Baby Doll(44)

“You can’t be here. You can’t. Go away or I’ll call the cops.”

“Let me in, or I swear to God, I’ll make a scene. Let’s see how they react when a pregnant woman collapses on your front porch.”

Missy’s patrician features appeared to be wilting under the pressure of recent events. She surveyed the mob, then slowly opened the door and Abby slipped inside. This was where her sister’s tormentor had lived. The decor consisted of muted earth tones, high-end furnishings, and expensive artwork. Missy’s parents, her mother in pearls and pastels, her father in a button-down, were flawless. Like stepping into a Brooks Brothers catalog, Abby thought. They were sitting at the dining table, but when he saw her, Missy’s father stood up.

“Miss, what’s going on?”

Missy’s mother stood too, wringing her hands nervously. “Edward, this isn’t right. She can’t be here.”

Missy plastered on a tight smile.

“Mother and Daddy, we’re just going to have a quick chat. I’ll be back in a moment.” Head held high, Missy led Abby into the study and closed the door behind them.

“Tell me what you want,” Missy said, getting straight to the point.

“Missy… God, what a stupid name. But listen, Missy, your stupidity offends me. It offends me and annoys me, and it ends today.”

Missy tossed her head, her eyes flashing. “I’m not going to be insulted in my own home. My father was right. You should go.”

Missy moved to leave the study. Abby grabbed Missy’s arm and held it tightly.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see my sister begging Lancaster’s favorite English teacher for her freedom. I see Lily’s desperation and loneliness and terror as he rapes and beats her over and over again. You can go on the news. You can go on every talk show with that fake-ass photo, but none of that changes what he did to her. None of that makes Mr. Hanson a nice guy. Mr. Hanson likes to torture little girls. He likes to destroy families and feast on that misery.”

“You’re wrong—”

“Are you really stupid enough to finish that sentence? I’m not wrong. If you knew what he did, if you heard what he did…” Abby’s voice cracked. She kept squeezing Missy’s arm, taking pleasure in hearing her whimper. “Are you seriously trying to tell me you never once saw a glimpse of the monster that ruined my sister? Not once?”

Missy hesitated. Abby wanted to destroy this woman; she wanted her to pay for what she’d said on the steps of the jail.

“Monsters don’t breathe fire, Missy. The monster in this town is a real man who teaches high school English. A man who’s kept a sex slave locked in his basement for years, and his wife was too dumb to know about it.”

“Stop it. Please, stop it.”

Missy had begun to cry, snot streaming from her nose. Abby loved watching this woman crack. She fed off Missy’s distress like carrion after a road kill.

“Admit it, you stupid bitch. Admit you knew something was off. You did, didn’t you? Didn’t you, Missy?”

“Yes… I mean, I didn’t know for sure but… but he was gone so much. I knew he wasn’t writing a book. And I saw websites. Things he wanted to do. But I thought…”

“That as long as he still put on his V-neck sweater and came home smelling of cologne and chalk dust and told you about his day at work, as long as you still had barbecues with the neighbors and missionary sex once a week, you could forget about what you saw.”

“I’m so so…”

“Don’t. Don’t waste your breath on useless apologies. ‘Sorry’ is a word. An empty, meaningless word. And what he did, what you let him do, can never be erased by a word.”

Missy was sobbing uncontrollably now. Her father appeared in the doorway, his face an angry red mask.

“You need to leave.”

Abby moved closer to Missy, her voice a whisper. “If you go on TV again and call my sister a liar, I will kill you.”

Missy broke down. Abby ignored Missy’s father’s shouts and threats and headed out of the house.

By the time she climbed back into her mother’s car, Abby was grinning. Lily might not be speaking to her. She might not know how much Abby cared. But Abby was going to do whatever it took to make sure these people never f*cked with her sister again.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


LILY


Tears are for the weak.” That’s what Rick always preached. Before Rick took her, Lily was a crier. She cried at anything. Country music. Hallmark movies. A YouTube kitten video.

“My little softie,” her father had teased her. But Lily didn’t cry over the news about Wes and Abby. The news had stunned her. Wes. Her Wes. Her first love. The boy who—with one look—had made her feel as if the entire world had fallen away.

Lily couldn’t stop thinking about Abby’s giant belly, her sad eyes and heavy features, the scars lining her wrists. How had all of this happened? How was it possible that her sister had fallen for Wes or vice versa? They’d disliked each other with an intensity that bordered on irrational. Abby kept going on and on about how cliché it was that Lily was dating a jock.

“His only marketable skill is hitting a ball over a net. And he barely talks, like he’s some kind of superhero. He thinks it makes him deep and brooding when it really just makes him an *.”