"Tess?"
"Teresa. We'll find Teresa. The newspapers and—"
“It wouldn’t hurt.” I don’t add that we are more likely to find a clue forensically.
Maybe a progression would lead to someone recognizing their Jane Doe as our missing heiress. I’m not so foolish as to think I’ll be the one to find her, but maybe someone will. Then her body will be in my hands.
Like all of the victims’ bodies, Teresa’s body will lead to new information. Sooner or later, the Creeper will leave some trail that will let us find him.
17
A Girl with No Past
Edward didn’t want me to see Sterling. The sheer idea of it made him unhappy. Edward unhappy was never a good thing. I wouldn’t say that I was truly afraid of him, not yet. I was just desperate for his approval.
I’d moved in with him the week after Sterling’s invitation. I’d given up my jobs, my apartment, my classes. He was my world. I left the house sometimes, but only with him.
“You could come with me.”
“To your mother’s house?”
“It’s a job. She’s paying me. I’ll dress up and say the right things, and she’ll give me a check.” I felt stupid telling Edward that I sold myself to my mother so she could parade me around as if we were a family.
We were at his house. It was a four thousand square foot house with a three-car garage and shed. Behind it was a river that he would go out on with a canoe. The buildings were set back on a twenty-acre lot, and a privacy fence with a coded gate lined the front boundary. It wasn’t the sort of old money estate that my family called home, but it was moneyed enough that I asked more questions about Edward’s job. He worked at a tech company at RT, one he’d founded.
He looked around the kitchen as we spoke. I had cleaned it while I cooked. It was perfect. He liked things to be perfect. “You’ve done a good job.”
He pulled a box out of his pocket and slid it toward me. He liked to bring me presents.
“May I eat?” I smoothed my hands over the skirt of my dress.
“You may.” He nodded toward the plate he’d prepared for me. “Open your present first.”
I lifted the box, unwrapped it carefully so as not to rip the paper or the bow. Inside, a thin chain for my ankle nestled in a box. “May I wear it?”
“Not yet.”
“Yes, Edward.” I stayed where I was.
The last time I made him unhappy, he took away my clothes and locked me in the shed for a day. There was no toilet. No furniture. No water. No food.
But when I did a good job, he treated me like I was made of spun glass. Really, what did it matter that he picked out my clothes? Was it actually important to earn money when he provided everything we could need? I hadn’t ever had a burning career passion. I simply hadn’t wanted to be trapped by Sterling’s whims.
Edward smiled at me. “We could get married. That way you’d never need to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you.”
It wasn’t a proposal in the way that I’d expected as a girl, but Edward made me happy. He took care of me.
“I love you.”
“You don’t want to marry me, Tessa?” The edge was there, the one that I knew could lead to things I didn’t like.
“I do, but—”
“What? You want to whore around? You want other men to look at you? To fuck you?” He threw his plate.
“I’m sorry.” I was frozen in my chair.
“I offer to take care of you.” He stood. “And this is what you do? You aren’t working any more, not at some menial job, not at a job where you act like a whore.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry that you don’t get to act the whore? Is that what this is about? Are you not satisfied?” He grabbed my hair and jerked my head back.
“I want to marry you.”
He stared at me. “You need something to do? Fix it.” He knocked the rest of the dishes onto the floor, shattering them. “There. You have a job.”
He watched me clean. I picked everything up, washed the floor, and eventually, I stood in front of him. I was bleeding from several small cuts, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought that the ways he watched those cuts was scarier than being locked in the shed had been.
“Shower, and put on the blue dress with the little flowers. We’ll go out to dinner.”
I nodded and walked away.
“You need to do a better job, Tess,” he called after me. “I’m patient, and I know you don’t mean to make mistakes . . . but if you want this to work, you need to trust me completely.”
I turned back to look at him. “I do.”
“We can pick out a ring tonight. My brothers are coming over tomorrow. You’ll be a good wife, won’t you?”
“I will.”
Edward stared at me, looking for something in my expression. If I knew what he wanted, I’d have given it to him. When he was like this, I didn’t know what to do or say. There was always something, though, some word or act that would make him forgive me. When he did, he was amazing.
“I love you,” I said.
I did. I really did. I just didn’t know if I loved him enough. I screwed up, and he got mad. Mostly, being mad meant embarrassing me or sex that was a little rougher than I enjoyed. Other than the shed incident, it wasn’t so bad.
“You’re not going to see your mother,” he announced. “We’ll get married that day instead. Isn’t that a better plan?”
“Yes, Edward.”
“No one will ever tell you what to do again, Tess. No one will ever touch you again without my permission. I'll take care of you.” He stood and walked toward me. “Come on. Let’s shower before we go out.”
And just like that, he was sweet again. He took my hand, led me to the oversized shower in the master bath, and knelt before me. He kissed me, licked me, nuzzled me. After the first orgasm, he slowed, but he didn't stop. After the next, he smiled at me. I stroked his hair while he lavished so much attention on me that I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.
Edward treated me like I was everything he could want until I could barely stand. He stared up at me while I was still trembling with aftershocks. I saw awe and love in his expression, and in that instant, he looked like every fantasy a woman could ever have.
“I love you, Tess. No one will ever love you the way I do.” Even then, even feeling as sated as I did, his words sounded like a threat and a promise, but they were true either way. “You’re mine.”
"Always."
18
Michael
I call Elizabeth as soon as it’s a decent time in New York. Maybe things with Tess won’t continue to develop like I hope, but already I have more of an idea for a book than I’ve had in years. The draft is going well, and every tidbit I learn, I revise into the pages I’ve already written. I see it glimmer more and more each time.
“She’s the one,” I tell Elizabeth.
“The one?”
“Look at your email,” I explain. I’d sent her a picture of Tess. “She’s the one. Tess. The woman in New Orleans is the one.”