Broken Grace (24 page)

“Check it out,” the guy said as he reached back and pulled out his wallet. He handed over his driver’s license. “Had it legally changed a few years ago.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because, man, a road diverged in a wood. I chose the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.” His glassy eyes beamed with pride.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but that’s Robert Frost.”

The guy sat up, momentarily panic-stricken, but seconds later he relaxed back into his lounger and smiled. “Bullshit. Quit messing with me, man.”

It was rare for Hackett to feel like a scholar, but he had been forced to memorize that particular poem in English class. “Not messing with you. Regardless, what was your name before you changed it?”

“Marty Kesler.”

“Okay then, Marty.” He jotted down the name so he could pull this guy’s records. Or maybe Bishop would. “I need you to give me Tucker’s cell number, his full name, and where I can find his girlfriend.”

Kesler sat up. “You’re really not fucking with me about Thoreau?”

“Sorry.”

“Thoreau was a poet though, right?”

“Yeah. I think he’s more famous for that quote about how most men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

Kesler smiled. “Well, all right then. I can live with that. Something to avoid, don’t you think, Officer?”

Hackett shook his head, unable to keep up with this guy’s wacked mind.

Kesler seemed able to focus again and pulled up his contacts. He handed the phone, filled with the requested information, to Hackett. “Here you go.”

“Shit,” Hackett swore. He recognized Tucker’s last name immediately. “Thanks,” he called out as he ran for the barn door.

TWENTY-SIX

I
T WAS THE FIRST TIME
G
RACE
hadn’t woken several times during the night, but she still felt awful. Just lifting her body out of the bed seemed to take twice the normal effort. Sun streamed through the windows, and when she glanced at the clock, she was surprised to see that it was already noon. She’d slept for more than sixteen hours.

Downstairs, the kitchen was void of Lisa’s usual coffee and morning notes—a nice change. Something was supposed to happen today. But Grace couldn’t remember what. She pulled out her phone and sat, weighed down by exhaustion from simply coming down the stairs. She checked the calendar and nodded. Today was the day. Maybe she’d finally get her answers.

The temperature had dropped but the sun was blazing from a cloudless sky onto the white fields as she drove toward New Buffalo. She had trouble staying within the speed limit. It had been only two days since she’d seen Dr. Newell, but it felt like much longer, and she wanted to be in that office more than anywhere else in the world. So much had happened, but so many questions remained. The visions, tidbits of information, meeting Vicki, Mom’s paintings, her panic attacks, her increasing fear of staying in that house—everything she’d learned or felt brought on more questions.

Dr. Newell welcomed her into the office, and Grace handed the cassette tape to her. “This was helpful,” she said before taking a seat on the couch.

The doctor sat in the chair across from her. “Did it bring back memories?”

“I wouldn’t say it brought them back. I don’t remember saying those things to you. I don’t remember Michael any more than before, but it was informative, and some things are coming back.” She hesitated. “I’m so sick of not knowing who I am or what I’ve done. We’re gonna get to the bottom of it, right?”

Dr. Newell smiled reassuringly. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can. First, I want to know what medications you’re on and how you’re feeling.”

“Here, I brought them all with me.” She’d remembered at the last minute, just before she left the house. She pulled the pill bottles from her purse and placed them on the doctor’s desk. “Lisa freaks out on me when I skip a dose, but they’re not making things better. I’ve been skipping doses whenever possible. The headaches have dwindled and I feel too foggy when I take them. I can’t sleep; I can’t remember shit.”

The doctor put on her glasses and read the labels, taking notes. “You’re following up with the doctor on Monday, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I think it’s fine for you to hold off on taking any more. These are some strong medications.”

“Okay.” Grace turned on the couch to lay back and said, “Let’s go.”

Dr. Newell smiled. “You’re awfully anxious. Now remember, Grace, this isn’t a guarantee. Hypnosis is kind of like meditation. We’re simply going to try and create a highly relaxed state of inner concentration and focused attention. Your willingness to focus and relax is key. You can’t be hypnotized against your will, and you’ll be conscious the entire time. I’m not inducing you into any kind of sleep state, so if you decide you want to stop at any time, you just say so. My hope is simply that if you relax and open up, you might be able to remember a little bit more.”

“I’m ready.”

“Also, I want you to know that some people believe hypnosis can lead to false memories. That our mind can simply create ways to fill in the gaps, and so it can be very confusing. But I’ve had good results with my patients, and the key is for you to lead this journey. I will not plant suggestions or ideas. I will simply walk with you, metaphorically speaking, and see what we can find.”

“Okay.” Grace adjusted her head against the pillow.

“What I’m going to do is simply try and get you to relax to a point that you’re still conscious but you’re able to tap into memories that you might be blocking. First, I want you to close your eyes. Focus on your breathing.”

Grace followed the instructions. Dr. Newell led her through several exercises, and before long, Grace felt relaxed enough to proceed.

“Now, Grace, it was two weeks ago that you ended up in the hospital. Can you tell me anything about that day?”

“I got in a car accident.”

“Can you tell me anything about that crash?”

“No. I don’t remember anything.”

“And what about before the crash? Do you remember where you were going or what you were doing that morning?”

“No.”

“Okay. Let’s go back a little bit. Your parents died a few years ago. How did you feel when that happened?”

“I was sad. That’s not right. More than sad. I felt guilty.”

“Why did you feel guilty about your parents’ deaths?”

“I wanted to be with Michael. I was fighting with them a lot.”

“How did you feel when you found out they were dead?”

“I was sad. But there was this part of me . . .” She stopped.

“What?”

“I loved Michael. I wanted out of that house. We wanted to be together and they forbade it. We were even talking about running off together.”

“When were you going to do that?”

“As soon as I finished the school year.”

Dr. Newell waited then.

“But when they died, I didn’t have to run away.”

“Is that why you felt guilty? Because there was a benefit for you when they died?”

Her voice cracked. “It was just a little part of me. There was this little voice in my head that realized we didn’t have to run away.”

“Is there any other reason you felt guilty?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell me about that?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“Where were you?”

“I slept over at Vicki’s. We snuck out with Michael and Wesley. We went to Cherry Beach.”

“What did you do there?”

“We made a bonfire, smoked some pot, and then . . . then . . .” It was like her mind was walking down a road and suddenly fell off into a ditch. She felt stuck for a moment, like she was at a fork and unsure which way to go.

“What is it?”

“Vicki and Wesley went off into the dunes for a while to fool around.”

“And what about you and Michael?”

“I loved him.”

“What did you two do when Vicki and Wesley left?”

“The fire started to go out. We went up to sit in the car. We kissed. We talked.”

“Did you talk about anything special?”

“We talked about confronting my parents, to force them to allow us to be together.”

“And did you do it?”

Grace shook her head.

“Is there something else? What is it, Grace?”

“It was my fault. They died because of me.”

“Why do you feel responsible for your parents’ death?”

“My mom and I got in a big fight.”

“When, that night?”

“No. A few days before. She said I was too young to be with Michael, to want to move in with him. She said, ‘Why do my girls make such bad decisions?’ It made me so mad.”

“Why?”

“Because she compared me to Lisa. I was nothing like Lisa. My mom didn’t know anything.”

“What do you mean when you say your mom didn’t know anything?”

“My mom was . . . she was oblivious,” Grace said, her voice now laced with anger.

“Go on.”

“She spent all her time taking pictures, painting, observing, and yet she never saw me. She never knew what was happening in that house.”

“What happened in that house, Grace?”

Tears began falling from her closed lids. She didn’t attempt to wipe them away. She shook her head, but nothing came out. Her lips felt like they were fighting against the words.

Dr. Newell moved her chair closer to the couch. She reached out and held Grace’s hand. “You’re safe here. Nothing can happen to you anymore. It’s okay. Tell me what happened.”

“That house was a nightmare. Even after she was gone, it never ended.”

“Even after who was gone?”

“Lisa.”

“Go on.”

“We played in the woods. We had lots of woods. Everyone said we needed to know them inside and out so we’d never get lost.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“My parents.”

“Okay.”

“So she blindfolded us.”

“Your mother?”

“No.”

“Who?”

“Lisa.”

“And when you say ‘us,’ who are you referring to?”

“Mary and me.”

“Your sister. Okay, and how old were you at the time?”

“She did it a lot. I don’t remember them all. But the last time it was just me. I was, like, six.”

“And what happened?”

She felt like she was right back there, just six years old, standing in the middle of those woods in her daisy dress. “She spun me around five times and said I needed to feel my way home. She said she’d stay right next to me. I would trip on a branch and tumble forward. She’d laugh, help me up, and say, ‘Oh, watch out for that branch.’ She said, ‘Follow my voice.’ So I did. I got smacked by tree branches and scratched all up and down my legs. ‘Come on, you’re doing great,’ she said. ‘Just a few more steps.’ And then I took a step and nothing was there. I fell into this hole, landing in something wet. The smell was rancid. I started screaming. Lisa just laughed. ‘You should have seen the look on your face,’ she said as I pulled off the blindfold. I was in the compost pit, surrounded by rotting leaves, banana peels, eggshells, coffee grinds.”

“Did you tell your mother?”

Grace shook her head. “Lisa ran ahead and told her I’d fallen in the pit. My mom assumed it was an innocent mistake. I didn’t say anything.”

“Did you think she wouldn’t believe you?”

She shook her head again, trying to walk through the woods in her mind. Mary was by her side.

“Is that why you get nervous or you hear that crying girl’s voice when you’re near the woods?”

“No.”

“Do you remember something else?”

They were climbing together, giggling. “Mom and Dad said we weren’t allowed up on the hunting platform.”

“Okay. Did you go up anyway?”

She nodded. “It was supposed to be our special place—our secret.”

“Whose secret place?”

“Mary’s and mine.”

“And how old were you?”

“I don’t know. Four? Five?”

“Did something happen up there?”

“Lisa came up. She scared us. Pushed us each back so far that we were sure we would fall. We both cried and climbed down. I never went back up.”

“It sounds like Lisa was not the easiest older sister. Was she always mean to you?”

“She was always making up games we had to play.”

“Were they fun games?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me of any other games?”

“Hide-and-seek.”

“Was that scary?”

Grace couldn’t answer.

“What are you thinking about now, Grace?”

She was trying to remember . . . or not to remember.

“Grace, where are you?”

“I’m in the basement.” Standing there with Lisa.

“Go on.”

“She said it was a good place to hide. But it was so small. I couldn’t breathe. The latches closed.” She started to feel agitated. Her voice rose. “She wouldn’t let me out. I was ripping the fabric from inside the lid. It won’t open! I can’t breathe.” Her breath started to come in gasps.

“What are you in?”

“The trunk. Stop it! Open! Open!” she screamed.

Dr. Newell squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. You’re not in there anymore. Take a deep breath. You’re with me now.”

Grace inhaled deeply and blew out the air.

“How long were you in there, Grace?”

She felt tears wetting her cheeks.

“You’re okay, Grace. You got out.”

“She let me out.”

“Who?”

“Lisa. She said it was a game. That I needed to stop being such a baby.”

Nausea rolled through her. She was in a tunnel. She could feel that sensation coming. “Ouch!” she cried.

“What is it?”

She started whimpering, a little girl’s voice. “I’m stuck.”

“Where are you?”

She reached down and grabbed her shin. “I’m bleeding!” she cried out.

“Where are you bleeding?”

“My leg, I cut my leg!”

“Where are you, Grace?”

“I’m in the chute.”

“The laundry chute? Did someone put you in the chute?”

Her own voice sounded like a child’s. “She said it would be fun. ‘Look at Susie!’ ”

“Who’s Susie?”

“My doll. She threw her down the chute and put pillows in the laundry tub. She said it would be like a ride.”

“And you got stuck in there. What happened?”

“There was a turn. My leg caught. I scraped it against something sharp.”

“Where’s your mommy, Grace?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where’s your daddy?”

“Don’t know.”

“How’d you get out?”

Grace screamed. Her body bounced. She threw her hands up to shield her head from the downpour and closed her eyes even tighter, straining her whole face.

“What happened?”

“It’s wet and cold—”

“What is it?”

“It’s heavy. Thick. Slippery.
‘Move!’
She kept yelling to move my leg.” She curled up into a ball on the couch, wiping the tears as they came.

“What happened? Are you out of the chute?”

Grace nodded, wiping her tears. “She poured oil down the chute.”

“Did Lisa ever do anything else to you?”

She nodded.

“It’s okay, Grace. You’re okay. Breathe.”

She felt her breathing begin to calm. But when she began to speak, her tears exploded into sobs. “She tried to drown Mary in the tub. I came in and she was holding her head under the water. Mary’s arms were flailing. I screamed for Lisa to let her up. Lisa turned to me like I was an idiot. ‘It was only for a second, Gracie. You guys need to learn to hold your breath.’”

“What did Mary do?”

Her stomach turned at the thought of it. “We were four!”

“Did your parents ever know about any of this, Grace?”

She shook her head.

“And why didn’t you tell them?”

“We knew what she’d do.”

“Come on, Grace,” Dr. Newell said. “You’re doing great. Tell me what you mean when you say, ‘We knew what she’d do.’”

“I hate her so much.” Her voice grew stronger. “Mom never sees. She sees what she wants to see. She pops her pills and paints her pictures and cries for Mary. I couldn’t tell her.”