Sadie(60)

“I just…”

“P-please.”

It makes my stomach ache, how, at a time like this, I can’t make that word come perfectly out of my mouth enough to convince him. I can’t describe how bad it feels, this inability to communicate the way I want, when I need to. My eyes burn, and tears slip down my cheeks and I can’t even imagine how pathetic I look. Girl with a busted face, torn-up arm, begging for the opportunity to save other girls. Why do I have to beg for that?

“If y-you knew what he d-did to my sister you wouldn’t b-be doing this t-to me. You h-have to let me g-go. Tell me where he is. P-pretend I w-was never here.”

His shoulders sag and he exhales slowly. He squints his eyes shut and squeezes the bridge of his nose and I realize, after a moment, that he’s crying too.

I hold my breath.

I watch him age.





THE GIRLS





S1E5


JOE PERKINS:


Jesus Christ.


WEST McCRAY: Wow.


WEST McCRAY [STUDIO]: Darren Marshall’s room looks like it … exploded, for lack of a better term. The air is thick, stuffy, attesting to the fact that he hasn’t been here for a long time. But whenever he was here last, he apparently tore the place apart. There are clothes all over the bed, the floor, every available surface. The bed has been stripped of its sheets and the furniture has been upended and pulled away from the walls. Every drawer in the place is open, except for the fridge. Joe wanders over to it first. When he opens it, the stench of spoiled food fills the room.


JOE PERKINS: Oh, goddammit …

[SOUND OF A DOOR SLAMMING SHUT]


WEST McCRAY: What happened here, Joe?


JOE PERKINS: It looks like a fuckin’ crime scene … Jesus … [SOUND OF A DOOR OPENING, CRUNCHING GLASS] Oh, Christ, don’t step in here! The bathroom window’s fuckin’ broken.


WEST McCRAY: You didn’t notice that until now?


JOE PERKINS: You seen this place? How’m I supposed to notice one more broken window? Jesus.


WEST McCRAY: So this isn’t how Darren usually left the place?


JOE PERKINS: I hope not … but I honestly don’t know. He didn’t want cleaning in here, and I trusted that he’d look after it and I didn’t have a reason to doubt that, you know? But this … looks wrong. It looks like there was a fight or something … is that blood?


WEST McCRAY: There are a few suspect stains on the floor, but it’s hard to tell what exactly they might be. I move carefully around the room, taking photographs of it with my phone. The first thing that catches my attention is the matchbook. It’s sitting neatly on the nightstand. I pick it up because it’s familiar to me, but at that moment, I’m not sure why. It says Cooper’s on the front. Before I can think too hard about it, there’s something else: A photograph on floor, half-hidden under the bed.

I know the place it was taken. And I know the people in it. There are four of them, and the first one I recognize is Claire. She’s younger, sicker. She’s standing next to a man who is holding a small child against him. Mattie. To the right of the photo, at its very edges, is Sadie.

She’s about eleven years old.


WEST McCRAY [TO JOE]: Hey, Joe, is this Darren?


JOE PERKINS: What’s that?… Well, I’ll be damned. That’s him. And that’s— That’s not the girl you’re looking for, is it?


WEST McCRAY: Yeah, it is.


JOE PERKINS: What the hell is going on here?


WEST McCRAY: Excuse me a minute, Joe … I’ll be right back.


WEST McCRAY: I step outside and send the photograph to May Beth over text. She calls me back immediately.


MAY BETH FOSTER [PHONE]: Oh my Lord, that’s the picture. Where did you find it?


WEST McCRAY [PHONE]: What?


MAY BETH FOSTER [PHONE]: That’s the photo that was missing from my album … when I was showing you those pictures of the girls, remember, I got to the page with nothing on it? A photo was missing. That was the photo that was on it. The girls, and their mother and— WEST McCRAY [PHONE]: Darren.


MAY BETH FOSTER [PHONE]: What?


WEST McCRAY [PHONE]: That’s Darren.


MAY BETH FOSTER [PHONE]: No, it’s not. It’s Keith.





sadie

When I was seven, and Mattie was one, she whispered my name.

I was her first word.

When Mattie was seven days old, and I was six, I stood over her crib and listened to her breathing, watching the rise and fall of her tiny chest. I pressed my palm against it and I felt myself through her. She was breathing, alive.

And I was too.

Langford is miles behind me, a place called Farfield in my sights. Keith is there, Ellis told me. Last I heard from him, he was there. I don’t know if he’s called the police or warned Keith since I left, but any head start I had for myself is gone by now. I lost it when I realized I’d left my photo in Keith’s room. My stomach turned and then it turned again and next thing I knew, I was jerking the car onto the shoulder and then I was out of the car and on my knees, on the ground, throwing up bile into the dirt.

I can’t seem to get back inside the car.