Garland was a really decent guy. She liked how he never patronized her or treated her like she was some frail, damaged bird. He teased her. He called her out on her crap. He took her seriously. He genuinely seemed to care about her welfare. But unlike Jessie, he wasn’t so close to her situation that he inadvertently smothered her. As Hannah sat in class, using Ms. Gorton as a kind of human white noise, she realized something surprising: she would miss him.
It was surprising because she had come to learn that she didn’t typically react strongly to loss. Even before her adoptive parents were murdered, she noticed that she wasn’t as emotionally fazed by traumatic events as others. She was pretty good at faking it when she heard about a school shooting or a baby beaten to death by his stepfather or thousands dying in an earthquake. But she rarely ever felt more than the mildest form of something resembling pity.
When her parents were killed, she felt emotions for sure—terror in the moment, confusion at what was going, a sense of loss of normalcy in the weeks that followed. But she wasn’t sure she ever felt true grief at their loss. She wasn’t even sure how that emotion would manifest itself.
She’d seen it enough on television that she was able to model it at their funeral. And in the months that followed she was able to play-act at something approximating mourning. But it never felt real to her.
She wasn’t proud of it. In fact, she kind of hated it about herself. It made her feel apart from everyone else in the world. She sensed that some people were aware of it—Jessie, Dr. Lemmon, and Garland—even if they didn’t address it with her directly. She wished she could change it.
She actually tried in recent months, especially with her sister. Despite Jessie’s flaws, of which there were many, Hannah sincerely liked her. She was funny and tough and whip-smart. She was one of the few people who could relate to what Hannah had been through. She had experienced variations of the same traumas herself so she wasn’t just blowing smoke when she talked about getting it. And she seemed to be honestly trying to be a good big sister to her, to give her some kind of normal home life. Hannah appreciated that.
When she thought of Jessie, a pleasant sensation of affection came over her. She wished good things for her in her work, in her relationship with Ryan, in life. But would she grieve if Jessie was murdered by a killer tonight? She wasn’t sure. She’d miss her, just as she missed Garland. But was that the extent of it?
Before she could ponder the question more, the bell rang. She gathered her things and headed to lunch. As she walked distractedly down the hall, letting routine guide her along the familiar path, the desire to probe her own psyche faded. She allowed her mind to slowly refocus on the present and her surroundings.
The moment she did, she got an odd prickling sensation, like when superstitious people say someone has stepped on their grave. She stopped and looked around the campus courtyard. There was nothing unusual, just “troubled” teenagers wandering to their various classes and clubs and like her, to lunch.
And yet she couldn’t shake the strange sensation that she was being watched. She’d faced far too many real threats to simply dismiss the feeling as an overactive imagination. Once again, she scanned the courtyard, looking for anyone or anything that seemed out of place. But nothing jumped out at her. Still, she stayed alert as she continued to the cafeteria. The tingling didn’t stop until she was halfway through with lunch.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The beach looked less welcoming this time.
As Ryan drove them back to the crime scene so that she could get a sense of the place in daylight, Jessie sat in the passenger seat, letting her mind wander. She stared out the window at the crowds of people who had staked out spots on either side of the Manhattan Beach pier for as far as the eye could see. Whereas last night the beach had seemed almost empathetic, today it looked intimidating.
It was a hot, muggy day. When they left downtown, the temperature was in the mid-nineties. But even here by the ocean, it hadn’t dropped much. The dashboard readout said it was eighty-seven.
They parked in the police station lot a few blocks from the water, mostly because there were no available spots on the street. Even though it was a weekday during work hours, the town was packed. They walked the two blocks west to the Strand along the main drag on Manhattan Beach Boulevard. Jessie couldn’t help but glance at the storefronts.
They were a mishmash of overpriced beachwear boutiques, crowded outdoor cafes, pressed juice bars, tiny art galleries, and tourist shops that sold everything from scented candles to lingerie to kitschy wooden signs that said things like “This way to the beach→.”
Everyone around her was having a great time, but Jessie could feel her chest tightening with anxiety. It took her a second to realize why. This community reminded her of Westport Beach, the wealthy, coastal Orange County community ninety minutes south of here that had briefly been her home only a few years ago.
She had never felt truly comfortable there, even before her ex-husband tried to kill her. The gaudy McMansions, overly inquisitive neighbors, and sour “grass is greener” mentality left her feeling lonely and depressed for months before she figured out that moving there was part of Kyle’s elaborate plan to lead a life of consequence-free decadence. When she got in the way of that, she became expendable. But almost from the start of their time there, she felt expendable.
As they reached the bottom of the steep boulevard, where the shops gave way to a parking lot dominated by surfers changing into and out of their wetsuits, she pushed the memories from her mind. This was not Westport Beach. It was a different community and she needed to be careful not to let her biases against the one bleed into her analysis of the other.
Ryan glanced over at her and seemed to sense her disquiet.
“We don’t have to go straight to the house,” he reminded her. “Why don’t we walk down to the end of the pier, just to clear our heads? As long as we’re here, we may as well take in the view.”
She nodded without replying and they wandered to the end of the pier, hand in hand. There was a small aquarium at the very end, in a quaint building with a Spanish tile roof. It bore a sign that said it had been there since 1920, an eternity in Los Angeles time. They walked past it, careful to steer clear of the men casting their fishing rods nearby until they got to the very end of the pier.
They could see sailboats in the distance and massive cargo ships in the haze beyond that. Just south of the pier, a line of patient surfers waited for their perfect swell. Just to the north, the water was comprised mostly of swimmers and boogie boarders, happily riding even the smallest waves. She could hear little kids squealing with pleasure while they tried to outrun the water that chased them back up the beach.
“How are you doing?” Ryan asked.
“I’m trying to remember that there’s beauty in the world, even on the darkest days.”
“How’s that going for you?”
“Right now, pretty well,” she said. “I’m going to try to hold on to this mental picture.”
“Me too,” he said, smiling at her.
She smiled back but when she spoke, her words were firm.
“Let’s get to work.”
*
It took a moment before Jessie felt clear-headed enough to actually investigate.