“He is pure evil… One day, back in the old house, he was at work. I was tied to his bedpost as usual, with just enough length on the rope so I could move around a little or go to the bathroom. This was when he would tie my hands in the front—so I wasn’t completely useless.” She rolls her eyes. “I heard someone walking by his bedroom, which I rarely did because his room was at the opposite side of the house from the others. I figured it was his mom but decided to scream anyway. I started yelling for help and asking who was there. And that’s when his mom’s boyfriend walked in.”
“Was his name Cale?” I ask, trying to connect the puzzle pieces.
“Yes,” she says, surprised I know it. “I’d only met him once before—but he remembered me. He couldn’t believe I was tied up. He walked away at first because I think he was confused. I think I scared him. But I begged him to come back and untie me, and he did. But before he could finish, Meredith came in and saw us. She came up with some excuse that I wasn’t well and to leave me alone. I don’t know why, but he listened to her. And they left the room. I… I never saw him again after that.”
“What the fuck,” I breathe.
“They killed him, Amelia. I’ll never forget Parker coming into the room later that night and saying, ‘He’s dead, and it’s all your fault.’” Her mouth quivers as more teardrops escape, streaming down her face. “It’s so messed up. Because then he practically thanked me for Cale’s death. He hated Cale. I think he felt like Cale had similarities to his abusive dead father. He even told me that he has been using Cale’s identity here so that police can’t track him.”
I close my eyes and think of Cale’s daughter’s post I read on the drive over here. She was right in thinking he was dead. And now I just wish I could confirm her suspicions and tell her where to look. But I can’t do anything in here.
“What do you mean he’s using Cale’s identity?” I ask.
“All I know is they hid his body really well. Parker bragged about it, how they made sure there’d be no reason for police to think he was missing. That way he could steal Cale’s identity and stay invisible. I mean, people do that all the time,” she mutters bitterly. “But if someone’s death or disappearance actually gets reported to the Social Security Administration, you’re screwed.” She actually starts laughing. “Do you hear me? I didn’t know shit about any of this before Parker. He tells me everything. He’s terrified of Cale’s death beingreported. He talks about it constantly. He wants to stay off the radar, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“But why go through all that?” I press. “Can’t police find him anyway if people report seeing him here?”
“I’m not sure. But I doubt anyone here knows him or is looking for him. All I know is he needed to get a job. He told me he works at the neighbor’s grocery store—which he hates. But he’s never been a career person. And I’m sure the neighbor didn’t do a background check. It was probably his best chance at getting a job. Even with his stolen identity.”
“For your case… I guess it makes sense. So he can hide here in plain sight,” I say. “It seems kind of silly, though. At that point, leave the state.”
“Yeah, well, that’s Parker for you. He thinks he’s a genius, but he’s actually a dumbass. He makes a lot of mistakes.”
Considering how easily I found him…
“Not enough to lead police here,” I grumble. “They questioned him about your disappearance. But according to Phoebe… they’re not doing much at all. They don’t have enough evidence. Most people think you’re dead.”
I purse my lips in apology.
She sniffs, thinking. “I remember when they interviewed him. He was… scared that day. I heard him talking to his mom about it. He said the only reason he hadn’t killed me yet is because he was afraid police would find my body and it would lead them straight to him.”
A chill ripples through me. “Jesus… Has he ever… hurt you? Or threatened you?”
“He’s into psychological torment… He’s mostly treated me like he did in our relationship. He’ll love-bomb me, then ridicule me. He blames me for everything. He blames me for being in this place.Like I said… he’s delusional.” She takes a deep breath. “But everything changed when we got here. He told me that I was on my way out because he found someone new. Every day… I’m scared he’ll kill me.”
“Someone new?” I ask. “Has he said who?”
“Now I assume that’s you… if you’re down here.”
I shake my head, knowing that’s not it.
“I can’t be. I never knew Parker.Icame here myself after talking to Phoebe today. She told me that your mom is suspicious of him. She’s been suspicious that he’s here in Blair. So I tracked him down because of what he did to Imogen years ago. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t here. Right next door.” As I say the words, I realize why he must have come back. “I think that ‘someone new’… is my sister.”
45
MEREDITH
The line between her son being a beast and a benevolent creature is blurred in Meredith’s mind. She has seen him be kind, good, funny,normal. She has watched him laugh, watched him win trophies, make friends, fall in love. He has been bullied, yes. He has been called a freak. He has flown off the handle more times than she can count. And most damningly, he has killed. He has kept a woman in their home against her will for over a year.
“She’ll come around. She loves me” is a repeated assertion Parker has shared with Meredith over countless dinnertime conversations during the past twelve months about the girl in the fruit cellar. He’ll hold Meredith’s hand and add, “Thank you for standing by my side, Mother. You’re the only person who really sees me. Everything will be better soon.”
Those words mellow her, even when they shouldn’t. They’ve made it easier to survive the cold cruelty he flings at her between bouts ofaffection, easier to believe that one day the gentle boy inside him might finally eclipse the monster. She has clung to the hope, waiting for him to become the good son she still pretends he might be.
Tonight, that hope is splintering.
Now there are not one, not two, but three young women trapped under their roof. He has not explained how this happened, not even tried. Meredith suspects he doesn’t fully know himself. That terrifies her most of all. That the pandemonium in their humble home has slipped from his control entirely.
She sits at the breakfast table, shoved into a corner outside their cramped kitchen, the overhead light shining down harshly against her skin. She nurses a Washington Apple—her favorite cocktail she’s made sickly sweet. With shaky hands, hearing Imogen’s pleas down the hall, Meredith had poured heavy on the sour apple schnapps by mistake, the dyed green liqueur creating an electric cocktail, glowing through the Canadian whiskey. She chokes it down anyway, watches Parker’s foot tap to the unintelligible music seeping from his headphones. His head lies against the back of their brown living room recliner. His eyes are shut; a necessary respite from all the lifting and dragging he’s been doing this evening already, Meredith is sure. The sun starts to set in the window beside Parker, not that Meredith can see much of the sky with the blinds closed as they are. Her son likes to keep them shut, “just in case.” Although she’s found it hard to admit, she feels as imprisoned as Madison Tory.
