Page 40 of The Change
“What is it?” Jo asked softly.
“Some evil asshole is going around killing girls, and I’m the one who gets to tell their mamas. What did I do to deserve this?”
“You’re the light that holds back the darkness,” Harriett said. “Women like you have always existed. Without you, the world would be thrown out of balance.”
Jo and Nessa turned their eyes to Harriett, who’d returned to her workbench, where she was filling a little glass bottle with a syrupy black liquid.
“What?” she asked when she looked up to find her friends staring at her. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading.”
“If I’m the light, what are you guys?” Nessa said with a sniffle.
“I’m the punishment that fits the crime.” Harriett returned to her work. “Jo is the rage that burns everything down. Nessa will have to talk to the dead girls’ mothers. But we’ll all have our parts to play.”
Silence followed. Then Jo giggled nervously. “Harriett is so fucking stoned,” she said.
Harriett grinned. “Nessa knows what I’m saying.”
She did. She’d heard something like it before—the day she’d asked her grandmother if she ever wished she hadn’t been born with the gift.
You don’t waste your time wishing when you got a job to do,the old woman had told her.Our work is important. We keep the scales balanced.
“Harriett’s right.” Nessa wiped her face and pulled herself together. “We need to get down to business. Anything else I need to know?”
“I jogged down to Danskammer Beach this morning,” Jo said. “There were cars parked along the highway and a crowd of people hanging around the crime scene snapping selfies.”
“Selfies?” Harriett looked up over her glasses.
“What in God’s name?” Nessa sounded mortified. “Why?”
“I guess word got out that there could be a new serial killer and all the ghouls are thrilled. Some kid actually stopped me and said he’d seen me on the news yesterday. Asked if he could interview me for his true crime podcast. I was standing a few feet from where we found that poor girl’s body, and this little asshole is looking to make a buck off the story.”
“Did you punch him?” Nessa said, making it clear she would have approved.
“No. Thing is, I know his show,” Jo admitted. “I’m embarrassed to say I used to listen to it all the time. Art made me stop after I slept with the lights on for a month.”
“Shows like that aren’t my thing, but I don’t blame you for listening,” Nessa said. “You gotta know what monsters are after you if you plan to avoid them.”
“It makes sense to listen if you’re a woman. But it doesn’t explain why serial killer stories are just as popular with men,” Harriett said. “Think about it—straight guys are almost never the victims. They don’t have to worry about anyone chopping them into bits. So what’s the appeal?”
“It’s pure entertainment for them,” Jo said. Dead women’s bodies fertilized a whole industry. Books, movies, shows, podcasts. “They all turn the murderers into supervillains with comic book names. It’s all about the killers—not the women they kill. There was one guy in Providence—they called him the Head Hunter because he cut off women’s heads. The podcast kid I met today could probably have rattled off every place in Rhode Island where the guy hid a head, but he couldn’t name a single one of the victims. The women are just props in the killer’s story.”
“You keep talking about a serial killer,” Harriett said. “Are we sure it was one person who murdered these girls?”
Nessa was curious to hear Jo’s answer. The same thought had occurred to her.
“What other explanation could there be?” Jo asked.
“It’s too early to draw any conclusions,” Nessa said. “I have to go back to Danskammer Beach. I didn’t get a good look at the third girl. I need to be able to sketch them all.”
“Do you think it’s smart to be sketching dead girls with half the town down there snapping selfies?” Jo asked.
“We’ll travel by water,” Harriett announced as though it had long been decided. “I have a friend with a boat. What time do you two want to leave?”
That afternoon, Celeste watched from the prow of her boat as the three women made their way down the dock, with Harriett in the lead. Even in a plain white shirt tucked into a pair of old jeans, Harriett looked like a visitor from another realm. The two women walking side by side behind Harriett couldn’t have appeared more different. One was pretty and plump, with a wide smile punctuated by two girlish dimples. Her manicure suggested she wasn’t a fan of manual labor, and her fancy silk blouse wasn’t made for sailing. Her companion was a compact little redhead with ripped limbs, a tight ponytail, and an outfit that suggested she might drop and do thirty at any moment. Yet the fact that the two women belonged together was perfectly clear. They were a matching pair.
There was a time when Celeste might have been jealous to see Harriett in the company of interesting women. In her youth, she’d demanded everything from her lovers. Every ounce of affection. Every second of spare time. Now her desire to possess had dwindled, and she knew trying to own someone like Harriett would be pointless. What Harriett gave freely was much more precious than anything Celeste might try to take.
Her affair with Harriett had changed her relationship with Andrew, though not in the ways she’d imagined. They were still happytogether. And they were just as happy apart. For the first time in her life, Celeste wasn’t afraid to be on her own. Her time with Harriett had taught her a great deal. Harriett had a six-year head start on Celeste. She’d made it to the top of the hill they’d been climbing, and she knew what lay on the other side. Celeste had watched other women cower or crumble once they reached the summit. Harriett had grown powerful instead. Celeste didn’t know for sure what had happened. Harriett claimed she’d simply decided to see the world with her own two eyes. Whatever that meant, it was what Celeste wanted. And she could tell the two women with Harriett had made up their minds as well.
