“I don’t believe you. You sick, murdering bastard.”
“I got no reason to lie now, do I? But playtime is over. Let’s finish this.” He gestured. “Your mother’s this way. It’s too crowded over here, so I’m putting you right beside Mommy.”
He turned his back.
She pictured him lying on the ground in a pool of blood.
If only she had a pistol, or a knife, or another rock.
She put one foot in front of the other. The wind picked up, singing sweetly through the branches.
She kept walking until she saw it—a gaping hole, freshly dug—a shovel cast to the side.
Could she reach the shovel?
She broke into a run.
Panting sounded behind her, and then he had her by the collar.
Elbow bent, his arm dropped across her neck.
She ducked her chin, and he squeezed, tighter and tighter. “I’m not a bad man. I’m only doing what has to be done.”
Me too.
Above her, the stars blazed in the sky.
It takes a dark night to reveal heaven’s beauty.
With both hands, she grabbed the arm he’d clasped around her neck and dropped her body weight, opening up just enough space for her to take a breath.
And then another.
“You’re a hellcat, just like your mother. She fought like crazy. But you can’t beat me. Take it easy, and it’ll be over quicker.”
He’s panting, tired.
Fight!
She flailed one arm above her head, found his hand, and jammed her fingers between his.
Pull! Twist!
“Whore!”
“Not a whore! We’re not your whores!” She kicked her leg back, connecting with his crotch.
Screaming, he loosened his hold on her.
She spun around, punched him in the chest.
He lunged back, and then his foot slipped out from under him.
He tumbled into the open grave, sending mud blasting up like shrapnel.
Run!
No! Stay!
She dropped to her knees, her body racked with sobs. Her mother was here, and she wasn’t going to leave her alone in the woods.
Nor Celeste, nor Keisha.
Mia was going to stay put and make dead certain that Arnie never hurt anyone again.
Stretching out in the mud, she coaxed the shovel toward her. Then she crawled to the edge of the open grave and looked down.
Arnie lay at the bottom, prone, blood oozing from his skull.
She sat back on her haunches and raised the shovel overhead, ready to knock him down if he came to and tried to climb out of the hole where he belonged. She’d stay here all night, all day, however long it took.
Her hands cramped, but she didn’t quit.
Her back ached, but she didn’t relent.
Rain came and went.
Wind blew.
She was still at her post, shovel raised, when, at last, she heard the sirens.
Epilogue
Four months later
The echo of a heavy metal door slamming shut behind her reverberated in Mia’s ears. In a show of bravado, she pushed up her chin. She might fool the casual observer, but she couldn’t fool herself. Though unblemished on the outside, beneath her skin the dead had carved ciphers into her bones.
Striding beside her, Isaiah kept his eyes lowered, his hands pushed into his emptied pockets. Per the rules, his belongings, and Mia’s, had been stowed in lockers outside the family visitation room. They’d followed the dress code, avoiding khakis and denim so as not to be confused with prisoners or guards.
“Don’t be scared.” Isaiah kept his voice low.
“I’m not.”
She’d pictured prison differently. Stark walls. The stench of unwashed flesh.
But here, in the visitation room, the walls were a blue-gray, which, if not for their industrial sheen, might be considered soothing. The air smelled like shampoo and cookies, and children climbed the bolted down furniture, the chirp of their young voices bouncing off the walls.
Still, though uncuffed once they entered the room, the women were dressed in prison garb, and the weight of decimated lives hung oppressively in the air.
In a far corner of the room, Alma raised a thin arm, signaling them. She waited at a round metallic table, whose seats were attached to long tubes arcing from the body like spider legs.
Through a maze of tables and families, Mia and Isaiah picked their way over to her. The fluorescent light bouncing off her orange jumpsuit, gave her skin a jaundiced tone. Like trellised ivy, streaks of gray wound into her auburn hair. Her eyes seemed big and beautiful.
“Thank you for coming,” Alma said.
“We’re here like we agreed.” Isaiah’s voice sounded strained.
Mia said nothing as she sat down on one of the attached seats. She wasn’t here to gratify Alma.
“I thought you might have questions, Mia.” But Alma wasn’t looking at her. She was watching Isaiah as she spoke. She and Mia hadn’t talked since the day Baxter had abducted her.
Mia had no more illusions regarding this woman. She realized Alma orchestrated today’s visit to win back her son. Isaiah had refused to visit again unless she gave an accounting to Mia. All Mia wanted from Alma was the truth, and she didn’t care one whit about her motive for offering it up. “Tell me everything.”
“I hope, dear, that someday you’ll find a way to forgive me.”
The dear made Mia cringe. “I just want to know what role you played in my mother’s murder. That’s the only reason I came.”
Alma lowered her eyes. “What you’ve suffered is terrible. But you do know I’ve paid the ultimate price.”
Alma had cooperated with the police and pleaded to accessory after the fact in the murder of Mia’s mother. In exchange, she’d received a reduced sentence: a five thousand dollar fine and one year in prison.
Hardly justice.
“Tell me about my mother,” Mia said.
“Samuels has filled you in on some of it, I know. Where should I start?”
“At the beginning. I want to hear it all from you.” Mia reached for Isaiah and briefly touched his shoulder. “I’m sure Isaiah does too.”
“That’s right.” His voice didn’t break, but Mia could feel his body trembling beneath her hand. He’d lost a sister. His father was the cold-blooded monster who’d killed her. And then there was his mother, who’d helped Baxter
