‘Stop it, Patrick, you know where—’
‘I don’t,’ he said, hitting the table once more. ‘You’ve lost your goddamn mind. Haven’t you seen the news?’
‘Only a little. They only just let me—’
‘They want your blood,’ he said. ‘All the networks, all the rolling news channels. Every single one, they have your face all over the screen, asking what you did with our kids. They know what you did before, the drink, the drugs, the craziness. How you ran from Children’s Services. They have it on constant rotation. That you’re a danger to yourself and to our children. There’s not a single soul in this country who doesn’t believe you’re a monster. That you hurt Sean and Louise. They’re calling me every minute of the day wanting a statement. They’re calling my mother, for Christ’s sake. What do you think this is doing to her?’
Audra let out a dry and brittle laugh. ‘Well, shit, I wouldn’t want to upset Margaret.’
Patrick sprang to his feet, his fists ready, took one step toward her. He caught himself, stopped, loosened his hands as he shook his head.
‘I just want my little boy and girl,’ he said. ‘Please tell me where they are.’
In the midst of all this, wherever their children had been taken, he remained concerned only for himself and his mother. He didn’t even have the sense to hide it, Audra thought, to pretend he really cared for them.
But if he really were hiding Sean and Louise, he would pretend to care. He was smart and manipulative enough to disguise his true desires.
Audra remained seated as the realization hit her: He didn’t know where Sean and Louise were. He didn’t know, because he didn’t do it. She felt the room chill, as the one hope she’d clung to since all this began crumbled away.
‘Oh God,’ she said, her hand going to her mouth. ‘If you don’t have them …’
He stood over her, flexing his fingers. ‘I’m going to ask you one more time.’
‘If you don’t have them, then who does?’ Audra placed a palm on each side of her head, began to rock back and forward. ‘Oh no, no, no.’
‘You have to stop this,’ Patrick said. ‘You’re the only one who can bring this to an end. Tell me where they are.’
An idea flickered in her mind, the same one she’d had when she spoke with Mel.
‘A private detective,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘There’ve got to be some in Phoenix who could do it. Use your money. Pay someone to investigate Whiteside and Collins, find out what they’re after. You can do that.’
She looked up at him, her hands clasped in front of her.
He shook his head. ‘You crazy bitch.’
Patrick took his jacket from the back of the chair and walked to the door.
‘You won’t do it?’ Audra asked.
He reached for the handle. ‘Crazy bitch.’
‘Patrick,’ she said.
He stopped and turned, and she saw how old he’d become, how deep the lines of his face, how jagged.
Audra wiped a tear from her cheek and said, ‘You know, it took me far too long to figure you out. What you wanted with me.’
‘Now’s not the time,’ he said.
‘Seems as good a time as any,’ Audra said. ‘You remember I asked you? That one day I sobered up for Sean’s birthday. I asked you why you kept me around, drunk and drugged. You had our son. You could’ve just kicked me out. But you didn’t, and I had to almost die before I realized.’
He put his fists in his pockets, stared past her. ‘Realized what?’
‘You never wanted a marriage,’ she said. ‘You never wanted a family. You just wanted the appearance of it. To look normal. To make your mother happy. Once I gave her grandchildren, I was no more use to you. So you kept me doped up and out of the way. In the end, I was just excess baggage. And that left me with another question. See, I don’t remember taking that overdose. Yes, I hardly knew where I was most of the time, but I don’t remember making that decision. Did you make it for me, Patrick?’
Now he looked at her, hate in his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Did you try to kill me?’
‘Don’t,’ Patrick said.
‘Don’t what?’ Audra said as she got to her feet, her voice rising with her. ‘Don’t talk back? Don’t make you angry?’
Patrick took another step forward, threw his jacket on the floor, put his weight on both feet. ‘This is not the time for your fucking games, Audra. You’re going to tell me where my children are, right now, or …’
‘Or what?’ Now she took a step closer to him. ‘You’re going to slap me around? Give me bruises where they don’t show? Make me—’
The thick fingers of his right hand snapped onto her throat, squeezed hard, and he pushed her toward the wall, her feet skimming the carpet. Framed pictures rattled as the back of her head struck the plasterwork. She put her right hand flat on his chest. Let her fingers crawl up as his grip tightened, feeling for the place above his shirt collar. Pressure in her ears, behind her eyes.
He raised his left fist, let her see his hard knuckles. ‘You tell me where they are, or so help me God, I will—’
Audra’s fingers aligned, the tips forming a solid edge, and stabbed at the tender hollow between the top of his sternum and the bottom of his Adam’s apple. She followed forward from her shoulder, kept the pressure on his throat even as he pulled away. Before he backed beyond her reach, she curled those same fingers in, leaving the knuckles facing out. She punched once and hard at the same spot.
Patrick’s eyes bulged as his hands went to his throat. He staggered back toward the table, his weight carrying him until his thighs met the wooden edge. Then he turned, sprawling over the tabletop, one hand keeping him upright, the other clawing at his throat.
‘Breathe,’ Audra said, moving away from the wall.
Patrick stared at her as he gasped.
‘Just breathe,’ she said, miming with her hands, circular movements like she was coaching a singer. ‘Big breaths, slow and easy. I learned that in self-defense class. Never had to use it before, but it’s good to know it works.’
Patrick lowered himself back into the chair he’d jumped from less than a minute before, his rage washed away. Now he looked like his true self: a weak and pathetic man in thrall to his mother.
‘Listen to me,’ Audra said. ‘Listen good. You don’t get to touch me anymore. Not ever. You don’t own me, or my children. We are not your possessions. You never really loved our children, but I do. Now, I’m going to find Sean and Louise. You can either help me or get out of my way. Which is it?’
He coughed, spat on the carpet. ‘You’re insane.’
‘Thought so,’ she said. ‘Get out, and don’t come back.’
He glared up at her. ‘You think I’m just going to back off?’
Audra pointed at the door. ‘Go. Now.’
Patrick got to his feet, coughed, and spat again. He lifted his jacket from the carpet and walked to the door. Without turning to look at her, he said, ‘You’ll suffer for this.’
‘I know,’ Audra said.
26
PATRICK LEFT THE room, and a moment later Audra heard the front door open and close, then a swell of voices as the reporters swarmed him. She looked toward the window that faced out onto the street. Through the net curtain she saw them, like crows on carrion. They hushed as Patrick said something, microphones and recorders under his nose. Then a roar as he finished, pushing his way through them.
Monsters, all of them. Ghouls seeking flesh to sell. Yet it was she who was painted as a beast. The killer of her own children.
Audra watched as Patrick fought his way to a car double-parked across the road, the reporters hounding him all the way. He blasted the horn to make them move, then a squeal of tires as he took off, the reporters dancing out of his path.
They drifted, their focus lost, huddled into smaller groups. Women fixed their makeup. Men fixed their hair. Cameramen and sound engineers fussed. Some moved to the diner across the way.
‘I’m a monster?’ Audra asked the empty room.