All the Dark Places(58)

“I understand.”

I stand still in front of her, shake my head. This woman doesn’t understand. No one can possibly understand. “I’m sure you know all about me now, right?”

“Yes.” But she doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Jay told you, didn’t he? You didn’t just hear it on TV.”

“No. I didn’t hear it on TV. I knew all along, Molly.”

I clap my hands together. “Great. I knew it.”

“Jay didn’t tell me,” she says. I tip my head, wait for her explanation. “I read your file when you were at the office for treatment. Before you and Jay were a couple.”

“What? Why? That was confidential. I wasn’t your patient!”

Elise raises a palm. “I’m sorry. It was an accident. I picked up a file from Candace’s desk. I thought it was one of mine. One I’d just handed her a moment earlier. I didn’t read it all, Molly. When I realized my mistake, I put it down.”

“Oh, Christ, Elise. Really?” I nearly laugh. “But you didn’t put it down before you read all the good stuff, right?”

“I’m being honest here. I never told a soul. I didn’t even tell Jay I knew. I wanted to respect your privacy.”

“Well, that’s just great. So, now that Jay’s gone, you think you can help me?”

Her eyes meet mine. “You went through hell, Molly. Most children need ongoing care after something like that.”

“I’ve been in therapy off and on for years.” I think back to my first psychologist, Dr. Sommers. She was an older lady who wore long skirts and sandals, had short gray hair and bug-like glasses. She kept a basket of puppets in her office, along with crayons and paper, props to get kids to reveal the monsters that peopled their lives. She worked with the police, and they taped my testimony, I was told. I don’t remember it. But I remember feeling tricked. I don’t remember her as a nice lady, but that’s probably not fair. A child’s view.

“I’d like to help if I can.” She shoots a look at Corrine.

“Yeah. Well, I don’t need your help, Elise.”

“Are you sure?”

I squeeze the sides of my head with my hands. “Don’t you get it? No one can help me.” No one can remove the demon and the memories, snippets though they are, from my brain. I drop my hands to my sides. “Only I can.”

“Can what?” Corrine asks.

“Only I can fix this.”

She walks to my side. “What do you mean, Molly?”

“Him. He’s still there, taunting me. I need to stop him.”

“Those calls couldn’t be from . . .” Corrine says, and glances at Elise. “Molly’s been getting crank calls from someone who knows who she is and what happened.”

Elise shakes her head. “They monitor calls in prisons. They wouldn’t allow it.”

“Whatever,” I say. “I’m exhausted. I’m going back to bed. I don’t want to talk about this.”

I slam the guest room door behind me. I meant what I said. I need to fix this. That or be lost forever. Jay’s gone, and I’m utterly alone. But maybe that’s where I need to be.





CHAPTER 42


Rita


AFTER LUNCH, FBI SPECIAL AGENTS JOE THORNE AND ALISON METZ arrive. I’ve had just enough time to finish my tacos when Chase comes to get me. I pop a breath mint in my mouth as I walk down the hall. They’re already seated in the conference room when I get there.

Joe stands and shakes my hand, which feels strange, awkward. But it’s great to see him. Our eyes meet, and I look away first, clear my throat. Agent Metz is nearer Chase’s age, light brown hair slicked back in a bun, a face full of freckles.

After introductions, we take our seats at the table. All of our notes and photos pertaining to Dr. Bradley’s murder remain on the front-facing whiteboard, but we’ve started another board on the side for Annalise Robb. Her murder is the first order of business. Get a solve there and hopefully Dr. Bradley’s murder will fall into place.

Agent Thorne opens a file folder while Agent Metz hands around a folder to each of us.

“A copy of the autopsy is on top,” Joe says. “Let’s start there.”

We all open our folders, and the iconic diagram greets us. “Ms. Robb was twenty-four years old. Five feet, three inches tall, approximately a hundred twenty pounds.” He meets my eyes. “Luckily, considering the state of the body, we have a probable cause of death.” The room goes quiet. “Blunt-force trauma to the back of the head, which the ME said was probably not fatal but could’ve knocked her out. Then she was probably killed by strangulation, based on the damage in the neck area, ligature intact there as well.”

“Sheriff Skinner thought that the perp may have knocked her to the pavement as she walked home,” I say.

“Yeah. Her clothes were recovered buried next to her. Her jeans were ripped and bloodied at the knees, matching the fibers and blood found in the road.”

I squeeze my chin with my hand. “He saw her walking. Maybe he followed her in his vehicle. Then knocked her down . . .”

“And might’ve struck her in the head there as well. That way she didn’t fight him as he put her in his vehicle,” Joe finishes. “That’s what we’re thinking.”