I didn’t think it was possible for Porter’s shoulders to slump any lower, but they do. “So she’s really gone, too. Lucas said you and your mama left town without telling him. We never found her body, though, and when—” He stops and shakes his head. “When your body showed up in Delaware, it seemed to support his story. There wasn’t anything to tie him to your death, but I never believed him. But . . . if Lucas didn’t kill you, then who did?”
“You need to listen, okay, Pa? Lucas is bringing women—girls, really—into the country. Mostly Eastern European. He has some contacts, apparently pretty important ones, who help him get around port security. The girls think they’re here to train for nanny jobs or other work, but they’re selling them for—well, what they always sell girls for. When he found out what I overheard about his . . . business, I think Lucas sold me to someone. Lucas called him Craig, but I don’t know if it’s a first name or last. And I’m positive Lucas understood what happens to the girls he hands over to Craig. I saw him kill another girl who was there with me.”
Something isn’t right. I haven’t asked many questions about the circumstances of Molly’s death, both because she didn’t seem to want to think about it in too much detail and because I’ll know all of the details eventually anyway, whether I want to or not. But I can tell that she’s hiding something. Of course, she’s talking to her grandfather, who’s already upset and apparently not in perfect health. Maybe she’s just trying to avoid putting him through further distress.
“He kept . . . souvenirs, Pa.” She reaches out my left hand and rests it against his leg, and for a second, my pinky disappears, replaced by a bloody nub, bright red against the khaki fabric of his pants. And then it’s just my hand again, but I feel the faint throb of remembered pain. “He had six, maybe seven, and that was nearly three years ago. So yeah, you need to get Lucas, but you have to find Craig, too.”
Porter’s shoulders are shaking as tears flow down his cheeks. One catches on the edge of his moustache and hangs there momentarily, until his lower lip trembles and the tear shakes loose, falling to the carpet. “I’m so sorry, Molly. So sorry. I’ll find them, baby, I will.”
“I know you will, Pa.” She rests my head against his knee again.
You’ll help him, won’t you, Anna? You said you’ll know everything that I know after I’m gone, so I can count on you, right?
The voice in my head is calmer now, less frantic.
What? No, Molly. I didn’t mean it earlier. I was frightened, but it’s okay. I understand. I’ll let you see him again, and you can tell him everything.
It always ends a bit differently. Some of them leave slowly, and I assimilate their memories gradually as they kind of fade away. Others simply vanish without even saying good-bye. When Emily MacAlister finished the last letter of that crossword puzzle, her quest was complete and her voice in my head just disappeared. Over the next few weeks, my subconscious unpacked the Emily memories and filed them away with the others. And each night, I’d dream about her last moments—vivid at first, then fading away. Each night, I’d taste the slightly too-sweet tea she’d been drinking and struggle to come up with a seven-letter word for a glandlike growth (second letter d, fourth letter n). The dreams about her death had been boring, working on that same puzzle over and over, but at least they were peaceful. I have no illusions that Molly’s will be anything other than nightmares. I don’t want her to go yet. I don’t want those dreams.
It’s okay, Anna. I’m not sure I can really leave until I know this is over. But I don’t want to talk to Pa again—I mean, I do want to, but I can’t. I can’t talk to him about what happened to me. I can’t stand him looking like it’s his fault somehow. Talking to him is just too painful and it’s too . . .
She doesn’t complete the thought, so I do it for her.
Too tempting?
Yes. Pa believes us now, and it wouldn’t be good for him to get used to having me around again, even a pale, blue-eyed version. It wouldn’t be good for any of us. And I don’t like fighting against you like that.
She turns back to Porter and takes his hand, pressing it against my cheek. His eyes are squeezed shut, his head down. “Pa, you be careful, okay? Listen to your doctor and take your medicine.”
A brief pause and then, “No, Molly. You can’t go. You need to tell me everything, to be sure we catch—”
“Pa,” she interrupts. “I can’t. I need to start looking for Mama and Mimmy now, so you and Anna will have to take it from here. She will know everything I do. She’ll help you. Trust her, okay?”
He just stares for a long moment, tears brimming over his lower eyelids.
“I love you forever . . . ,” she says. The words are soft, rising a bit at the end, almost a question.
“And I love you forever more,” he replies, his voice breaking in the middle.
CHAPTER FOUR