Ike decided to stay with George last night to make sure he was okay. If there was a problem, he promised to let me know so I could tell Sniper. We all agreed I needed to let George have some space. My father never came to see me off when I left the McDermotts’ house, and for that, I’m glad. I guess he knew I was a wreck, and pushing me wouldn’t earn him any points. So when there’s a knock at my door the next afternoon, I huff, just knowing it’s him. And even though my father is the last person in the world I want to see right now, when I open my door and see who it is, I wish it was my father.
“Detective,” I say, morosely. A tiny woman is standing next to him, and behind her, a short man with thin hair. I recognize them immediately. They’re Casey’s parents. I saw them the first night I met Casey at the restaurant in Vermont.
“Ahem.” Someone clears their throat and I see Henry is behind them. “Forgive the intrusion, Charlotte. But may we come in?”
I look down at my sweatpants and Axel’s old T-shirt, realizing I look like hell after crying all night, but I open the door, unsure of what else to do, and let them all in. Once we’re all inside my small room, Henry and I sit on the end of the bed while the Purcells take a seat at the two chairs at the small table by the door. Detective Andrews stands rigidly next to them.
“Do you know who these people are?” Henry asks, jutting his chin toward the Purcells.
“Casey Purcell’s parents,” I answer.
“They’ve been in town since they discovered Casey’s body,” Henry explains. “I told them and the detective here, you may know more.” Frantically, my gaze meets his, and I want to feel betrayed, but when I see the sadness in his eyes, I know he only wants to give these people peace like I gave to him and Beverly. “It’s the right thing to do,” he tells me.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and then fix my gaze on Mrs. Purcell. “I met Casey in Vermont. You were having dinner with her sister. She was there . . . you just couldn’t see her. But I could. I have the ability to speak with the dead . . . their souls, that is. They’re caught in limbo with unfinished matters.” The Purcells glance back and forth to one another, and it’s not hard to tell they’re not swallowing the pill I’m giving them.
“Mr. McDermott, you said she had more information. This is absurd,” Detective Andrews intervenes.
“Just wait, Detective Andrews,” Henry insists, holding a hand up to him, before looking back to me and nodding once, telling me to continue.
“She said you guys were falling apart and were all a mess. That you all needed to know she was dead so you could let go of the hope you were clinging on to. I drove here to Virginia because I had to see her body for myself before I could report it. I made an anonymous report. I can see you’re having a hard time believing what I’m telling you, and that’s exactly what I was afraid of.”
“Do you know who killed her?” Mrs. Purcell asks timidly.
“Are you sure you want to know the details?”
The Purcells look to one another again before looking back to me. Mr. Purcell nods once.
“It was a Friday,” I begin, my stomach clenching as I remember Casey’s version of the events that transpired that night. “She was out with her roommate and her roommate’s boyfriend. They’d left her; they were drunk and got caught up in each other. They knew other people there, so they figured she’d be okay if they left. Casey mentioned an older guy asked her to dance. She thought he was cute, so she agreed. They had a few drinks and she started feeling woozy so she told him she was leaving. She was going to try and walk back to her apartment.”
Mr. Purcell shakes his head. “I told her never to walk alone at night.”
“Not now, Leonard,” Mrs. Purcell scolds. “Please, go on, dear,” she encourages.
“She blacked out at some point on the way home and when she came to he was . . .” I can’t say it. Not to them. It’s too horrific to think, let alone say out loud. Casey woke up in the back of a van, her face plastered to the floor as he raped her. Even she couldn’t finish without tearing up when she told me about it. My stomach is in knots but I know must continue. “He was . . . on top of her,” I manage, and the Parcells immediately keel over; crying.
“I should stop,” I say to Henry, who is rubbing circles on my back.
“No, we want to know,” Mrs. Purcell pipes up; her voice shaky. “If she endured it, I can at least endure hearing it.”