Page 41 of The One Who Won’t Get Away
“Could’ve been worse,” I said.“I get nightmares, too.Imagine how it would’ve looked if I were the one to elbow you in the eye?”
She snorted a laugh.“Good point.She definitely would’ve refused talking to you then.”
We went into the building to find a stairwell stinking of old mop water, weed, and whatever chemical they use to mask the scent of weed.As we climbed to the second floor, our boots echoing on the stairs, Nadya hugged herself and walked half a step behind me, chin tucked, eyes flicking this way and that, as if expecting something to jump out at her.
Melissa’s apartment was at the end of the hall.I knocked twice—firm but not aggressive—and waited.
No one answered.Just as I was about to knock again, the door cracked open two inches, chain still in place.
Melissa’s face appeared in the gap; pale, hollowed out, with hair so greasy it looked wet.She looked older than her age, and her eyes were hard.Her threadbare t-shirt was partially covered by a flannel shirt.She pinned Nadya and me with a look that could have stripped paint from the wall.
“Who are you?”she said, voice flat.
I held out my badge and ID.“Nick Santana.FBI.This is Nadya.We just want to ask you a few questions.”
Melissa’s lip curled.“I don’t talk to pigs.”
“That’s fine,” I said.“But you might want to hear what we have to say.We’re looking into your dad.And what he did in that house.”
At the word “dad,” her face went completely still.She glanced at Nadya again, and her eyes narrowed.
Nadya stepped forward, voice shaky but clear.“I was brought to your house.”
A flicker of something passed over Melissa’s face, then she said, “You brought a survivor to interrogate me?What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I answered her honestly.“She’s not here to interrogate you.She’s here because she deserves justice.Same as you.”
Melissa stared at me for a long time, then slid the chain and opened the door.“Five minutes,” she said, backing into the apartment.
We followed her inside.The place was tiny, the walls painted nicotine yellow.There was a futon with a sheet thrown over it, a low coffee table buried under Chinese takeout cartons, and an ancient tube TV playing a muted morning show.Melissa perched on the edge of the futon, elbows on knees, hands knotted together so tight her knuckles blanched white.
Nadya and I took the folding chairs by the window.While I tried to look relaxed and unintimidating, Nadya sat rigid, picking at the skin around her thumb.
Melissa didn’t wait for me to start.“You want to know about the playdates, right?”Her voice was dead, but her eyes were sharp.“You want me to say it out loud, just like every other asshole who tried to get me to talk about it.”
I kept my voice calm.“We want to understand how it worked.Not to re-traumatize you.”
She barked a laugh.“There’s no way to talk about it that doesn’t.”
Nadya spoke next, and I could see how much it cost her.“The man that used to bring me?He tried to kidnap my sister recently.I just want to know why because he was never big on grown-ups.”
Melissa let out a slow, trembling breath.“The men who came—they were all customers.Some of them paid cash, some of them traded favors.Sometimes, it was just to watch, sometimes it was more.”
“Was it always kids?”I asked.
Melissa’s hands twisted harder.“No.Sometimes women, too.Women who came with kids.They called them ‘babysitters,’ but they were just older victims.”
I wrote that down, then tucked the notepad back in my pocket.“Did you know any of the women?”
She shook her head.“They never let me talk to anyone unless it was part of a show.Dad kept me upstairs the rest of the time.Said I was his ‘angel, so I shouldn’t have to do it unless it was necessary.’”Her lips curled at the memory.
Nadya’s voice was barely above a whisper.“Do you remember me?Or the others?”
Melissa looked at her then, really looked, and for a second I thought she might break.Instead, she nodded.“Yeah.Wish I didn’t, but sometimes the other girls are all I can remember.”
“Yeah,” Nadya said, and I felt her shoulders tense next to me.
“They liked to have a couple of girls there, especially if they had a lot of customers.”Melissa said before going quiet for a few long seconds; her silence was broken only by the hum of the fridge and the muffled TV.“It was good advertising, too.Like, ‘look at all the different kids we can get our hands on.Want us to get you one?’”
