The Courtyard by Marriott was near Indianapolis International Airport, and there were several other hotels in the general area. Jolie didn’t want to go into any of them, because maybe her mother and sister—and who knew what others like them they were able to summon—might soon be searching for her in those establishments. However, there wasn’t anywhere else she could just walk into as though she belonged there, so she chose the largest hotel, a six-story place maybe a mile from the Marriott.
She sat in a comfortable chair in the lobby, not in a direct line from the front entrance but with a good view of it, prepared to flee if she saw a beloved face with a terrifying new aspect. She had the disposable phone. With an indelible-ink felt-tip pen, Mother had written the number of Daddy’s disposable on this one, in case she forgot it.
As Jolie tried to think what to say to her father, strove to find words that might convince him the crazy-sounding accusation she made was the truth, she held the phone tightly in both hands. This wasn’t just a burner cell. This was her one precious link to a sane past, to what was left of her family, to whatever hope she dared to entertain. In this city where she’d never been before, she was alone without a dime, without ID. She’d left her purse in the room at the Marriott. They had parked Aunt Tandy’s Dodge at the Marriott, but she didn’t have a key for it. Anyway, she didn’t dare go back there in case her mother or the hotel had called the police. She had run through the lobby like a crazy person, threatening to bite people, so the police would probably want to put her in the hospital for observation. In the hospital they would most likely sedate her. If she was sedated, she would be helpless. When she woke, Mother and Twyla would be there, and she wouldn’t know whether or not they had injected her while she’d been sleeping. No. Wrong. She would know on some level, but it would be too late. She would not be able to save herself. She would thereafter be calling somebody the way Twyla had called somebody, and she would be doing every hateful thing that he told her to do. The object clutched in her hands wasn’t merely a phone but also a talisman with the magical power to deliver her out of this present darkness and into the light once more—if she could just get her act together and think what to say to Daddy!
Sandwiched between her hands, the phone rang. She gasped and twitched in her chair and nearly cried out in surprise. She fumbled with the phone and took the call on the third ring. “Daddy?”
As she spoke, she realized that her mother might remember this number, that this could be Mother or Twyla. Maybe somehow the moment she accepted the call, they knew where she was. A magical talisman might work both ways.
But it was Daddy. “Jolie? Is that you, girl?”
The phone would expire, the line would go dead, something rotten would surely happen before she put the right words together and managed to speak them. But nothing rotten happened, and after only a brief hesitation, Jolie said, “Daddy, why did Cora Gundersun do such a horrible thing? Did someone inject her with a drug or something, did someone tell her to do it?”
Daddy hesitated, too, and Jolie thought the line had gone dead after all, but then he said, “What’s wrong, candygirl? Where did you get that idea?”
People were coming and going from the lobby—bellmen with luggage carts, guests—but no one took special notice of Jolie Tillman. No one sat in other nearby lobby chairs.
The words spilled out in an undisciplined torrent: “Somebody injected Twyla, I don’t know who or why, but she had these syringes and ampules, Twyla did, had them in her suitcase, and she injected Mother while I was sleeping, sedated her and injected her, and just now they both tried to inject me, so I had to bite Mommy and hit her really hard.” Jolie began to cry. “Daddy, it was so awful, I had to bite her, she was Mommy and she wasn’t, and I bit her, it was the worst thing ever.”
She had lost it, blown the chance to convince him, ranted like a child. Daddy said, “Oh, God,” and she knew he thought she’d lost her mind. He said, “Oh, God,” again in the most awful way, and she said, “It’s true, Daddy, it sounds crazy, but it’s really true, please believe me.” His voice broke. He was choking with emotion. “Jolie, oh, God, I believe you,” and though he kept speaking, he began to cry, he who never cried easily if at all, and it was then that Jolie knew beyond all last doubts that her life had changed profoundly and forever.