“But weren’t they her friends?” I said.
“Maybe, but they were scared,” Becca said. “And it was way different back then. Or maybe they weren’t her friends enough. Maybe they didn’t care what was going to happen because it wasn’t going to happen to them.” Becca leaned back, palms flat on the floor, arms straight. “Anyway, they found her guilty and sentenced her to die.” She glanced at us one by one. “By being buried alive.”
Rachel shuddered, Gia bit her lower lip, and I curled my toes tight and gnawed at a cuticle.
“That’s not even the worst part. First, they dug a deep hole right in the middle of the village. Then they stripped off all her clothes, tied her ankles together, and cut off her hands with an ax.”
We squealed.
“Because a witch needs her hands to make potions, right? And to dig herself out of a hole. Then they cut out her tongue.”
Rachel moaned. “Why would they do that?”
“They were afraid she’d say the spells and use her magic.”
“And everyone went along with it?” Rachel asked.
“They did,” Becca said. “The Red Lady was quiet the whole time, even when they cut off her hands. She couldn’t say anything after they cut out her tongue, but she didn’t even moan or cry.”
I ran my tongue around the inside of my teeth, wondering how it would feel to have a stump there instead. Would you be able to eat? Make any noise at all? Would it slip down and make you choke? I rocked my hips and slid my hands under my thighs, pressing them hard into the carpet.
“They put her in the hole, threw her hands and tongue in, too, and took turns filling it in. They made the women and even the little kids drop some dirt in so everyone would be part of it. And the Red Lady watched them the whole time. She didn’t move, not even when the dirt started covering her mouth and nose, and that was worse than the watching. There was no way she could breathe and she should’ve been flopping around trying to get air, but she was perfectly still.
“Finally, when they had the hole filled in, they went back to their houses, pretending everything was okay. They told themselves she was a witch, not a woman, and things would be better with her gone.
“But then everyone who helped fill the hole had bad dreams, even the kids. They dreamed they were in the hole with her, and even though the dirt was going in their mouths and noses and choking them, her mouth and nose were dirt free and she was smiling. Everyone woke up choking, their mouths full of dirt for real. But they were so scared, they didn’t tell each other. And the hole was exactly the way they left it, all filled up. The next night, they all had the same dream again and woke up with even more dirt in their mouths. They told each other then and went to the mayor, since he was the one who decided she should be buried alive. They said he had to do something, but he said they were lying, it was because they felt guilty, but she was evil and they’d done the right thing.
“That night the dreams and the dirt came back. They went to the mayor again, but he was dead, his mouth full of dirt. So they decided to dig out the hole and let the Red Lady out. They were scared, but they were too scared not to. They all took turns digging, but when they got to the bottom”—she spoke so low we had to lean close—“there was nothing, only an outline of her shape in the dirt, stained dark from her blood.”
“That’s it?” Gia said. “But did they keep having the dreams? And what about the dirt?”
“I didn’t say it was the end, but it’s all I’m going to tell you right now.”
Rachel said, “That was awful.”
“Come on,” I said. “I want to know more.”
“Me too,” Gia said.
“Nope,” Becca said, stretching her arms overhead. “It’s getting late and I have to get home.”
I groaned. “Not fair, Becca. Not fair.”
“It’s a reeeeally long story. I don’t think I’ll finish it next time, either.”
I groaned again. Gia, too.
“You probably won’t even like the rest.”
“Ugh,” I said. “Don’t say that.”
“Does it get worse?” Rachel said.
Becca quirked the corner of her mouth, and like that, we were hooked.
CHAPTER THREE
NOW
“Yes, Lauren was released five months ago,” the husky voice on the other end of the phone says. I can tell she’s smiling, too. A firm believer in rehabilitation, Alexa Martin.
“Where is she now? Did she move back to Towson?”
“You know I can’t tell you.”
“No, I know. I was … What’s her mental state like?”
“Given the parole board’s decision, it’s good. She’s happy to be out. I know you have a personal interest in her, but she’s served her time.” Alexa’s tone is gentle, patient. I recognize it all too well, although she’s had a dozen more years than I to perfect it. “She’s not the woman you knew. I’ve told you before, but it’s the truth.”
I curl my fingers around the half-heart until the edges dig into my skin. “You should’ve told me she was out. You promised you would.”
“To what end? Truly? And it was years ago when you asked. I thought it better to keep it all quiet.”
I squeeze tighter. Oh, really? Better? What if I’d run into her while running errands? Or what if I’d stumbled upon an article detailing her release? Or what if she decided to send me a necklace in the mail?
Keeping tabs on Becca’s mother had never been my intention, but ten years ago I met Alexa, one of the staff psychiatrists at the prison where Lauren was serving her time, at a professional development seminar. I’d known who she was beforehand, and while I had no intention of seeking her out, when I came back from a break, the seat next to her was empty, and I mentioned how much she resembled the actress Charlotte Rampling. It’s a good story, anyway.
Over drinks a month later, Lauren’s name spilled from my lips. I kept to the official story, admitting I was a childhood friend of her daughter’s, and it’s been easy enough to bring her into the conversation now and again. Alexa’s far too professional to divulge in-depth details, but reading between her words has given me enough over the years. At least until now.
“Is she still your patient?”
“Heather.”
“I know, I’m just shocked, that’s all.”
“You knew it was a possibility.”
“A remote one, yes, but …”
“She’s paid her price, that’s all I’m going to say.”
We hang up with a promise to get together soon. My fingers grip the half-heart even harder. Just because Lauren’s out doesn’t mean she sent this to me. For one thing, how would she have gotten it? If she had it all along, why wait until now? It doesn’t make any sense. I want to understand, but I can’t. Why spend years in prison if you know—
I rub the confusion from my forehead, put the necklace in my desk drawer, and pull up a browser. I find the same article about her release and archived articles about the crime. She probably won’t be on social media, but I check anyway. Thirty minutes later, with no luck whatsoever, I shell out sixty bucks to a pay site claiming they can provide information on anyone. Unfortunately, the results can take up to twenty-four hours.