Dying to Remember (The Station #2) (10 page)

Jess's mind
is like a bee hive; thoughts are swarming in and out and spinning in all
directions so quickly that I can't grab onto one long enough to understand it.
But I do know she thinks this might be a good time to mention the baby.

Wait,
let's just wait on that. You can talk to them about the pregnancy later. Not
now.

She slumps
back into the sofa cushions with a heavy sigh, her arms folded across her
chest, and stares between the three adults that are still in the room. Isabel
has rushed off to the kitchen in an attempt to save what is left of dinner, per
Mommy Dearest's barked order.

I take her
immediate adherence of my suggestions to mean she is simply too exhausted to
fight me. But in the back of my mind I remember why I'm here. This is a test.
All
of it
. To see how well my Assignments can really hear me. I know Rush and
Niles are watching me somehow, which is like having a boss breathing down your
neck. It's not a comfortable feeling.

Well,
Rush. If you can hear me, I bet you didn't see this one coming, did you?

***

Night comes
quickly and sleep takes Jess away just moments after she closes her swollen
eyes. This would usually be my time to wade through the memories and thoughts
of my assignment with peace, but peace escapes me completely on this night.
I've never had the impulse as strong as I do now to chew each of my finger
nails to the quick and pull my hair out by the handful.

I don't
know what to do.

And it's
true, I really don't. Whatever problems Jess had before my arrival, they are
now multiplied infinitely by what happened today. Lost in the lightlessness of
Jess's mind, I imagine being in my body, crumpled in a heap on the floor of the
Station, feeling defeated and hopeless.
Just as I do now.

I don't need
memories to tell me that the relationship she has with her parents is a
strained one and in the case of Mommy Dearest it's practically nonexistent.
Jess was born into the family simply because it was expected for her parents to
have at least one child. There were nannies when she was young and Isabel took
over as a surrogate parent when Jess became a teenager. Since both Mr. and Mrs.
Levy were esteemed and highly successful Doctors, they didn't have time to
raise a child. And they had little interest in making Jess a priority.

Surprisingly,
there is no history of physical or sexual abuse, other than the more recent
abuse at the hands of the now dead Chris. Jess has friends, though she doesn't
share her private thoughts or happenings with them. They are more like
accessories, so that Jess fits in. Nothing more.

Then there's
the pregnancy and the abortion. Chris was her first, and he was a perfect
gentleman in the beginning. Bringing her gifts, sending her sweet texts and attaching
love notes to the bouquet of roses he would spontaneously deliver on
Thursdays…just because. But once they slept together, he changed. He became
possessive of her, jealous of her time spent with anyone other than him. Jess
didn't know what to do, and had no one to talk to, so she let it be for as long
as she could handle it. Then she woke up one morning and threw up on the
expensive Egyptian rug that decorated her elaborately designed bedroom before
she could make it to the bathroom. After spending two weeks puking or feeling
like she was going to, she caved and peed on a stick to verify what she already
knew was true. She drove all the way across town to buy the test, even wore her
over-sized sunglasses to hide her face under a hat while she shopped. The only
person that saw her was the teller and she didn't know him, and doubted he even
cared who she was.

It was
finding out that Chris had been sleeping with not just one, but two other girls
that Jess finally had what she considered an excuse to break up with him.
Several days of constant phone calls and middle of the night visits banging on
the front door and Jess's parents couldn't take it anymore and banished him
from the property. Though even then, they didn't really want to know what
happened. Isabel was the only person Jess talked to about Chris.

Just over a
week ago she drove almost two hours away for a clinic that wasn't associated in
any way with her parents. She barely made the drive home; stopping twice before
she fainted. And she told no one. Not until today. It was a secret she wanted
to keep, but in light of recent events, she might not be able to hide it from
the police. They would want to know why Chris attacked her. I sort through
every fight she's ever had with the high school jock until I find what I
need…she isn't the only one who knows about his violent side.

Her name is
Marisa Swain. And I know just where to find her.

***

Jess waited
until her parents retreated to their separate parts of the house for work, long
after dinner was consumed in silence. No one spoke at the table. Jess pushed
the food around on the plate until her mother chastised her. It was hard to
think about anything but the image of Chris lying bloody and broken in the
backyard. Food was the furthest thing from her mind, but she shoveled in a few
spoonfuls of mashed potatoes until her mother seemed satisfied.

When the
house was quiet and the main rooms were dark, Jess slipped downstairs, sneaking
through the darkened lower level of the house until she reached the inside door
of the garage. She doubted her parents would hear the car start, or the garage
open since Dad was lost in his study with classical music on and Mom was most
likely in her own office pouring over case files and sipping generous amounts
of red wine.

The engine of
her used Volvo purrs to life as she straps herself into the seatbelt, pulling
out of the garage slowly. She doesn't turn the headlights on until after she's
turned the vehicle around and made it half-way down the long driveway.

My hope is
that Marisa is still working her night shift at the local pizza joint, since
this is where Jess last saw her. And since she didn't know where Marisa lived,
this was our best way of finding her. Getting there wouldn't be the hard part.
Locating
her
wouldn't even be the hard part. The challenge would be getting her help
when we
did
find her.

The hole in
the wall diner is packed, which means the small parking lot is overflowed with
cars. Jess parks on the street and avoids locking gazes with anyone that
glances in her direction. I know she's afraid of what will happen when the town
finds out about Chris. My hope is that it's still too early for anyone to know.

Jess's
stomach churns when her eyes fall on one of the female employees. We're in
luck; Marisa is here. As we approach, she shifts so that all I can see is her
profile. Her lovely face is full of angular shapes; a stark contrast to the
soft and flowy feel of her brown, shoulder-length hair. It is curled slightly,
so it hangs in wide waves, bouncing freely around her neck while she nods to a
customer. When she turns her long and lean frame toward us, her hazel eyes
darken when she sees Jess.

Well, I
guess she isn't too happy to see you.

"What do
you want?" Marisa snaps. She leans on the back of the building, her
starched outfit making a loud paper sound as it rubs against the rough brick
wall. Even though she's lighting a cigarette, she keeps her cool gaze locked on
Jess.

"Thanks
for stepping outside to talk to me. I didn't want to speak in front of
everyone."

"I
said…what do you
want
?" Marisa finally looks down at her cigarette
and takes a long drag, holding the smoke in momentarily before blowing it out
of the corner of her mouth. The smell surrounds Jess anyway and she wiggles her
nose to keep from sneezing in Marisa's face. Back at the Station, I'm sure I
sneeze.

"Um,"
Jess flounders mentally for the right way to tell Marisa that her ex-lover was
dead, "It's about Chris, actually."

"Yeah?
No shit. Why else would you be here? We aren't together anymore, don't you know
that?"

Jess shifts
her weight from one leg to the other, taking a deep breath before spitting out
the words, just as we had rehearsed in the car on the way to the pizza joint,
"Chris is dead, Marisa. He attacked me and when I pushed him off, he fell
wrong. The cops don't seem to believe me that it was an accident and no one
else I know understands how violent he would get."

Marisa's eyes
widen slightly but she doesn't respond right away. Instead she casually tucks a
section of hair behind one multi-pierced ear and takes another drag of her
Camel. When she does speak, her voice is flat and devoid of emotion,
"What's this got to do with me?"

Despite the
warm night, shivers run up Jess's arms. She stares hard at the slightly older
girl before responding, "Because I know what he did to you."

The two stand
and stare at each other in silence. Neither move until a group of teens round
the corner noisily. As Jess watches, they piled into a car with a flurry of
squeals and giggles and then speed out of the parking lot. When she looks back,
Marisa is staring at her feet.

After another
long moment of silence, Jess folds her arms and Marisa glances up at her,
setting her mouth into a tight line, "Why does any of that matter
now?"

"Because,
Marisa. You are my living proof that Chris likes to hit his girlfriends. Won't
you help me? Can't you tell them what he did?" she pleads.

Marisa sighs
heavily before dropping her cigarette to the ground, snuffing it out with the
toe of her work shoe. Her gaze is vague when she glances back up, but her voice
wavers, "Not sure what you expect me to do."

"Are you
available tomorrow morning to go for a little drive to the police
station?" Jess asks, hugging her arms to her chest, even though she isn't
cold.

Another sigh.
Another glance down at her feet. "Damn. Okay, I guess so," Marisa
says at last.

"Great!
Pick you up here at nine?"

Marisa nods
curtly and then pushes off the wall with her shoulder and she walks away from
Jess without another word. But it didn't matter to her; I could tell she felt
relieved. This other girl could very well get the police off of Jess's back.

Fingers
crossed for you Hun, fingers crossed.

***

I spend most
of the night staring up at the bedroom ceiling. Jess doesn't fall asleep until
the early morning hours. Thoughts of Chris and his lifeless body lying
awkwardly on the forest floor spin around in her head like a carousel. After
two hours of trying to move her thoughts on to something else, I give up. She
is a tough one. Stubborn. Independent. Quite like myself.

By the time
daylight peers through her silky curtains she's asleep but restless. Her legs
lash out against the confines of her satin sheets and her arms twitch. A few
times she moans. It's a long night.

After a quick
shower and toast for breakfast, she sneaks out of the house before her parents
have a chance to pin her down. As she pulls away from the house, she's sure she
saw the silhouette of her mother waving angrily at her from the open garage but
she doesn't slow, in fact she presses down on the accelerator until the shiny
black tires kick rocks up into the air.

Be
prepared. Marisa may not be there.
I warn her.

But to our
mutual amazement, she actually is. She sits on the bench just outside the shop
looking unapproachably irritable. When Jess pulls her Volvo to a stop in front
of her, she grimaces and pushes off the bench dramatically, quickly climbing
into the passenger seat, as if she was afraid of who would see her getting into
Jessica Levy's
car. Word was starting to make its rounds…Chris Garret
was dead. And the rumor was he died on his girlfriend's property. At least this
is what Mommy Dearest said with disgust as Jess attempted to sneak back into
her room the night before. She hadn't even asked where the girl had gone, just
wanted to rub in her face that the whole family was now a part of the 'worst
scandal in Flagstaff history'. Jess ignored her; if there was one thing that
Mrs. Levy could do, it was exaggerate.

With the
windows rolled down, the fresh mountain air whirs through the interior of the
car, blowing Jess's pony-tail out behind her like a fan. Marisa simply pushes
her shorter hair behind her ears, ignoring the breeze. When they were half-way
to their destination, she's the first to speak.

"So,
like, what is it you expect me to tell them? I'm not gonna just walk in there
and spill my guts, you know?" She snapped her gum loudly in her mouth.
Jess was thankful for the minty smell. The lingering odor of cigarette still
heavily coated Marisa's entire being but the spearmint flavored gum masks just
enough of the smell to make it tolerable for Jess.

"Well, I
think I'll start. I mean, with my story. I didn't really talk to them that much
about my history with…Chris," Jess says quietly.

Marisa stares
at her with wide eyes, her lower jaw slack enough that her mouth hangs open
awkwardly. "What? You mean they don't know about you and him either? Are
you serious? Why didn't you tell me that?"

Jess blinks
at her before looking back at the road, "What do you mean?"

"Because
no one's going to believe me if I walk in there with you
now
to dump out
my shit," she says angrily.

"Of
course they will," Jess says confidently.

"Really?
You have any idea how bad it will look for you to walk in there and say he
smacked me around too? I mean, I thought they already knew. Without proof, this
whole thing is a waste of time," she sighs out the words, clearly
exhausted already by the thought of talking with the police.