Don't Look for Me(58)

I think about what this means—was her first mommy trying to escape him by sleeping with her child? Thinking he would leave her alone? And when he didn’t, when he still came into her bed, exposing Alice to whatever it was he did to her—maybe that was what made her try to escape. Maybe she thought it was safer for Alice if she left than if she stayed.

The thought is sickening. And yet, here I am, willing to do anything to keep my own daughter safe. Maybe this other woman thought she could make it out and then come back for Alice.

Alice squeezes my hands tighter and a smile appears. Happy Face.

“But,” she says. “I think I was wrong about this being the same thing,” she says.

“How come?” I ask. “What’s happened?”

She pulls her hands away and wipes her face.

“He said I can’t sleep in your room anymore.”

I am nervous about the implications. Is he trying to keep me from getting closer to Alice, or does he want me to himself now, at night?

“And,” she says, excitedly, “he went to buy us groceries so you can help me cook—things that only go in the microwave so I don’t set the house on fire!” She giggles then. “That’s what he said.”

I smile now. And it comes from my heart. My heart that turns darker every moment I spend here.

“So we can make dinner tonight?”

“Yes,” she says. “I even asked him for the Jell-O like you said.”

My smile grows bigger. My heart darkens another shade.

“Is he going to come home to eat with us?”

Alice shrugs. “I don’t know. I never know anymore. Not since you came.”

Information, I think. New information. I have been distracted by thoughts of poison. Poisonous thoughts. I should have thought to ask the questions that are now before me.

“What did he do before?” I ask now. I want to fire them off, all of them, but I speak slowly and wait patiently. I am just making conversation. Passing the time. Getting to know her better.

Alice shrugs again. “Sometimes he would come home and bring dinner. He likes to watch TV until he falls asleep.”

Patience. Patience.

“My husband likes to do that. He watches things I don’t like so I usually read. What does he watch on the television?”

Alice shrugs. Sad Face now.

“Does he not let you watch with him?” I ask, guessing about the head-spinning change in her mood.

“He doesn’t like to be here at night anymore. And I don’t like being alone.”

I consider this. And I tread carefully forward.

“Is it because of what happened to your first mommy? Maybe that makes him sad to be here without her.”

Yes, I think. I need to know these things. Did he love her? Did she live here behind a prison grate? Or did she love him, too? Were they once family that went wrong? Very, very wrong?

I will stay here all day if I have to. Asking questions. Doing schoolwork. Asking questions. Eating peanut butter sandwiches. Asking questions. Playing with our dolls, Hannah and Suzannah.

But she doesn’t answer. Sad Face is morphing into Angry Face.

“That’s okay,” I say, trying to turn her mood again.

“You don’t have to talk about it. I bet it makes you sad too. You know what I think?” I ask.

She shrugs.

“I think you loved your first mommy.”

Sad Face, and with it are more tears. They are tears I haven’t seen before. They run down cheeks that are bright red, with sobs that are uncontrollable. They are real, these tears, and I know I have struck gold.

“Oh, sweetheart! I know. I know…”

I do not try to touch her. I do not even want to breathe. I have reached a well of humanity inside this child and it cannot be disrupted.

Even the hatred inside me begins to retreat. Even as I sit in a cage. Even though she has the power to free me.

Patience.

I think about the groceries and the dinner. I think about what I know of the ethylene glycol and how I will put it into food that will be made just for him. I think about how he will collapse and writhe in pain as the chemicals form sharp shards that slice through the tissue inside his gut. And how I will then leave him to suffer. Perhaps even die.

I do not think what I will do with Alice or how I will feel when she watches this happen. I cannot afford to think about that because it might ruin my plan and I can feel the weakness inside me—the weakness for the girl who now cries real tears.

“I know…” I say this several times with long pauses. I let her cry.

When she begins to calm, I wait just a little bit longer before I start back in with my questions.

Patience.

“Alice,” I say. “What was her name, your first mommy?”

She becomes ethereal now, daydreaming about her first mommy with the real blond hair.

Then she says her first mommy’s name. The one who is dead. Who died in the woods.

“Daisy,” she says. “Daisy Alice Hollander.”





26


Day fifteen





Nic left Booth’s apartment and ran across the street to the bar. It was just after eleven. Kurt was opening for lunch.

She burst through the door, sending the string of bells clanging against the wall. Kurt was behind the bar pulling glasses from the dishwasher.