The remains

Chapter 75

Another day passed before I woke up. Lying in the hospital bed, I had no other choice but to believe the truth: I was alive. How did I know this for sure?

First off, my head ached. My temples pounded. I felt empty on the inside. Nauseous and so very thirsty. I tasted only my own bitter breath. There was the vague odor of alcohol in the air. All was quiet.

A glance over my shoulder did not reveal Franny, or Caroline for that matter. Rather, it revealed Detective Harris. The tall, suited man smoothed out his cropped hair, gazed into my newly opened eyes. Maybe it had something to do with my imagination, but I swear he was trying to work up a welcome smile when he said, “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

A smile. For certain he was smiling.

Attempting to shift my shell-shocked body up against the headboard, I wrenched and strained to no avail. Movement proved an impossible dream. Any kind of movement, no matter how slight, caused a sharp pain to pulse up and down my spinal column. It also caused the heart monitor to which I was attached to pick up speed.

“Michael?” I whispered.

Harris crossed his arms.

“Michael is still recovering from surgery,” he said, looking away. “He’s lost a lot of blood Rebecca.”

I tried to move, but I couldn’t.

“Michael’s alive? But how…”

I needed to see Michael. I needed to know that I wasn’t dreaming.

“You can see him soon,” he explained. “But Rebecca, I need you to talk to me; tell me everything.”

I laid back, stared up at the ceiling, breathed.

After a time, I proceeded to lead him through the whole ordeal. From the time Michael and I returned to my apartment on Thursday afternoon, to Franny’s rescue of me inside the basement of the house in the woods.

For a time Harris just sat there chewing on the information. Clearly something wasn’t sitting right with the detective. He stood up, turned his back and stared out the window onto the parking lot below.

“By the time my men got to the house in the woods,” he said. “By the time we got to Michael, Whalen was gone, vanished.”

I felt my insides tighten up. I wondered if the monitor picked up the change.

“We followed a blood trail out of the house and into the woods. But after a while it disappeared, along with our suspect.” He shook his head, eyes peeled out the window. But when he turned back to me, he tried to plant a same smile on his face. A reassuring smile that screamed lie.

“I don’t want you to worry,” he assured me. “If his head injury is as bad as you painted it, there’s a good chance that his body will be found in those woods as early as this morning or this afternoon.”

How had Whalen had been able to leave the half-way house without being detected? How was he able to follow me for all those weeks and months? How was he able to kidnap Michael and me if he was supposed to be reporting to a job or a half-way house?

I shot the questions to Harris. Did it angrily, bitterly, as if he were personally responsible. In turn he shrugged his shoulders, bit his lip.

“Half-way houses are not prisons, Rebecca,” he offered. “Parole officers are not ball and chains. Ankle monitors can be hacked and removed, if you know what you’re doing. The system of keeping a twenty-four hour watch on a parolee, even a violent offender like Whalen, is not perfect. All it would take for him to get some extra time outside the house is a little money and maybe the confidence of one or more of his counselors. That’s about it, I’m afraid.”

He put his hand on my hand, squeezing my fingers. He told me not to think about Whalen anymore.

I looked up at him, into his eyes.

“Thirty years ago,” I said, “when Whalen dragged us into the basement. He never actually…” I hesitated, because I didn’t know how to say it.

“He never actually what?”

“When he had Molly on the floor, she turned to me, told me not to resist. She made me promise not to resist. When she allowed Whalen to do what he wanted, he no longer wanted to do it. He couldn’t go through with it with either of us, because we wouldn’t resist him.”

The detective nodded. His hand was still holding mine.

“But he still violated you,” he said. “He hurt you and he hurt your sister. He abducted you and held you against your will.”

I wasn’t sure how to feel about my confession; how to feel about the possibility of Whalen still being alive.

“Get some rest,” Harris said, releasing my hand. “You’re going to need it.”

I closed my eyes. It felt good to close my eyes. Already I felt myself nodding off.

“Dead,” I mumbled in my near sleep state. “Find… the devil… dead.”