He directs my attention to the computer. “?‘Youth Encounter Christian Ministry helps young foster and refugee women see their potential, practice healthy behaviors, and prevent teen pregnancy by teaching life skills and giving the girls a sense of purpose.’?”
“Yeah, we sewed and did crafts and shit while they talked to us about making good life choices. Clearly, it worked.”
“Was this woman in charge when you were there?” He points to the photo of a woman with a lace-collared blouse, pearls, and tightly held-back hair. “Is she who you emulated your new look after?”
She’s exactly who I was trying to look like, minus the long hair tied back into a tight bun. Emmaline Markham.
I nod. “She was the only woman who ever seemed to care about me. We talked a lot. She was the reason I started getting good grades and getting my shit together.”
“Did she spend the same kind of time with the other girls in the class?”
“She interviewed each of us when we first started the classes, but I was the one she talked to the most. I don’t know. We just sort of hit it off. She was really nice. She made me feel less like a freak for being in foster care. A couple times she took me home after class when I stayed behind to help her prepare the materials for class the next day.”
He goes back to pounding the keyboard and clicking the mouse. There’s a determined set to his mouth. He squints at the screen. Shakes his head. Does some more clicking, and up pops a photo of one of the girls he showed me earlier with Emmaline.
“She got close to Rosalyn Bauer too,” he says. “I found this photo on Rosalyn’s Facebook page. I bet I could find a connection between Emmaline Markham and the other girls too. Emmaline took an interest in them, culled them from the group, and told Javier about them.”
“No. She wouldn’t do that.”
“She and the classes are only link I can find between you and the other girls who had the tattoo and disappeared. That’s not a coincidence.”
“She wouldn’t do that.”
“I know you don’t want to believe it, but how else do you explain it?”
I open my mouth, expecting my brain to come up with something—anything—that will prove Emmaline’s innocence, but nothing comes out. He’s right. It is too big a coincidence to be a fluke. My mind spins with the realization that the time I spent with Emmaline was all a lie. All of those questions she asked, making me think she was so interested in me, that she liked me, that I was worthwhile to someone, were all to steal my life from me and send me straight to hell. How could I have been so fucking gullible? I told her things I’ve never told anyone else. The only other person I’ve confided in to that extent is Beau.
He watches me work through it all, waiting patiently, never judging. No one was ever there for me the way he’s there for me. No one ever got me the way he gets me. I don’t know what he gets out of being with me, but I know it’s nowhere near what I’ve gotten from being with him.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, squeezing my hand. “What she did was fucking cruel to you and the other girls.”
“A part of me wants to keep denying it, but the other part just can’t. The evidence is too overwhelming. God, I was such a fucking idiot. I thought she was my friend. I thought he was in love with me. How could I have been so stupid?”
“You were young and needed someone to love and believe in you, and you had no one. You and the other girls were the perfect targets. Like shooting fish in a barrel. Those assholes took advantage of you. It’s not your fault. They’re pros. They knew what to say to get you and the others to believe them.”
“Still. I don’t know. I thought I knew it all when I was fourteen. I didn’t know shit.”
“None of us did. You’re not supposed to. That’s what the adults are for. To help us. Only the adults in your life failed you.”
“An understatement.”
“The thing that’s been driving me bat-shit crazy during all this is why would Javier go after Marie? She doesn’t fit with the type he seems to prefer. She’s not white and she has a sibling—you—who might come looking for her. Emmaline didn’t vet her. She breaks type. I can’t see him taking a chance on her unless he had a damn good reason. I keep going back to—why her?”
“To get back at me for escaping? To replace me? Who the hell knows why?”
I know why. He’s hoping to draw me out. He doesn’t want her. He wants me.
“Something about it just doesn’t sit right.” He goes back to working the keyboard.
I stand and pace away. I can’t sit still. Beau is right. He’s breaking type for a very specific reason. I was such an idiot to think I could find Marie and get away. I never should’ve come back here. I never should’ve told Javier about Marie. God, I was so, so stupid. I should disappear like I told Beau I might. Go back where it’s safe, where no one will get hurt.
“You told Javier about Marie after you were together for a while, didn’t you?” he asks. “Just before you got the tattoo.”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell Emmaline about her?”