The Follower Page 9

  CHAPTER 15

  Cora had finished her lemon cake and swallowed down three coffee refills, and could tell the waitress was getting antsy to turn over the table. She’d have to go back home eventually. She couldn’t stay away from the sounds coming from the room forever. If James was still locked up with the girl, she could start pickling some of the vegetables she’d just harvested. Maybe clean out the closets. Start going through the remaining boxes.

  As she stood at the counter waiting to pay, though, she felt a strange sensation. Someone was looking at her. She turned her head swiftly and for an instant her eyes met those of a man sitting in the booth across from her. He looked away immediately, embarrassed perhaps to be caught staring, and pretended to read the newspaper in front of him. He was a young ad-executive type in suit and tie, blandly good-looking. Ordinarily, Cora would have simply turned away and forgotten him, but for one detail: his eyes were the same electric shade of blue that he’d had.

  Her stomach sank as a host of memories rushed into her head. What would he have thought of her now? What would he have made of her life with James? He wouldn’t have understood. He would have laughed that wicked laugh of his and called her a fool.

  Well, no one could have predicted things would turn out like this. She’d been an insecure nobody back then, and now? Now she was above such trifles. She was part of something sacred. She turned her back on this kid, away from his uninformed judgments. Those eyes of his had never seen anything, after all. What did he know? He had no right to judge the Spectacular.

  ‘How’s Mrs. Johnson?’

  The voice startled Cora. She twisted around to come face to face with the woman from the library, the one who’d given back her pictures of Julie. Cora had to grab hold of the cash register to keep her balance. So this was where she’d seen her before. She knew her after all.

  This was a catastrophe.

  The woman, however, didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss. She just sat there, smiling at Cora, waiting expectantly for an answer. Cora stood there mutely, shocked by the question, just long enough for both of them to feel awkward.

  The waitress cleared her throat.

  ‘Six forty-seven,’ she said, clearly repeating herself as she nodded toward Cora’s bag.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m so sorry.’ Cora pulled out her battered wallet and unfolded a small pile of cash. She handed over a crumpled ten-dollar bill.

  ‘And Mrs. Johnson? How’s she doing?’ the waitress asked again.

  Cora snapped back into the present. This was important. She had to focus. Her heart beat fast. She had to get it right.

  ‘She’s, um, doing better these days. Awake a little more of the time.’ Cora forced a smile.

  ‘I know that line of work isn’t easy.’ The waitress shook her head as she counted out the change and handed it over to Cora.

  ‘My sister-in-law does home health too. Tough job. My hat’s off to you.’

  ‘Well, it has its own rewards,’ Cora mumbled, unable to meet the woman’s eyes. She shoved her wallet back in her bag and turned to leave.

  But this woman wouldn’t let well enough alone.

  ‘That lovely niece of yours doing well?’

  So she had recognized her. Cora couldn’t formulate words, only managing to nod.

  ‘And your husband, I’ve seen him around. He’s a trucker, right? Gone a lot, huh?’

  Why was she asking these questions? Did she suspect something? Cora tried not to panic. She’d always known this might happen and James had taught her how to handle it. In the moment, however, it was more frightening than she’d expected.

  Everyone seemed to be looking at her. The fireman at the counter, was he turning around to hear Cora’s answer? The Mexican short-order cook, was his head cocked to the side as he let the eggs scorch on the griddle? The farmers having their coffee by the window, were they all staring? Did they all know? Was this one big trap?

  ‘He comes and goes. I’m used to it by now.’ Always be vague, she’d learned from James. Never let them pin you down with facts.

  ‘Oh, honey, I know exactly how you feel. I was married to one myself for thirty years.’

  Cora was confused. Does she mean—? No, of course not. She doesn’t mean that.

  ‘Turns out he had a girl in every port, as they say,’ she continued. ‘Divorced him three years ago.’ Then she was the one blushing. ‘Oh, sweetie, I’m not suggesting . . .’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t think you were. I understand.’ She turned to leave again, taking advantage of the woman’s discomfort. It wasn’t enough to shut her up apparently.

  ‘You know, Mrs. Johnson took care of me and my sister when we were kids. Such a nice lady. I’d love to pay her a visit. Tuesdays are my day off. Maybe I could stop by one of these days? Bring over some chicken soup?’

  A chill went up Cora’s spine. She knew she’d paused a second too long, that it didn’t look good, but she couldn’t help it. She had to force out the words.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ she hesitated, ‘only please do call first. In case she’s having a bad day. I wouldn’t want you to drive all the way out there for nothing.’

  ‘Okay, sure. I’ll do that.’ Finally a couple stepped up behind Cora ready to pay. Thank God, Cora thought. The waitress’s eyes looked past her at last.

  ‘Why, how’s that baby, Tanya?’ Then she glanced back at Cora briefly.

  ‘You have a good day now. I’ll be giving you a call.’ She waved good-bye, crinkling up her nose as she smiled, apparently oblivious to Cora’s distress.

  Cora took the opportunity to hurry out of there, berating herself all the way home for going out. She should have stayed at the house, shouldn’t risk these kinds of encounters. What would she do if this woman became persistent? What if she insisted on seeing Mrs. Johnson? Started getting nosy, called the police?

  The house was dark. She’d noticed James’s truck was gone, but that didn’t mean anything. He might have parked it behind the barn and be lying in wait for her inside, ready to pounce if she didn’t do exactly as she was supposed to. It used to be one of the ways he would test her faith, but she wondered if she even mattered enough to him now for him to bother. He had more important concerns.

  She stepped into the house, alert, listening. All was silent. She put her keys back on the hook, and walked quietly through the kitchen, peering down the hallway into the dining room, then creaking open the parlor door. Nothing. It was perfectly still.

  He might be upstairs, though, maybe in the bath. She pictured for a second his face, blue and swollen, inches below the surface of the water. She shivered, shook off the image. What was wrong with her?

  Suddenly, there was a loud knock. Cora jumped, all her muscles tensed.

  Had the waitress followed her here after all? Was she bound and determined to pay that visit to Mrs. Johnson? Had she called in the state troopers? Or had the Mamaroneck police and the FBI finally tracked them down?

  Then she understood. It was just the girl, banging on the floor. Cora relaxed and let her shoulders fall. The girl would know if James were here. She would never make a sound unless she was sure he was gone. Now that he was out of the house, she probably expected to be fed, probably wanted to ask Cora for things: a pillow, a toothbrush, or another blanket. When James was gone she turned into a real beggar.

  Cora sighed and looked toward the stairs, ready to face her destiny, the endless, melancholy days from then on. Slave to the master. Servant to the slave.

  CHAPTER 16

  In her darkest hours, Julie would think things she didn’t want to think. Things like, this should not have happened to her. If it truly had to happen, if the universe had to find its balance with this sort of evil, it should have happened to someone with less to lose.

  Julie was so pretty, so smart. Everyone said so. And she worked so hard at everything she did. Meanwhile, there was a long list of messed-up, good-for-nothing girls from her high school – Jenny Vargas, Elaine Terrence, Maggie Sulli
van, to name a few – who were going to waste their lives anyway. Why not them instead?

  ‘Julie, you’re disgusting,’ she whispered to herself.

  Sometimes she couldn’t help it. It was so hard to keep all the bad stuff out. Like the memory of that first time he’d touched her, when he’d come into the room the night of her abduction. There they were, lodged in her brain: his burning hands on her cold flesh, while he laughed right at her the whole time, grabbing her face so she couldn’t look away.

  She tried to bury that image deep down, but it was the one that always came back first. No matter how much degradation she’d suffered – and by then, she’d accumulated lifetimes of it – that memory hurt the worst. It had simply been so shocking, so unlike anything she’d ever imagined for herself. How dare he do this to her? How dare he?

  But she was past the initial panic and useless incredulity. Now she was just so angry. And angry was better. It felt good burning there in her heart, on her face, and in her eyes.

  ‘This is how I will survive,’ she told herself. She stoked it, worked herself up into a fine wrath as she paced around the room, feeling the energy uncoil within her body, flow into her hands, and steel her mind.

  It had already helped her formulate a plan. She’d thought about it continually since that last disastrous conversation with the woman. She hadn’t been prepared for the way that turned out, obviously, but now she had a better sense of what she was dealing with.

  And she would put it into action soon. The rumblings in her stomach told her to expect the woman any minute. The man had been gone for a couple of days and without him around, life followed a predictable routine. So she waited, like a spider to catch her prey.

  ‘This is fucking war.’ This time she was ready.

  A few minutes later, sure enough, the locks turned. Julie assumed her position, hands up, ankles crossed. The woman came in, put the tray on the floor, and stood there impatiently jangling her keys, looking off into the air behind Julie. She must be embarrassed about the slap.

  There on the plate were a bit of half-eaten toast, the yolk of an egg, and a handful of green beans. Julie drank and ate quickly so nothing would appear out of the ordinary, but also because her body demanded it. Then she returned to the bed, ready to deliver the speeches she’d prepared.

  ‘Request permission to speak,’ she said submissively.

  ‘Yes?’ Her tone was abrupt.

  ‘I wanted to say that I’ve been thinking about what you said. And you’re right.’ She spoke earnestly and it sounded reasonably convincing. It should, considering how much she’d practiced.

  The woman looked at her blankly.

  ‘What did I say?’

  ‘About how everything was easy for me growing up. That I didn’t know anything about how the world really is. That I have a lot to learn.’ Julie was barely breathing, hoping she could entice the woman into conversation without endangering her life this time. The knife bulged in her apron pocket and Julie wanted it to stay there.

  The woman shifted her weight to her other foot, put one hand on her hip, and turned her head half to the side.

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ she said noncommittally. She was trying not to show it, but she obviously liked the sound of Julie’s contrition. Julie knew it. She could reel her in.

  ‘I was thinking – you see, my birthday is coming up.’

  ‘Oh, well, I guess congratulations are in order,’ she interrupted, throwing up her hands in mock surprise. Julie wished she could leap across the room and wipe that barely repressed smile right off her face. Instead she took a deep breath.

  Eyes on the prize.

  ‘And I was thinking about my last birthday. I’m realizing things about myself I might never have thought if you hadn’t said that.’

  More stony silence.

  ‘It was a surprise party. My boyfriend, Mark –’ She stopped for a second. Julie found it hard to say the name in her presence. The two parts of her life were so disconnected, her life cleaved in two by the abduction.

  ‘He threw me a surprise party.’ She thought of him pausing outside the door of the restaurant, his blue eyes sparkling as he leaned down to kiss her before going in to where her friends were crouching under tabletops. He’d slid his hand under her chin in that way he did, one finger pulling her face up to his.

  She shook her head to brush the memory away. It was too painful, but she had to stay with the story. She’d had to pick something real to introduce this woman to her life. To prove to her she was a real person ripped out of her own narrative, not just an object in their fucked-up game.

  ‘All my friends were there. Some of them had traveled from colleges across the country for that one night. I’d known most of them my whole life. Sarah, Theo, Beatrice, Chloe, Sampson.’ She stopped again, her voice catching in her throat as she said their names.

  ‘We grew up together, played on the playground out by Mitchum Park as toddlers, practiced our multiplication tables in third grade, studied for Ms. Vaughn’s Algebra II tests in eighth.’

  The woman’s face had gone pale and the corner of her mouth twitched. Julie must be overplaying it. Better tone it down.

  ‘Yeah, so?’ the woman prompted.

  ‘Well, I ruined everything that night. Was I happy to see my friends? I guess so. I took it all for granted though. I was such a baby. I spent half the party tearing up a paper napkin into tiny bits while I sipped a Long Island iced tea.’ She paused. ‘Not even a dignified drink.’ She did regret this.

  ‘I left early.’ She could see in her mind’s eye Mark standing there dumbfounded, trying to cover up her behavior, brush it off, and return to the crowd, laughing uncomfortably over the whole thing. ‘I don’t even remember why I did it. Some petty thing. Most likely people weren’t paying enough attention to me. And it was my party. I was so stupid and vain. So childish.’

  ‘What’s your point?’ The woman kept glancing at the door. Julie couldn’t let her leave. Not yet.

  ‘You see, I’ve always done things like that. That’s what I’m realizing. I mean, now that I might not ever even have another birthday party, it’s sinking in how I took everything for granted. I had always been confident that I could pull it off, push everyone right to the limits of frustration, and then with my big smile and a few flutters of my eyelashes, I’d be forgiven, embraced, and set right back on track. So I’m thinking, well, the world has taught me a thing or two this time. I get the message. And I want to change.’

  Something simmered beneath the woman’s expression that Julie couldn’t read. Wouldn’t she be gratified by Julie’s mea culpa? Glad that Julie was suffering for the very vices the woman seemed to hate the most?

  ‘You think that’s why you’re here? As karmic punishment for misbehaving at a party? You see, that’s your problem. You’re still putting yourself at the center of everything. The past doesn’t matter. The person you were then doesn’t matter. Your experiences don’t matter. The beaches and the carousels and the ballet performances. The people who loved you. None of it matters.’ She stood up. ‘It’s too late for you to change. What’s the point? Your destiny is set.’

  Julie swallowed hard. She was sure she’d never talked about any of that. How did this woman know those things?

  Focus, she thought, just focus. Her original game plan wasn’t working, so she’d try another tactic. She’d play dirty this time.

  She gathered up her courage and looked right at her.

  ‘What about you? Is it too late for you to change?’

  She saw the scary look bubble up in the woman’s eyes. But now? She didn’t care.

  ‘I don’t need to change. I have found the Path.’

  This set something off inside Julie.

  ‘Oh, really? This is the Path? Married to a psychopath? I see how he treats you. That’s okay with you?’

  Julie’s heart picked up its pace. She was pushing it.

  ‘You should shut up now.’ The woman’s eyes were slits.

 
‘I don’t care. You think my life is worth living? Go ahead. Do what you want. Kill me. But first tell me because I’d really like to know – what happened to you? What kind of awful, horrible trauma got you to this hellhole? Something must have fucked you up pretty badly.’ She paused for effect. ‘Because you don’t even fight back.’

  The woman’s face turned red and her nostrils flared.

  ‘How dare you?’ Her hand flew to her pocket.

  ‘You really should, you know. Fight back. Me, I’m a dead man walking. But not you. You have every chance in the world. You have all the power. You can save yourself.’ She fell silent, watching the woman, serious now.

  ‘And you could save me,’ she finished.

  A shadow passed over the woman’s face, her skin suddenly ashen.

  Julie realized with disgust that she felt a tiny bit sorry for this hateful woman just then. She must be losing her mind.

  Neither of them moved, until finally the woman picked up the tray, and, with the heels of her old-fashioned Mary Janes clicking on the floor, she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

  She’d gotten to her at last. Now the idea needed to sink in for a while, brew up in her head like a potion. Julie was sure she’d be thinking about that as she fell asleep at night, when she did her chores, when she stumbled clumsily up the stairs the next morning.

  Julie sat still on the bed for a long time after she left. That woman was wrong though. It wasn’t too late for her to change. She’d never accept that.

  If she had one more chance, just one more precious chance at life, she would be an entirely different person. She’d make up for every insensitive or ungrateful thing she’d ever done. She would tell Mark every day how wonderful he was and how much she appreciated him. She’d call her parents religiously every night at eight p.m. and would never be bothered again by their prying questions. She’d do her roommate’s laundry and keep her shit off the floor. She’d do the dishes every night.

  She’d be the fucking light in everyone’s fucking life.