The Silent Girl

“Where’s her cell phone?”

Patrick handed it to Mark. “What are you going to do?”

“It looks like her last text message was to her husband.” He began to tap out a new message on Jane’s phone. “Let’s tell him she’s headed to Dorchester and won’t be home for a while.”

“Then what?”

“It has to look like an accident. Or a suicide.” He looked at Patrick. “You made it work before.”

Patrick nodded. “Her gun’s up in the dining room.”

“My husband will know,” said Jane. “He knows I’d never kill myself.”

“The spouse always says that. And the police never believe them. Do they, Detective?” said Mark, and he smiled.

If her limbs had not been trussed, she would have been on her feet and pummeling him, fists slamming into those perfect teeth. But even with rage fueling her muscles she could not tear free, could do nothing but watch as he finished the text message and sent it into the ether. She thought of how it would probably happen: a bullet to her head to kill her, followed by a second gunshot to plant residue on her hand, the way Wu Weimin’s suicide had been staged. What Mark said was true: It was too easy to ignore the denials of a victim’s family. She’d been guilty of it herself. She remembered standing over the body of a young man who was missing half his head from a shotgun blast. Remembered the mother sobbing, He’d never kill himself! He’d just turned his life around! And she remembered her own remark to Frost afterward, about clueless families who never saw it coming.

“You’ve made so many mistakes,” said Iris. “You have no idea what’s about to happen.”

Mark turned to her and laughed. “Look who’s talking. The lady chained to the wall.”

Iris regarded him with an eerily calm gaze. “Before it all ends for you, tell me. Why did you choose my daughter?”

Mark crossed toward Iris until they were face-to-face. Though he was far taller, though he held every advantage, Iris revealed not a flicker of fear. “Pretty little Laura. You do remember her, Patrick?” He glanced at the older man. “The girl we picked up as she walked out of school. The one we offered a ride to.”

“Why?” said Iris.

Mark smiled. “Because she was special. They all were.”

“We’re wasting time,” said Patrick, stepping toward Jane. “Let’s get her out of here.”

But Mark was still looking at Iris. “Sometimes I chose the girl. Sometimes Patrick chose. You never know what will catch your eye. A ponytail. A cute little ass. Something that makes her stand out. Makes her worthy.”

“Charlotte must have known,” said Jane, looking up at Patrick in disgust. “She must have realized what you were. Jesus, her own father. How could you kill her?”

“Charlotte was never part of this.”

“Never part of it? She was at the center of it!”

Jane’s cell phone rang. Mark glanced at the caller’s number and said, “Hubby seems to be checking on his wife.”

“Don’t answer it,” said Patrick.

“I wasn’t planning to. I’ll just shut this off, and let’s get her in the car.”

Iris said, “You think it will be that simple?”

The men ignored her and bent down to grab Jane. Patrick picked up her feet and Mark hauled her up under her arms. Though Jane squirmed, she could not resist them, and they easily lifted her and carried her toward the door.

“You’ve already lost,” said Iris. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Mark snorted. “I know who’s chained to the wall.”

“And I know who followed you back here.”

“No one followed me-” His voice suddenly cut off as the lights went out.

In the pitch black, both men released their grips on Jane and she fell to the floor, skull slamming against concrete. She lay stunned, trying to make sense of what was happening in a room where she could see nothing, where the darkness was chaotic with curses and panicked breathing.

“What the fuck?” said Mark.

Iris’s voice whispered through the gloom: “Now it begins.”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Mark yelled.

“It’s probably nothing,” said Patrick, but he sounded unnerved. “Look, maybe we just blew a fuse. Let’s go upstairs and check.”

The door banged shut and their footsteps faded up the stairs. Jane heard only the thumping of her own heart.

“You must lie very still and stay calm,” said Iris.

“What’s happening?”

“What was always meant to happen.”

“You knew? You expected this?”

“Listen carefully to me, Detective. This is not your battle. It was planned a long time ago, and it will be fought without you.”

“Fought by whom? What’s out there?”

Iris did not answer. In the silence, Jane felt, rather than heard, the brush of air against her cheek, as though the wind had whispered into the room and was stirring the darkness. Something else is here with us.

She heard the soft clatter of handcuffs falling free. And a whisper: “Apologies, Sifu. I would have come sooner.”

“My sword?”

“Here is Zheng Yi. I found it upstairs.”

Jane knew that voice. “Bella?”

A hand was pressed across her lips and Iris murmured: “Stay.”

“You can’t leave me like this!”

“You’re safer here.”

“At least cut me free!”

“No,” said Bella. “She’ll just cause trouble.”

“And if you fail?” said Jane. “I’ll be trapped down here, and I won’t be able to defend myself. At least give me a fighting chance!”

She felt a tug on her hands, heard the hiss of the blade slicing through her duct tape bindings. Another slice freed her ankles. “Remember,” Iris whispered into her ear. “This is not your battle.”

It is now. But Jane stayed silent and still as the two women melted into the darkness. She could neither see nor hear their departure; all she sensed was the kiss of air again, as if they had dissolved into wind and had whispered through the door and up the stairs.

Jane tried to rise to her feet, but dizziness sent her staggering blindly in the dark. She sat back down again, her skull aching from being dropped on concrete. That and the lingering effects of the drug left her weak. She reached out, felt the wall nearby, and once again tried to stand, this time propping herself, as unsteady as a newborn foal.

A gunshot made her chin snap up.

I can’t be trapped down here, she thought. I have to get out of this house.

She felt her way to the door. It was unlocked and softly creaked open. Somewhere upstairs, she heard heavy footsteps running. Two more gunshots.

Get out now. Before the men come back for you.

She started up steps, moving slowly, afraid to make a sound. Afraid to alert anyone to her presence. Without a weapon, without any way to defend herself, she could not join this fight. She was the noncombatant trying to slip through a war zone to safety, wherever that might be. Find the exit, get out of the house. She didn’t have her car keys, so she’d have to run to the neighbors. She tried to picture the property. Remembered the long driveway, the woods and lawns and the tall hedge that surrounded it all. By daylight, it had looked like a private garden of Eden, enclosed to keep the world out. Now she knew that the gate, with its spiked posts, was not meant just to keep