Girl With a Past (9 page)

Carol took a quick glance at the boy, Tom,
who sat next to her on the sofa. “Well connected, knew everybody
who mattered, attended the right kind of deb balls––in those days
there were “wrong” ones, can you believe it? That world seems so
strange now.”

It was almost painful to look at Elliott’s
discomfort in the photo. Chubby, his cheeks looked full and pimply.
“Was Elliott rich?”

“Oh yeah, but he was one of those awkward
rich kids. Over protected, nerdy as hell, no cool, shy, stiff and
uncomfortable in his own skin. Except for the huge trust fund, he
was the opposite of Jamie.” Carol said, then drove in silence for a
few minutes.

I could tell she was considering whether to
tell us more. “Hey, Carol, please don’t worry about saying the
wrong thing about any of these guys. Mom’s life maybe at
stake.”

She cleared her throat, “Elliott was short,
shorter even than Dave. I’ve learned not to trust short men. They
tend to be manipulative and mean, as though they want to cut
everyone down to their size.” Carol took a deep breath and exhaled.
“I mean, how dare he have such a chip on his shoulder? He had every
material advantage, wealth, a high priced education, but he
resented Jamie for having everything Jamie had. Elliott seemed to
think that Jamie had what Elliott lacked––loving parents. Which
wasn’t even true, you know. In fact, Jamie’s mother lived on the
opposite coast and his father was always abroad. But Jamie had an
insouciant charm, a self-deprecating confidence that drew people to
him, while Elliott had a self-assertive lack of confidence that
repelled all but his oldest friends. I actually always wondered how
he had become friends with that gang.”

She wasn’t holding back anymore. And I’d
never realized before that Aunt Carol had a thing for Uncle
Jamie.

“And Ron?” I asked while she was on a
roll.

“He was a weird one. No connections, no
money, but he never let on. Imitated the rich ones. He married
money––twice. He did a good job of looking rich. Ya know . . .
blonde and always tan. The preppie layers of clothes. He learned a
lot from Jamie. He was fun, joking, playful, acted like he didn’t
have a care in the world. But it had to be a strain trying to keep
up with the others.”

“Carol, I imagine it’s hard, but . . . would
you please tell me about Lexi?”

She sucked in her cheeks. The only sound she
made for a full minute was a deep sigh. She opened her mouth as
though to speak, but then closed it and concentrated on traffic. “I
loved her the way one loves someone who really gets you. Do ya know
what I mean?”

My heart answered her with a deep ache, a
longing for such a friend again. I nodded. In the silence while we
both fought back tears, I wondered at my reaction. Again?

“Al, the strange thing is . . . you remind
me of her. The way ya accepted me from the first moment. I’m not
usually terribly popular with children. Lexi would’ve said it’s
because I’m a bitch.” She stretched her mouth into a sad smile.
“But you.” Sigh. “As a toddler, ya tossed your curly blonde locks
with excitement, ran across the lawn, and jumped into my arms
smothering me with kisses.” She failed to stop the tears. “Oh,
fuck, hand me a damn tissue!”

She wiped her face, blew her nose. “I do
love ya kiddo!”

“I love you too, Aunt Carol.” I grinned,
wiped my own tears, and sniffled.

There was not a word from Steven in the back
seat. I was tempted to look to see if my tough guy bro had teared
up, but then Carol continued.

“Lexi was an amazing artist. Like you,
actually. At times she lived in another world, a world full of her
paintings, and color. She was obsessed with color. She could go on
about the colors in a sunset, or a rainbow, the ocean, or a forest,
until I was ready to scream. But she did make me see a colorful
world that I’d been oblivious to.” Carol pounded her fist on the
steering wheel. “There was no damn reason, no fucking reason for
anyone to kill her. She always saw the best in people, ignored
shortcomings. It used to drive me crazy sometimes, she was such a
Pollyanna.”

I smiled.

“You know, after she was supposedly killed
by a serial killer, I researched the subject thoroughly––it’s been
a secret obsession of mine.” Carol said.

“Why do you say supposedly?” I asked.

“No one was ever caught, tried or
convicted.” Carol hesitated as though she were deciding if she
should voice her thoughts. “Serial killers used to be called
“stranger killers” because most murderers kill for a motive rather
than for thrills. I’ve never been totally convinced that Lexi was a
stranger to her killer.”

“What?” Steven broke his silence.

“A couple of her friends were, still are,
strange enough to be serial killers.”

“Who?" he asked.

“I’ve got a list of serial killer
characteristics. You can look at it and see for yourself.” Carol
said.

“I read a file Dad had about the Zodiac.
Douchebag was wacko and wrong. Nobody who could even pretend to be
normal could be that messed up,” I said.

Carol gave me a quick glance. “You might be
surprised. Sometimes they can seem pretty normal and the
characteristics aren’t all that weird.”

“Give me an example of a characteristic.”
Steven asked.

“Portly,” Carol said.

“Fat?” Steven asked.

“Ever seen pictures of John Wayne Gacy? That
kind of pudgy.”

“Like Elliott?” I asked.

Carol nodded and pulled the car up to the
curb in front of Kroeber Hall. I glanced at the spot where I had
waited for Steven earlier in the day, but looked away. A chill ran
down my spine. I let Steven do the talking.

“That’s where it happened.” Steven waved
toward the middle of the lawn. “She was on the bench, then she saw
me I guess.” Steven looked to me for confirmation, I nodded and he
continued, “She stood up and started to run towards the car when
all of a sudden she collapsed onto the grass, scared the hell out
of me, but then she jumped up, ran to the car and hopped in.”

“And the police? What did they find?” Carol
asked.

I had to answer; Steven had waited in the
car while I spoke with the Berkeley cops. “They found two bullets,”
I managed to choke out.

“In the grass?” Carol asked.

She was strangely curious about this
shooting. I nodded an affirmation to her question.

“Show me.” Carol opened her car door.

I really didn’t want to get out of that car,
but she stood waiting on the sidewalk.

“Al, I’m going to park the car legally this
time.” Steven said as he slid into the driver’s seat. “You
okay?”

I nodded, but I wasn’t okay. My heart was in
my throat.

“Hey, you don’t have to do this.” Steven
leaned across to the passenger window. “Aunt Carol, I don’t
think––”

“It’s okay Steven. I’ve gotta do it some
day. Might as well get it over with.” I opened the car door and put
one foot at a time on the sidewalk. I took a deep breath and stood
up.

My heart pounded, my eyes teared. What the
hell? I had to stop overreacting. After all, I hadn’t gotten hit by
the bullets. But now that adrenalin was no longer coursing through
my veins, my legs felt like lead weights, and my headache was back
with a sharp pain. I dragged myself over to where Carol rubbed the
raw scar on the tree branch.

“Yeah, that’s how the cops found the
bullets. One of them hit the tree.” I said.

Carol drew me into her arms and hugged me
until it hurt. “Oh my god, thank god you’re okay.” She brushed my
hair back and kissed my cheek.

I nodded, but I didn’t feel okay. “Aunt
Carol,” I whispered, “We’ve gotta find Mom. Don’t you have any
ideas?”

She shook her head. She held me close while
she spoke in my ear. “I just can’t imagine that any of the people
we know could have had anything to do with this. You are like, well
for me, you’re the closest thing to a daughter I’ll ever have, and
I think all of your uncles feel the same way about you. The thought
of losing you . . . or your mother. It’s unbearable.” Carol
shuddered as she squeezed me tight enough to hinder my
breathing.

“We’ve been through that once, it was hell,
the worst ––” She choked, then hesitated before continuing. “We
each blamed ourselves for encouraging her, hell, fucking pushing
her to go on that date. If I’d just let her stay locked in her
studio . . . it was my fault.” Carol sighed again. “I guess
everyone involved felt the same. But really it was me, I made her
go. Anyway, our mutual guilt drew us all together. We became like a
family, the realization that one of us could be gone, just all of a
sudden disappear from our lives. Facing the fact of one’s own
mortality is especially hard when you are young, when life is just
beginning, but having a contemporary die brings the fact of death
home.” She released me and shook her head.

We linked arms while we walked to the bench.
My knees shook, I sat down just as Steven walked around the corner
of Kroeber Hall. Carol released my hand to wave at him.

I’d forgotten to tell him something that
could be important.

I stood and ran to my brother.

And the unthinkable happened.

I had twenty feet to go to reach him when I
heard a shot whiz by my ear and seconds later felt something slam
into the side of my head.

12

Where was I? My eyelids felt glued shut, my
limbs heavy, yet I was floating out of touch with my body in a
cloud of fog.

I concentrated, tried to pick up a hand, but
something was attached to it. Could I lift a finger? The effort to
move made me aware of the intense pain shooting through my
head.

Elevator bells chimed; phones rang in the
distance. Voices muttered nearby. I couldn’t make sense of what
they said. Too much work. I was too sleepy.

I drifted back to the dream.

I had misjudged the rock outcropping
overhead on the trail above me and slammed my head right into a few
tons of granite. Shit that hurt! I spun in black and stars, grabbed
a bush that had managed to grow in a crack, and prayed I wouldn’t
tumble down the rocky cliff. A hundred feet below, waves crashed
against jagged crags embedded in a narrow strip of sand. Screams
from the beach were faint, nearly drowned in the undulating roar of
the breakers.

My friend Jeff and I had been climbing down
the cliff face to join a party on the beach in Big Sur when we
heard a sharp yell followed by cries for help. Jeff who had some
emergency medical experience opted to continue the climb down, but
had sent me back up to the road to get help. Without Jeff calling
out each foot placement, I was fighting the urge to sit down,
frozen in place by fear. Rock climbing, particularly without any
safety gear, or expert guidance scared the shit out of me.

The stars floating around my head gave me an
excuse to rest at least until the spinning stopped. Afraid the
black that drifted in and out of my consciousness would lead to a
fall, I laid down on the warm dirt ledge.

On the edge of my awareness, Jeff’s faint,
insistent voice called my name. I wanted to answer, if only the
whirling would slow down. I knew I had to hurry. I had to get
up.

13

Berkeley, Alta Bates Hospital, March 2008

“Al, Alexandra.” Jeff squeezed his
daughter’s hand, whispered her name as though he could call her
back to them. “Alexandra.”

Steven couldn’t believe how fucked up this
was. His sister lying there, her face as white as the hospital
bedding and bandages covered her blonde head. Tubes ran out of her
mouth, across her nose, and out the top of her hands. The hum of
machines attached to her arms and chest drowned her occasional
moan.

Dad had said, “Thank God she’s still alive,”
and seemed unaffected by her comatose state. Spending his adult
life prosecuting murders had hardened him. Steven vowed anew not to
be cold like his father.

“Where the hell is Mom?” Steven asked
again.

Jeff shrugged, but his hands shook and the
strain on his face belied his attempt at casual. “Not answering her
cell.” Maybe he wasn’t as coldhearted as Steven thought.

“I’ve been trying to reach her all
afternoon.” Steven said. “What’s going on? What’s this about,
Dad?”

Jeff shook his head, but he looked relieved
when Carol and Dave burst into the room distracting his son from
further questioning. The four exchanged silent, gentle hugs.

Carol tiptoed to the bed and whispered, “Is
she going to be okay?”

Dave put his arm around Carol and whispered
in her ear. She turned to Jeff and Steven with tears running down
her botoxed face. She slid her hand down Steven’s face and then
embraced Jeff. “Have you found Lauren yet?”

“No,” Jeff said.

The four stood together eyes on Al’s pale
face, listening to the hum of the machines.

“When was the last time you guys ate?” Carol
broke the silence.

“This morning,” Jeff answered even though
he’d only grabbed coffee on the run to court.

Carol glanced out the window at the
darkening sky. “Let’s get some food.”

“She’s been moaning, trying to tell us
something.” Steven returned to the chair next to the bed. “I’ll
stay here.”

Steven’s father, his Uncle Dave and his Aunt
Carol tried to persuade Steven to go with them but he held his
ground.

Dave and Carol were not a couple. In fact
they’d probably run into each other in the lobby, but they were
both, each in their own way, extraordinarily successful.

Dave had turned what had started as a
waterbed company into several furniture manufacturing and
distributing businesses spending weeks at a time flying on his
plane throughout south East Asia checking on his companies. He was
today, as always, dressed in a dark, impeccably tailored, suit, his
grooming perfect in every detail from the trim of his light brown
hair to his buffed fingernails.