawing I have of her.
The next several pictures are of my mom and my real dad having . . . sex. My lip curls in disgust as I look at their naked, intertwined bodies. Who took these pictures?
All the rest are of their kills. All those women. Preschool teachers, just like Tommy’s sister. Innocent. Young.
Bile swells in my throat as I take in my real dad, grinning over a gruesome corpse. Of my mom in action sawing off a hand. And of Marji laughing as she watches. I tear my gaze away, suddenly unable to breathe. Holy God. Marji was part of their killing orgy.
I purposefully don’t look at the other pictures and instead reach for the manila envelope at the bottom. I open it and peek inside to see a stack of stationery notes. They’re in a variety of colors: yellow, blue, pink. . . . I pull one out, noting my hands are shaking, and study the slanted penmanship for a second before I read:
Suzie, I wish you could’ve seen what Lane and I did to my neighbor’s cat today. Only you can appreciate it. I miss you.
I love you. ~Marji
I open my Jeep door, stumble out, and throw up.
Suzie, my mom’s name. And Marji. Oh my God, what did I do to that cat?
“Hey, are you okay?”
I wipe my mouth and glance over my shoulder at an elderly lady standing a cautious distance away. “Yes, ma’am. I’m on my way home.”
I take a few needed seconds to steady myself.
When I’m ready, I get back in my Jeep and dump out the rest of the contents. A mixture of stationery notes and the matching envelopes they originally came in. I note the return address in Richmond and her real name: Marjoream Vega. I look at the postmark and quickly calculate it as fifteen years ago. I would’ve been two. One year before I witnessed the first decapitation. Had this Marji woman been there for that, too?
More important, is she still at this Richmond address?
I make myself look through the other notes. All from Marji to Suzie.
. . . I saw Junior today.
Remember him? Ha-ha! . . .
. . . I bought that property I was
telling you about . . .
. . . Too bad Victor’s such a dick . . .
On they go. Tons of cards with random thoughts in the same slanted writing. I don’t even try to make sense of them.
I put all that aside and look back in the box, where one last envelope sits. This one is white and blue and looks official. Flipping it over, I note the medical-lab stamp. I open it and slip out a thin sheet of paper. PATERNITY TEST is listed in the top right corner, and I quickly scan the random fields. The last line at the bottom jumps out at me, and I catch my breath.
TEST SUBJECT: Daisy Cameron
PATERNAL RESULTS: Seth Leaf
I drive home in a numb haze. I sit through dinner, but I can barely eat. Daisy is my real sister. According to the date stamp on the test results, Mom always knew. I don’t get it. Why marry Victor? My gaze trails to him. Does he know? Surely not. I can’t imagine he would’ve stayed with Mom if he knew me and Daisy were both Seth’s daughters.
Across my uneaten meatloaf, Daisy catches my eye. Everything okay? she mouths, and I nod. She has their evil blood running in her, too. Wait. Did they ever do anything to her, make her participate, make her watch like they did me? Train her?
Nausea waves through me, and my throat closes together. Oh, God no. Please no.
“Lane?”
I glance over at Victor. “I don’t feel well,” I say, and run for the downstairs bathroom, where I lose what little I have left in my stomach.
Daisy. She’s so opposite from me. Outgoing to my not. Happy to my stoic. At least now she is. Before Mom died, she was so mean. Always poking at me. Lying at school. Manipulating her friends and boys. Is that all, though? Does she keep secrets like I do? Does she have another life that none of us know about?
I groan. Not Daisy. Not my little sister.
Victor pushes the bathroom door open. “Sweetheart, are you sick? What’s wrong?”
I take the ginger ale he’s holding out and gulp some down. “I think I ate something bad at lunch. I threw up earlier, too.”
“Go on upstairs and get in bed. I’ll bring you some toast later.”
“Okay.” As I pass by the dining room, I give my family a small smile. Daisy is all I think about the rest of the night. I pick through every memory, analyzing them, looking for similarities in me.
What I come up with is that Daisy used to have this dark side to her, but it was all on the outside, whereas mine stays inside and secretive. I want to talk to her, but I don’t want to set off any alarm bells. So I’ll watch. Carefully watch. I’ll steer her in the correct path. The path I have not chosen, but I’ll make sure she does.
During my library TA job I look her up. Marjoream Vega from Richmond, Virginia. Sure enough, she’s still at the same address. I don’t write it down. I know it by heart. I will be paying her a visit.
She’s the last link to the decapitations. If I have to kill her, I will. I have no qualms about that. But I need to know exactly how she was involved.
I do my Patch and Paw shift after school, and when it’s over I go straight to the cremation room. I have to protect my family. I crank the gas flames, open the door, and toss the box from the locker inside. This is big enough to put a body in. That thought floats through my mind and surprises me. I give the furnace another look. Yes, it is big enough for a human body. If I ever need it.
I tuck that away for later and focus back on the box and my (and Daisy’s) disturbing legacy.
“What are you burning?” Dr. Issa asks.
“Stuff I want to forget,” I honestly tell him.
Through the fireproof glass I watch the pictures melt into a sick puddle. It was all a game to the three of them. Some twisted, horrible game.
“You okay?” he quietly asks.
His question. His tender voice causes tears to unexpectedly press my eyes. But I don’t turn and let him see them. Instead I just nod my head.
A few quiet seconds pass and I hear him click the door, shutting us in the tiny room. “As you already know,” he begins, “Zach and I lost our mom several years back. I used to hide in plain sight. Tell everyone I was okay. Frankly, if one more person asked me how I was doing, I thought I might hurt them. I know this is peculiar, but I used to carry around a lock of my mom’s black hair. It’s what I remember most about her. All that hair. Zach turned to alcohol to deal, and I did things I’m not proud of.”
I turn away from the dying flames and bring my wet eyes up to his. “Like what?”
He takes a step closer, putting us just a few inches apart. “I yelled at my dad for not being a good enough father and husband. I slept around. I was mean to Zach when I should’ve been there for him. And . . . some other things.”
There’s this huge emptiness in me and I want to fill it. Those had been Tommy’s words, and I repeat them now. “You were trying to fill your emptiness.”
“Everyone deals with loss in their own way. You’re going to make mistakes, just like I did. But eventually it will get better. Whatever you do wrong along the way, you have to go back and make amends. Or you’ll never be able to live with yourself.”
“Is that what you did? Made amends?”
He nods. “I’m still making them. Once you’ve hurt people, it’s hard to fully gain their trust again. But closure’s necessary for peace.”
I don’t know how to make amends. All I know how to do is right the wrongs and trust in some cosmic way that my actions will negate my questionable ways.
Do I want to hurt the people I care most about? No, but I think it’s inevitable. In the meantime I’ll do everything I can to protect my family from the secrets, because any single one of them would crush those I love.
Closure for peace. My gut latches on to that statement. It makes logical sense. I thought I had closure when I purged myself of my mom’s things. But now there’s Marji.
She’s a link I need to sever.