Confessions on the 7:45(86)

“What does she want?” asked Selena.

“More money maybe,” said Cora. “Your father; I’m not sure he’s managed his assets well. I don’t know what he has left. If he’s been giving her money. I just don’t know.”

But even as she said it, she knew that money wasn’t what Pearl wanted. It was never what she wanted. She was a pain giver. She wanted to hurt people, acting from whatever psychic wound she carried inside. Cora saw that in the girl in the grocery store, the one hovering by the yard. And now, years later, the one on the street in front of Selena’s house. An injured animal, desperate, in pain, dangerous.

Was she stalking Selena? Had she orchestrated the encounter on the train? What did she want from Selena now?

Selena was staring at the picture on Oliver’s iPad.

“She looks like him,” Selena said. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it. Or I guess on some level, I did. Maybe that’s why I subconsciously hooked in to her. There’s a connection.”

A connection. Yes, Cora had felt it. A pull to that lost girl. Maybe she wanted money. Maybe she wanted to cause harm. But beneath it all, there was something more. She wanted to connect, and this was the only way she knew how.

“We should call the police,” said Cora. “Whatever game she’s running, for whatever reason, it needs to be stopped.”

“No,” said Selena, leaning forward. “Who knows what she’ll do if we call the police?”

“She’s a destroyer,” said Cora. “What if she killed Geneva? What if she wants to hurt you?”

“No,” said Selena again, grabbing at Cora’s hand. “We can’t call the police, not yet.”

“Sweetie,” said Cora. “What do you think you’re going to do, then?”

There was a look her daughter got, a stubborn set to her face.

“I’m going to find out what she wants,” her daughter said, tone cool and practical. “And then I’m going to give it to her and get our life back.”

Her daughter was delusional.

The clock chimed one. Selena wasn’t going to “get her life back.” Surely, she knew that. Her marriage was over at least. The body of a young girl had been discovered. Things weren’t going to go back to the way they were a week ago, even a day ago. And in some ways, Cora was responsible. If she’d told Selena about Pearl, she wouldn’t have been vulnerable to whatever plan the other woman had.

“How?” Cora asked.

“I—I don’t know. But what if I can give this woman what she wants—and this nightmare just goes away? Maybe that’s what she’s been trying to tell me. All of this—maybe it’s just extortion.”

Cora shook her head. Nightmares rarely went away. In Cora’s experience they usually got worse.

“She’s playing with you,” said Cora.

Selena shook her head. “I think it’s more than that.”

Cora didn’t say anything, just watched as Selena rose and took her bag from the back of the chair, still in her running clothes. She was tall, like her father, with his athleticism and strength. Cora and Marisol were petite. Maybe it was something to do with size, it made Selena bolder.

Selena picked up her phone and started to text. Cora walked behind her to see what she was doing.

I know who you are, Pearl.
So just tell me what you want.
They both waited. But no answer came.

Cora’s heart started to thump; she reached for Selena. Selena took her hand. Cora had always felt powerless against the wills of the stronger people in her life. Her throat was dry with anxiety, palms tingling.

“Don’t do this,” said Cora.

“I have to, Mom,” she said. “If you don’t hear from me in two hours, call Will, call the police. Tell them everything.”

She let go of her daughter’s hand and followed her to the door, then watched as the car glided from the drive and disappeared up the road.



THIRTY-SIX

Selena

Selena pulled into the driveway of her childhood home, where her father Doug now lived alone. She remembered once thinking the house was so big, so grand—with its white pillars and big door. But tonight, it seemed smaller. The yard, which her mother had carefully tended, was neglected, grass brown, shrubs anemic, weeds pushing up through the paving stones of the walkway. It was dark, shabby, whereas the other big houses on the block were bright with elaborate landscape lighting, meticulously maintained. Her father, getting older, must be having a hard time keeping things up. Marisol—who was closer to him—had said as much. But Selena had barely listened. Her sister forgave their father for his transgressions. Selena couldn’t—wouldn’t.

Now this. His sins come back to haunt, not him but Selena and her family.

She exited the car and marched up the path. She paused at the door a moment, the adrenaline of anger pulsing, then started aggressively ringing the doorbell. Once, twice, three times. After a moment, lights started to come on—upstairs, then on the stairway she could see through the side window. Finally, she saw her father making his way down, a frail old man in a robe and slippers.

When was the last time she’d seen him?

He peered through the window with a scowl. Then surprise softened his features. He swung the door open.

“Selena,” he said, peering behind her into the night. “What’s going on?”