“Your doctor didn’t betray your trust, okay? I just did some checkin’ on my own—like I said, I still have some contacts on the police force. And you got a long paper trail, given how many years you’ve been in the system. You change foster homes more than most people change their underwear.”
I seriously hope that isn’t true, since my average is five or six months. But he’s correct that fifteen years leaves a lot of paper. “So, you’ve found out I’m a nutcase, Mr. Porter. Also a frequent runaway, occasional truant, and borderline delinquent. Why even bother talking to me?”
Porter’s mouth twists. “After talking to Dr. Kelsey, I decided I’d better return your phone.”
I hold up the phone and give him a tight little smile as I stand. “Mission accomplished, then. Thanks for the cocoa.”
I’m two steps away from the table, and I almost miss what he whispers. “It was the music.”
When I turn back, he’s sitting with his forehead cupped in folded hands, rubbing his thumbs against his temples.
“You asked me why I showed up today? It was the music. That recording. Molly—she’d always miss that one note if she hadn’t played the song in a while, and she’d make this little huffing noise ’cause she was pissed that she messed it up, you know? Just like this recording. I listened to it over and over, and it’s her. I know it is. So you gotta tell me where you found it.”
His eyes are sad, pleading, but I can see I’m not reaching him where it counts. “I’ve already told you, Mr. Porter. But you don’t believe me. Unless you want me to invent some lie that fits your take on reality, what else can I tell you?”
“I don’t want no lies from anyone,” he says. “If what you’re saying is true, let me talk to her. If Molly’s in your head or whatever, then let me—”
Yes, Anna. I can convince him. Please, it would just be for a moment and then—
“No.” I shake my head, adamant. “No way. Absolutely not. Not here.”
His sad look is gone, replaced by the earlier skepticism.
“No offense, Mr. Porter. But I don’t know you. I don’t know Molly that well, either.” That’s not really true. She’s been hounding me pretty much 24/7 since February. But I don’t know what Molly can hide from me. What she’s not telling me. “I’m not real big on trust, okay? I only let her borrow me before because Deo was there.”
I have no idea what Deo would have done if Molly had somehow kept control and tried to walk off with my body, but at least he would have known she wasn’t me. And he would have cared. I can’t say the same for Porter. He might decide having his granddaughter back, even a pale, skinny version, is better than the alternative.
“So,” he says, his voice rising slightly, “you only do this on your own turf? Where you can set somethin’ up in advance, somethin’ to make me think it’s Molly I’m talkin’ to? Who’s this Deo? He workin’ this little scam with you, Anna? ’Cause I think you’re too young to be in this all on your own.”
Just hearing Porter speak Deo’s name ignites a ball of fear in my stomach. “Deo’s just a kid. You leave him alone. This conversation is over.”
I move toward the exit. Molly’s screaming at me, and she’s strong enough, angry enough, that my feet feel like lead weights as I drag myself toward the door.
You know what Craig did to me, Anna! You know. It could be you next. It could be Deo. He knows people who are in the market for boys, especially boys like Deo. If he does that to someone else, if he kills someone else, it’s your fault, Anna. Your fault, ’cause you can stop it! You can—
No, Molly. I can’t.
I do the only thing I can in these circumstances . . . stack up the bricks in my mental wall. It won’t block her entirely, won’t get rid of her, but it will quiet her down to a dull, wordless roar.
I’m out the door, and Molly’s still with me, still yelling.
She comes with, whether I like it or not.
CHAPTER TWO
I’m late for my shift and Joe is going to explode—it’s the second time this week. I sprinted the mile plus from Glenmont station rather than waiting for the bus, which wasn’t scheduled for twenty minutes. Running has the added benefits of warming me up and keeping Molly’s protests down to a low, back-of-the-mind hum. I don’t know if it’s the endorphins or just the physical exertion, but it’s almost like having my head to myself. Almost.