Don't Say a Word (Strangers Series) (4 page)

CHAPTER 6

ALLIE FOLLOWED THE therapist into the small treatment room and found Zoe sitting on a vinyl couch, the sleeves of her borrowed shirt stretched out over her hands as though she were trying to protect herself.

Allie took a seat in a chair next to the couch and peered at the girl. Zoe’s eyes flitted to Allie, then to a desk in the far corner of the room, the dark circles beneath her eyes and worry lines on her twelve-year-old forehead exaggerated by the overhead lighting.

The therapist took a seat in a recliner across from her. Allie studied the woman, who looked only a few years older than Allie. She wore casual clothing, a University of Texas pullover and yoga pants. Her red hair was up in a high ponytail, her legs casually crossed in her chair. Allie wondered if the casual clothes and posture had a purpose—to make frightened kids more comfortable. To help put them at ease.

The woman’s voice was soft and rich. “Like I explained before, Zoe, we’re recording our session so the investigating officers can hear your answers,” she said. “They’re listening to what you say today in hopes that it will help them identify the person who hurt your parents.”

Zoe stared at her. “But my father’s not . . .” Her voice trailed off. She looked down at her hands and started picking at her pink fingernail polish. When she looked up, her eyes were glistening. “Why . . . why is everyone saying my father’s dead?”

“Because he is, Zoe,” Renee said, gently. “You have been told that, right?”

Zoe folded her arms across her body and looked down.

“No one wants to make you uncomfortable . . . or to feel any pain. But there are a few questions we need to ask now. Okay?”

“But I don’t
want
to remember.”

The therapist leaned forward a little. “I understand, but it’s important that you try. There’s a bad man out there, and the police need to catch him before he hurts anyone else.”

Zoe stared into space.

“Do you know who killed your parents?” Renee asked.

Zoe’s face reddened. “Please. Quit saying my father
died
!”

“I’m sorry, Zoe, but he did die,” the woman corrected, gently. “Both your mother and father died Tuesday night. You do understand that, right?”

Zoe blinked.

“I know that your caseworker, Miss Judy, spoke with you and Carrie when—”

Zoe’s face suddenly crumpled. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Allie shifted in her seat. She felt like she was eavesdropping.

Renee stood and grabbed a box of tissues. She set them on the table in front of the girl.

When Zoe surfaced again a few minutes later, Renee asked the question again. “Do you know what happened that night? Who hurt your parents?”

Zoe reached for the tissue and shook her head. “You should ask Gary. Not me. Because I have no idea.”

“Who’s Gary?”

“My mother’s boyfriend.”

Renee furrowed her brow. “Were your parents separated?”

“No. My mother was cheating on my dad with Gary.”

“Oh.” Renee nodded. “Did your father know about Gary?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Do you know Gary’s last name?”

Zoe shook her head.

“Why do you think we should talk to Gary, Zoe?”

“Because he was there,” she said, softly.

“At your house . . . on Tuesday night?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it could’ve been Gary who hurt your mother and father?”

Zoe wrung her hands. “I guess. Maybe.”

“Can you tell me exactly what happened that night?”

“I don’t know what happened!” Zoe said, her tone whiny. “We were in our bedroom.”

The therapist nodded, then tried a different tactic. “Who was in the house the night your parents got hurt?”

“Just me, Carrie, my mother, and Gary.”

“Good, Zoe. Thank you.” Renee scribbled in her notebook. “So Gary was there. And your mother, you, and Carrie? Only the four of you?”

“Yes.”

“No one else?”

Zoe shook her head.

“So you’re saying your father wasn’t there?”

“No. He was working.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Would you say Gary’s a violent person?”

Zoe seemed to think about the question. After a while, she shrugged.

“Did you ever hear him yell?”

Zoe nodded.

“Did he and your mother ever argue?”

“Yes.”

“Did he ever hit your mother?”

Zoe thought about it. “No, I don’t think so. But I saw him push her before. Just once or twice.”

Renee nodded. “Was anyone acting upset that night?”

Zoe got a faraway look in her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Who?”

“My mother.”

“Your mother was upset?”

“Yeah.”

“What was she upset about, Zoe?”

“I don’t know. She’s always upset.”

“Who was she upset with?”

“Gary.”

Renee jotted something down. “Do you know why your mother was upset with Gary?”

Zoe squeezed her hands beneath her buttocks and rocked. She shook her head.

“Do you think you can tell me everything you remember?
Anything
would be helpful. It doesn’t matter how small or unimportant you think it is.”

A baby cried from somewhere else in the building. Zoe’s eyes flicked to the door, the direction of the sound, then she stared at the floor. She took a deep breath. “Our mother told us to stay in my bedroom because Gary was visiting, so Carrie and I watched a movie. While we were watching the movie, I heard my mother yell at Gary a couple of times. I remember because I had to keep turning the volume louder so we could hear the movie.”

“Okay, good. Very good, Zoe. Do you know what your mother and Gary were arguing about?”

“No.”

“Okay, so they were arguing. What happened after that?”

“It was kinda late, so we went to sleep.”

“And after you went to sleep?”

Zoe’s eyes welled up with tears. “I . . . I heard something.”

“What did you hear?”

The tears were now streaming out of Zoe’s eyes. “I’m not sure, but it was loud,” she said, her words thick with emotion. “Then a little while later, the front door slammed. I looked out the window and saw Gary leaving. His tires made noise on the road when he left. It woke Carrie up.

“After he left, it was really quiet. My mother always,
always
keeps the TV on loud when she’s alone, but she didn’t have it on. It scared me because it was really weird . . . it being so quiet in our house.”

The room was silent.

“What happened next?”

“Carrie and I knew something bad had happened . . . so we hid in my closet beneath a bunch of clothes. We were scared.”

Renee nodded, the expression on her face gentle. “You were in the house two days after it happened. Did you or Carrie talk to anyone during that time? Try to get help?”

“I kept trying to call my dad’s cell phone, but he didn’t answer.”

“I see,” Renee said, softly. “Did you hear anyone come or go after Gary left in his truck that night?”

“I don’t think so.” Zoe suddenly looked up at Renee. Her eyes no longer had that vacant look. They were very focused. “They were shot, weren’t they?”

“Yes, Zoe. I’m afraid they were.”

Zoe blinked, and her ears pinkened. “Where was my dad when he was shot?”

“I believe they said they found him in the master suite. In the bathroom.”

Zoe’s chin quivered. She grabbed her stomach and narrowed her eyes at Renee. “I
told
you I didn’t want to remember!” she said, sharply. She sprang from her chair. “I don’t want to answer your questions anymore. I want to leave.”

CHAPTER 7

WHEN ALLIE TURNED onto their road, she saw Johnny’s truck parked next to the house.

She felt her shoulders sag.
Oh—God, no. Not now.

Sammy’s father, Johnny, lived two hours away, in Dallas. Even though he’d texted a few days ago, saying he’d be by soon, Allie hadn’t counted on it. She didn’t have the mental energy for Sammy’s father. She just wanted to be alone with her son. To take a nap. Escape beneath heavy blankets with Sammy and close her eyes for an hour or two.

Bitty stiffened in the passenger seat, but she didn’t say anything. When it came to Johnny, Bitty usually kept her mouth shut. Allie was thankful, because any defense she might try to launch for her continued relationship with the man would be a joke.

As they pulled into the drive, Sammy woke up. “Daddy!” he screamed, fumbling with the buckles on the straps of his car seat, anxious to free himself. “Daddy’s here!”

After Allie unbuckled the little boy, he scrambled out of his seat. “Daddy! Daddy!” he yelled, flying past Allie, and sprinting to the house.

When Allie got inside, Johnny was on the living room couch, with the television on. Sammy was already in his lap, his little arms wrapped around Johnny’s neck.

“I missed you, Daddy!”

“I missed you, too, little man. What’s been cooking?”

Allie shrugged her coat off and hung it on the coatrack, then watched the two from the foyer.

At first, Johnny had seemed perfect for her. He was ruggedly handsome, strong, fun, funny, laid back,
completely
carefree. He used to make her laugh, and he held her at night. And outside of her dead brother, Johnny had been the only guy who’d ever been truly nice to her and made her feel wanted. Johnny had been all those wonderful things.

But he was other things, too.

Sammy used to spend a good amount of time standing in the front window of the house, pressing his little hands to the glass, waiting for Johnny. Most of those times had ended in tears because Johnny never showed. Thankfully, Sammy hadn’t done that for a while. Over time, he’d seemed to have learned, just as Allie had, that Johnny did what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it—and he often changed his mind without informing anyone.

Bitty and the girls walked into the foyer and hung up their coats. “What do you guys think about resting for a bit? Does that sound good?” Bitty asked the girls, her voice sounding weary.

“Okay,” Zoe said.

“Need any help?” Allie asked.

“No, we’re fine,” Bitty said. “Tend to your company.” She planted a kiss on Allie’s cheek, and nodded to the girls. “Come on. Let’s get you settled in.” The old woman and the twins disappeared down the hallway.

When Allie turned back around, she almost jumped. Johnny was standing in front of her, beaming. He was holding a red rose. “This bud’s for you, li’l bit,” he said, and laughed . . . as always, working his charm.

He opened his arms wide, anticipating a hug.

Lifting an eyebrow, she folded her arms tightly across her chest.

“Well, don’t look so enthusiastic,” he said, the grin still frozen on his face.

“I’m just tired.” Lying was much easier. Besides, he lied, too. In fact, nearly everything that came out of his mouth was a lie. It had simply taken her a while to want to see it. After catching Johnny in his first lie, something broke a little inside of her, and a thin wall went up. When the lies kept coming, the wall grew thicker. Then, without realizing it, her heart had hardened against him and she realized she no longer felt comfort when he touched her.

But still, Allie had clung to her relationship with Johnny out of need. She used to think his deceit was the price she was supposed to pay for him to accept her, because she’d had little self-worth. But she no longer thought that way. As she grew to love and finally accept herself, imperfections and all, her feelings for Johnny had slowly cooled. Now they were iced over.

“Well, aren’t you at least surprised?”

“That you showed up? That you finally did something you said you’d do? Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

Sammy appeared next to him, clutching two Lego figures. She noticed the boy shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do you have to go potty?”

He shook his head.

But she knew better. She knew he’d rather wet himself than miss a rare moment with his father.

She pointed in the direction of the bathroom. “Go. Now.”

“But Mommy!”

She shot him one of her firm mommy looks. He stared at her, weighing how serious she was, then reluctantly darted off toward the bathroom. When he’d disappeared down the hallway, she pushed past Johnny, into the living room. Her arms folded protectively across her middle, she sat down on the ottoman.

Johnny walked around the ottoman. He placed his strong hands on her shoulders, slid her forward in her seat, and slipped in behind her. “I missed you,” he whispered, his breath warm on her earlobe.

He sounded so affectionate.

So genuine.

For years, she craved hearing those words from him, because it was as good as it got.

He pressed his warm lips to her neck and kissed it softly. She breathed in the musky, clean scent of his Cool Water cologne . . . a scent she used to spray on her pillowcases because it made Johnny feel close when he really wasn’t: physically or emotionally. Those were the days when every inch of her would ache when she didn’t get to see him. The days he made her breathless.

Now it was difficult not to shrink from his touch.

“I need money to take Sammy to the dentist,” she said. She used to beat around the bush when it came to the things she needed from him, afraid he would say no. Afraid of rejection. But that had never worked, so now it was time for a new strategy. Besides, Bitty had been having money problems lately, which meant Allie was now pitching in more with the monthly household expenses.

Johnny’s mouth was no longer on her neck. “Sorry, li’l bit, but I’m broke. But hey, look, I promise I’ll send you some this week.” He nuzzled closer to her again.

She twisted on the ottoman. “But you say that every time, Johnny. Don’t you realize that? And when . . .
when
do you ever come through for us? Tell me. When?”

Johnny stared at her with the blank look he always got when he didn’t know how to answer one of her questions. He stood and returned to the couch. He sat down, the springs protesting beneath his weight.

“Look, babe. I don’t want to argue. I came here to spend some time with you and my boy. I just wanted us to have fun. That’s all. So please, don’t do this.”

After returning from the Child Advocacy Center, Carrie crawled into bed and squeezed her eyes closed. She was desperate to find sleep . . . to slam shut the door on the nightmare that her life had suddenly become.

She heard Zoe pacing the floor, humming and muttering to herself. A moment later, she felt Zoe sit next to her on the bed. “Carrie?” she said softly.

Carrie kept her eyes shut.

“I know you can hear me. Look at me.”

Carrie reluctantly opened her eyes. Zoe was perched on the side of the bed, her eyes red and full of fear. “They keep saying Dad’s dead. Why do they keep saying that?”

Warm tears slid down Carrie’s face. They’d already been through this before.

Zoe’s eyes were desperate. “Carrie? Why? Why do they keep saying . . .”

Carrie studied her sister, wondering if she really could have forgotten the monstrous things they’d witnessed Tuesday night. “You really don’t know, do you?” she whispered.

Zoe shook her head.

Carrie could see that she was telling the truth. “Because he is,” Carrie answered. “It’s true. He
is
dead.”

Zoe gasped. Her eyes filled with tears, then what looked like rage. Her face grew beet red and her jaw tensed—and for a long moment, Carrie thought Zoe was going to hit her. But instead, she buried her face into a pillow and started screaming. She screamed so hard and long, the side of her face grew red and the big blood vessel in her neck throbbed.

Carrie wanted to take care of Zoe . . . to protect her . . . like she always had, but she didn’t have the energy to even move. If she had, she’d be searching the bathroom for a razor blade. She’d been cutting for months. Her arms, her stomach, her legs . . . aside from the pills their mother used to give them, it was the only thing that eased the pain when it became unbearable.

And right now, it was unbearable.

But she was so exhausted, just the idea of standing was overwhelming, so she merely closed her eyes . . . and wished for the millionth time that their mother had never met Gary.

Three Months Before the Murders

The night Carrie and Zoe first met Gary, their mother had walked into Zoe’s bedroom, holding the brush—and made Zoe sit in front of the vanity mirror so she could brush her long dark hair. The woman hummed as she brushed, a weird, empty look in her eyes.

Every time their mother had something important to say, she’d come in with the brush. And she’d brush their hair way too hard, for way too long, until she finally got around to saying whatever was on her mind. She didn’t brush Carrie’s anymore. Just Zoe’s . . . because Zoe was the confident, stubborn one.

Zoe was also the one she blamed.

In fact, their mother barely addressed Carrie anymore. It was almost as though, over the years, she’d become invisible. But Carrie kind of liked being invisible. Carrie also adored Zoe. She was everything Carrie never would be: beautiful, fearless, funny, confident. While most people starred in the movie of their own lives, Zoe was the star in Carrie’s.

She always had been.

Since the death of their little brother, Joey, both of their parents had changed. Their father took more routes as a long-haul trucker, and came home only one or two nights a week. Their mother began using alcohol and pills, and slept during the day and hung out with new male “friends” at night. She met them at the supermarket, at the gas station, the 7-Eleven, the Laundromat. Men were attracted to their mother. She was a beautiful woman.

On the outside.

Over the last three years, many men came and went. Guys with beards, mustaches, goatees, a few with shaven faces. All made their home feel and smell a little different. Carrie and her sister longed for their dad to be home more. They adored him. With him, they felt safe. But he was gone a lot, so most of the time they were alone with their mother.

On the nights their mother went out, she’d drug Carrie and Zoe with Xanax to make sure they slept through the evening and well into the night so they didn’t get into any trouble. It was cheaper and more reliable than a babysitter, and she was always able to get more pills from a bald-headed pharmacist “friend” she’d been seeing off and on since Joey’s accident. She gave them two or three . . . sometimes even four . . . Xanax that would make them drowsy about fifteen minutes later. Then, often the next thing they knew, it was the following morning. Or afternoon.

Carrie watched her sister from the newly carpeted floor, every nerve in her body standing at attention. She studied the reflection of her sister’s eyes in the vanity mirror, wondering how she was going to react. To see if their mother’s little visit was going to end up badly.

Zoe had become somewhat of a loose cannon over the last few years—often fluctuating between being really sweet and helpful to their mother, or being mouthy and throwing the woman into a rage.

The brush paused midair, and the humming stopped. Their mother reached for her glass. In two gulps, she finished her drink and set the glass back down, the ice clinking as it settled to the bottom.

She cleared her throat. “I want you girls to meet a new friend of mine tonight. His name is Gary. He’s . . . he’s different than my other friends.”

Carrie saw Zoe’s ears redden. Both girls, especially Zoe, hated that their mother had “friends.”

“Did you hear me, Zoe?”

Zoe nodded.

Their mother’s tone softened and she suddenly laughed. “You know what’s hysterical? We met at the Stop n Buy. We were both looking for Bloody Mary mix. It was midnight, and we were both at the store looking for the same thing.” She studied her own reflection in the mirror and smiled. “It was like it was meant to be.”