“No.” I shake my head, hating how the word comes out like a rasp of breath. The loss of her friendship was the second hardest thing to take, behind my losing my father’s affection. Mom and I grew closer. Unbelievably, Brenna became my best friend and closest confidante. She still is.
But that’s because I have no friends. I let no one new in. And my old friends abandoned me. Or I abandoned them.
I’m not sure which happened first.
“Maybe she felt too much guilt, after what happened. Do you think she felt responsible for your disappearance?”
“No. I don’t know.” The words rush out of me and I sound defensive. Young. I swore I would remain cool and composed and the reporter—her name is Lisa—promised she wouldn’t ask me uncomfortable questions. She would wait for me to volunteer information.
But I bet she thought the uncomfortable stuff would deal with Aaron William Monroe. Not my long-lost best friend.
Lisa’s staring at me right now, trying to pick apart my brain, and I shutter it closed, pressing my lips together so no unwanted words escape. I’ve created all sorts of defense mechanisms over the years and this is one of them.
“Tell me what happened after lunch,” Lisa says.
I take a deep breath and hold it, wondering what I should say first.
This is where it gets harder.
I hear someone else say her name for the first time in years and it stops me cold.
Turning, I glance at the TV where it hangs on the wall of my narrow living room, squinting at the screen. I don’t have my glasses on and I scramble for them in my haste, finding them on the counter mere inches from where I stand in the kitchen, and I shove them on my face.
Everything comes into focus and my mouth drops open.
“This week on News in Current with Lisa Swanson, kidnapping survivor Katherine Watts speaks for the first time in eight years about her harrowing ordeal.”
I stare? completely frozen, as Katherine’s image fills my TV screen. Her hair is a little darker, but still that same honey-golden blond. She looks older—which makes sense because come the fuck on, it’s been eight years, just like the announcer said, and we’ve all changed a lot in the past eight years.
A lot.
“I had fun that morning,” she says, her soft, sweet voice filling the room, filling my head, making it spin. She sounds the same yet different. Older.
Fun that morning. I’m sure she did. The boardwalk is a fun place to be when you’re twelve. I loved it, too. Still do.
But I don’t have bad memories that taint the place like she does.
“He was so nice at first,” she continues, her voice fading as she drops her head and sinks her teeth into her lower lip. I recognize that look. I guess she hasn’t changed that much in eight years, or at least her tells haven’t.
She’s feeling unsure. Hesitant.
Electricity buzzes through my veins as I watch her, listen to her, savor the sound of her familiar yet different voice. She sounds so composed, so articulate, her words measured, the tone strong. She looks good, too. Pretty with the long blond hair, the big blue eyes, the mouth . . .
I close my eyes for a brief moment and swallow hard. All the memories come at me, one after another, blazing over me like wildfire, and I grip the edge of the counter. The memories are unwanted. I’d banished them from my mind, fought those demons long ago and won. They represent an old part of my life, another part I try my best to forget even happened.
Yet just like that, seeing her, hearing her, I’m the old me again, cracked so wide open it makes my heart hurt.
“Seemingly harmless?” Lisa asks in that no-nonsense tone of hers that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I’ve had that voice directed at me more than once. When I was a kid and scared out of my mind and I didn’t know what to say.
I hate Lisa Swanson.
A new image appears on the screen. Katherine at the time she was found, her tear-filled gaze aimed directly at the camera, distress written all over her young face. She’s wearing baggy sweats and her hair is in a sloppy ponytail. A uniformed policeman and woman stand on either side of her, escorting her into the hospital.
Katie. When I see her like that, it all comes rushing back at me, memory upon memory, word after word, promise after promise. My legs feel weak and I grip the edge of the countertop.
You can’t be scared, Katie. You have to be brave. You have to come with me.
What if he finds us? What will he do?
He won’t do anything to you. I won’t let him.
You promise?
I promise.
“Has he ever tried to reach out to you?”
Lisa’s back on the screen, her eyes narrowed, head tilted like she’s concentrating hard. Like she cares.
Snorting out loud, I shake my head. She cares all right. About her ratings and her money and the next big interview she can snag.
I can’t believe Katherine is talking to her.
Katie.
My Katie.