Page 93 of Remember Her Name

She sensed Vicky lurching to her feet. Then something flashed. Before Josie could process what was happening, her arm flew up, blocking her face. Pain seared through her forearm. Some part of her brain registered the large shard of glass embedded in her skin as Vicky Platt tried to pull it back out to stab again. A savage anger twisted her features.

Josie managed to get to her feet as Vicky tore the shard away. Blood poured from the gash, but her body felt nothing. Adrenaline blocked out everything after the initial pain, including the wild, uneven beat of her heart. It blotted out any shock or fear she might have felt, narrowing her focus to one thing: survival.

She reached for her pistol again. Vicky raised the bloody shard over her head and flew at Josie. A shot rang out. The deafening blast rang in Josie’s ears, making it temporarily impossible to hear. The glass dropped from Vicky’s hand. Blood, hers and Josie’s, dripped from her fingers as she placed them on her abdomen, probing the hole in the waistline of her skirt. Turner appeared, forcing Vicky facedown on the floor next to Simon. His mouth moved as he zip-tied her wrists.

Turner tore paper towels from the roll over the sink and then stepped over Vicky and Simon. He thrust them at Josie. His voice was faint as her hearing began to return. “I already called additional units and a medic. Pressure on that wound, Quinn.” When she didn’t take the towels immediately, he took her armand pressed them against the gash. Pushing her elbow up, he said, “Keep this above your heart.”

As her hearing improved, she became aware of Vicky, cheek pressed to the floor, crying and screaming with everything she had left in her body. “You bitch! I hate you! I hate you! You ruined everything.”

Turner squatted down and let his head hang so it was almost level with hers. “Hey, sweetheart, you have the right to remain silent?—”

“She’s already been Mirandized,” Josie said.

Vicky’s eyes were glazed over with rage. “You were on the list! My Roger was supposed to kill you and then come back to me. You were the last one! The last one! We were going to run away together. Instead, he decided to spare you if you could figure out what happened. He’s dead because of you! You ruined my life!”

Turner shook his head. He pulled a pair of vinyl gloves from his inner jacket pocket and snapped them on. Kneeling next to Simon, he rolled him over easily and checked the wound.

“The last polaroid,” Josie said when Vicky paused for breath. “That was you.”

“Yes, it was me!” Vicky’s voice started to lose steam. “Who do you think drove him to that house? I snuck in after he left with that girl. If Roger wasn’t going to kill you, then I would! This sick bastard was supposed to do it for me but then you came here, and we were alone. I could have gotten rid of you both.”

Turner pressed two fingers to Simon’s neck and then shook his head. He was already gone. Moving over to Vicky, he flipped her, too, and put pressure on her abdomen. “Let me guess. Quinn kills him. You kill her. Then you come running outside to me like some kind of damsel in distress with a convenient story about how they killed one another. Quick thinking, I gotta say. You know who’ll be real interested in this little story of yours? Your prison roommate.”

SIXTY-EIGHT

A MONTH LATER

Josie sprawled on her couch, her feet resting in Noah’s lap, while they watched Trinity flit around their living room, moving things around and then putting them back in place. So far, she’d rearranged the photos and other things on their entertainment center three times. She’d emptied the toy box they kept for Harris, spreading the toys around the room strategically. Lived-in but not too messy. Then she’d put them back. After that, she picked up Trout’s toys, depositing them into the bin with his name on it, and moved that from one end of the room to the other and back. From his spot curled against Josie’s side, Trout watched, only lifting his head when Trinity touched his beloved hedgehog. He cast a worried look in Josie’s direction and she scratched his head in reassurance.

Noah laughed. “I know we said you could help us create our profile key for the adoption agency, but I think it would be faster if we did it ourselves.”

Trinity stopped in the center of the room and put her hands on her hips, glaring at him. “After the mess with that crazy polaroid lady getting in here, don’t you think it’s even more important to put your best foot forward with this profile?”

Josie’s gut tightened. They’d installed extra cameras and security since the close of the Polaroid Killer case, but they’d felt compelled to report it to the agency. She’d been certain it would be the death knell for their adoption hopes, but after some consideration and promises from Josie and Noah to add additional safety measures, they’d been given a second chance.

Still, Josie wondered if any birth parent would hand over an infant to two law enforcement officers.

Noah, sensing her distress, squeezed her feet in his large hands. They’d had many conversations about it since Vicky Platt’s arrest. Not just about her violating their home but about the fact that they both could have died on the Overlook. It wasn’t something they’d discussed with their case manager, and it wasn’t something birth parents would find out because it was all in a day’s work. But it bothered both of them. What if they’d had a baby waiting for them at home? Would they have rushed up to save Juliet Bowen so easily? Would one of them have wanted to stay on the ground so that their child might keep one parent? How would they have decided which?

“Josie,” Noah whispered. “Remember what we talked about.”

They’d decided that, despite all these worries and fears, they were going to move ahead. Ever since their colleague, Mett, died, they’d tried to live by his motto. No regrets.

It was a hell of a lot harder than Josie ever anticipated.

“What is it?” Trinity narrowed her eyes. “You’re still worried about this whole thing being authentically ‘you,’ aren’t you?”

Josie was glad that Trinity’s psychic twin skills couldn’t pick up on the true source of her trepidation.

Trinity threw her arms in the air. “Fine. We don’t have to use my producer or the camera person if you’re really that uncomfortable.”

Noah lifted Josie’s feet off his lap and went over to the toy box, rifling through it until he found the remote-control monstertruck he and Harris played with obsessively. Then he fished out its controller and put them both on one of the lower shelves of the entertainment center. Long ago, he’d threaded an extension cord through the back so he could plug the charger in. Satisfied, Noah dug Trout’s hedgehog from the basket and put it in the dog bed. Trout gave a sigh of approval. “We’re not uncomfortable,” Noah said. “We’re grateful for the help.”

“It’s true,” Josie reassured her sister. “We tried doing the video a few times and…well, I think Harris would have done a better job. If someone else is filming and directing us a little, we won’t be as worried about how awkward it feels, and we can just be us.”

“But,” Noah said, “I don’t think we need to stage this place. It should look like it always does.”

Trinity scoffed. “Like you have a hundred houseguests a week and your dog runs your household?”

Josie stifled a laugh.

“Yes.” Noah grinned. “Because that’s us. Authentically us.”

* * *