I nod. I’m anxious to go start looking for Ken, but I know that I owe Jacks. “It really isn’t that difficult if you concentrate. I’ll show you.”
His eyes slide toward me and I think he’s going to say something light. But then he gets up and climbs next to me on the bed. He’s so close to me that for a moment I’m paralyzed. After being alone for so long, it’s nice to have someone close to me, someone who isn’t trying to hurt me. I’d forgotten how good that can feel. His arm brushes mine and my skin burns under my synth-suit. After a few long seconds I adjust my position and move away. If there’s one thing I can’t afford right now, it’s to get close to someone else.
I start to read aloud, and for a tiny moment I forget where I am. I forget New Hope and the Ward. I forget about finding Ken and being in Fort Black. I allow myself to forget everything . . . everything but Baby.
I could never forget Baby.
After a few minutes I stop and Jacks gets off the bed.
“We should continue this later,” he says. “I need to go to work and you should rest some more.”
I’ve been sleeping for two days. What I need now is a plan of action. “No more resting. I’m going to look for Ken.”
“Sorry, you’ll need to stay here, in the cell,” Jacks says apologetically. “Just for a while. I can’t take you with me to work and if I don’t do my hours, I lose this palace you’ve been lounging in . . . no matter whose nephew I am.”
I stare at him. “I’m not actually a prisoner. I can leave if I want.”
“It’s not safe for you to walk around without me. Not until word gets out that you’re with me.”
I nod. I understand, but I hate that he’s locking me up again, even if I have a key. I know I can’t go out in Fort Black without him. I don’t even want to risk it. He clanks the door shut apologetically and disappears.
Before he leaves, he pauses in the entryway. “I left something for you . . . on the table,” he tells me, staring at the floor. “You should know what you’re up against.”
I rush to the table, thinking he has info on Baby or Ken, but the file is about one person: Ellis Lawson. Tank. Deflated, I open it and look at the first page; there’s no mistaking that hard face staring back at me from his mug shot with a creepy, crooked smirk.
I skim through the pages, then start back at the beginning and read through each page one by one.
The second page is an information sheet on his crimes. Sentenced to sixty years to life for the disappearances of two teenaged girls, one seventeen, one fifteen, both of whose bodies were never found.
Next is a court transcript. Testimonial, Daniel Nahon, ten years old:
I threw the Frisbee far, past the trees, and Cordy went to grab it. She was taking a long time, so I followed and saw a big man pulling her by the neck into a green car. I ran at them and shouted, but the man just looked at me. He put his hand to his neck and pulled it across, like he was going to cut off my head if I didn’t shut up. But he had Cordy, so I yelled louder and ran after the car as he drove away. Then I found a policeman in the park and told him what had happened.
I close my eyes, sickened. What a thing for a little boy to witness. A kid just a few years older than Baby. The girl just a few years younger than myself. What happened to her? The body wasn’t found. No coroner’s report to read.
Then there’s a newspaper article in with the papers, dated the year I started high school.
Ellis Lawson was convicted today of the murders of Cordelia Embry and Jasmine Norman. Though their bodies were not found, there was eyewitness testimony, and DNA evidence was found in Lawson’s house. Lawson is suspected of abducting three other girls, but the district attorney did not have sufficient evidence to charge Lawson with those crimes. The families of the girls have pleaded with Lawson to reveal the location of the bodies, but Lawson asserts his innocence. There will be a memorial service for Cordelia Embry at Harrison’s Funeral Home on Tuesday at two p.m.
So Tank was caught, seen snatching one girl, and convicted of murdering her and another, but he was smart enough to hide the bodies. How many other missing girls was he responsible for, ones that the cops didn’t know about? Tank isn’t just a dumb brute; he’s a serial killer.
A bit of handwritten ink catches my eye. Lacking almost any moral fiber, can be used for a vast array of tasks. I fold up the papers with a shudder and shove them under my pillow.
In the After, even a serial killer can get a job.
I pace the cell, anxious for Jacks to get back. Even though I know why I should stay here, I just can’t. I grab the drawing of the man I believe is Ken, pull out my key, and head toward the door.
Just as I’m about to open the lock and let myself out, I hear a voice. “Hey!” I look up to find a petite, slim woman staring at me through the cell door. “Do you know when Jacks will be back?”