Locked Inside (20 page)

“Her name,” Marnie said distinctly, “is Leah.
Was
Leah. Leah Slaight.”

For a second Max’s jaw tightened. But he continued smoothly enough: “Believe me, Marnie, I know her name. What I want to say is that she—Ms. Slaight—was mistaken in her allegations that she was Skye’s daughter, your sister. Mistaken. That is
to say, wrong.” Max’s voice sharpened. “I will admit that her mistake was tragic. I’m not without sympathy for any deranged individual. But I have not forgotten that she endangered you—not to mention, um, young Mr. Delgado.

“And I want to make sure that, out of some misplaced sympathy, you don’t start imagining things that aren’t true. You are Skye’s only daughter. Only child. You must believe that, Marnie.”

There was silence.

“I need to know that you’re clear on this, Marnie,” said Max. “On all of it. Are you? Marnie, do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I hear you,” Marnie said softly, and for a moment stopped right there, suddenly feeling she had stumbled to the edge of a steep, jagged cliff. No matter; she would ignore her fear. She took in a breath and then leaped. “I just don’t see why I should believe you.”

Max’s face went utterly blank.

“I don’t see how you can possibly know for sure.” Marnie swallowed. She felt a little as if she were hammering nails into Max’s forehead. “I think … I think you’re just assuming … or … or hoping … like I did, when she—when Leah—first told me. Because it would be messy. Because you think there’s no point, maybe. Because you don’t want to think Skye would have kept a secret like that. But the thing is, I don’t know.” She didn’t add her other thought. That Max
might
know. That he might be lying to her, even now. For her own good, of course. He would believe it was for her own good.

Max was silent for so long that Marnie was sure she’d hit the truth. One way or another. She took a deep breath. She would ask for the genetic tests, she decided. She needed to know.

By the time Max spoke, his face had gone pasty. His voice, however, was rock steady. “I knew your mother as an adult, Marnie. Adult to adult. That’s different from the way you knew her. Your perceptions are based on a child’s recollections. You have to admit that. You can trust my judgment.”

Oh, please. “And why is that, pray tell?” Marnie flashed. “Are you claiming you never get someone wrong? Never make mistakes? Adults are perfect, and
you’re
especially perfect—is that what you’re saying?”

Unexpectedly, Max flinched, as if she’d punched him in the stomach. Then he recovered. “No, I’m not … that is … the point is—Marnie, I’m not making a mistake here.”

“No?” said Marnie. Inside, her stomach had begun to churn.

“No,” said Max, and nothing else, even though—suddenly—the room was heavy with unspoken things. Marnie could feel them. And, for the first time, her need to know was stronger than her need not to.

“Fine. Believe what you want,” she said. “But you can’t make me believe anything. Not now. Not ever. Not without facts.”

Abruptly she stood, pushing her chair back from the conference table. The chair skidded several feet from the force of her shove, nearly colliding with the wall.

“Marnie.”

Something new in Max’s voice. She stilled, and then, slowly, reluctantly, turned back.

“Please, can’t you trust me on this, Marnie? Please, can’t you? Won’t you?”

Please. Twice. And that tone. She had never heard Max sound quite this anguished before. But it didn’t matter. It couldn’t be allowed to matter.

“No,” Marnie said quietly. She remembered something the Elf had said to her. She said it to Max. “I have a right to know.”

Max was silent. Looking at her. Looking at her.

She looked back.

“What if we did do a genetic test?” Max said finally. “When it comes back negative, will you be satisfied? Will you believe in Skye again?”

Now, that was an odd question. Marnie found herself saying carefully, “I guess I would then believe that Leah Slaight wasn’t my sister.”

Max was silent again.

“Max?” Marnie said.

He pushed his own chair back, then, and turned it so that he faced her. “Marnie.”

Marnie stared at him. There was something new, something frightening, in his voice. Her stomach pulsed and for a moment she thought she would need to run for the bathroom. But she couldn’t seem to move, and the impulse passed.

“I
do
know for sure, Marnie,” Max said. “I know exactly what Skye was doing, and where she was, during the time we’re talking about. She did not have a baby then. It’s not possible, Marnie. Do you hear me? It’s completely impossible.”

Max swallowed. But he looked directly into Marnie’s eyes and his voice, again, was strong. “I’m going to tell you everything, Marnie. It was never meant to be a secret forever. Just until you were twenty-one.”

In a strange, new calm, Marnie waited. She had a feeling that she’d been waiting … maybe forever.

“Skye was in a juvenile detention center for nearly three years, from fifteen until she turned eighteen.”

Marnie’s calm wavered. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her stomach churned. “She … she what?
What?
”

“She was in a medium-security girls’ lockup,” Max repeated. His mouth was a grim line. “In Mississippi. Her time there is completely accounted for, and is a matter of public record. Some girls do have babies in prison, but Skye did not.”

Marnie said nothing. She kept hearing Max’s words repeating in her mind. Kept hearing them, yes, but they seemed like gibberish. They didn’t make any sense at all.

“Sit down,” said Max after another moment. “And we’ll deal with the rest of it. I’ll explain everything. Marnie, I—”

Marnie put out one hand and waved it. Max stopped talking. She didn’t know what she had expected—but not this. Surely not this. Everything she thought she’d known had shifted, again. She struggled for something to grab on to. Some fact. Some certainty. She found nothing.

Max got up, took Marnie’s arm, and guided her
into his abandoned chair. He squatted awkwardly and looked her in the eye. He took her hand.

Marnie had no concept of how much time passed then. Finally, however, she managed to ask the obvious question, the one that—she knew—Max was waiting for. She hardly recognized her own voice.

“What was Skye in prison for?”

Now that Max had made up his mind to talk, he didn’t waver. And he looked directly into Marnie’s eyes.

“For murder, Marnie. Premeditated murder. First-degree murder.”

“
S
kye’s name,” Max said evenly, “was once Lea Hawkes.” And when Marnie’s eyes widened, he added, “It’s spelled L, E, A.”

Marnie thought of the song Skye had written, the one Leah Slaight had so identified with. Leah with an H. The more common spelling.

Max pulled up another chair. Once he’d settled in, he moved as if to take Marnie’s hand again, but she pulled it back. Max cleared his throat. “Shall I go on?”

“Yes.” Marnie was pleased with her voice. It was clear and calm. In her head she could feel the Sorceress’s soothing presence. It made her feel as if she weren’t alone, as if a wise friend were with her, listening also.

Lea Hawkes, of Full Moon, Mississippi, had been the illegitimate daughter of a local girl and an unknown
father. When Lea was seven, her young mother ran away from Full Moon without her child, and Lea was sent to live in a foster home. By her teenage years, she was still in the same foster home but was not considered to have good prospects.

Marnie interrupted. “Let me guess. She was flunking out of school.”

“Well,” Max dithered, “it wasn’t that she was stupid—”

“I know,” said Marnie softly.

Did the corner of Max’s mouth turn up ruefully for a second? Marnie couldn’t be sure. If so, it immediately turned down again, and then Max looked away. There was a rather long pause before he resumed. “It wasn’t just that she was skipping school all the time,” he said. “It was what she was doing instead of studying. Not that anyone knew except me.” He paused again, still not looking at Marnie. Then he added: “She was learning to shoot.”

For a minute Marnie almost felt her eyes bug out of her head. Learning to shoot?
Skye?

Max was staring into the distance. “She was using my rifle. I was ten. I told my father I’d lost it and I gave it to her. He whipped me for it but it was worth it.

“You see, I hated hunting. Always did. But my father … well, in any event.” He cleared his throat. “And Lea Hawkes was my friend. She was nice to me, and in those days, not many people were. So when she asked me …” His voice drifted off and then strengthened. “I helped her at first, taught her everything I’d been taught, but she
didn’t need much help. And after two years of practice she was the best marksman in the county. Lea Hawkeye, I called her. It gave me a kind of thrill to think that she could outshoot my father if she wanted. I thought we were working toward a time when she’d just show them all. I was pretty confused, actually; I don’t know why I thought that would prove anything to my father. About me, I mean. But it didn’t matter anyway. That wasn’t what Lea had in mind.”

Max was watching his hands, but his voice was even now. “I told you Lea was my friend. But what I came to understand—later—is that I wasn’t hers. Not then anyway, though later on … well, that’s another story. But
then
, you see, she was playing for stakes I couldn’t imagine. Or … not playing at all, I suppose. It was never a game.”

Into the difficult pause, Marnie finally said carefully, “I—I see.” Premeditated murder, Max had said. “She wanted to learn to shoot so she could kill someone specific….” Marnie’s voice trailed off.

“Her foster father,” Max said quietly. “Since she was thirteen, her foster father had been raping her.” He added, “I didn’t know, of course.” And then, with a touch of self-loathing: “Not that I was capable of doing anything if I had known.”

There was silence, then, for some minutes. Oddly, Marnie found herself wondering how many times over the years Max had imagined himself telling this story to Marnie. How many times he had told it to himself …

“Marnie?” said Max. “It’s difficult. I know it’s difficult.”

She could feel his eyes, but she couldn’t look back just yet.

Please, she asked the Sorceress. Just—take over for a while, okay?

The Sorceress looked up calmly and met Max’s eyes. “I’m okay, Max,” she said. “You’re right, it is a shock … but I think I always knew something bad must have happened to her.”

Max looked dubious.

“Really,” the Sorceress said. “It’s better to know.”

Max nodded, though his eyes said he didn’t quite believe her. “You want me to tell you the rest now, or later?”

“Now,” said the Sorceress, while Marnie stayed safe and quiet.

“She killed her foster father, as you guessed,” Max said. “It might seem unfair that she went to prison for it…. She was only fifteen.” He paused, and the Sorceress nodded. “But what you have to understand is that legally, it couldn’t be considered self-defense. Self-defense is in response to a current threat to life. More importantly, it was first-degree murder because she planned it in advance. She spent two years figuring out how to do it, working every angle, setting things up, making sure it would look like a hunting accident. And it did. A stray bullet, hitting a habitually careless hunter who’d gone out, a little drunk, without his orange vest. She didn’t use my rifle, by the way. She was too smart for that.”

Marnie felt her eyes widen. Her composure began to fall away in bits. Plans. She was a planner, too, a strategist. A gamer.

Not now
, whispered the Sorceress, correctly.

Marnie took a deep breath and refocused. I’ll take over now, she told the Sorceress.

You’re sure?

Yes.

Max had gone on. “Someday you can read her confession, Marnie. If you want to. It’s in the public record in the Full Moon courthouse. She—it was really a rather brilliant plan. Went off without a hitch, too. Nobody suspected a thing.”

Marnie said, “But how did she get caught, if nobody suspected?”

“She didn’t get caught,” Max said.

Marnie blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“She confessed. Four weeks after the murder, she walked into the local police station and told them everything. At first she had some trouble getting them to believe her, but she had proof—she had kept the murder weapon, a shotgun that she’d stolen from her foster father two years before. She pleaded guilty, so there was no trial; and they sent her straight to the juvenile lockup. She was released at eighteen—that was back when there was automatic lenience for juvenile offenders. On top of which, the court system—not to mention the town of Full Moon—had a lot of sympathy for her. We all believed her about the abuse. And I think we were all ashamed … that no one knew. That no one did anything … because afterward, it was so obvious … I know that I …”

Max stopped. He seemed to expect Marnie to say something.

Smoothly the Sorceress took over again. “Why did she confess? You said she’d have gotten away with it.”

Max seemed relieved to have a question to address. “What she said to the police was that, in those weeks after committing murder, she did a lot of thinking. She said that that was when she found she did believe in God, after all. That she needed to clear her conscience and face her punishment.” He hesitated, then looked directly into Marnie’s eyes again. “What she said to me, also, later, was that this was when she began to change inside, from Lea Hawkes into Skye.”

Yes, Marnie thought. It was what Skye would have done. Confess. Skye, not—not little Lea Hawkes.

She could feel the Sorceress’s agreement.

“Another thing to know,” Max said, “the people of Full Moon were good to Skye. Not just by being sympathetic when she confessed, but after she got out, after she changed her name. When Skye became a gospel singer, and then a writer, and became so well known … well, there were a few occasions when people—newspeople—tried to find out her background. And the Full Moon folks, they knew perfectly well that Skye was Lea Hawkes, but nobody ever told.