So there it was. She lived alone at the house, worked at the Milk-n-Bread, and visited the nursing home when she could, even though her grandmother was becoming more confused and less likely to call Marie by the right name.
“But no,” she concluded, “I’m not a student or even a kid. I’m nobody. And there isn’t a single person who knows or even cares that I’m here right now. So there’s your honesty. And if it makes you want to kill me”—she held out her arms to us, naked wrists facing the ceiling—“then go right ahead and get it over with.”
Her attestation of adulthood was undercut somewhat by her continuing flair for the dramatic. The gesture wiped away any hurt feelings I had at having been lied to, and I found myself feeling a great deal of compassion for this young woman with a dead-end job and problems beyond those for which we were directly responsible.
“For God’s sake, put your arms down,” Nolan said. She lowered her arms to her sides. “You’re here because the three of us made some bad decisions, no more and no less. Personally, I don’t care whether you’re sixteen or nineteen or ninety. What matters is that we all keep on telling the truth.”
She glanced toward the blocked door, then back at Nolan. “Okay. So what else do you want to know?”
We wanted to know why there hadn’t been a single mention of the robbery on the radio or television. We wanted to know how it could be that nobody knew of her disappearance.
As she answered our questions, it was the closest we all ever came to talking like regular people. We began to understand why the police hadn’t yet pounded down the door. No other customers or employees had been in the store when she’d left. The store’s surveillance camera hadn’t worked since she’d taken the job.
And what about her replacement, we wondered, arriving at eight o’clock to find Marie nowhere on the premises?
“I’m not really known as the most reliable employee,” she explained. “It wouldn’t be the first time I ducked out before my shift ended.”
“But someone must be expecting you at home,” I said. “A boyfriend?”
She shook her head. “I meant it earlier when I told you I could keep this secret. I know you thought I was just a kid then, but now you know I’m not a kid. And I don’t have anyone to tell. So I hope you can believe me.”
I wanted badly to do just that. Probably if at that moment Nolan or Jeffrey had said, “Sure, Marie, we believe you,” I’d have helped to move away all the stuff blocking the door and, despite any feelings of trepidation, bade our hostage farewell. I’d have hoped for the best.
But as I’d told Marie earlier, it didn’t matter whether she could keep our secret. All that mattered was if we could imagine keeping it ourselves if we were in her shoes. How much, in other words, did we trust ourselves?
Nolan’s answer came when he stood up, walked over to the drum set, lifted up a cymbal in its stand, and hurled it across the room. It was a large cymbal, an eighteen-inch crash, and crash it did—violently so, before skidding toward the wall. I jolted in my seat. Marie gasped.
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK TO DO!” he shouted.
These were words I thought I’d never hear come out of Nolan’s mouth. Like the cymbal crash, they echoed crisply off the wooden floor and then were sucked out of the air and into the panels of soundproofing foam mounted on the walls.
Nobody moved or spoke for a few seconds, and in this silence the plan came to me fully formed. I became, for an instant, the quarterback able to visualize the entire field and all the players on it.
“Nolan,” I said, “please sit down for a minute.” He seemed not to mind taking instruction for a change. “Good. Now—Jeffrey, Nolan—I have an important question for you both. A simple question.” They were looking at me intently. “Do you believe her?”
She’d lied to us once; there was no reason why she wouldn’t do it again. And yet I found myself believing her. I did. And I wondered if the others did, too.
Jeffrey studied her a moment. “Yeah,” he said.
“I don’t know,” Nolan said. “Sure, why not.”
Hearing this, I went over to the door leading to the hallway and, trusting that I was doing the right thing, began to remove the equipment we’d stacked there.
“What are you doing?” Jeffrey asked. “Hey, wait a minute.”
“Will?” Nolan said, but that was all. He didn’t get up to stop me. Good. I didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to second-guess myself or have Nolan or Jeffrey try to talk me out of what I was doing—because they probably could have.
When there was nothing blocking the door any longer, I returned to my chair.
“Please, Marie,” I said, “would it be all right if I asked you just a couple more questions?”
She stayed where she was, though she was clearly eyeing the door.
“How much money do you make, working at the Milk-n-Bread?” I asked.
“Six-fifty an hour,” she said.
I did some quick calculations. “So that’s, what, about fifteen thousand a year?”
“Before taxes. Yeah, that’s about right.”
“And you say we can trust you.”