She leans forward. “Do you remember me telling you that I’d try to do some research too?”
I nod.
She lifts her phone. “I’m paraphrasing, but here’s what I sent.” She takes a deep breath and begins, “Late November of last year, in Marquette, a woman was killed.” She looks up. “Her name was Diana James, and she was strangled and assaulted.”
My hand goes to my still-tender neck. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“Jill, she was assaulted,” Echo continues, “sexually...with an inanimate object.”
“Similar to Julie and me.”
Echo nods. “Keith Gilbert, your coach’s brother—the man arrested—worked the case.”
I recall what Theo Morton had said. “Oh, yes, I was told about it. The case is cold.”
“They’re revisiting it now.”
I shake my head. “Now I remember the name. I think she’s the one who Craig had a relationship with, before coming to Blue Gil.”
My supervisor leans back in her chair and exhales. “The evidence is mounting. Keith Gilbert is connected to all the victims through his brother.”
“I just don’t think Keith would hurt me.”
Echo reaches out and lays her hand on my knee. “He won’t. He’ll be found guilty. Once he’s convicted, he’s not getting out of prison. You’re safe.”
We spend the next few hours reminiscing. She tells me what’s happening at the studios and the plans for next season. “We need you back, Jill.” Her smile is now sincere.
“I’m not sure.”
She wrinkles her nose. “You don’t want to stay here. You have a career in California, and you’re damn good. The studio has made the payments on your place. It’s waiting for you to move back.”
I had been thinking about my job and my future. It isn’t that I don’t enjoy what I do; it’s that it’s now changed. “I’m not sure,” I tell her honestly, “that I can look at the stories objectively.”
Echo sits straighter. “Then don’t. Give us the authenticity that only you can.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jill Thorne, choosing you for an internship was one of my best decisions. We want you back.”
Like a much-needed bolt of energy, Echo’s visit gives me strength. Her encouragement gives me a reason to heal, to go beyond and survive. It’s a process, one that takes time, more time than I want to give, yet I do as the doctors tell me. I talk to the counselors and complete physical therapy. I rest, eat, and stay away from alcohol.
The police return my phone and laptop. When I askabout my notebook, I’m told there wasn’t a notebook at the scene. It’s also not among the things Becky brought from the cabin.
It’s as different memories return that one night I wake in a cold sweat. I’m back in the cottage, hearing Keith’s warnings, the ones the GHB or trauma blocked.
Though the town is satisfied with his arrest, I can’t shake the things I now recall him saying about Serena.
In the middle of the night, I grab my phone and write a long, informative, and winded email to the attorney in California, the one who facilitated the adoption of my baby boy. I willingly admit that this may be the ramblings of a confused person, but I feel the need to warn my son’s parents that there may be a woman or perhaps a man in custody who could be a danger to him and maybe them.
More time passes.
Julie joins her class in graduation.
I don’t attend.
Despite our similar stories, Julie and I are not close. That awkward hug she gave me in the park what seems like a lifetime ago is the perfect representation of our connection—forced.
Summer moves on.
