The Unwanted (22 page)

She still had Iris to worry about. That had to be her first concern. But she wasn't going to leave Montreal without getting inside. She owed her family that much respect at least.

She felt like another taxi ride down the street would be one too many. Even if it happened after dark, someone might start to get suspicious. But her choices were limited. She couldn't rent a car, and she certainly couldn't get in touch with any of her friends and ask for help. God knows what would happen to them if she did.

Steal a car? Right. She'd seen it in movies, but suspected it was even harder than it looked. That was not even close to an option.

Her only choice was to walk in.

Her suitcase was a problem, though. She needed someplace to stash it. Her best solution was the same hotel they'd stayed in the night before. So it was back to the Motel Monique, where she arranged for a second night in the same room. The clerk didn't even question her this time. He simply took her money and handed over the key.

Suitcase dropped off, she and Iris headed back out. At a sporting goods store, she picked up a hooded pullover sweatshirt. It was black, and would hide most of her features when the hood was up. She then found a diner, and waited there until dark.

At 9:15 p.m. she called another taxi. This time instead of driving down her street, she had the driver drop her and Iris several blocks away. They walked, avoiding any direct eye contact with the few people they passed. When they reached her parents' block, Marion slowed, eyeing everything in case there was someone waiting for her.

"No," she said to herself as they neared the house, not hiding her frustration.

There were a dozen people out front again, and more candles. Another vigil. She wanted to be touched by the gesture, but all she could feel was anger at being denied access to the house yet again.

But when a few of the people began moving off, she realized the impromptu service was ending. She stopped one property away, and turned her head to Iris, to hide her face from those leaving the gathering.

A few of the people were talking as they walked by, and Marion was surprised to find she recognized one of the voices as a friend she hadn't seen in over a year. She wanted to turn and call out to her, to feel the warmth and sympathy of her friend's arms around her, but she remained where she was.

Once the steps began to recede, she chanced a look back toward her house. The only things left were a few dying candles. The crowd that had been there was gone.

Marion glanced up and down the street, making sure that there were no stragglers, then she started walking again.

As she got closer, she could hear the TV on in the Blair house. Mr. Blair was the only one who lived there anymore, his wife gone at least four years now. He'd been growing more and more deaf, and the volume of the TV had been getting increasingly louder every time Marion visited home. Her mother had joked that if they were watching the same channel, they could mute their own TV and still hear what was going on.

Marion slowed her pace as she moved in front of the house she had grown up in. When she reached the far corner of the property, she stopped again. She had noted the tape across the front entrance, but that was fine. The key she had worked on both the front and the back doors, and the latter was much preferable.

She glanced around again, saw no one at all, then took a deep breath.

"I need you to be quiet, okay?" she whispered needlessly to Iris. The child was one of the quietest she'd ever known.

Iris lifted her head up for a moment, then lay back against Marion's shoulder.

"Okay, then. Let's go."

Marion turned and walked rapidly down the side of the house to the backyard. She had expected to find more tape across the rear door, but there was none. She slipped the key into the lock and turned it. Five seconds later, she was standing in her mother's kitchen.

She walked through the first floor, looking at everything but touching nothing. It was like she was in her parents' house, but she wasn't. The familiarity was all there. The pictures. The dining table where she used to do her homework. The couch in the living room where she'd caught her sister making out with Peter from down the street. But even surrounded by all these things, it felt empty.
Soulless,
she thought. Home to no one.

In the living room, she hesitated at the base of the stairs before mounting them.

This is why you're here,
she thought.
You wanted to see this.

With a nod of self-confirmation, she climbed up to the second floor.

She didn't know what she expected to feel, but numbness was a surprise. She looked in her sister's room first. Someone had taken the time to put the duvet back in place. Not a perfectly made bed, but one that was hard to imagine had recently held her sister's body.

She moved to her parents' room. The duvet had been straightened here, too. Marion was about to turn and leave, when she spotted the picture on her mother's dresser. It was a family photo from a cousin's wedding two years earlier. It was the last formal photo the four of them had taken together. Marion walked over and leaned in for a closer look.

Her parents, happy and still very much in love. Her sister trying hard not to show the effects of her own deteriorating marriage. And Marion, proud of her parents, proud of her new job at the UN.

She reached out with her free hand and picked up the picture, knowing before she even touched it she wouldn't be putting it back. It was coming with her.

She carried Iris and the picture back into the hallway and walked over to the room at the front of the house. Her room. Like the others, the door was open wide, it, too, having been checked once the first body had been found.

Like the others, her bed was also made. Only instead of looking like a rush job, someone had taken the time to make it look good. Her mother. And the sheets underneath the duvet would be clean, waiting for Marion to come home for a visit.

My God, what have I done?

She slumped down onto her bed, and placed Iris beside her. The child's mouth was turned down, and her eyes were wide. It looked as if she was about to cry. She must have been sensing Marion's own desire to let the tears come.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Marion said. "We'll leave soon."

Water began to pool at the base of the girl's eyes. It was the last thing Marion wanted. She tried to think of something to distract the child. Out of desperation she pulled the motel key out of her pocket and waved it in front of Iris. It was a regular metal key attached to a plastic rectangle with the name of the motel and the room number. Iris reached out for it, so Marion let her take it. But the child merely threw it across the room, the key landing near the door.

As Marion got up to retrieve it, she happened to look at her old painted dresser near the door. On top was the stuffed bear her father had given her when she'd been a little girl.
Pauline.

Marion smiled at all the memories Pauline represented. She grabbed the bear and handed it to Iris.

This time the distraction worked. The child's tears began to recede as she focused on her new stuffed animal. Pauline had a way of doing that, Marion remembered. The bear had always been good at pushing the tears back.

Marion realized there were several things she wanted to take with her, memories of her family, of her life. She had no idea how long she would have to stay away from home, from Montreal for that matter. Maybe they would continue to chase her, forcing her to be on the run for months, or maybe even for years. If that was the case, she needed something to give her strength. She needed the power of her memories.

While Iris played, Marion found an old box full of teen magazines in her closest. She pulled the periodicals out and set them in a neat stack where the box had been. At the door to her room, she realized the motel key was still on the floor. She picked it up and put it in the box, then walked through the house picking up items she felt the need to keep. A few more pictures, a scarf her mother had knitted for her, a copy of
A Wrinkle in Time
that her father had read with her so many years ago, a small wooden box that contained a gold-plated bracelet her sister had given to her for Christmas one year, even the grocery list her mother had started and pinned to the refrigerator with a magnet.

When she was done, she realized there was no way she was going to be able to carry the box and Iris at the same time.

What a stupid idea,
she thought, knowing that the box was going to have to stay. She could put the scarf around her neck, and perhaps take one of the pictures out of its frame and stuff it in her pocket, but that was about it. The rest had been a waste of time.

But then she saw the key hanger next to the back door. There were three sets of keys, each on a separate hook. Her father and mother had never been big on driving, choosing instead to take public transportation or ride their bikes to where they wanted to go. So their keys were limited to those they needed for the house and, in her mother's case, work. But Emily's keys were different. She'd had a car. An old Saab, unless she'd sold it. The set of keys hanging from the hook on the left had a large key that could only be for a car. It was a duplicate, so there was no company name on it, but the vehicle had to be outside somewhere.

Marion grabbed her sister's keys, then sneaked a peak around the edge of the curtain in the living room. The only things she could see were a couple of cars parked directly in front of the house—neither familiar—and a third car driving by on the street. It was hard to tell, but it looked like the people inside the vehicle were gazing at her house. Probably curious about the makeshift memorial in the front yard. All the same, she watched the car until it disappeared.

Once the vehicle was out of sight, she set the box down on the couch, then ran back upstairs. Iris, still happily occupied with the old bear, look up when Marion hurried in.

"We're leaving in a moment," Marion said.

She crossed the room to her window. It was a view she'd seen thousands of times before, tens of thousands even. The houses on the other side of the street had changed little. Some of the trees were larger, but that was about it. And like there had always been, cars lined either side of the street, waiting for their owners to wake and need them again.

She spotted Emily's car right away. The old silver two-door Saab was parked directly across the street. A lucky spot, they would have said. As Marion smiled, some of the tension left her body. Here was the break she needed, not just because she could take the box with them, but now they had transportation. Now they could drive to the other end of Canada if they wanted. It would free them, for a little while anyway.

"Come on, baby," she said as she scooped up Iris and headed downstairs.

In the living room, she set Iris on the couch, then picked up the box to bring out to the car first. But Iris would have none of it. She reached out and grabbed Marion's leg.

"It'll just be for a minute," Marion said.

But the child wouldn't let go.

"Fine. You first then." She set the box down, then picked Iris up.

Marion knew it wasn't the best plan. But it would have to do. Iris would only be by herself in the car a few minutes at most. And it was doubtful anyone would notice her.

Marion carried the child out of the house and around the side. She was careful when she reached the front, checking twice to make sure it was quiet, then she scooted along the edge of the property to the sidewalk.

To be safe, she walked down half a block to avoid the light from one of the streetlamps before crossing the street. As she approached her sister's car, she half expected there to be another notice from the police, marking it as part of the crime scene. But there was nothing. Either they hadn't realized it belonged to her sister, or they didn't care.

She slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. Inside, the dome light came on. She leaned in and turned it off.

"Okay, you're going to stay here while I go get the box," she said to Iris. "I'll be right back, so you'll be fine."

As she put the girl down on the small back seat, Iris's lower lip began to tremble.

"No, don't cry, sweetie. Just play with your bear." Marion looked around. "Where is it?"

But the bear wasn't there. They must have left it upstairs, she thought. That's why Iris hadn't wanted to be left on the couch.

"Dammit," Marion said under her breath.

She glanced around to see if there was anything that could keep Iris occupied. The best she could come up with was a map of eastern Canada, but it seemed to do the trick.

"I'll only be a minute," she said, then shut the door and hurried back to the house.

Once inside, she went straight for the box in the living room. She started to pick it up, but then stopped.
Pauline.

She first checked around the couch to make sure Iris hadn't dropped the bear there, then ran upstairs, her gaze focused on the steps to make sure it wasn't somewhere along the way.