Don't Say a Word (Strangers Series) (19 page)

CHAPTER 32

ALLIE WOKE UP at five the next morning, still very groggy. She thought of Johnny and instantly felt sick and confused. It just seemed so surreal that he was dead.

Trying not to disturb a sleeping Sammy, she slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom to take her meds, doubling her dosage again.

She trudged to the living room. The sun was rising, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. She blinked as she noticed yellow police tape cordoning off the area where the backyard met the woods.

“Good morning,” Bitty said softly from the kitchen table.

Allie went to the table and sat down. Bitty still looked terrible. Her eyes were watery and framed by heavy bags. The tip of her nose was red and chapped. Her hands hugged a mug of tea.

“You look awful,” Allie said.

“Why, thanks.” Bitty smiled. She reached for a tissue and sneezed into it three times. “I haven’t been this sick in over ten years. I’m having a tough time kicking it.” She studied Allie, her watery eyes filled with concern. “How are
you
doing this morning, honey?”

“Better . . . I think,” Allie said, not wanting to worry the woman. The truth was that she was still wading through a fog, and she couldn’t think clearly about Johnny or anything, really. “Did Sammy ask any questions last night?” she asked.

“No. But he knows something’s happened. I think he’s just afraid to ask.”

“I’ll tell him today. I just . . . I still can’t believe it.”

“Me, either, honey,” Bitty said. “And Allie. Something else has happened.”

Allie vaguely recalled the ruckus she’d heard the prior afternoon. The din of men talking. Of more emergency vehicles outside the house.

“They found another body last night.”

Allie drew a sharp breath of surprise. “What? Who?”

“They’re trying to figure it out. But they think it’s Gary.”

Gary? But how? And what does she mean by “figure it out”?

Bitty scanned their surroundings to make sure they weren’t being overheard. She lowered her voice. “The body was hanging from a tree. An apparent suicide, they say . . . but it appears as though it’s been there for at least a couple of weeks.” Bitty’s face looked pained. “Enough time for buzzards to have eaten away any facial features.”

“Holy shit,” Allie said, a wave of nausea sweeping through her. “But why Gary? Why do they think it’s him?”

“There are tattoos still visible on his left hand. They think they match Gary’s. Laura Willis is going in to try and identify the body this morning at the morgue in Tyler.”

A few hours later, Allie sat at the dining room table, listening to Bitty announce that Laura had confirmed the body was Gary’s.

Gary was dead.

The worst was
supposed
to be over.

But Allie didn’t feel any relief. She actually felt worse. Now there were new questions. The most important of which: If Gary had been dead for at least two weeks, who killed Johnny?

If Allie had the energy, she knew she’d feel angry. Angry at not knowing what the hell was going on. Angry at still feeling withdrawal symptoms even though she had been doubling her antidepressant—something she knew she shouldn’t do without her doctor’s okay. Angry at being so damn exhausted. Angry at not being mentally strong enough to fight off depression.

It was time she was honest with herself.

As much as she didn’t want to face it, she was falling into a depressive episode.

Dark thoughts were now rattling around in her brain, and she stank because the very thought of taking a shower was completely overwhelming.

When Bitty told the girls the news about Gary, Zoe squeezed her eyes closed in an expression of relief. Carrie, on the other hand, burst out in tears.

She must have been relieved.

Or horrified.

Probably both.

Earlier, Allie had also discovered that the landline had been disconnected. It was one of the bills Bitty usually paid. Allie didn’t have money in her account for it, but she had an emergency credit card. She’d have to call the phone company and get it turned back on as soon as possible. But first she went into the kitchen to prepare some supplements. She needed to up her nutrition. To do
everything
she could to beat this depression . . . so she could think clearly again and could properly care for her little boy. She couldn’t let things spiral completely out of control—like they had for her mother and brother.

But when she got to the kitchen, she remembered she’d forgotten to go to the health food store, and she was out of three of the supplements she needed. The most important ones. And it was Friday. She looked at the clock on the wall. Their local store was open only for three hours on Fridays.

She’d have to go now.

A wave of nausea slammed through Carrie’s body when she’d heard Gary was dead.

In the bathroom, she blasted the faucet, then knelt down and hugged the toilet. She retched until there was nothing left in her stomach. When she was done, she rested her forehead on the toilet seat and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to gather her breath.

When she opened her eyes again, she noticed something: a tiny white bead on the tile in front of her knee. She reached for it and rolled it between her fingers.

Her breath hitched.

She’d seen beads like these before, back when they lived in the trailer. She and Zoe had had quite the education in drug paraphernalia over the years from watching their mother. She was pretty sure they could correctly identify most of the drugs—prescription and otherwise—making their rounds across the state of Texas. They also knew what most of the drugs did just by watching their effects on their mother.

She lowered herself to her hands and knees, and found two more beads beneath the counter. She picked them up, beads so tiny, a hundred of them—maybe more—could probably fit in a teaspoon.

A chill ran up her spine as memories flooded her mind. She knew exactly what the beads were.

Oh no.

She hurried to her bedroom and closed the door. Then she threw on her shoes and her coat, and removed the screen from the window. A minute later, she was outside and running toward the main road.

It was time.

She was going to do something horrible, something the old Carrie never in a million years would’ve done.

Something completely unforgivable.

Something she should’ve done weeks ago.

Allie went to Bitty’s room to tell her she was heading to the health food store, but she found her curled up beneath her covers, sound asleep. Bitty had asked for an hour to rest, but of course, Allie would let her sleep all day. Whatever Bitty needed, she would get. Allie would just have to muscle through on her own for now.

She went back to the living room and pulled on her shoes.

“Mommy, where you going?” Sammy asked.

“To the store real quick to get some medicine.”

“I want to go.”

“No, not this time. Stay here and help Zoe take care of Grammy. I’ll be right back.”

“But I no like Zoe. Zoe mean.”

“Sammy, you know that’s not true. Why would you say that?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “She killed my ant!”

“Your ant?”

He nodded.

“Oh.” Allie knew how Sammy felt about ants.

“Yes. She mean, Mommy!”

Zoe, in her pajamas, walked into the room. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it would upset him. I saw it in the family room and I just didn’t want him to get stung.”

“I understand,” Allie said. She turned back to Sammy. “I’m sorry she killed it, but some people don’t love ants the way we do. She was just protecting you. She wasn’t trying to be mean.”

“Yes, she was!” he said.

Trying to stifle another yawn, Allie finished tying her shoe.

“You no listen to me, Mommy!”

She looked up at a red-faced Sammy and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Look, honey. Mommy’s not feeling very well, and Zoe’s helping a lot. I really need her help right now . . . until I feel better. And I need you to listen to her.”

“But Zoe mean!”

“Sammy, that’s not very nice to say. She’s been very good to you. To all of us. Look, let’s talk about this when I get back, okay?”

CHAPTER 33

HEAVY RAIN CLOUDS blackened the afternoon sky as Allie climbed into the truck. Shivering, she turned the ignition, and the engine roared to life.

She hadn’t wanted to leave Sammy, but she’d had no choice. The weather was supposed to get bad, and she was feeling awful. It was definitely best that he stay home. But it would only be a twenty-minute round trip. She’d be back soon.

Power through this
, she told herself.

Take control.

You’ve got this.

She drove past the patrol car that was parked outside of the house, her breath coming out in moist clouds, but she didn’t bother to switch on the heater because she knew it would only shoot freezing air until the engine had a chance to warm up.

Raindrops began pelting the windshield, and suddenly tears were streaming down her face. She’d drunk a whole pot of coffee earlier, yet was still tired. It was also impossible to think a positive thought and actually believe it. And she couldn’t twist the negative thoughts into positive ones no matter how hard she tried.

Anyone would be having trouble coping in your situation,
she told herself.
Not just me . . . not because I am predisposed to extreme mental illness.

“Right?” she asked aloud. “Right,” she answered, trying to bolster her confidence.

But then those ugly words crawled in, her mother’s prophecy and her worst fear:

You’ll turn out no different than me, Allie Cat. Wait. You’ll see.

“Shut up,” she said through gritted teeth. “I will
never
be you. I’m
nothing
like you.”

She shivered, wondering who she was even talking to. Was it really her mother, or was her brain just playing tricks on her?

Bitty had once told her that only a fine thread separated the spirit world and the physical world, and very few really knew for sure what was real or imagined anyway. With the voice coming and going like it had been, she really needed to believe it.

She felt her eyelids get heavy again. She stretched her eyes open wide and concentrated on the dirt road as it curved sharply in front of her.

Depression was treatable.

Millions of people suffered from it.

Allie just feared where it could lead. That it was just one small step away from slipping into something not so easy to treat . . .
or reverse.

Slick asphalt shone ahead. As she pulled onto the paved road, she flipped the heat to its highest setting and tepid air blasted through the vents. About a minute later, she felt warm. But the warmth, along with the steady squeak of the windshield wipers as they crawled back and forth, was making it extremely difficult to stay awake.

Her headlights drilled through the darkness as she sped down the rural road. She yawned, and focused hard on staying between the lines on the road. The sooner she had the supplements and was headed back to the house, the better.

But just as she turned onto Main Street, a curtain of rain blanketed the windshield. The storm had escalated and the rain was now pouring from the sky. She couldn’t even see an inch in front of the windshield.

Her hands strangling the steering wheel, she tapped the brakes as gently as she could, trying not to hydroplane. As soon as the shoulder came into view, she carefully pulled over and eased the truck to a stop.

The rain had turned into a torrential downpour. She had no business driving right now. She’d end up killing herself. Or someone else. Listening to the windshield wipers march across the glass and the roar of the truck’s heater, her mind flickered with confusion.

She watched as rain streamed down the side windows, and waited.

She could feel her eyelids drooping again. The fight was draining out of her. She flipped off the windshield wipers. Barely feeling the tears roll from her eyes, she watched the windows fog up around her . . . and let her eyes close.