Free Immoral by Brian Freeman Page B

next to her, Barbara McGrath, turned and stared at the camera and spoke to it, pleaded with it.
    “Kerry, if you’re out there,” Barbara said, “if you can hear this, I want you to know we love you. We think about you every single day. And we want you to come home to us.”
    With a sigh, her emotions overran her, and Barbara buried her face in her hands. Her husband leaned over, and Barbara let her head fall against his shoulder. His hand nestled in her black hair and caressed her gently.
    Emily stared at them with a curious detachment. She felt far away. When she looked at Graeme, he was studying them, too, with an impenetrable expression on his face, devoid of emotion. She wondered if he was feeling what she felt—envy. She envied these people their pure, uncomplicated grief and their ability to find comfort and strength in each other. She had none of those things. That was why she had resisted the interview for so long, because she knew she would have to lie about so many things. She would have to say the expected things, even if she didn’t feel them. She would say how much she missed Rachel, while wondering if she really did. She would hold Graeme’s hand for support and feel nothing in his lifeless grip.
    The only person who understood, who could help her, wasn’t there.
    Like a ghost, she felt herself floating above the set. She heard Bird Finch talking to her, his voice echoing from the end of a long tunnel.
    “Mrs. Stoner, is there anything you want to tell Rachel?” Bird asked.
    Emily stared at the camera and the red light glowing above it. She was frozen. It was as if she could really see Rachel, somewhere in the dark reflection of the lens, and as if Rachel could see her, too. She didn’t understand what she was feeling now. The hostility had been an ache inside her for so long that she still didn’t know how to live without it. Rachel was gone, and so was the bitter war. It was unimaginable that she could want it back.
    Did she? Or was it really better this way?
    There had been many times when she had wished that Rachel would disappear. She fantasized that her life would finally get better when the weight was lifted. Maybe she could have a marriage again. Maybe she could love her daughter better when she was gone.
    What happened?
    “Mrs. Stoner?” Bird asked.
    Maybe she should tell them all the truth. If only they knew the secret, maybe they would leave her in peace. And the truth was that Rachel was evil.
     
     
    Emily had been working two jobs in the years since Tommy died, grinding the debt down, climbing out of the hole in which he had buried them. From eight o’clock to five o’clock, she was a teller at the downtown branch of the Range Bank. Then she jumped in her car, hurried up Miller Hill, and sold romance novels and
Playboy
magazines from the bookstore until the mall closed at nine. The world was a perpetual haze, in which she felt drugged by stress and sleeplessness
.
    The only bright spot in her life had arrived three weeks ago, when she brought home a West Highland terrier from the pound. After years of coming home to silence, or to Rachel’s quiet hostility, it was refreshing to have the noise and playfulness of the dog filling the house. Originally, Emily had bought the dog with Rachel in mind, but Rachel ignored him, and Emily was the one to take him into the backyard at night to chase down the blue chew-toy she threw for him again and again
.
    That was when she made a surprising discovery. The little white dog, with its cropped legs and scruffy fur, had cracked her own facade. She realized she looked forward to coming home again. The dog welcomed her maniacally, as if she were the best, most important person on the planet. He slept in her lap and in bed with her. On the weekends, they walked together, the dog leading the way, tugging at the leash, pulling her up and down the streets
.
    Rachel didn’t offer any names. So Emily called him Snowball. He was small, white, and fast,