Don't Say a Word (Strangers Series) (12 page)

CHAPTER 19

ZOE INSTRUCTED ALLIE to drive to Sherman’s Landing. Once inside the community, they sped past one huge house after another until they reached Zoe’s family’s house.

Allie swung the SUV into the girls’ driveway, and Zoe and Bitty jumped out before Allie could even come to a complete stop. Zoe ran up the driveway to the back of the house and Bitty trailed her.

Allie grabbed a still-sleeping Sammy from his car seat and followed them, noticing fragments of yellow crime tape partially buried in the spotty snow of the front yard. She also saw a set of small footprints.

Carrie’s.

They appeared to head in the same direction Zoe and Bitty had gone. When Allie reached the back door, it was wide open. Zoe and Bitty were already inside.

Stepping in, Allie instantly brought her free hand to her nose. Her eyes filled with tears. The odor in the house was revolting—and it beckoned childhood memories.

She shivered.

Someone screamed somewhere deep inside the house. It was Zoe.

“Oh my God, oh my God! Carrie, no!” Zoe screeched.

Allie hurried through the kitchen and into the dark living room, and glanced down the connecting hallway that led to the bedrooms. Light spilled out from a room two doors down. It was where the screams were coming from.

She hesitated to bring Sammy any closer to whatever was happening . . . or
had
happened . . . in case he awakened.

She found a lamp in the living room, and with a trembling hand, flipped it on. She reluctantly set down her sleeping son on a brown leather couch. Sammy stirred a little and made smacking sounds with his lips. But he didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he plunged his thumb in his mouth, curled up, and became still again.

Allie’s eyes went back to the doorway. She slowly made her way down the hallway, goose bumps breaking out along her arms, not knowing what to expect . . . and not knowing if she was prepared. When she was a few feet from the door, the strong metallic odor of pennies assaulted her nostrils.

Blood
.

Her stomach turned.

When she reached the doorway, a curtain of steam assailed her. Bitty was leaning forward on the floor, her hands moving swiftly in front of her. Allie could see Carrie’s bare, pale legs on the tiled floor. The bandage on top of her blistered foot. Next to her were several smears of blood on the tile. Blood glistened in Bitty’s gray hair. On Bitty’s frail, liver-spotted hands.

Bitty’s voice was high and tight. “I need something else, Zoe! A shirt, another towel. Now, Zoe. Get them for me. Hurry!”

Zoe pushed past Allie, then ran down the hallway.

“Allie, do you have your phone on you?” Bitty asked.

“No.”

Bitty fumbled in her jacket for hers. “Call 9-1-1. Have Zoe give you the address. Tell them to send help fast. Carrie’s slit her wrists.”

Her pulse thundering in her ears, Allie grabbed the blood-smeared phone and called 9-1-1. She hurried in the direction Zoe had gone, and found Zoe in a bedroom. She was sitting cross-legged on a bed with a pink comforter, her eyes closed. She was rocking and humming.

“What’s your address?” Allie asked.

Zoe kept humming.

“Zoe!”

The girl’s eyes flew open.

“Your address! Give it to me, now!”

Zoe did.

As Allie spoke with the dispatcher, she found a dresser and threw the first drawer open to find a jumble of panties, training bras, socks. She threw open the second drawer and grabbed a handful of T-shirts.

“Zoe, go in the living room and sit with Sammy.”

Zoe didn’t move. “Now, Zoe!” she shouted.

Zoe sprang up, her eyes wide . . . as though she was coming out of a trance.

“Now!” Allie said again.

Zoe scrambled off the bed and hurried down the hallway.

Allie returned to the bathroom with the shirts. She dropped them on the floor, and Bitty quickly grabbed one. Allie knelt down and while Bitty retied one of Carrie’s wrists, Allie tied the other one.

There was a lot of blood.

Way too much.

Carrie’s skin was paper-white and her clothes were sopping wet. Her eyes drooped and her trembling lips had turned blue. Allie’s eyes darted around the room, lingering on the crimson bathwater, the fine layer of steam covering the bathroom mirror.

“Allie, find some towels,” Bitty said.

Allie opened a cabinet and found two messy stacks of towels. She hurried back to Carrie and leaned down to drape them over her body.

Suddenly Allie heard shouting above her head. Zoe. “You know how freaking selfish that was? Did you even stop to think about me?”

Carrie’s eyes searched and slowly found Zoe. She stared at her for a moment, then her voice came out thick and thready. “No, but obviously you did,” she said. The girls stared at one another for a long moment. “Everyone always thinks of you. No one thinks of me,” Carrie continued. “Just let me go. If you do, your life will be much easier.”

“What . . . what’s that supposed to mean?” Zoe shouted.

Allie turned to Zoe and yelled: “Go sit with Sammy in the living room, Zoe! Now!”

The girl vanished from the doorway.

“You’re going to be okay, sweetie,” Bitty said, cradling Carrie’s head and shoulders in her lap. “Help will be here before we know it.”

Carrie’s eyes found Allie’s. They looked drowsy and defeated. “You’re going to be okay,” Allie whispered, squeezing the girl’s bare calf. “Just hang on. You’re going to be just fine.”

Allie wished she was as certain as she sounded.

“Hang on, sweet girl. Hang on,” Bitty soothed. “You’re doing great. Just great.”

Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes into what seemed like hours. Then Allie finally heard the sirens.

CHAPTER 20

CARRIE LAY CURLED up in her bed at Dallas’s Sunny Lawn Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Center, thinking about what she’d done, and wishing that Bitty hadn’t stopped her.

She had searched everywhere for a razor blade earlier that day, while everyone enjoyed the snow, played games, and listened to Christmas songs, but she couldn’t find one. Then, the more she fantasized about having a razor blade in her hand, the more she realized that she didn’t want to just cut herself to soothe the pain for a little while.

She wanted to release it forever.

And as much as she had been afraid to, the only solution had been to return to her house. Thankfully it wasn’t very far.

Her mind flashed to the look on Zoe’s face. How angry she had been when she discovered that Carrie had simply needed to end the pain for good. She hadn’t expected that from Zoe. Actually, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected. She hadn’t had the energy to think that far ahead. For once in her life she was focusing only on herself.

The staff at Sunny Lawn had given her a sedative much like the ones her mother used to give her and Zoe to make them sleep for long stretches of time, so her thoughts were moving slowly and painlessly—washing over her like pictures that didn’t carry any strong emotions.

It was such a relief.

The therapists at Sunny Lawn had tried to speak to her, just like the forensic therapist and counselors at the Child Advocacy Center had. But Carrie didn’t want to talk. She no longer felt she had a voice, because she no longer knew who she was. The person she used to be had shriveled up and died the night her parents died. She didn’t know how to act anymore, who to trust . . . and now who to even love.

She closed her eyes and let herself remember . . .

One Month Before the Murders

“Oh my God! They’re driving me insane!” Zoe groaned, burying her face in her pillow. Carrie frowned, unsure how to comfort her sister. Their mother and Gary were in the master bedroom. They were doing
it
. And they were hardly quiet about it. Carrie figured Gary must be good at
it
, because he wasn’t very smart, and he wasn’t nearly as good-looking as her father.

When Gary and their mother weren’t having sex, they were doing drugs, but Carrie suspected the drugs were different than the ones her mother had taken before Gary, because practically overnight her mother had gone from lazy to jittery, and had lost a ton of weight. And now she was a beanpole wrapped in raisin-like skin, just like Gary.

Out of all of her mother’s friends, so far, Gary had stayed the longest. And instead of “friend,” their mother was now calling him her boyfriend . . . which bothered her sister a lot.

Although Zoe would never admit it, Carrie knew she still wanted their parents to love each other again. Zoe also wanted a close relationship with their mother. She needed their mother’s love probably more than she needed anything else in the world. But Carrie knew beyond a doubt that their mother would never love Zoe again.

Because she blamed Zoe.

She blamed Zoe for all the pain she’d suffered over the last three years. For Joey’s death, and her marriage falling apart. She blamed Zoe for everything.

But Zoe didn’t get it.

Or maybe she did.

In any case, Zoe still tried . . . most days. She’d care for their mother when she was out of her mind from the drugs and alcohol. She’d pick her up off the floor and drag her into bed. She’d clean her and feed her. When Zoe wasn’t hurt or angry, there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for their mother.

“It’s okay. They’ll be in the shower soon,” Carrie said to her scowling sister. That was their routine. They’d be quiet for a while, then they’d start doing
it
, then they’d both shower. Some nights that’s all they heard. Other times, they did
it
several times, but there was always a shower in between. Their mother and father did all the same things in the exact same order. It was pretty gross.

Zoe finally emerged from the pillow, her face red, her eyes desperate. “I hate her sooo freaking much. I really wish Dad was home and that jackass wasn’t in our house. He bugs the shit out of me.” She hurled her pillow across the room.

Carrie was usually able to drown out the sex noise by reading. Either that or by going deep inside her head. She could go inside her head for hours and just think. And lately, if their mother’s activities were making her feel especially bad, she was able to drown out all of the bad feelings by cutting herself.

Zoe, though,
couldn’t
escape it.

Carrie hated to see her sister so upset. She wanted Zoe to be happy. And if anyone knew how to make her happy, it was their dad.

More loud noises erupted from the master bedroom. The sound of a headboard slamming into a wall. Laughter. Before Carrie knew what she was about to do, before she could clamp a hand over her sister’s mouth, Zoe suddenly screamed at the top of her lungs: “Shut
up
!”

Carrie’s heart nearly stopped.

Oh, shit!

The noise in the next room stopped. The whole house seemed to go still.

“Well, at least they stopped,” Zoe said, her voice tough. But her lips trembled a little, giving away her fear—because she knew as well as Carrie did that the next few minutes weren’t going to be pretty.

A door clicked open down the hallway, then footsteps approached. A moment later, their bedroom door flew open. Their mother appeared in a short, yellow silk robe. Her hair was disheveled, her eye makeup badly smeared. A strong, musky, perfumey odor floated through the air and into Carrie’s nostrils.

“What the hell is
wrong
with you, Zoe?” she barked.

Zoe glared at her mother. “
Nothing
is wrong with me,” she said. But her lips were trembling even worse now. She was definitely frightened . . . as she should be.

“Don’t you ever do that again, little girl. Do you hear me? You’re embarrassing me in front of Gary . . . and you
don’t
want to do that.”

Zoe narrowed her eyes. “I hate you,” she mumbled under her breath.

“I’m sorry. What did you just say?” their mother asked.

Zoe’s chin was trembling now. Her words came out wobbly. “I said I hate you.”

The woman’s eyes darkened. “Well, I hate you, too, kid. So I guess we’re even.”

Zoe drew a sharp breath of surprise, looking as though she’d been kicked in the stomach.

The woman turned to leave.

“And I’m going to tell Dad . . .
everything
,” Zoe shot back, her eyes shining with tears.

The woman froze in the doorway. “Oh, you will, will you?” Their mother turned, and in a flash, she was in front of Zoe, slapping her hard across the face. Before Zoe could even bring her hand to her cheek, she slapped her a second time. A trickle of blood bloomed on Zoe’s lower lip—and Carrie could taste the tang of blood in Zoe’s mouth.

Carrie jumped off the bed and wedged herself between the two of them.

Her mother chuckled and gazed at Carrie as though she pitied her. “Oh, little Carrying Carrie. Always protecting your sister. Not like she’d ever protect you.”

Carrie refused to look her mother in the eye. She just wanted her to go away. Unlike Zoe, Carrie’s heart had hardened against the woman. Inside it now burned a hatred she had no idea she was even capable of feeling. Her mother had lost her love—and much of her power over her—three years ago . . . exactly two weeks after Joey died . . . when she’d done something completely unforgivable to Zoe.

Something Carrie would never, ever forget.

The woman’s steely eyes bore into Zoe’s. “That was just a little preview of what you’ll get if you tell your father. You tell him, and you’ll be sorry. And I mean
really
sorry. You’ll never be allowed back in this house again. In fact, I’ll send you to live with your grandmother.”

Carrie gazed at her sister’s tear-streaked face. There was pain in her eyes. Her nose was running and a small trickle of blood was oozing down her chin. But she didn’t seem to notice.

“See, if you tell, I’ll know I can’t trust you anymore. So off to Grandmother’s you’ll go. Now you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

It was the threat their mother had always hung over their heads so that they wouldn’t tell anyone her secrets. Still, Carrie shuddered, thinking about the possibility. It was miserable living with their mother, but Grandmother? She wasn’t just mean, she was plumb crazy. All their lives their mother had told them stories about the awful things their grandmother had done—some of which, now that Carrie was older, she realized probably hadn’t been true—and they’d always been frightened of her.

“And if you think you’re miserable now with me, wait ’til you live with her. I did, and I barely got out alive.”

Zoe shook her head. “No, we’d live with Dad.”

Their mother chuckled. “They never give children to their daddies. Don’t you know that? Plus, that dad of yours would never take you in, even if he could. He’s not cut out for kids. His time alone on the road is way more important to him than you two. More important than anyone. One day you’ll come to realize that, and you’ll stop looking at him that stupid way you do. Like he’s some goddamn hero.”

A man’s deep voice traveled from down the hallway. “Julie? You comin’ back, hon?”

Gary.

After their mother left the room, Carrie was able to relax again. She turned to her sister, who had gone to the window and was staring out. Carrie placed a hand on her back and realized she was trembling. “You okay?”

Zoe shook her head. When Carrie’s eyes met Zoe’s, she saw not Zoe’s usual strength and sass, but emptiness. It was as though the light that had always been there, that seemed to be flickering—barely holding on—for as long as she could remember, had finally been snuffed out.

Allie stood in the doorway of the small room at Sunny Lawn Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Center and watched Carrie lay on her back, blinking up at the ceiling. Bitty, Zoe, and Sammy were waiting in the lobby.

Allie was so relieved the girl had pulled through. They were told in the emergency room that if it had taken just a mere ten minutes longer for help to arrive, she probably wouldn’t have.

The center was a two-hour drive from their house, and Carrie was expected to stay for a minimum of five days. She’d already been there for three. Bitty and Zoe drove back and forth each day, but this was Allie’s first visit.

“Hi, Carrie,” she said, stepping into the room.

Carrie turned her head and looked at Allie, her face blank. Then she returned her attention to the ceiling.

Breathing in the scent of antiseptic, Allie remembered Carrie’s words at the Parishes’ home while she’d lain trembling on the bathroom floor:

Everyone’s always thinking of you. But whoever thinks of me? Let me go. If you do, I promise, your life will be much easier.

She’d been wondering about those words for days. What had they meant? Allie had put a lot of thought into Zoe’s strange reaction to her sister’s suicide attempt, too. How she’d responded when Bitty had asked for help. How cold she had been . . . expressing no compassion, only anger at her sister.

Bitty had explained that Zoe had been in shock. That her reaction wasn’t abnormal. Allie remembered her own shock when her brother had killed himself when she was fifteen. Maybe if she hadn’t blamed herself so much for his suicide, she would’ve been angry at him, too. Thinking back on it, she was pretty sure she would’ve been.

Yesterday, they’d celebrated Thanksgiving without Carrie. It had just been a quiet dinner. Bitty and Zoe had been tired from their trip to Dallas . . . and even Sammy was quieter than usual. He’d asked a million questions about why Carrie would have to stay in a hospital for so long just because she was sad, and hadn’t seemed satisfied with her answers, which of course skirted around the disturbing fact that she’d slit her wrists.

Allie took a seat on the side of Carrie’s bed, then, careful not to touch the bandage around her wrist, reached for the girl’s hand. It felt smaller, cooler, and more limp than before. Carrie didn’t react at all to the touch. She just kept staring at the ceiling.