Page 59 of Haven't Killed in Years
Natalie caught up to Gwen’s car, leaving two in between them for cover, and followed her home to her apartment. She parked in a spot far enough down the street to avoid raising suspicion but close enough to see Gwen’s windows. The ones facing the street would remain dark until Gwen went to bed. Natalie reclined her seat and got comfortable.
It was nights like this that, while boring, made Natalie feel most at home. There were no distractions. She wasn’t racing around town, trying to keep up with Gwen. She wasn’t worried about being caught. She was alone and quiet and so was Gwen. It reminded her of the moments they’d shared as children, that small window of time at night when the girls finally heeded the attendants’ warnings and stopped giggling—the minutes when they were together and silent before they were both asleep.
Natalie knew what she was doing wasn’t normal, butshewasn’t normal. What was the alternative for her? Her whole life she’d been told she wasn’t right. She raged, she panicked, she attacked. If a little light stalking kept those things at bay, she wasn’t going to feel guilty about it; it wasn’t for other people to understand.
At ten fifteen the bedroom light came on, then the bathroom. Natalie watched Gwen’s silhouette pass by the sheer curtains in the bedroom to the clouded glass of the bathroom and then back again. Five minutes later, the lights went out and Natalie started her car.
Thirty-One
Gwen
Natalie Shea’s face wasall over the place, or at least it felt that way to me as every internet algorithm had me pegged in no time.Marin Haggertyhad returned—the blonde hair and light eyes that, to me but no one else, were blatantly unnatural.
I remembered the first time I met Natalie, more afraid of herself than anything the outside world could throw at her. What she hadn’t known was that I knew the outside world was so much scarier than anything she could imagine. She’d hung on my every word. My father would have liked that. I liked that. I liked the control I thought I had over her and I let my guard down.
I’d really underestimated Natalie. Again. Part of me was impressed. How had she even found out the truth about me? I assumed that missing file meant someone had discovered that Marin Haggerty was Gwen Tanner. Was it possible instead that the missing file meant Natalie had discovered that Gwen Tanner was Marin Haggerty? The facility didn’t know who I was, but there must have been some kind of contact information in there, or at least a record of whohad dropped me off and signed me away—the hand that had held that pen was the same one attached to the arm that had arrived on my doorstep.
What was the use in hiding anymore?Marin Haggertyhad been revealed. Why would anyone suspect I was someone other than the Gwen Tanner I said I was?
It was time to talk to my father.
- - - - -
I sat down onthe stool they told me to sit down on. I put my hands on the short counter between myself and the glass, then I put them down in my lap, then back up. I sensed he was coming before I could see him. There was a catch in my throat that morphed into a shiver down my spine. Then I saw his beard.
My father landed on the other side of the glass and I kept my head low and let my hair fall to conceal my face. I watched him the best I could without untucking my chin. He reached for the phone and I did the same.
“Welcome,” he said like a cult leader at a job fair. I was still Gwen Tanner.
I didn’t know where to start.
He tried to kickstart the conversation he thought we were going to have. “You said in your letter that you know Elyse Abbington?” Of course I had mentioned her. I knew from Dominic and Porter that my father was as obsessed with Elyse as I was, and I needed Gwen Tanner on his visitor list.
I swallowed on par with the whale fromPinocchiobefore lifting my head. I wished what I felt was fear or anger, but it wasn’t those at all. I exhaled for the first time in twenty years. My eyes locked on his, and in that moment, I would have followed him anywhere. I needed to feel that again. It was the reason I was there.
I thought my face would be enough, but I had done my job well. He didn’t recognize me.
“Are you going to speak?” he asked. “No need to be nervous.” He smiled and it was as rewarding to me as it had been when I was a child. His teeth had yellowed in prison, not that they were particularly white to begin with.
I didn’t know what else to do so I rotated on the stool and lifted my shirt to show him the scars. He squinted at them and the phone fell a fraction from his ear. I dropped my shirt and turned back around.
“Mar—” he started before I grimaced, shaking my head, and he realized it was not something I wanted overheard. He combed his hand through his beard, grooming it to help him think. He stared at me as if trying to communicate telepathically. If it was ever going to work, it would have to be right then between him and me. That was our bond and that was his power, but I had no idea what he was thinking.
“I heard…” he mused, “my daughter has come out of hiding.”
“I saw that,” I said, finally ready to speak.
He nodded and it was clear we both understood what was going on. “Do you know her?” he asked.
“Yes, we met when I was a kid.” I wasn’t sure how to elaborate, nervous what details he would consider insignificant—the instinct to avoid disappointing him as poignant as ever. I waited for him to tell me what to say, think, know, feel.
“And now?” he said. “Did you know she was coming forward?”
I shook my head. Whatever was going on, if he was displeased, he needed to know it wasn’t my doing.
He nodded again, a processing nod. “I think about my daughter every day,” he said, an affection I wasn’t prepared for. His head was still, but his eyes twitched, not following any pattern I could track.
I smiled. I couldn’t help it.
