The Night Sister

Rose looked out the window into the growing darkness.

“They’ll be coming with my medicine soon,” she said, her dark eyes flicking back to the door. “We don’t have much time.”





Jason


Jason regarded the scene before him and wished like hell that there had been a tractor-trailer accident on River Road, like he’d told Margot. As much as he’d hated lying to her yet again, especially after last night, he knew he couldn’t tell her the truth. If he told her about it, she’d want details, and a crime like this was the last thing any parent or parent-to-be wanted to hear about.

He remembered what Margot had told him last night: “Sometimes a lie isn’t what’s said, but what’s unsaid. An omission.”

Later, when he went to get into bed, she’d told him icily that she’d prefer it if he’d sleep on the couch.

“What?” he’d asked, stunned.

“I think we both need some space,” she told him flatly. “And time to think things over.”

He’d spent the night tossing and turning on the lumpy couch, replaying every decision that had led to this. Surely it would blow over, was just a matter of Margot’s hormones making her overly sensitive—he’d never seen her so cold before. But, then, he’d never really lied to her before, had he? And he shouldn’t have pushed her about her own omissions, not now. Not when being upset could put both her and the baby at risk.

He pushed the thought away and went back to scanning the crime scene, every horrific inch of it.

The girl had been found by two fifth-graders walking home after school. There was a path that ran through the woods behind London Elementary School to Butler Street. A lot of kids took it. The muddy ground was covered in footprints and bike tire tracks. It was a goddamn thoroughfare. So how is it that no one had seen or heard a thing?

The girl’s name was Kendra Thompson. The kids who’d found her recognized her right away, in spite of the condition she was in. Her face was intact, but her body…it looked…like it had fallen into the lion pit at the zoo. Jason had never seen anything like it. Not even in those zombie movies he watched. That stuff—that was nothing.

“Where’s Louisa?” a woman called. Jason turned. It was Mrs. Buffum. She’d worked in the front office since Jason was a kid, and it was clear she’d be there till she died. Mrs. Buffum was part of the school, like the brick outside and the cracked porcelain bathroom fixtures. Her well-padded rear end had earned her the unimaginative nickname “Mrs. Buttum” back when Jason was a kid. He wondered if anyone called her that still.

“Louisa?” Jason asked. He was the nearest officer, the one who was supposed to be controlling the crowd, keeping the people back, while the state crime-scene guys did their job.

“Louisa Bellavance. Or ‘Lou,’ I guess she calls herself. She came in to school earlier today. I was surprised to see her—I thought she was taking some time away. But I looked out at the playground during morning recess and there she was, playing with Kendra. They were sitting together on the swings, laughing.”

“You’re sure?” Jason said. “You’re sure it was Lou you saw her with?” Jason’s heart slammed in his chest.

“Positive. I thought how nice it was that Louisa had come back, that she was playing with her best friend. It seemed like just what she needed after all that horrible business with her family—to be a normal kid again, playing on the playground.”

Jason jogged over to the group gathered around the body, and tried to keep his face composed while he delivered the news. “Hey, Chief Bell, a school employee just told me the victim was last seen with Lou—Louisa Bellavance. The kid from the motel.”

“Jesus,” said Tony Bell. “So maybe our guy kills Kendra and grabs Louisa.”

“Or maybe she ran?” one of the state cops suggested.