Collision (16 page)

I picked her up again and walked toward the garage. “I feel completely helpless. I can’t even take you to the hospital. I hate my freakin’ life!”

“You don’t hate your life. You just hate that particular part of it.”

“When someone I care about is hurt and I can’t do anything about it, I hate my life. Trust me.”

She reached down and opened the car door. “All’s well, Cabot. It’s all right.”

I set her into the seat and squatted down next to her. “You sure you can do this?”

She nodded and then swung her legs into the car and put the key in the ignition. “In case I wreck on the way there and don’t survive, I’ve had a wonderful time these last two months.”

“Very funny.” I stood up and took a step back. “Just drive carefully please.”

“I will.”

“Especially through the hills and stuff. Go slow.”

“I will.”

“How far away are we talking?”

“Not far. Stop worrying.” She reached out, grabbed the handle, and pulled the car door shut.

While she was gone, I tried occupying my time with television. It was the first time I’d turned it on since getting to Asheville. It didn’t help. Neither did reading. Neither did bird watching, and neither did taking a swim.

What made it worse? She didn’t have a cell phone, and I didn’t think to have her take mine. There was no way for me to know what was going on or if she even made it to the hospital in the first place.

I’m getting the girl a blasted cell phone, which reminds me…

I got on my laptop and ordered her a new Mac laptop and had it shipped overnight. I also ordered her a bag to carry it in, an extra power cable and adapter, an iPod, and a pair of noise-cancelling headphones. The longer she was gone, the more money I spent. I was just about to buy her some new travel books when I heard the garage door opener whirl into action.

I bolted to the garage and made it out the door just as she climbed out of the seat.

“What did they say?”

“Fractured.” She pointed to the crutches in the backseat. “Meet my new companions. Just how in bloody hell am I going to get around Uganda on those? Or around the airports?”

I looked down at the cast on her foot. It reached her knee. “Maybe you need to stay until you can get around better.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a nonrefundable ticket, Cabot.”

“I’ll cover it.”

“Stop. No you won’t.”

I pulled out the crutches and handed them to her. “You can’t function around Africa with those things. There’s no way. You need to stay a little longer. At least until you’re off the cast.”

“That’s more than six weeks away.”

“Perfect.”

She kicked the door shut and starting crutching toward the kitchen. “Cut it out. You’re delusional.”

“I’m not delusional.”

“You’re leaving to go to Vancouver. Oliver and Mariah are going to be gone. What good would it do me to sit in this house for six weeks by myself?”

“Come to Vancouver with me.”

She collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and threw her crutches to the ground. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“That’s your world, not mine. I wouldn’t survive it, I assure you.”

“Maybe you’d be surprised. You might actually enjoy it.”

“You don’t even enjoy it. Why in heavens would I?”

She has a point.
“Because you’d be with me.”

“I wouldn’t be with you. You’d be off doing film-type things. I’d be stranded in a hotel.”

She was right, and I hated it.

“I’ll be fine. The children will get a laugh of it all.”

“I’ll have my assistant look into getting you an escort at the airports.”

“You sound all celebrity all of a sudden.”

“If I can’t use my power and money to help a friend, then what’s the point of having it?”

She reached over and touched my arm. “Thank you.”

“Sure.”

“Where’s your ticket? I need to get the information off of it so she can make the arrangements.”

“In a box in my closet.”

“Can I go get it?”

“Sure. If you get me to the couch first.”

“Love to.”

“They gave me a painkiller, and I’m about to nod off.”

I picked her up, carried her to couch, and waited for her to fall asleep before going up to her room. It was only the second time I’d been inside. Nothing had really changed, except now there were pictures of us on her wall among the children she loved so much, most of them from our camping trip or hikes, one of me sitting in the chair in my room with the binoculars to my face.

Box…box…box in closet.

I pulled out the first one that I saw, threw off the top, and spotted an old newspaper article.

“Murder Rocks Small North Carolina Town”

Wrong box.

I almost put the lid back on but spotted another article, and another, and another…

“DeMet Heir and Sons Murdered and Daughter in Fight for Life”

“Miracle Child Faces Horrifying Reality”

“Helen DeMet Claims Temporary Insanity”

“AnnaBeth DeMet to Testify Against Mother in Brutal Slaying of Father and Brothers”

I pushed the papers aside and picked up the first photograph my fingers touched. As soon as I turned it over, I almost threw up. It was a crime scene photograph, two small boys in a pool of blood on the floor. I picked up the next photograph—a man lying face-down in bed. He’d been shot in the head. Another photograph—a pink comforter lying in a hallway. It was drenched in blood. Blood had also sprayed on the walls and on the floor. There was no body. I knew instantly that Kei had once been lying in that hallway and it was her blood that stained it crimson.

Just before I put the picture back down, something caught my eye. I held it closer and examined it. As soon as I identified what it was, I broke into a fit of crying.

A small, bloody handprint was stamped on the wall and then left a trail as the tiny fingers slid toward the ground and onto the floor.

My heart raced to the point that it felt like the vibrations it created would make my heart crack and eventually crumble.

I stood up and walked away from the closet. My mind raced, and my stomach seized in turmoil. I needed to read more. I needed to know what had happened to Kei, what it was that she had experienced, but I didn’t know if I could handle it.

Standing at the side of her bed, I stared back toward the closet, my eyes glaring at the pile of Kei’s reality, the remnants and reminders of her past, proof of the person she once was, the past she’d never revealed, at least not to me.

It was several minutes before I gathered enough composure to sit back down and continue unraveling the story.

Kei’s mother had sent her children off to school in the morning and then gone upstairs and shot her husband while he slept. She then went back to the school; checked her sons out, claiming they had a doctor’s appointment; took them home; lured them into their room; and shot them. The madwoman then cleaned the kitchen, went to lunch, and ran some errands. A traffic jam caused her return home to take longer than she’d expected; and by the time she got back, Kei had gotten off the bus, let herself in the house, and found the bodies of her father and brothers.

As Kei fled her brother’s room, her mother caught her. They struggled, and Kei eventually broke free and ran down the hallway. Her mother shot her six times as she ran away. Five bullets hit her in the back, one in the head. Mrs. DeMet then covered Kei with the pink blanket, dialed 911, reported that she’d killed her family, and sat down next to Kei’s body and waited for the police to come. Unbeknownst to her, Kei was still alive. She was playing dead.

My eyes scanned an article about the arrest, and I focused on one sentence. “When asked what caused her to react so violently, Helen replied: ‘I woke up in the middle of the night and caught him touching my daughter.’”

The newspaper fell out of my hands as I ran to her bathroom, barely making it in time to throw up into the toilet.

For the next hour or so, I sat crouched over the stool, like I used to after one of my drinking binges. I couldn’t stop throwing up. It wasn’t as much because of what Kei’s father had done; it was more because of what her mother had. It was the question of how such a young child dealt with the realization that her own mother had tried to kill her.

When there was nothing left in my stomach and my dry heaving had stopped, I lay on the bathroom floor.

It was all coming together. She’d implied that she had secrets. I chose to ignore the clues. I chose to picture her life as ideal. In reality, her life had been anything but.

I finally gained enough composure to put the items back in the box and shove the box back into the closet. I then searched for her ticket, found it, and shut the closet door.

I sat on the couch and watched her sleep. She looked peaceful, happy even. When I compared that to how she must have felt as a child, I could only assume that she was afraid to go to sleep at night. She probably understood that it was at night when the monster came to her room.

“Kei?” I touched her elbow and shook her gently. “Kei?”

“Hmm?” she moaned.

“Let’s get you upstairs to your room.”

She opened her eyes and tried to focus on me. “What?”

“Let’s get you upstairs. It’s not good for you to sleep down here.”

She made an attempt to sit up but was so groggy she couldn’t. So I scooped her into my arms and carried her up the stairs.

I took my time. I didn’t want to let her go. Something about knowing what I knew made me want to hold on to her, make her feel safe, or at least make myself feel like I was protecting her or taking away her pain. I literally had to resist the urge to squeeze her close to me.

I laid her in bed and pulled the blanket over her. I didn’t want to leave her side. I wanted to protect her from what was in the box in the closet, so I sat between them.

It was no wonder she felt the way she did about nobbing, as she called it. She’d never known it to be used as anything but a weapon or a form of control, whether it was the vile actions of her father or the rape of the children and women in the camps in Uganda she told me about. And then there was me. I never used it as a weapon, but I’d all but told her it meant nothing more to me than any other recreational activity did. There was nothing special about it. Nothing about it meant love. Or at least it hadn’t so far.

Up to that moment, I’d never felt love for someone other than my parents.

C H A P T E R

12

Kei spent all morning crutching around like a crazy person. She wanted to make sure everything was in place and looking perfect before my mom and sisters arrived. I on the other hand could care less. The place could’ve been a pigsty and they wouldn’t have noticed. They were more interested in seeing the sights and meeting Kei.

“Cabot!” Her voice traveled down the stairs and into the kitchen, where I was trying to make a sandwich.

“What?” I yelled back.

“How much longer?”

“Uh…” I looked over at the clock on the microwave. “About twenty minutes. Settle down.”

“I can’t settle down. Get up here and approve of this room.”

“It’s fine.”

“Get up here this instant!”

I contemplated ignoring her request, for no other reason than to annoy her, but then decided against it. After all, she was running around with a broken ankle so that my family would feel welcome. It was the least I could do.

I rushed upstairs, walked into the room, and sighed. “Kei, you need to relax. You’re freaking me out, and it’s
my
mother. I have no reason to be freaked out.”

“And your sisters.”

“I still don’t have any reason to be freaked out, and neither do you.”

“I want your reunion with them to be perfect.”

“I just saw them a few months ago. It’s not that big of a deal. I see them all the time.”

She gave the corner of the comforter a final tug and ran her hand over the top, smoothing it out one last time.

“Seriously, your OCD’s on overdrive. You’re not supposed to be up. You need to go sit down and relax.”

“I will. Just tell me if this looks okay.”

“It looks great.”

“You didn’t even look. Please look at the room and then give me the appropriate amount of awe and wonder.”

I opened my eyes as wide as I could, stuck my neck out, and looked around the room, which got an eye roll from the red head. “It looks amazing! You outdid yourself, Kei. Honestly, it’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure.” Acting job over for the moment, I walked back into the hallway. She kept talking from behind me.

“So this is where your mom will sleep. Then I’ve made space for your sisters in the boys’ rooms. They’re never here anymore, so it shouldn’t be a problem, although the décor is a little boyish. Do you think they’ll mind?”