Page 44 of Traces of Kara

“Liar!”

“You tried to hurt Marissa. You grabbed a knife and went for her.” Mimi clung to Marissa.

“No!” Roland grabbed the sides of his head, as if a memory were painfully clawing at his mind. “No!”

“Yes! You said your mother loved her more. You were only a little boy, but you were always trying to hurt Marissa.”

“No!” Roland bent over and spoke through gritted teeth, “No. I loved her.”

“By the time I got you, you were so obsessed with her, your entire world revolved around her. You hurt her. You broke her arm.”

“No! She did that at the park,” he cried. He paced, remembering the windy fall day. Marissa had been so small. She scurried in front of Roland and up the steps to the slide. Mimi watched, cheering her on, “Climb, Marissa. Roland, let her go first.” Marissa stood up and yelled, “Watch, Mommy!” Her blond ponytails swung in the breeze. Her red dress clung to her white tights.

“You pushed her.”

“No!” Roland stood up, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“Yes. You did it, Roland. You pushed her from behind. Everyone saw you.” She kept her eyes trained on him.

“No. You’re lying. Stop it! Stop it!” he screamed. He spun around, his face red, his hands a painful mess of burned skin.

“You did it,” she screamed. “You, Roland. You!”

“Liar!” He stepped closer, reaching for her again.

She ducked back. His hand swatted the air inches from her head.

“I would never hurt her.” He lifted his fists, shook them at her in fast, rigid movements.

“It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself, however you rationalize that I’m killing my own daughter when you poisoned her,” Mimi yelled. “You’re the one who has, is, and will be killing her. Your choices, Roland. Your decisions.”

Marissa moaned. “Who am I?” she whispered.

Roland stopped, hand midair.

Mimi’s tears dripped onto her daughter’s cheek. She wiped them away, leaving a smear of black ash. “You’re my daughter,” she cried.

Marissa shook her head. “No. Who am I?”

Mimi looked up at Roland, her lower lip trembling. “You’re Marissa Jane Greer,” she said, sobbing.

Chapter Thirty-Six

The last thing Jackson wanted to do was go into the underbelly of the plant. He’d served his time. Is this what he had to look forward to until the plant closed? No one cared about their jobs. Short-timers didn’t go the extra mile. He pushed the elevator button repeatedly. Of course the damn thing didn’t work. There was no power. Jackson let out a tired, little chuckle and walked toward the door at the end of the hall.

The flashlight beam illuminated the narrow stairwell. Jackson pushed through the cobwebs, cursing under his breath. As he neared the last step, he crinkled his nose at a foul odor that wafted up from below.

Jackson walked through the cold basement, the only floor that wasn’t open to those above. The ceiling, although not particularly low, had ductwork that dropped down and pipes that ran across, giving the rooms a crowded feeling. Jackson grabbed the handle of the maintenance room door and turned the knob. He pushed the heavy door open and jumped back. “What the—” An acrid smell filled the small room. Jackson coughed, covering his nose with the crook of his elbow. He reached for the light switch out of habit, then whipped the flashlight beam around the room. He leaned in, peering behind the barrels. The beam of light flashed across Paul’s decomposing body.

Jackson jumped back. “Holy shit,” he said. “Shit, shit, shit.” Jackson reached behind him and pulled the door open, scrambling into the hallway, gasping for breath. He ran for the stairs. An echo rang out behind him. A woman’s scream. It faded as quickly as it had come.

“Shit.” Jackson looked at the stairs, his heart pounding against his ribs. He looked back down the hall, into the darkness. “Mimi?” he yelled. His voice was hoarse, foreign, shaking with fear.

His echo reverberated off the concrete walls.

He grabbed the rail of the stairs and propelled himself forward, up three steps in one quick push. Another scream rang out behind him. He turned his trembling body, one foot on the step, the other hanging in midair. “Mimi?” he whispered. He fumbled for his cell phone and dialed 911, pressing it to his ear. An annoying high pitched, sing song tone signaled his lack of service. He leaned forward, as if he were going to continue up the steps. “Damn it,” he mumbled. He turned to face the darkness below, then, with his lips tightly pursed together, he retreated back downstairs, toward the screams.

Jackson moved slowly down the hall, wondering what the hell he thought he was going to do if he found someone. Who, he had no idea, but after seeing Paul, he knew what was at risk. I’m sorry, Nancy, he thought, then swallowed hard. He couldn’t turn his back on someone in need, and he was certain it was Mimi. He came to a glass cabinet attached to the wall with a fire extinguisher inside. He fumbled with his keys, trying desperately not to make noise, looking up and down the darkened passageway. He opened the glass slowly and removed the large extinguisher. Tucking the flashlight under his arm, the light beaming straight ahead, he carried the extinguisher like a bat, gripped between his two sweating palms.