The Night Before(73)

Rosie started riffling through the stack of papers on the table. Conway seemed reluctant, but he began to help her.

They were interrupted by Pearson, who walked cautiously into the room.

“What is it?” Rosie asked. Her eyes were pinched together with apprehension.

“It’s Jonathan Fielding. We put out a locate—he was admitted to Branston Hospital Friday afternoon. Severe trauma to the head. They’ve induced a coma until they can control the swelling.”

“No!” Rosie gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand. “No…”

“A forensics team already worked his apartment. They haven’t run the prints yet, but they have them.”

“And Laura?” Rosie asked. “Was Laura…”

“No one was there. There was no sign of a struggle. They didn’t know about Laura missing until just now—when we put out the locate on Fielding. Looks like someone pushed in when he unlocked the door. He was struck twice while he was standing, and a third time after he was on the ground. The corner caught his forehead dead-on. Doesn’t look like anything was stolen.”

Rosie was dizzy and began to sway. Conway took her by the arm and helped her sit down.

“There were two glasses in the sink. A half-eaten pizza from a local spot. The deliveryman said there was a woman with him, but he didn’t get a good look at her. She had long hair. Light brown.”

“What was she wearing?” Rosie asked, though she already knew the answer.

“A black dress.”

Resignation came over her then. This was exactly what she thought it was. Right from the moment she opened her eyes and knew something was wrong. Before she found the car missing. Before she found the empty bed. She knew, in her heart, that this was what had happened. Just like before. With Mitch Adler. With Dr. Kevin Brody. And even before all of that—with Rick Wallace. With little fists punching through that wall.

Whatever happened now, she had to find Laura. And one way or another, they would help her through this. They would get her the help she needed to finally be well.

She looked at Pearson. “Is he going to make it?”

She nodded softly. “They think so.”

Thank God.

Thank God!

Rosie stood up then. She had work to do. She had to gather their troops—Joe and Gabe, and maybe even their mother, now. Whatever sins they had all committed would be forgotten. They would find Laura. And they would save her.

“Can I go?” Rosie asked. “I need to speak with my family. I need to call my mother.”

Pearson backed away from the door. “Just so you know, we’ll have to send a unit to your house. They’ll want to look through Laura’s room, her computer. Can we get your consent to enter?”

“My son is there,” Rosie said, thinking then about Mason and how he’d been without her all day. What must he be thinking? She knew he was safe, with Joe all morning and now with Zoe, but she was his mother. She felt torn in two.

“I’ll call the sitter—maybe she can take him outside when the officers get there.”

Conway got up and opened the door for her. “Make sure we can reach you, okay?”

Rosie didn’t look back as she walked out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door to her car.

She pulled out her phone and started to call Gabe. Something made her stop. She didn’t know why and she didn’t have time to think about it—but she called her husband instead.





FORTY-THREE


Laura. Session Number Sixteen. Six Weeks Ago. New York City.

Dr. Brody: You must have wondered about who he was—that man who pulled Mitch Adler from the car and killed him in the road.

Laura: I told myself it was Lionel Casey. He was found living in the car. He drove it into the woods as far as it would go and then he used it for shelter.

Dr. Brody: But it’s possible someone else drove it there—to hide it—and that Casey stumbled upon it after the fact. That’s what his defense team said, right?

Laura: Who else, then? Who else wanted him dead? They obviously didn’t want the car if they left it in the woods.

Dr. Brody: You had the bat in your hands. Blood on your clothing, even though you were standing several feet from the body. Do you remember, Laura? Do you remember if you swung that bat?





FORTY-FOUR


Laura. Present Day. Saturday, 2:30 p.m. Branston, CT.

Thirty-six hours have passed and I am still in Gabe’s house, hiding now behind the door of his basement.

I spent many afternoons here when I was a child, playing games in the dark with Gabe and other kids in our neighborhood, so I know it well. I know every window that looks to the outside. I know the door that leads to the boiler room, and how at the end of that room is a Bilco hatch that opens to his backyard. No one lived down here. The basement isn’t finished, so it’s clammy in the summer and ice-cold in the winter unless you huddle beside the water heater.

I wait now, hiding at the top of the stairs. Waiting for the door to open. Holding a bat in my hands.

Gabe had set up a makeshift bedroom here before we arrived. A mattress on the floor with a pillow and some old fleece blankets. A flashlight. And a bucket that he said I should use to go to the bathroom. He told me not to go upstairs, where a neighbor might see me through a window, or the police if they showed up. He told me not to peek out the small basement windows for the same reason. And he told me to leave through the Bilco doors if I heard three thuds on the ceiling—he said he would stomp his feet three times on the floor above and that would be the signal to escape.