Detective Warren frowned at O, then turned back to me. “You ever try to find your mom?”
“No.” I hesitated, fingered my side. “I, um, I assumed something bad had happened. I know I ended up in the hospital, seriously injured. Then my aunt arrived. I never saw my mother again and my aunt never brought it up. I assumed…I assumed maybe I’d done something to her.”
“Police received a nine-one-one summons to the residence. They found you, covered in blood. Further search turned up two plastic bins with human remains in the hall closet. A warrant was issued for your mom, but she was never arrested.”
“But you said you found her.”
“You said you’ve been talking to your aunt,” O interjected, demanding my attention. “She here, visiting? Or did you talk to her by phone?”
“She’s here—”
“Where?”
“My room—”
“When did she arrive?”
“This morning.”
“What about last night?”
“What about last night?”
“Where’d you go after speaking to us yesterday? You talk to your aunt, hang out with friends, take the dog for a walk?”
“I went home. I’d worked the night before and I hadn’t slept. I was exhausted.”
“Was your landlord home?” D.D. spoke up, swinging my attention back to her. “Did she see you coming or going, can she vouch for you?”
“I don’t know. Wait. No. I had Tulip, and Tulip’s not allowed inside, but it was too cold for her outside so I snuck her in the back door.”
“Meaning no one saw you come home.” Detective O’s turn.
“That would be sneaking.”
“What about this morning?” Detective Warren again.
“I left at four—”
“A.M.?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Used to working nights remember? I went to the gym.”
“So at four A.M., people saw you.” Detective O. “But not before that.”
“I don’t know!” I threw up my hands.
“Yes, you do. You were trying not to be seen and you were successful.” Detective Warren. “Ergo, no one saw you.”
“You said you knew where my mother was!”
“I do.”
“Where?”
“She ever call you Abigail?” Detective O.
“What? No. I’m Charlene. Charlie. Just because I added two names doesn’t mean I don’t know my own.”
Detective O arched a brow. “Oh, seems to me there’s plenty you don’t know.”
“I want to know where my mother is!”
“Colorado,” D.D. said.
“You have an address?”
D.D., watching me. “In a manner of speaking.”
“I want it.”
“Don’t worry, she’s not going anywhere.”
I paused, regarded both detectives more warily. “Is it a prison? Did they finally catch her?” Then a heartbeat later. “No, because if she’d been arrested, there would’ve been a trial and someone would’ve contacted me. I would’ve been a witness.” Another hesitation, the wheels of my brain churning. “Mental hospital? She cracked, finally revealed her inner lunatic, and they locked her up.”
“You think she’s crazy?” Detective O asked.
“She hurt me. She killed two babies. Of course she’s crazy!”
“You didn’t even remember. What does that make you?”
I drew up short, staring at the young detective. And in that moment, I finally got it. Detective O wasn’t spending this conversation horrified by my mother’s actions. She was horrified by me.
The girl who lived it and barely remembered it. The girl who at least got to roam through a house, while her baby sister and baby brother lived and died in a coat closet. The girl who then stole her dead siblings’ names.
I’d spent my whole life fearing I’d hurt my mom. Now I wished I could go back and do exactly that. Maybe if I’d done such a thing, I would’ve had at least one moment in my life worth remembering, one recollection that brought comfort.
“She’s dead,” Detective Warren stated now. “Listed as a Jane Doe in Boulder. It occurred to me that she probably adopted an alias after the night she stabbed you—”
“What?”