Sadie(36)

THE GIRLS





S1E3


WEST McCRAY:


In some ways, the town of Wagner reminds me of Cold Creek.

There are fewer businesses on the main street than there should be, and the houses look kind of … defeated. But it has one thing going for it Cold Creek doesn’t: a sense of promise.

Suburbia is taking root. A new development will hopefully inspire an economic upswing—though that might price some of its longtime residents out. Marlee Singer is one of those residents. She’s in her late thirties, with white-blond hair. She’s mother to a one-and-a-half-year-old boy. She lives across from a schoolyard playground and in the afternoons, during the school year, it teems with children sliding down the slides and fighting for turns on the swings.

She finally answers one of my calls the day I’m set to fly back to New York. When I tell her I’d like to talk about Sadie and Darren, Marlee only agrees to go on record to tell me that she’s got absolutely nothing to say. She and Darren were together briefly, it didn’t work out and no, they don’t keep in contact anymore. She doesn’t have his number and she doesn’t have any pictures either. It’s not a time she cares to remember, which begs even more questions she’s equally unwilling to answer.


MARLEE BAKER [PHONE]:

Lasted three months. He never said anything about a daughter. We’re not in touch anymore. I got no way to reach him. I like it that way. I don’t even think about him unless someone else brings him up—so thanks for that.


WEST MCCRAY [PHONE]:

Caddy Sinclair said he directed Sadie Hunter to you, to ask about Darren, though. It seemed pretty clear she was headed your way. I’m just trying to figure out what happened.


MARLEE BAKER [PHONE]:

I’m telling you I never met her and if she was around here looking for me, I don’t know a goddamn thing about it.


WEST MCCRAY [STUDIO]:

I’m forced to take Marlee Singer at her word—even though I’m not sure I should. I’ve postponed my flight for her though, so I sit in a motel and review everything I know about Sadie’s disappearance so far. There’s nothing I’ve overlooked that will turn itself into my next lead. What’s particularly frustrating is that outside of dyeing her hair blond, and giving people her middle name, Sadie didn’t seem like she was going to any greater lengths to cover her tracks. It doesn’t feel like it should be this hard to find her. I express as much to May Beth.


MAY BETH FOSTER [PHONE]:

I was thinking … Claire had a lot of men, but there were only a couple who stuck around for longer than usual. They might know something. There was Keith—he was there when the girls were little. Arthur McQuarry, but he’s dead now. And Paul. Paul was the last man Claire had around before she walked out. If any of them got close enough, Claire might’ve let something slip about this Darren guy.


WEST MCCRAY [PHONE]:

I’ll see if the living two will talk to me.


MAY BETH FOSTER [PHONE]:

Her father, though … I just can’t wrap my head around it. I don’t even know what Sadie would need from this man. Help? Money? I would’ve given her anything she asked for, didn’t she know that? I spent my whole life helping those girls. I wasn’t about to stop.


WEST MCCRAY [PHONE]:

I know, May Beth.


MAY BETH FOSTER [PHONE]:

Just—look into those men I told you about.





sadie

I thought Keith was nightmare enough.

I didn’t count on the way his violence would tendril out and lead me to other nightmares. Silas Baker is very angry. He’s angry in a way that’s trying to pretend he’s not, but I see him. I’m the only person in this city who sees him. His hand is out and my hand is holding his phone. 451 Twining Street, Langford. 451 Twining Street—he rips it from my grasp and I don’t even flinch. Langford. 451 Twining Street.

“Who are you?” His voice is low and dangerous.

“—”

“Who are you?”

“I’m L-Lera. H—”

“No. You’re not.” He looks out onto the empty street. “Because I met the Holdens this morning. They have a daughter but she’s not you.” He turns back to me. One of his hands grips the frame of my car, the other the top of its open door. “You followed me.”

I shake my head.

“You followed me this morning. I saw your car.”

“I d-don’t know w-what you’re t-talking about.”

His grip on the door tightens. I watch his knuckles go white. His gaze travels over my body, to my eyes, trying to figure me out; if he actually knows me, has ever known me, if he should know me. His attention shifts beyond me, inside my car. The dirty clothes tossed in the backseat, crumpled food wrappers. My green bag in the passenger’s side. He reaches across me for it and I push back at him hard enough to make him stumble. I make a frantic reach for the door to close it, but he recovers too quickly and jerks it all the way open, making it groan.

“You took my phone. What else did you take?”

“G-get the f-fuck—get the fuck away!”

He pushes me back against the seat, his hand pressed against my throat to keep me there. He leans inside and makes that same reach for my bag and I choke against the pressure. My fingers fumble into my pocket for the switchblade. I get it out and push the release and the sharp tip of the blade pokes against his abdomen. He stares in bewilderment at the knife and then slowly raises his eyes to meet mine and I think, yes.