Paper Dolls (14 page)

"Yeah?"

"They're returning home to the Antarctic after breeding in the warmer waters here."

"Brrr, I'd just stick around here if I were a whale." Zach laughed. He moved his arm around my shoulders. "Wish I didn't have to go home either. I could stay here on this beach happy forever I think. With you."

He turned to gaze at me seriously. "Tell me if you want me to shut up, or go away and stop bothering you. I can dig a hole in sand and stick my head in it if you want me to.”

I laughed. "You're not bothering me. The opposite."

"I was hoping you'd say that." He breathed out audibly. "This is insane, but I don't want to lose you. I've only known you one day, but this day has meant everything to me. Yeah I know, holiday romance and all of that, but I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t want to go back to the States and be without you. Now that I know who you really are, I'll worry if I can't be here by your side."

The intensity of his words caught me off-guard. I didn't know what to reply, how I felt. Inside of me, everything was still so numb. And how could he possibly use the word
romance
after a few short hours?

But he moved his body close to mine, his chest so close his heart almost pumped blood through my chest. And his mouth was on mine. Warm and tasting of the ocean air. This time, when I closed my eyes, there was nothing but Zach.

“From Andy?” I queried mom.

She gave a silent shrug. My father had sent flowers to the hospital weeks back but never since, not even when he came to visit me. I opened the envelope. The words inside simply said,
Thinking of you every moment today, Zach.

I bent to breathe in the scent of the flowers, as though the flowers would somehow smell of Zach. They didn’t. They smelled of that slightly sweet, refrigerated, wet scent that delivered flowers had. But they were beautiful and he’d remembered that roses reminded me of the dollhouse because there wasn’t a single rose amongst them.

“You must really have made an impression on that boy,” mom remarked. “That’s quite an impressive bunch of flowers.”

“He’s one of the nicest people I ever met.”

“Well it was sweet of him to send this to you. It’s not going to be an easy day.”

I didn't know if I could face any of it. We'd been briefed by Detective Kalassi—I was going to be shown all the videos and photos police had taken that night in the underground. And I had to give my testimony—against Henry Fiveash.... and against Ethan.

I shivered as I sat trying to get some toast and peanut butter into my stomach. My stomach refused to cooperate. Aisha would be the only one there who knew what the underground was like. Frances was too young to attend court. Sophronia had disappeared into the world above—and no one, not even the hardest-nosed journalist had been able to ferret her out. And Lacey... Lacey had been in the dollhouse, but only for minutes at a time—she didn’t know what it was like to live there, with no hope of ever leaving. Anyway, I had been told Lacey was still in psychosis and wouldn’t be attending court today.

The phone rang and mom took the call.

The blood drained from her face. She struggled to compose herself, gazing over at me and then squeezing her eyes shut as she listened to the rest of the call. Her hand shook as she placed the phone on the table.

“Mom, what is it? What’s happened?”

She swallowed. “I don’t even know how to begin to tell you.”

My heart clenched. “Someone died, didn’t they?”

She shook her head. “No… someone lived….”

“What?”

“Cassie, that was Detective Kalassi. There’s going to be someone in the courtroom today—someone who you won’t expect to be there.”

“Who? Is it Sophronia? Did something bad happen to her?”

She shook her head. "It's not little Sophronia. And it’s nothing bad. It's a good thing. A very good thing. But it will shock you, and even good shocks can be difficult to process when you've been through intense stress. So I want you to be prepared. There's a lot of things here to explain—"

"Just tell me who? Please!"

"Honey... it's Molly."

Blood ran hot and cold through my veins. Mom could not have just said that name.
Molly
.

Molly. Missouri. Molly. A person I’d never forget until the hour I drew my last breath on this earth. A person I’d thought had drawn her last breath...

Mom reached to hold my hands. I barely felt the pressure of her hands on mine.

"Detective Kalassi said Molly was still clinging to life when she was taken onboard the helicopter that night. Just barely.”

“What?” Thoughts streamed through me, an incoherent jumble.

“Molly lived, Cassie. She didn't recover consciousness for days, and it was expected she’d be in a coma until she passed away. But she fought for life… and won the battle. She retained all functioning—both brain and physical.”

"Molly is alive." I whispered it myself. Her name echoed in my mind over and over.

Tears streamed wetly on my face. "Why wasn't I told?" I demanded. "Why? Why?”

"It was a police decision. Because her life was in danger."

"Danger from who? Henry?"

"Henry remains a very dangerous man. But this involves someone else. Did Molly tell you any of her past?"

"No. Well really just one thing. She'd been in a foster home, and she ran away. That's it. She did say something strange. She said that being in the underground wasn't the worst thing.”

“Poor girl.” Mom pushed her thick hair behind her ears. “Cassie, Detective Kalassi is still on the line. He’d like to talk to you.”

I took the phone, staring at it with trepidation before holding to my ear. “Detective?”

“Hi Cassie.”

“Is it really true?”

“It’s really true," he said.

“Where is she?”

“She’s here. She wanted to speak to you in person, not over the phone. I’ll be bringing her to the courtroom later, but she won’t be giving witness. She needs to stay hidden. She wanted to be there though—for you and Aisha. I have to ask that you wait until court is out though. There’s a family matter and things are very dangerous for Molly.”

“Oh God….”

“I have to go now. But you’ll be seeing Molly later and I wanted to talk with you first. She’s sleeping right now. She’s still very weak. She’s been here with my wife and I since being released from hospital last week. Cassie, I know you don’t understand any of this, and I’m so sorry that we couldn’t tell you straight away.”

I tried to collect my breathing. I could scarcely believe he was there talking about Molly.
Not a dead Molly but a living Molly...

Desperately, I craned my neck around, looking for any sign of Molly—but found none.
Was she really going to be here? Was she really alive?
Aisha and I caught each other’s eye and nodded at each other. Mom told me that Aisha’s parents had told her about Molly this morning as well. I also looked for Sophronia, hoping against hope she’d made her way here. But there was no Sophronia either.

We were shown to our seats. I exhaled a tightly-held breath.

Ethan and his grandfather were brought in and seated, each flanked by different sets of guards. I guessed that Ethan had been held in a different place than his grandfather, due to his age.

The judge walked in—a grey-haired woman with a stern expression. The judge’s associate introduced the case and the room fell into a complete hush.

Detective Kalassi was the first to be brought to the stand. He was questioned by Ethan’s defense attorney—a Miss. Fletcher—about the circumstances under which Ethan was found in the underground.

Next the tourism operator who had seen Ethan’s grandfather in the area where Aisha disappeared was questioned by a prosecutor named Mr. Lydon—a sharply dressed man with dyed brown hair.

Ethan’s grandfather was then called up by his defense lawyer, a Mr. Khouri. I’d only seen Mr. McAllister a handful of times before but he’d never looked so bowed and disheveled. His skin was gray and his eyes rheumy. He stared straight ahead as he was sworn in.

“Seth McAllister,” said Mr. Khouri, “I understand that you have recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Could you please affirm for me that this is true?”

Seth dipped his head and sighed. “So they tell me.”

“Might this affect your ability to testify, resulting in making any attempt at a fair trial invalid?”

Objection,” called the prosecutor. “The diagnosis is recent, coming after Mr. McAllister’s arrest.”

“Your honor,” said Mr. Khouri to the judge, “I have medical statements which attest to the fact that Seth McAllister has had this condition for some time, even though it is was not formally diagnosed.”

“Objection sustained,” said the judge. “A disease of the mind may indeed affect Mr. McAllister’s testimony, but due to the seriousness of the charges and the relatively recent date of the diagnosis, we shall proceed.”

“Thank you your honor,” said the prosecutor.

Mr. Khouri nodded. “No more questions.” He left to go and sit back down at the bench.

Mr. Lydon walked over to the witness stand with a confident air, coming to rest his hand on the stand.

“Seth McAllister,” he said, “your grandson, Ethan, came to live with you at age nine—correct?”

“After the deaths of my daughter and her husband, yes.” His voice was strained and gravelly.

“Please just answer yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“Now during the time that Ethan lived with you—a course of six years—three young girls disappeared from the forests. Your house is on the edge of the forest is it not?”

“It is.”

“And you and Ethan took regular excursions into the forest, camping there for days at a time. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“So you knew the forests extremely well and you spent a great deal of time there,” the prosecutor summed up. He took a brief walk away from Mr. McAllister as though he needed distance for what he was about to say. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, immediately after the disappearance of three-year-old Frances Allanzi, a handkerchief belonging to Mr. McAllister was found in the area where Frances disappeared. Mr. McAllister was also seen in the area where Aisha Dumaj disappeared, by a bus tour operator.” He turned to Seth. “Can you explain your presence in these particular locations at the times of the disappearances of these girls?”

Mr. McAllister looked confused. He leaned heavily on the stand. “Was I walking there at those times?”

“You tell us, Seth.”

“Objection. Irrelevant line of questioning,” called the defense attorney.

“Sustained,” said the judge. “Mr. Lydon, please keep your questions concrete.”

“Yes your honor,” said Mr. Lydon. He cleared his throat. “Mr. McAllister, did you know about the existence of the Fiveash house at Devils Hole?”

“I did.”

“Can you explain how you knew about the house?”

“My father—Thomas McAllister—was a gardener contracted by the original owner.”

Ethan turned to gaze in surprise at his grandfather.

“So, your father worked for the original owner—Mr. Tobias Fiveash. Did your father ever take you to the Fiveash house?” said the attorney.

“No. I was just a baby when my father disappeared.”

‘What do you mean, disappeared?”

“My father vanished one day when he was meant to work at the Fiveash estate, and his body was never found.”

“And how did you know your father worked for Tobias?

Mr. McAllister breathed heavily into the microphone. “My father’s belongings were passed down to me after my mother died. A few years ago, my daughter—Alkira—showed an interest in family history and I gave her my parents’ things. Alkira found a diary belonging to my father in a false bottom of his tool box. The diary started out just a work diary—people he’d worked for and what he was owed—but then the pages started filling up with other entries. Strange events. She became obsessed with finding out what really happened to Thomas, and she spent a great deal of time researching the history. She was calling me every day to tell me things she’d found out.”

“So, your father listed Tobias Fiveash as one of his employers?”

The old man’s knuckles clenched the witness box. “Yes but there was much more than that….”

“Did your father mention the Fiveash inheritance in his diaries?”

“Yes, he did. And he also said—“

The prosecutor held up a hand. “That’s all we need on that point. You knew about the existence of the inheritance on the Fiveash estate.”

Seth McAllister closed a gnarled fist around the microphone. “He also said the Fiveash house was a place of great evil.”

A muttering of voices rose around the courtroom. The judge called for quiet.

Mr. Lydon tittered. “Pardon me, Mr. McAllister, but that does sound quite fanciful. Can you produce your father’s diary?”

“No, I cannot. On the day Alkira was driving to my house to show me the diary, my beautiful daughter had a truck plough into her car.” He struggled to gain composure. “Both she and her husband… died. Only Ethan survived. I never did find out what happened to the diary.”

“Well, we’ve established you knew about the Fiveash house and about the inheritance. Now, Mr. McAllister, what was your involvement in the abduction of the three girls?”

Seth McAllister stared wild-eyed at his defense attorney.

“Objection!” called Mr. Khouri.

“Sustained,” said the judge. “Mr. Lydon, I remind you that questions must be of a nature that a defendant can reasonably answer.”

“Yes, your honor,” said Mr. Lydon contritely. “I’ll rephrase. “Mr. McAllister, did you have any involvement in the abduction of Molly Parkes, Sophronia Sharma and or Frances Allanzi?”