Fight Dirty (18 page)

CHAPTER 33

A
fter her proclamation, Care
n’s
eyes went dead and she crumpled into the corner of the love seat. Andre had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at her performance—she had it down pat; that was for sure.

“So you told your husband about the affair?” Nick asked gently.

Caren nodded. “I ended it and told Robert. Tha
t’s
why I went to bring BreeAnna home. With Tyler gone from my life and Robert on the road, this house was just so empty. I needed my little girl back home.”

Translation: Care
n’s
life was empty without her lover or her husband to make her the center of their universe. Only then did she think about her only child.

“It was your idea to bring BreeAnna home, not your husban
d’s
?” Jenn
a’s
voice was calm and level despite or, more likely, because of Care
n’s
emotional roller coaster.

Caren scoffed. “Robert thinks every decision made under his roof is his and his alone, but no, I wanted BreeAnna home. I made the call and went to pick her up on my way to get Robert at the airport.”

“Could you walk us through that day? You were telling us that you were the one who decided to pick up BreeAnna,” Nick prompted her. “What was the procedure for that?”

The mother responded better to factual questions rather than more open-ended ones, Andre had noted. Funny, because her husband seemed the opposite. Whenever the
y’d
asked him any direct questions, h
e’d
gotten evasive.

“I don’t know if there is a procedure,” Caren answered, relaxing. “I simply called Reverend Benjamin—”

“The Reverend, not the administrator you met when you dropped BreeAnna off?” Jenna asked.

“I didn’t want to bother with any red tape or paperwork. Not with Rober
t’s
flight coming in that afternoon—I wanted to surprise him with BreeAnna there at the airport to welcome him home.”

Andre turned away again. Suddenly she was back to this all being one big happy family reunion. Maybe that was the only way she could live with herself.

He stared out the window. The sun was setting, the lawn was brown, and the trees bordering it all barren except for a few artfully placed evergreens. It was only March, so he wasn’t expecting more, but somehow he had the feeling that BreeAnn
a’s
view never grew any more cheerful than what he was seeing.

If it wasn’t for BreeAnn
a’s
mysterious visitor the night she died, he could totally understand why sh
e’d
kill herself. Living in this house with these people would be worse than solitary confinement.

He exhaled, his breath fogging the window and the view beyond. Wished he would have known BreeAnna before her death, wished someone would have told her that in just a few more years, once she left to live her own life, everything would be so much better. Wished someone, somewhere, had cared enough to give her hope.

“But even though the Reverend had approved everything,” Caren was saying, “that other man, Mr. Chapman, he gave me such a difficult time. To the point where I threatened to call our attorney.” Her voice grew strident, amazed that any mere administrator had the audacity to stand between her and her daughter. “But once I took out my cell phone and started to dial, he went and got BreeAnna and everything was fine after that.”

Except, obviously it wasn’t—ten hours later BreeAnna was dead.

“So you and BreeAnna went to the airport to pick up your husband,” Nick said. “Was he pleased to see BreeAnna?”

Caren shrugged, her robe falling open with the movement. “H
e’s
so preoccupied with those lawsuits that honestly I don’t think he even remembered she was in ReNew. Not until I explained how much effort
I’d
gone to, giving him a welcome-home surprise. Then we came home. And then”—a tiny frown marred her unlined forehead—“BreeAnna worked on her music, and we went to bed.”

She pinched her lips tight and crossed her arms, not saying anything more.

Jenna moved from her chair to sit beside Caren, who didn’t seem to notice, staring past Nick at a family portrait hanging on the wall behind him. In it, Robert Greene stood in the center of his family. Caren clung to his arm with both hands, while Robert had his other arm wrapped possessively around BreeAnn
a’s
shoulders.
Pretty much summed up the Greenes
, Andre thought.

“I just came from your husban
d’s
office, Mrs. Greene,” Jenna said. “He told me the truth. About where you were that night.”

Caren stiffened. “We were here, asleep. Just like we told the police.”

“No. You weren’t. Did you know someone came to the house while BreeAnna was here alone? Around—” She glanced at Andre.

“Ten twenty-one,” he supplied.

“Around ten twenty-one. Any ideas who that was? Was it someone coming to see you or your husband?”

Caren honestly appeared shocked. She sprang up from the love seat and turned to face them. “What are you saying? Someone was here? At the house? Who?”

“Tha
t’s
what we were hoping you could tell us,” Jenna said. “Did you see any cars when you and your husband left? That would have been just a few minutes before ten, right? Maybe someone on foot?”

Caren shook her head, at first little shakes of disbelief, then hard, violent, wide-eyed shakes. “No. There was no one.”

“Tell us about the man you had the affair with. Could he have come here that night? Maybe to see you or confront Robert?”

“Tha
t’s
impossible. No.”

The door opened and Robert Greene entered. Andre turned away from the window but kept his back to the wall and his hands free. He didn’t like the look on Green
e’s
face. Not at all.

Superior. Smug. Satisfied. In charge.

“Evening, sweetheart,” he said, bending over the back of the love seat to kiss Care
n’s
head. “Fancy meeting you all here.” Jenna moved off the love seat and took the chair beside Nick while Greene took his place. “Did I interrupt something?”

Greene ignored everyone except Jenna. As if his question was aimed directly at her.

“Caren was just telling us about the night BreeAnna came home from ReNew,” Jenna said. She leaned back in her chair, looked relaxed despite Green
e’s
challenge, but Andre knew she was faking it. Obviously something had happened between the two of them—something while the
y’d
visited ReNew? He wished h
e’d
a chance to confer with Jenna in private.

“Oh, I thought you were talking about that boy of Care
n’s
. What was his name again?” He ruffled his fingers through Care
n’s
hair, but the gesture seemed more controlling than intimate.

“Tyler,” she mumbled.

“Right. Tyler.” He focused on Jenna once more. “But I’m not sure what he has to do with anything.”

Nick stood, stepping between the staring match Greene was holding with Jenna. “Mr. Greene. We learned that your daughter was not alone the night she died. Someone came here, to the house, at ten twenty-one, and she spoke to them. Do you have any idea who that could be?”

For the first time Andre saw Greene grow flustered. His eyes widened, and a crease of surprise formed between his eyebrows. “Someone was here? At the house?”

“Yes. Tha
t’s
why we’re asking about Tyler. We need to know where he was that night.”

Greene shook his head and stood, pacing behind the love seat. Caren sat up and watched him with a wary gaze. “No. You don’t understand,” she said. “Tyler couldn’t have come here.”

“Why not?”

She sagged against the back of the love seat, hands twisting the belt of her robe into a knot, her eyes never leaving her husband. Greene stopped, stared at the floor for a long moment, then raised his head and nodded to her. “Go ahead, Caren. Tell them.”

“Tyler couldn’t have come here.” She stumbled over the words, obviously uncertain. Stopped and glanced once more at Greene, seeking his approval. He jerked his chin in a nod. “He couldn’t because—” She shook her head, tears choking her, and buried her face in her hands.

“Because tha
t’s
where we went that night,” Greene finished for her. “I made Caren take me to his place. Then I beat the crap out of him.” An eerie smile lit his face. “And then I showed him how real men make love to their women. After that Caren and I drove into the woods and celebrated my homecoming just like I told you.”

The only sound was Care
n’s
sobbing. Greene marched around from behind the couch and, ignoring Nick, took a position over Jenna, too close to allow her to stand up from the chair. Andre moved forward, ready to intervene.

“So if he didn’t kill my daughter and she didn’t kill herself, then who the hell did?” Greene thundered down at Jenna. “Answer me that!”

CHAPTER 34

M
organ totally understood why Deidre called it a Purge. A fitting name for Deidr
e’s
incessant inquisition, prying into every minute detail of Morga
n’s
fake persona, grilling her so intensely that she made up events more and more lurid simply to satisfy Deidr
e’s
never-ending appetite.

Deidre was unrelenting. Whenever Morgan slowed down or backed away from confessing illicit activities, Deidre would hit her with one of the lightweight broomsticks. Morgan, caught in her kneeling scarecrow position, couldn’t duck or fight back. The blows stung but only left faint reddish welts, marks that faded long before the pain.

When Deidre tired, the others took turns barraging Morgan with questions, popping up from their position on the floor, shouting at her, then dropping back down like a bunch of meerkats.

“How many men have you had sex with?”

“Whe
n’s
the last time you shot heroin?”

“How many drinks do you have a day?”

“Wha
t’s
the last thing you stole?”

“How many three-ways have you had?”

“Are you a lesbian?”

Ridiculous. Morgan didn’t even bother to keep track of her answers, simply threw the first thing that came to mind out to the inquisition. Now that Deidre had the crowd back under control, Morgan quickly grew bored. She stole stories from her fathe
r’s
exploits, made up the most outrageous shit imaginable. It was either play along or break free of Mica
h’s
grip and ram that blasted broomstick down Deidr
e’s
throat until it came out her ass.

It was Micah who decided for her. His knees buckled against her back until she was holding him up more than he supported her. Whatever the
y’d
been doing to him before she arrived had taken its toll. So she played the good sheep. Besides, she kept telling herself, it was the best way to get what she came for, info about Bree. After this silly initiation rite, the others should accept her as one of their own and be willing to talk. She hoped.

She had no idea how much time had passed—there were no clocks or windows in here, but finally Deidre called for a break. The kids rushed to grab chairs, while others went through a swinging door in the rear of the room and returned with trays piled high with sandwiches and milk cartons. No plates or utensils. The way the kids grabbed the food, eating so fast Morgan was surprised they didn’t choke, Deidre obviously had been starving them.

No food for her or Micah. The Red Shirts had sandwiches twice as thick as the others, swollen with cold cuts, but also no plates or utensils, while Queen Bee Deidre sat in a chair directly in front of Morgan and Micah, knees together, ankles crossed beneath her, and was served on a plastic plate with a plastic glass and plastic silverware. Which told Morgan a lot about how much power Deidre really had at ReNew—not enough to be trusted with real silverware.

“Le
t’s
share our rules with our newcomer,” Deidre commanded.

A Red Shirt nudged the little guy whose name Morgan had heard whispered as Tommy. He stood, cheeks full, clutching at his food as if afraid someone would steal it, swallowed, and said, “No Names do not speak without permission.”

A girl from the row behind him jumped up. “No Names do not eat without permission.”

And down the row it went. “No Names do not sleep without permission.” Or bathe or pee or cross a doorwa
y . . .
yeah, yeah, she got it; Deidre ran a tight ship. Down to deciding how many pieces of toilet paper each child was allotted. The litany went on, but Morgan quickly tuned it out.

Deidre ate slowly, savoring every bite. Never once losing her infuriating smirk. Morgan tried to lick her lips, but sh
e’d
been talking for so long that her tongue felt like a piece of corrugated cardboard.

“Water,” she croaked. “I need water.”

The crowd of kids glanced up from their food, aghast. Several shook their heads, and a few put their hands over their mouths in warning.

Too late. Deidr
e’s
smirk turned into a Cheshire grin. She finished the last of her food, patted her mouth daintily, and handed her plate to a Red Shirt. “Of course, you can have water.”

One of the female Red Shirts brought a large plastic cup, the kind designed to hold a da
y’s
worth of soda or convenience store slushie. Sixty-four ounces, thirty-two ounces, it didn’t matter—it only took an ounce or two to fool a body into thinking it was drowning.

Mica
h’s
hand slipped to the back of Morga
n’s
neck, hidden by her hair, and patted her reassuringly. As if she didn’t know what was coming next. If she was a Norm, she might be surprised by Deidr
e’s
sadistic techniques, but Morgan was her fathe
r’s
daughter. She knew what Deidre wanted to see, what would end this ridiculous inquisition. If she wanted to keep her cover intact, sh
e’d
just have to give it to her.

Deidre carefully filled the cup with water from the pitcher another Red Shirt handed her. The rest of the kids cringed, staring down at their laps, edging their chairs back away from Deidre and Morgan.

Deidre stood and was joined by two male Red Shirts. “Micah, you’re relieved. Sit.”

Micah didn’t leave Morgan until the two Red Shirts pulled him away. He slumped into a chair beside the youngest boy—the one Deidre had threatened earlier—and stared at Morgan, one hand worrying at the scar on his neck.

The two Red Shirts weren’t as gentle as Micah. They each grabbed the broomstick restraining her arms and jerked her upright. One twisted his fist in her hair, pulling so hard that pain shot across her scalp, yanking her face up. The other slammed her jaw shut with his hand, holding her chin tight.

Deidre approached, carrying the cheap plastic tumbler as if it was a chalice. She handed the cup to the female Red Shirt and positioned herself in front of Morgan. “You wanted water. So much that you spoke without permission. Here you go.”

The female Red Shirt had a grin that matched Deidr
e’s
as she tilted the cup, fitting its rim around Morga
n’s
nose and mouth, then pushed Morga
n’s
head as far back as possible. The cu
p’s
contents gushed directly into Morga
n’s
nose.

The pain of the water hitting the nerve endings in Morga
n’s
sinus passages was blinding. Primal reflexes engaged, closing off her airways and alerting her body to the threat of drowning. Stress hormones flooded her system, designed to produce panic and jump-start a perso
n’s
fight-or-flight reflex.

A normal person. Not Morgan. She blocked out the pain. Used the stress hormones to energize and focus. Thanks to her father, sh
e’d
had plenty of practice. Nick had described the sensation correctly when the
y’d
spoken yesterday: dissociation. As if her body and mind were separate.

Her chest heaved and her limbs jerked, desperate for oxygen, but her mind wandered free. Bac
h’s
Little Fugue crescendoed through her brain. Her father may have been an uneducated long-haul truck driver—when he wasn’t torturing and killing women—but he believed in the right music for the occasion, and Bach seemed appropriate now, the orga
n’s
deep rumbling matching the thunder pounding in her head.

She focused on the ceiling above her. Acoustic tiles. Suspended. Also a sprinkler system. Which meant a crawl space above the ceiling. A crawl space that would avoid locked doors and allow her access to the rest of the complex.

Nice. Sh
e’d
been worried sh
e’d
have to use her hidden lock picks to escape, travel around the outside of the building, and let herself back in. Not too difficult, but it was damn cold outside at night, and without shoes or a coat, sh
e’d
be risking hypothermia. Plus, she hated being cold.

Plan of attack formed, she brought her consciousness back to her current situation and scanned the faces before her. Her eyeglasses were skewed and fogged with water droplets, but below them she could see Deidre smiling at her, Micah leaning forward in his chair, three more Red Shirts holding him down, his face twisted with fury—ready to sacrifice himself to rescue her? Why? He barely knew her—and finally Tommy, also held down by a Red Shirt, terrified and crying again.

Her lungs strained. She could hold her breath a long time, but no sense risking blacking out—tha
t’s
where the real danger of waterboarding came, risking death by aspiration. She didn’t trust Deidre and her clowns to be smart enough to know that. Morgan choked and gagged, heaving her body in every direction, making a good show for Deidre.

“Enough,” Deidre commanded. The Red Shirt removed the cup, water cascading over Morgan, soaking her hair and shirt. She went limp, gasping for air, making it look as if sh
e’d
been close to drowning. The two Red Shirts behind her dropped her, and she fell to the floor. They slid the damn broomstick free, and she gave Deidre what she knew Deidre wanted: surrender.

Morgan curled up into a fetal ball, coughing, hands clutching her throat, not making eye contact with anyone. To her surprise, Deidre joined her, gathering Morgan onto her lap and rocking her as if Morgan was a child.

“Breathe, little sister!” Deidre chanted. “Feel the warmth and light of our love. You’ve taken your first step to redemption and ReNewal.”

“ReNew, ReNew, ReNew,” the crowd chorused all around Morgan. They stood over her, blocking out the overhead light. “We love you, we love you, we love you!”

Their roar still felt more frightening than uplifting, especially as they edged closer until their legs pressed against Morga
n’s
body. Deidre on one side, clutching her tight, the faceless throng on the other. If Morgan were claustrophobic, sh
e’d
be panicked. Above her, the other students wrapped their arms around each othe
r’s
shoulders and began swaying and singing again, this time a softer tune, ragged at first, but then it coalesced into “Silent Night.”

It was three months past Christmas, but obviously the kids’ repertoire was limited and the sentiment fit as well as anything. Rebirth, renewa
l . . .
Deidre was orchestrating Morga
n’s
recruitment into her brainwashed zombie legion by tugging at multiple emotional and physical chords. Very effective.

If she were a Norm, Morgan wouldn’t have to think and decide how to react to Deidr
e’s
manipulation—it would have simply happened. But she was no Norm, so she had to bide her time, calculate how long was long enough without pushing Deidr
e’s
patience past her limit. When the time was right, she threw her arms around Deidre, forced more fake sobbing, and cried out, “Thank you!”

Deidre smiled down upon her, and all was right with the world.

One step closer to gaining their trust. Now all she needed was a few minutes alone with students who knew Bree. That Micah guy, he seemed a good place to start.

Then Deidre pulled her even closer, her hands squeezing Morga
n’s
shoulders so tight they dug into her flesh. She lowered her mouth until it was next to Morga
n’s
ear and whispered, “You don’t fool me. I know what you are.”