Page 146 of Our Daughter's Bones
Sterling picked up his keys and walked away, defeated. She turned around, refusing to look at him. She felt his gaze burning a hole through her back. Like he was waiting for her to change her mind.
After a few minutes, she heard the front door open and shut. She released the breath she was holding. Sobs constricted her throat. She slumped to the kitchen floor, crying, her hand clamped over her mouth.
She had spent her entire life smothering her instincts and trying to escape the demons in her head. She had morphed herself into the immaculate wife and the perfectionist police officer. Now, it felt like the drugs had worn off.
Everything was slowly seeping out of her. It was like Sterling had not only twisted the knife deep in her chest, but left it cracked open for everyone to see her ugliness.
Epilogue
One week later
One thing Mackenzie never did was wallow—at least on the outside. She prepared her smoothie and went for a run. She was determined not to let Sterling hold her back. That’s why she ran faster and longer than ever before. She didn’t know whether to leave him or not. All she knew was that she needed him to stay away for a while.
She was ambivalent about living alone. Sterling was the only strong link she had to a normal life. Without him, she was left pondering her past and fearing nightmares and hallucinations. He was responsible for bringing her into the real world—a world where it was uncommon to help your mother bury your father’s body. With him gone, would she be back in the dark place in her mind?
Vincent Hawkins had cut out the local papers and sold his story to theSeattle Times. It had dominated the news cycle in Washington and beyond since. Even the leading newspapers and channels owned by Nathaniel Jones had featured his story. After all, nothing came before a good story for the media. The directors had kicked Nathaniel off the board after his arrest. Now they profited off his crimes.
Lakemore’s Heroes Fall: “Club 916” charged with brutal rape and murder of two women
The article detailed the crimes of Samuel Perez, Nathaniel Jones, and David Falkner. It exposed the old Club 916 and the involvement of Bill Grayson, which led to national coverage. The Arthur Bishop case would follow when the FBI were ready. Abby’s arrest had made headlines too, but she was still an anonymous figure in the Club 916 case, so the two stories hadn’t been fully linked for now. Something told Mackenzie that Abby might apply to waive her anonymity in the 916 case, to try to take control of the situation.
That wouldn’t surprise her, but the last part of Hawkins’ article had:
Where does this leave Lakemore? As the pillars of our community fall, we will be forced to reevaluate what we stand for. Football has been the life of Lakemore. It has brought us recognition, jobs, and, most importantly, a purpose. But somewhere we got confused. We began worshipping the players instead of the sport. We have to learn to separate them. We have to remember that players are humans—and humans are flawed. Punishing them for their mistakes does not mean turning our backs on the sport. Lakemore will still stand united. Lakemore will survive. But it might take us a while to get there. Because one of the many things sports teaches us is to honor heroes. And Lakemore will never honor the villains whose actions destroyed innocent lives and threatened to tarnish football in this city.
Vincent’s words were impactful. The Lakemore PD was getting several calls—women who were assaulted by the old Club 916 were coming forward to tell their stories. They were scared and silenced back then. But today, after almost fifty years, they demanded justice. They realized that times had changed. Maybe now they would be taken seriously.
An investigation was opened into Bill Grayson. Mackenzie was uncertain where it would lead five decades after the crimes were committed. The statute of limitations had long passed. The victims had been at least sixteen years of age; the sexual crimes weren’t against minors according to the law. But people and the system were listening to them.
Sometimes, that alone was enough.
A change was coming to Lakemore. Its idols were disgraced; its heroes unmasked and revealed to be villains. There were rumors that the FBI was going to investigate Lakemore PD and the mayor’s office for corruption, considering Samuel Perez’s political reach.
After work that evening, Mackenzie took a hot bubble bath and then decided to make banana cream pancakes. She played Vera Lynn’s song “We’ll Meet Again” on the speakers. After the long soak, she felt lighter, like the knots in her body had come undone. She would think about Sterling some other day. She would think about what this case could do to Lakemore later. Tonight, she decided toenjoy.
She stirred the mouth-watering batter. Vera’s rich voice crooned in the background: “We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. But I know we’ll meet again…”
The doorbell rang. She paused. Was it Sterling? He knew better than to show up unannounced. She checked the clock. It was nine in the evening. She peered through the window overlooking the garden. There was no other car parked in the driveway.
The bell rang again.
It was probably her neighbor, Mrs. McNeill, wanting to borrow something.
But when she opened the door, her legs almost buckled. Fear paralyzed her. It was the kind of fear that didn’t even raise hairs on the body to send a warning. It just gripped her into an uncanny stillness. It slunk up her spine and threatened to snap it in half. Her heart lifted and came crashing back down. Her brain didn’t protest. It didn’t function anymore. Blankness seeped into it and spread through her synapses.
It wasn’t possible.
No. No. No.
Her father stood in front of her.
He was not a hallucination or a ghost. Wearing a black coat and jeans, he looked aged. His thinning hair was white, just like the hair on his jaw. His skin was sagged and wrinkled. But it was unmistakably him.
She felt the earth tilt.
He was alive.
“Micky.” He smiled. Twenty years had made his voice raspier. “It’s been a long time.”
