Dying to Remember (The Station #2) Page 7

  Jess sits still for a moment longer, staring at the spot where her mother was just standing, before letting out a final shudder and wiping her face. She manages to stand and slowly enters the house, looking around for someone I can't quite place from her memory yet. She doesn't bother to close the door.

  You need to find someone, or call the police. You have to, Jess. I know you are scared, but it will be okay.

  Jess weaves her way around a room full of tan-colored chairs and couches, obviously well-trained to avoid the sharp corners of the jaggedly cut marble coffee and side tables as she moves in the same direction that her mother took off in.

  After we pass through a series of doors and a foyer that has a spectacular double stair-case leading to separate wings of the house, she rounds a corner and enters the first open door in the hallway. It's a laundry room and standing inside wearing a white uniform is an older woman with grey-streaked hair folding laundry. I scan Jess's mind to place her name, and sure enough, this is Isabel. After she places the fluffy white towel atop a towering pile of similar items, she looks up to see Jess standing in the doorway.

  "Sorry supper is late, Miss. It will be ready for you soon," she says nervously. Jess says nothing, just stands before the older Hispanic woman in silence with her arms stiffly at her sides.

  "Miss?" Isabel knows now that something isn't right and takes a few slow steps toward Jess until she can place her wrinkled hands onto her shoulders. "What's happened, Miss?"

  You need to tell her, Jess. Just take her out there; show her what's happened.

  "I-I need to show you something," Jess's voice squeaks.

  "Sí, Miss?"

  "Outside…he's…outside," she stammers. I feel the tears building up inside her again as she takes the confused woman by the hand, leading her back through the house and out onto the deck. It's still silent outside. No bird or insect dares to speak or shuffle the leaves as the three of us walk through the trees toward the long wall that borders the back of the property. Only the wind dares to move as Jess stops at the tree swing and points to the low wall with a shaky hand.

  Isabel looks around with a confused expression but then follows the direction of Jess's outstretched fingers until she reaches the wall. She shrugs, unaware that a dead boy is sprawled out on the ground just on the other side of the wall.

  "Look o-over the wall," Jess says.

  It's okay, just take a deep breath. Oxygen rushes to her brain as Jess does just that and we watch with fearful anticipation as Isabel steps up to the wall placing her hands on it much like Jess did earlier to survey what was on the other side. Isabel's hands fly up to her mouth but it doesn't stop the scream that resonates through the trees as she backs away from the wall in horror. As the startled birds explode from the trees Jess begins to tilt to the side.

  Jess! Hold on, it's okay!

  But it's too late. My view through her eyes blurs around the edges before fading completely. Poor Jess has fainted and trapped me in the dark. Unable to see anything around her, I slink onto the virtual floor of her mind and begin sifting through the rubble, attempting to piece together what memories I can while she's still and quiet. I have a feeling when she wakes, she'll be teetering quite nicely on the brink of Hell. I don't want her diving over the side.

  What have I gotten myself into now?

  CHAPTER 8

  By the time Jess wakes up, I have more than enough memories pulled from her mind to put together a decent picture of her past, at least enough to know what I have to work with. Now, how to respond? Well, that's different entirely.

  She did indeed recently have an abortion. And it was less out of spite than sheer terror. Of her parents mostly, but also of her ex-boyfriend, Chris. Who was now sprawled out on the forest carpet on his back, killed by the fastest acting form of Karma I've ever seen. Not that I wish death on anyone, but after seeing their past, it seems Chris was just one good fight away from killing Jess out of pure rage.

  She might have been willing to take a slap from him here, a punch to the gut there, but she wasn't willing to have his baby; a baby that would bound them to each other forever. It was her final straw, regardless of his cheating. Ironically, getting Jess pregnant pushed Chris away temporarily. No doubt he was just as freaked out by the idea of becoming a parent at seventeen years old as she was. Sifting through the memories of their many teenage fights, I was certain the last girl he cheated on Jess with was not the first. He was a jerk in every way.

  When Jess awakens she is surrounded by two police officers and her mother, suddenly acting the concerned parent, which I now know to be a fallacy, as well as Isabel, the family's live-in housekeeper, who genuinely seems distraught. A tall man dressed in an expensive looking charcoal-colored suit stands near the wall, talking to another pair of officers. The trees teem with life now as if every bird in northern Arizona has come to watch the show and gossip freely.

  "Oh, honey, you're awake. Thank goodness; I was worried." Mom looks at Jess with her large, cool eyes and irritably swats the air in front of her at a hovering fly. Her suit doesn't match the outdoors very well. Heck, nothing about the woman fits in with this picture; except maybe the giant mansion with the cabin facade on the other side of the trees.

  Jess moans softly before sitting up with help from one of the officers and Isabel. "What…happened?"

  "You fainted," her mother answers for her before the officer has a chance to speak.

  "Chris?" Jess asks without looking up.

  "Oh honey," Mom pats her knee before straightening, tugging on her jacket and smoothing out the fold of her skirt, "Don't say a word."

  And the witch is back.

  ***

  A full hour later and we are finally sitting inside the house in the main living area with half a dozen officers…some plain-clothed, some in uniform.

  "Tell me again what happened, Miss?" asks a short man with a portly midsection while he scribbles furiously on a small notepad.

  It's okay. Tell the truth. Take a deep breath, and just…tell them everything.

  Her throat clenches tight as she attempts to keep from bursting into tears again, but after a few deep breaths she is able to clear her throat and speak, "I told you; we were arguing and when I went to walk away he grabbed me, started choking me and I didn't think he'd let go. He had me by the hair and all I could do was kick or scratch him, so I tried that and finally…he let go of me. Then…then…" she stops briefly, giving her voice a chance to recover. "And then…I must have gotten his eye pretty bad because he yelled and stumbled backwards. He just fell over the wall."

  "So, you didn't push him over the wall?" The short detective peers up at her over his notepad to gauge her reaction.

  "No! I told you, he stumbled backwards. I was already trying to run away. It wasn't my fault!"

  "Right. Well, he could have easily lost his balance had you pushed him."

  "Don’t respond to that, Jessica," says a man hovering behind the sofa in a suit just as expensive as Jess's fathers, if not more so. He turns toward the Detective with a warning glance and says flatly, "She's already answered your question, move on."

  "Relax, you know I have to ask," sighs the detective before flipping his notepad shut and tucking it tenderly into the breast pocket of his jacket.

  "This was clearly a case of self-defense, Detective Manning, nothing more," says the man whom I now understand to be the family attorney.

  "Well, that may appear to be the case but we need to finish doing our job. You'll hear from me soon. And Mr. and Mrs. Levy, please don’t leave town, got it?" The Detective shuffles out of the room after speaking to a few of the uniformed officers and slowly the group of various officials begin to clear out of the house. Chris's body was long ago loaded onto an ambulance, and now that they have Jess's informal statement on record, there wasn't much to do here.

  "Oh, this is just fantastic!" Mommy Dearest breaks the silence first by throwing her slender arms up into the air while she begins to pace behind the sof
a that we sit on.

  "Mom, it wasn't my fault. I didn't mean for this to happen," Jess whimpers. Her mind races at the same speed as her blood, and a thought carries along with it…Jess wished it had been her that had died.

  "It was an accident, Jessica. We understand." Her father pats her shoulder awkwardly, unsure of how to comfort his daughter.

  "An accident?! We just found a dead boy on our property, Jules! A dead boy! Oh my God. I have to make calls. Do I call Chris's parents? Vincent, what's the protocol for this?" She snaps her fingers at the Attorney who is looking frustrated and concerned at the same time.

  "Now wait a moment, Andrea. We don't need to contact anyone right now. In fact, please don't. Let the police handle that. Right now we need to make sure that Jessica is alright, and decide on our next move if the police come back with more questions," Vincent the Attorney replies.

  Jess's mind is like a bee hive; thoughts are swarming in and out and spinning in all directions so quickly that I can't grab onto one long enough to understand it. But I do know she thinks this might be a good time to mention the baby.

  Wait, let's just wait on that. You can talk to them about the pregnancy later. Not now.

  She slumps back into the sofa cushions with a heavy sigh, her arms folded across her chest, and stares between the three adults that are still in the room. Isabel has rushed off to the kitchen in an attempt to save what is left of dinner, per Mommy Dearest's barked order.

  I take her immediate adherence of my suggestions to mean she is simply too exhausted to fight me. But in the back of my mind I remember why I'm here. This is a test. All of it. To see how well my Assignments can really hear me. I know Rush and Niles are watching me somehow, which is like having a boss breathing down your neck. It's not a comfortable feeling.

  Well, Rush. If you can hear me, I bet you didn't see this one coming, did you?

  ***

  Night comes quickly and sleep takes Jess away just moments after she closes her swollen eyes. This would usually be my time to wade through the memories and thoughts of my assignment with peace, but peace escapes me completely on this night. I've never had the impulse as strong as I do now to chew each of my finger nails to the quick and pull my hair out by the handful.

  I don't know what to do.

  And it's true, I really don't. Whatever problems Jess had before my arrival, they are now multiplied infinitely by what happened today. Lost in the lightlessness of Jess's mind, I imagine being in my body, crumpled in a heap on the floor of the Station, feeling defeated and hopeless. Just as I do now.

  I don't need memories to tell me that the relationship she has with her parents is a strained one and in the case of Mommy Dearest it's practically nonexistent. Jess was born into the family simply because it was expected for her parents to have at least one child. There were nannies when she was young and Isabel took over as a surrogate parent when Jess became a teenager. Since both Mr. and Mrs. Levy were esteemed and highly successful Doctors, they didn't have time to raise a child. And they had little interest in making Jess a priority.

  Surprisingly, there is no history of physical or sexual abuse, other than the more recent abuse at the hands of the now dead Chris. Jess has friends, though she doesn't share her private thoughts or happenings with them. They are more like accessories, so that Jess fits in. Nothing more.

  Then there's the pregnancy and the abortion. Chris was her first, and he was a perfect gentleman in the beginning. Bringing her gifts, sending her sweet texts and attaching love notes to the bouquet of roses he would spontaneously deliver on Thursdays…just because. But once they slept together, he changed. He became possessive of her, jealous of her time spent with anyone other than him. Jess didn't know what to do, and had no one to talk to, so she let it be for as long as she could handle it. Then she woke up one morning and threw up on the expensive Egyptian rug that decorated her elaborately designed bedroom before she could make it to the bathroom. After spending two weeks puking or feeling like she was going to, she caved and peed on a stick to verify what she already knew was true. She drove all the way across town to buy the test, even wore her over-sized sunglasses to hide her face under a hat while she shopped. The only person that saw her was the teller and she didn't know him, and doubted he even cared who she was.

  It was finding out that Chris had been sleeping with not just one, but two other girls that Jess finally had what she considered an excuse to break up with him. Several days of constant phone calls and middle of the night visits banging on the front door and Jess's parents couldn't take it anymore and banished him from the property. Though even then, they didn't really want to know what happened. Isabel was the only person Jess talked to about Chris.

  Just over a week ago she drove almost two hours away for a clinic that wasn't associated in any way with her parents. She barely made the drive home; stopping twice before she fainted. And she told no one. Not until today. It was a secret she wanted to keep, but in light of recent events, she might not be able to hide it from the police. They would want to know why Chris attacked her. I sort through every fight she's ever had with the high school jock until I find what I need…she isn't the only one who knows about his violent side.

  Her name is Marisa Swain. And I know just where to find her.

  ***

  Jess waited until her parents retreated to their separate parts of the house for work, long after dinner was consumed in silence. No one spoke at the table. Jess pushed the food around on the plate until her mother chastised her. It was hard to think about anything but the image of Chris lying bloody and broken in the backyard. Food was the furthest thing from her mind, but she shoveled in a few spoonfuls of mashed potatoes until her mother seemed satisfied.

  When the house was quiet and the main rooms were dark, Jess slipped downstairs, sneaking through the darkened lower level of the house until she reached the inside door of the garage. She doubted her parents would hear the car start, or the garage open since Dad was lost in his study with classical music on and Mom was most likely in her own office pouring over case files and sipping generous amounts of red wine.

  The engine of her used Volvo purrs to life as she straps herself into the seatbelt, pulling out of the garage slowly. She doesn't turn the headlights on until after she's turned the vehicle around and made it half-way down the long driveway.

  My hope is that Marisa is still working her night shift at the local pizza joint, since this is where Jess last saw her. And since she didn't know where Marisa lived, this was our best way of finding her. Getting there wouldn't be the hard part. Locating her wouldn't even be the hard part. The challenge would be getting her help when we did find her.

  The hole in the wall diner is packed, which means the small parking lot is overflowed with cars. Jess parks on the street and avoids locking gazes with anyone that glances in her direction. I know she's afraid of what will happen when the town finds out about Chris. My hope is that it's still too early for anyone to know.

  Jess's stomach churns when her eyes fall on one of the female employees. We're in luck; Marisa is here. As we approach, she shifts so that all I can see is her profile. Her lovely face is full of angular shapes; a stark contrast to the soft and flowy feel of her brown, shoulder-length hair. It is curled slightly, so it hangs in wide waves, bouncing freely around her neck while she nods to a customer. When she turns her long and lean frame toward us, her hazel eyes darken when she sees Jess.

  Well, I guess she isn't too happy to see you.

  CHAPTER 9

  "What do you want?" Marisa snaps. She leans on the back of the building, her starched outfit making a loud paper sound as it rubs against the rough brick wall. Even though she's lighting a cigarette, she keeps her cool gaze locked on Jess.

  "Thanks for stepping outside to talk to me. I didn't want to speak in front of everyone."

  "I said…what do you want?" Marisa finally looks down at her cigarette and takes a long drag, holding the smoke in momentarily before blowing it o
ut of the corner of her mouth. The smell surrounds Jess anyway and she wiggles her nose to keep from sneezing in Marisa's face. Back at the Station, I'm sure I sneeze.

  "Um," Jess flounders mentally for the right way to tell Marisa that her ex-lover was dead, "It's about Chris, actually."

  "Yeah? No shit. Why else would you be here? We aren't together anymore, don't you know that?"

  Jess shifts her weight from one leg to the other, taking a deep breath before spitting out the words, just as we had rehearsed in the car on the way to the pizza joint, "Chris is dead, Marisa. He attacked me and when I pushed him off, he fell wrong. The cops don't seem to believe me that it was an accident and no one else I know understands how violent he would get."

  Marisa's eyes widen slightly but she doesn't respond right away. Instead she casually tucks a section of hair behind one multi-pierced ear and takes another drag of her Camel. When she does speak, her voice is flat and devoid of emotion, "What's this got to do with me?"

  Despite the warm night, shivers run up Jess's arms. She stares hard at the slightly older girl before responding, "Because I know what he did to you."

  The two stand and stare at each other in silence. Neither move until a group of teens round the corner noisily. As Jess watches, they piled into a car with a flurry of squeals and giggles and then speed out of the parking lot. When she looks back, Marisa is staring at her feet.

  After another long moment of silence, Jess folds her arms and Marisa glances up at her, setting her mouth into a tight line, "Why does any of that matter now?"

  "Because, Marisa. You are my living proof that Chris likes to hit his girlfriends. Won't you help me? Can't you tell them what he did?" she pleads.