Don't Say a Word (Strangers Series) (2 page)

CHAPTER 2

TEN MINUTES LATER, Bitty ushered the twin girls and an exhausted-looking caseworker into the living room.

Rain lashing the windows behind her, Allie sat in the recliner and studied the girls as they took seats on one of the couches. Both girls were pale and frail looking, very possibly malnourished. They also had the same long, wavy hair, except one was blonde and the other a dark brunette.

“This here is Zoe Parish,” the caseworker said, motioning to the dark-haired girl and setting a weathered-looking box of files on the coffee table.

Bitty knelt down in front of Zoe.

“Hi, Zoe. I’m Miss Bitty.”

Zoe glared at Bitty. “We want to go home.”

“She had a difficult time leaving her house,” the caseworker said. “I’m afraid she’s angry and a bit confused.”

Her eyes still on Zoe, Bitty nodded. “I completely understand,” she said, gently. “I don’t blame you. I probably wouldn’t have wanted to leave my home either.”

Zoe wore a jacket far too large for her, and beneath it, Allie could see a yellow T-shirt stained with some sort of red sauce. As Bitty spoke to Zoe, the girl stared down at her hand and nervously chipped off glittery pink nail polish with a thumbnail.

The caseworker continued. “And this is Carrie Parish,” she said, motioning to the blonde girl, who seemed significantly smaller than the brunette. Her skin was paper-white, her eyes sunken, and she was clutching a tattered stuffed bear. “She hasn’t said a word since they were found.”

“Hi, Carrie,” Bitty said, softly.

Carrie pulled the stuffed bear closer to her chest.

Bitty had said the twins were twelve years old, but they looked—and seemed to behave—younger. If she had to guess, she’d say they seemed only about ten. She’d seen other children regress after experiencing trauma and wondered if that was also the case with these girls.

“Like I told your sister, I’m Miss Bitty. I’ll be taking care of you tonight, okay?”

The girl remained silent.

Bitty turned to Allie. “This young lady is my daughter, Allie,” she said, motioning to her.

Daughter.

Allie’s heart swelled at the word because Bitty was the only real mother she’d ever had—and it had taken her sixteen years to find her. She still pinched herself sometimes, stunned that out of all the children Bitty had fostered over the years, she was the one the woman had chosen to adopt.

It still made no sense to her . . . why
she
had been the lucky one.

“Hi,” Allie said, smiling one of her confident smiles. One she’d practiced thousands of times over the years. Confidence had never been something that had come easy to her. She’d had to work hard on it.

The brunette girl, Zoe, studied her with big, watchful eyes.

“Would you girls like something to eat or drink?” Bitty asked. “I made cookies.”

Her eyes still on Allie, Zoe shook her head. Carrie remained silent.

“I have chocolate chip,” Bitty said.

Neither girl responded.

“I’m afraid we found them in dire conditions,” the caseworker said. “Covered in urine, vomit. We tried to clean them up a little at the hospital, but they didn’t—”

Bitty cut her off with a raised hand. She didn’t like people talking about the children in front of them as though they couldn’t hear. She believed that children should receive the same respect any adult would expect. “Allie, please show the girls to the bathroom and run a bath,” she said.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Help them if they need it, then show them to their bedroom while we finish talking, okay, honey?”

“Okay.” Allie stood up and crossed the room. “C’mon, follow me,” she said, motioning to the girls.

Eyes cast downward, the twins dutifully followed.

Both girls stood quietly in the bathroom doorway as Allie prepared a warm bath. Now much closer to them, she could smell the stink of urine and vomit the caseworker had been talking about.

Allie stood on the toilet seat and gathered supplies from the upper shelves of the overhead cabinet, then climbed down. She placed everything neatly on the counter. “These are for you. There’s also shampoo and conditioner next to the tub,” she said, gesturing to both bottles. “Can I get you guys anything else?”

Zoe was staring at her again. Up close, Allie could see how bloodshot and frightened the girl’s big green eyes were.

“No, thank you.”

“Carrie?”

Carrie stood silently, hugging her bear and watching the bathtub fill with water.

“Did they call Grandmother?” Zoe asked, her voice quivering.

“Who?”

“Grandmother. Is she . . . is she coming for us?”

“I don’t know,” Allie said. “Bitty didn’t say anything about her, but I’ll ask.”

“We won’t go with her,” Zoe said, shaking her head. “There’s no way,” she said, sounding both obstinate and terrified.

Allie nodded, then squeezed past the girls. She stepped out of the bathroom to give them some privacy. “I’ll be out here. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

Allie left the door open a crack. She listened to the girls undress and step into the water. Then she moved closer to the living room, where Bitty and the caseworker were sitting, talking on the couch.

“I’m afraid they haven’t had the best home environment,” the caseworker was saying. “About three years ago, their younger brother was hit by a truck and killed. The girls were there when it happened. Witnessed the entire thing.”

Allie winced. She went to the bathroom door to listen in on the girls again. Hearing water sloshing around, she went to the closet where Bitty kept extra clothes for the kids. She chose two cotton nightgowns and pairs of underwear that looked like they would fit the twins.

A few minutes later, she led the freshly scrubbed girls to the bedroom where the foster kids slept. It was decorated in warm browns and soft blues, and outfitted with bunk beds along the far wall and a twin bed on the opposite wall. Functional and comfortable.

“This is your bedroom. You can sleep wherever you like,” Allie said.

Zoe bristled. “This isn’t
our
bedroom,” she said, her green eyes icy. “This isn’t even our house. We’re only here until our dad gets back from his run and picks us up.”

A strangled sound came from deep within her sister’s throat. She buried her pale face into her teddy bear and sobbed.

“Their father’s dead, right?” Allie asked after she and Bitty had left the girls’ bedroom, leaving the two curled up together on the lower bunk, a plate of chocolate chip cookies and some almond milk on the nightstand next to the bunk beds.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Zoe told me he’s just out of town. That they’re expecting him to pick them up.”

The woman exhaled loudly. “The caseworker said she hasn’t fully accepted that her parents have died.”

“So what do I say if she says it again? About her father.”

“I’d gently remind her about the conversations she’s already had with her caseworker and the psychiatrist at the hospital,” Bitty said. “Tomorrow morning, I’m taking them to the Child Advocacy Center. The police want to find out what they know about the murders . . . and they’ll also start seeing a counselor there on an ongoing basis. Hopefully, the sessions will help.”

“Did the caseworker mention a grandmother?” Allie asked. “Zoe’s worried that she’s going to pick them up. She seemed scared that they’ll have to stay with her.”

“I was told the maternal grandmother was contacted, but she refused to accept the girls.”

Allie frowned. “God. That’s awful.”

“Yes, it is. It happens far too often, I’m afraid. People can be selfish . . . and cold.”

Yes, they can,
Allie thought.

Over more tea, Bitty filled Allie in on everything the caseworker had shared. About their three-year-old brother being hit by a truck, about the $1.2 million the family had just won in the lottery, and their recent move from a trailer on the edge of town to Sherman’s Landing.

“Guess the good life didn’t end up so good,” Bitty said. She stood and carried the plates to the sink.

“Yeah, I guess not.”

Zoe’s fear-filled eyes flashed into Allie’s mind. She remembered how miserable Carrie had looked . . . like she’d simply wanted to fold into herself and die. Although all of the foster kids looked pretty miserable when they first arrived, Allie found that she felt worse for these girls because their family had been ripped apart by murder.

Just as hers had.

She also had a good idea of what the road ahead of them would look like . . . and it wouldn’t be pretty. People never healed from the horror of murder.

Not completely.

Her eyelids suddenly heavy, Allie said good night. Back in her bedroom, she kissed Sammy’s soft cheek. She pulled away and stared at his little face, letting pure joy wash over her.

She still couldn’t believe he was hers. That he had actually come out of her body. Before Sammy, she hadn’t understood the meaning of joy. Now she felt it several times every day.

Sammy was her world.

He and Bitty were her everything.

Trying to block further thoughts of the girls from her mind, she crawled back into bed and closed her eyes. Almost instantly she drifted off, into the comforting arms of sleep . . . where she rested soundly until the first of the horrible screams rang out.

CHAPTER 3

ALLIE LEAPT FROM the bed and ran toward the screams. They were coming from the girls’ bedroom.

She flipped on the overhead light to find the blonde twin, Carrie, standing in the middle of the room, her eyes wide, her arms rigid at her sides. She was screaming at the top of her lungs.

Zoe was standing a few feet from her sister, holding her ears. “Stop, Carrie! Stop! You’re freaking me out,” she pleaded. “Stop, Carrie! You’re scaring me!”

Carrie’s voice was so loud and shrill, Allie’s brain vibrated in her skull. Allie hesitated, staring at the screaming girl. She didn’t know what to do.

She knew someone more normal would reach out to Carrie and embrace her in a hug. But Allie couldn’t. As she looked at the girl, she noticed several angry red lines on the insides of both arms, just below her elbows.

They looked like cutting scars.

Bitty flew into the room. She immediately went to Carrie and wrapped her arms around her. Carrie, her face nearly purple, continued to scream, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Shhh, honey. It’s all right,” Bitty soothed.

Bitty freed a hand, grabbed a blanket from the twin bed, and pulled it tightly around Carrie’s shoulders.

Feeling useless, Allie wrung her hands and turned to the doorway, expecting to see a frightened Sammy, but the doorway was empty. She glanced at Zoe, who was still holding her ears. There was raw terror in her eyes. She hummed and rocked back and forth on her tiptoes. Allie watched her, her own pulse racing.

Finally the screaming stopped. Carrie began to pant, as though desperately trying to pull air into her lungs.

“It’s going to be okay,” the old woman continued to soothe. Bitty’s eyes found Zoe. “Has she had these fits before?”

Zoe shook her head. “No. What’s . . . what’s wrong with her?” She stepped tentatively toward her sister now that she was no longer screaming, and gently touched her back. “It’s okay, Carrie. Dad’ll be here soon to get us, okay?”

Carrie opened her mouth and started screaming again.

Zoe’s hands shot to her ears. She backed away from her sister and sobbed.

Perplexed at the excitement, Piglet jerked her chin to the ceiling and howled.

Zoe blinked at Allie, those watchful eyes of hers seeming to want . . . need . . . something. They reminded her of the look Sammy got on his face when he was upset and wanted to be held.
Did she want a hug, maybe?
Allie wondered. Allie was pretty sure it was what any normal, caring human being would do in the situation. But she couldn’t.

She always helped Bitty with the foster children, but she never got involved. Not emotionally anyway. She ran errands, prepared food—did the menial stuff—but she never got to know them on a personal level. And she certainly didn’t hug them. She was too afraid of making her world any bigger. The girls’ presence alone was already a disruption. She knew her hesitancy was selfish . . . and she felt bad about it, but she also feared coming undone.

And she couldn’t let that happen.

Realizing Piglet was still howling, Allie gathered the dog in her arms. She stood nervously for a moment, randomly noticing that the cookies and milk on the bedside table were gone, then she went to Bitty. “What can I do?”

The old woman’s voice was calm. “A glass of water, please.”

Relieved to finally have something to do, Allie set Piglet down and hurried to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Before returning to the girls’ bedroom, she stopped to check on Sammy. She was relieved to find him lying exactly where he was before the screams, still sound asleep. Sammy had always been an incredibly deep sleeper. Even as a baby. In the beginning, the fact that he slept so much—and could sleep through practically anything—had concerned her, but his pediatrician said he was simply a good sleeper . . . and told Allie not to worry so much . . . that it was a problem most new mothers would love to have. But she still worried sometimes. She couldn’t count the times over the years when she’d checked just to make sure he was still breathing.

Ears still ringing from the high-pitched screams, Allie took a deep breath and carried the glass of water to the girls’ room.