Lies We Bury(81)

“I think I got the short end of the stick, yeah, when I was promised a different life. I sacrificed myself for you, for everyone, and that’s the thanks that I got.”

“What are you talking about? We all made sacrifices.” I sit forward on the edge of the seat, my strength and fire returning to me.

“Are you high right now? Or do you really not remember?” Her gaze darts across my face, searching for something. “You don’t, do you?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Jenessa? Whatever it is you think I did that makes me so deserving of punishment, just say it!”

She lunges at me. “The day we escaped, Rosemary was set to raise all three of us—together! I was never supposed to go to Nora, and when the police asked, you were the one who contradicted Rosemary’s story that she gave birth to both you and me, and that Lily was Bethel’s child, whom Rosemary was going to formally adopt. Rosemary knew that Nora was mentally and emotionally unfit to be a parent, but you ratted me out. Then when Nora suggested I stay with you all anyway, you hit me so hard, my ears rang for a day. Rosemary said she couldn’t allow anyone to live in more violence. She chose you, her biological daughter, and sent me away.”

Her words drop like grenades, shattering careful guardrails I’d built up around my memories of those early post-captivity days. “That’s not—”

“I stayed behind in the basement. Reinforced the rope and fractured my ankle so that you, Lily, and Rosemary could escape without worrying that Chet would come after you. I sacrificed myself and was abandoned in return,” she whispers, now looking past me, through the shutters. “All my life, I wondered what it would have been like being raised by someone who genuinely loved me, who cared for me. And every time something terrible landed on my plate, I remembered that wasn’t my path, thanks to you. It was all your fault.”

I peer at my sister. Take in the frothing anger on her lips, the unshed tears, and the intensity with which she glares at me. A stranger I thought I knew. “The reason why the fingerprints found at each crime scene have all been different, the modes of killing distinct, is because each killer was a different buyer off the dark web. The clues you planted from our captivity, the messages you left me—they were all meant to frame me as the broker. To finally get your revenge after twenty years.”

“A former drug-addict sister would be intriguing, but only if the normal sister wasn’t taking perverse photos at each crime scene, some even before the police were alerted to the crime.”

My stomach pitches as I realize I did exactly what she wanted. I thought I was potentially preventing another murder while selfishly earning a buck from the Post.

“Once the police catch up to you and serve that warrant they’ve issued for your laptop, it’ll be settled. Chet’s body will be the icing on the cake, and Nora will be thrown into the mix after I send an anonymous note tipping off the cops. Since you’ve gone to the trouble of killing perfect strangers, offing two members of your bizarre family won’t even raise an eyebrow. Sometimes, people are just born bad.”

A sob chokes in my throat, hearing Jenessa voice my lifelong suspicion about myself. “But what about Shia? About Serena Delle? She sent that reporter the letter that gave my whereabouts, but she’s dead.”

Jenessa taps the gun against her temple. “Think, Marissa. Serena Delle was so depressed that you rejected her over and over again, she jumped into the lazy river in Arch after swallowing horse tranquilizers. It was all over the news, but of course you don’t pay attention to anyone else’s pain. Another casualty on the list of lives you’ve ruined.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Anyone can sign someone’s name. I did.” She folds her arms, soaking up my pained expression. “I knew you would react all crazy to the reporter and I’d have more evidence of your wild temper. Rosemary wouldn’t give up any of those damn boxes that contain your juvenile offenses. Said she couldn’t handle parting with them when I offered to clean her house for free.”

“They were misdemeanors. Childish forms of acting out. I got into a few fights and stole grocery store makeup. What would they prove?”

“You broke Felix Tempe’s nose, then stole makeup to wear at juvenile court when his parents pressed charges.”

“He tried to corner me in the girls’ bathroom and stick his hand down my—”

“Then, when you finished house arrest, you found him again and broke his leg.”

“He . . . he fell down a flight of stairs,” I mumble.

“Did he? You were a loose cannon, but somehow you managed to cover it all up. To glide into adulthood without anyone the wiser, get a few jobs, change your name, and that was that. Everyone accepted the trite bullshit you fed them, that you’d been depressed at the time or were desperate for attention from someone other than your therapist. Everyone just looked the other way when it came to you.”

I shake my head, try to stay calm. “Jenessa, you’re giving me way too much credit. Yes, I was selfish and lashed out at others as a kid, but I was punished for those acts. I didn’t get away with anything.”

“No skeletons? Except for your guinea pig, whom you force-fed to death. Lily was afraid of you.”

“That’s a horrible—Lily? I would never hurt—”