Protector - Laurel Dewey [187]
She turned to check the time. 8:45 a.m. Looking over at Jane, Emily saw that she was still sound asleep. The child’s head felt heavy and numb—an emotional hangover from reliving the gruesome memories the night before. The more she remembered everything, the more she wanted to get out of bed and move around the room. Emily heard the city trucks plodding down Main Street, getting ready for the July fourth Parade. Right now, watching a truck set out orange cones sounded like the perfect distraction.
Moving slowly so as not to awaken Jane, Emily slipped out from under the covers. She looked around the floor for her slippers. Jane stirred, turned her body toward the bedside table and went back to sleep. Emily peered across the room to the corner chair and spotted her pink slippers hidden underneath it. She tiptoed across the floor. In kneeling down to collect her slippers, she brushed her hand against Jane’s leather satchel. She looked at the satchel as something caught her eye.
It was one word: child. The word was part of a larger headline from one of the many newspaper clippings Jane had shoved into the satchel the previous night. Emily tried to unfold the newspaper to see it more clearly, but it was stuck too tightly into the satchel. Emily slid the satchel toward her. She lifted the article in question out of the satchel and read the headline:
DENVER NEIGHBORHOOD STILL IN SHOCK OVER FAMILY’S MURDER—TEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD AMONG VICTIMS
Emily first thought the article was about her parents, but realized that the accompanying photo did not match her neighborhood. The photo showed a middle-aged woman standing on a street with the Stover’s house diffused in the background. Emily read the caption under the photo:
“This is just tragic,” Gilpin Street resident, Ellen Del Alba sadly told reporters. “I didn’t know the little girl very well, but she seemed like such an adorable child.”
Emily looked at the house in the background. It looked just like . . .
But, it couldn’t be. Emily set the clipping aside and pulled out the next one.
CAR BOMB KILLS FAMILY OF THREE IN THEIR DRIVEWAY
This story featured a photograph that showed the scene the morning after the attack. The photo showed Jane standing near the yellow crime scene tape, her left hand freshly bandaged. Nearby was the green and white Gilpin Street sign. Emily stared at the photo of what was left of the charred Range Rover. She studied the driveway with its distinctive manicured cedars. It started to look far too familiar.
Emily pulled out another newspaper clipping. Her eyes filled with terror and she began to shake uncontrollably. She worked her way up to a standing position, never letting go of the newspaper clipping.
The scuffling sound awoke Jane. Still half asleep, all Jane could see was Emily’s back and that the child was looking down at something. “Hey . . .” Jane said quietly.
Emily spun around, gasping in fright. She hid the newspaper clipping behind her back and regarded Jane with a look of abject fear mixed with contempt.
Jane quickly surveyed the scene. The crime scene photos , she said to herself. “Oh, Jesus. You saw the photos?”
Emily was breathing so hard, she could hardly speak. “Yes.”
“You weren’t supposed to ever see those,” Jane said, flipping back the bed covers. “Here, let me—”
“Get away from me!” Emily shouted, nearly choking on her words.
Jane sat on the bed, perplexed by Emily’s behavior. “Emily?”
Emily backed up several steps to the wall, never taking her eyes off of Jane. She inched toward the bedside table, keeping a healthy distance between herself and Jane. “I don’t understand! You promised me. But you . . . lied to me,” Emily nervously stuttered.
Jane sat frozen on the bed. Something was very wrong. “Emily,” Jane said calmly, as though she was talking a sniper down from a tall building, “what is it?”
“I was wrong! You don’t want to protect me . . . You want to kill me!”
“Kill you? Emily—”
“Don’t lie to me!” Emily screamed. “You knew him all this time!”
“I knew who?”
“The man in my bedroom!” Emily