Chapter 175

The next night, I sit around my dining room table with Hugo and Miles. Hugo has a notepad and a manila folder filled with his own research. Miles has his chair moved closer to mine, his hand within reach at any time.

We’ve already talked about what to expect from tonight. Mentally, I’ve tried to prepare myself for the things I’m going to have to share. It’s difficult to fully be ready, though. Facing these past demons feels as overwhelming and dangerous as if I were to face the devil himself.

Maybe I did. Edward has a lot in common with him.

“Whenever you are ready, Esther,” Hugo says gently. He’s always so patient and calm. His presence combined with Miles besides me makes me think that I should be able to actually do this. If it were anyone else here, like strangers, I’m sure I’d bottle up.

“And if you ever want to stop, that’s find too,” Miles adds.

“I need to tell you,” I say. I’ve carried this weight all by myself for so long. I’m hoping that finally sharing will help lift some of the weight and let me walk freer for a while. But that’s not the only reason I need to share. They can only help me if they know the truth.

“I was given to the orphanage as a baby. For a while, things seemed normal enough. The owner then was an older woman. We never had enough money, so all I had to wear were hand-me-downs. All we had to eat were whatever canned goods were donated by the church that week.”

Hugo and Miles, having been born to wealth and privilege never had to experience the agony of an empty stomach. They didn’t see the pain in our old caretaker’s eyes when she spooned her own portion into the bowl of the youngest among us.

“We made due, the best we could. The older girls looked out for the younger, all the way down the line. I was turned eleven the day that she died. The state almost closed the orphanage, but another owner stepped forward. Everyone was excited then. We loved the old caretaker, she tried her best. But with the promise of something new came the hope of something better.”

Hugo and Miles watch silently as I begin my tale. Prepared, I already have a glass of water ready. I sip from it before continuing. Until this point, we had hardships, but nothing like what we were about to endure.

“Edward Zimmer was that new owner. When he arrived, he was charming… He bought us new clothes. He didn’t like how skinny we were so suddenly our meals were fuller. At the start, we thought he might have been an angel sent to us. But then…”

I take another sip of water. But this time, my throat stays dry.

“He started with the older girls. We didn’t notice at first. We could see that they were becoming more reserved but they didn’t share what was happening to them. I’m not sure we would have known even if they did. All we could see was more potential fathers coming to the orphanage. We had no idea they weren’t fathers at all…”

“You can stop,” Miles reminds me. “If you want.”

I shake my head. I have to get through this. I don’t want to have to try again from the start.

“Eventually, the older girls weren’t enough, and that was when they came for me and Daphne. I didn’t understand at first. I thought it was a game. Then it turned scary. Then it wouldn’t stop.”

“How often?” Hugo asks, as gently as he can.

It’s still an impossible question.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “At some point… I turned off. We always knew when they were coming. We could see them through the window, coming toward the orphanage. Eventually, I even learned the sound of their footsteps. But I don’t know. I lost count. I’d go somewhere else in my mind, like a beach, or a garden. I blocked a lot of it out. There’s still so much I’m sure I can’t remember.”

“It’s alright,” Miles says. “You are doing well.” He reaches his hand out across the table, but he doesn’t grab for mine. I’m not ready to be touched just yet, not while I’m telling this story. I don’t want any memories of touching Miles to intersect with the memories of the orphanage.

“Would you recognize the men, if you saw them again?” Hugo asks.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “It hurts sometimes, knowing what happened to me but only seeing blurs in my mind. What if I’ve already met some of the men who hurt me? Would they remember me even if I can’t?”

Miles and Hugo share a look. Miles lightly shakes his head. Hugo frowns.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I brought pictures,” Hugo says.

“You don’t have to look at them,” Miles insists, talking over him.

“Of the men?” I ask. No. How could he know?

“Of possible members of the Whisperers,” Hugo says. “The ones I’m aware of and I few I’m suspicious of.”

I understand his reasoning. If there’s an overlap between the men who assaulted me and the Whisperers then we would have a through-line connecting Edward to the blackmail.

I don’t want to see the pictures. I don’t want to remember more than I already have.

But I do want to bring Edward and all the men who paid him to abuse us innocent girls to justice. And the only way to do that for sure is with irrefutable proof.

“I’ll look at them,” I say.

Hugo nods. He turns the manila folder toward me and slides it across the table, keeping it closed. “There are six photos taped to a piece of paper just under that top fold,” Hugo says. “When you are ready, you can lift it and see them all at once.”

I swallow thickly. More water. My throat remains dry.

I need this to be over, but stopping here won’t end it.

The only way out of hell is to go straight through it.

Holding my breath, I lift the top fold.

One by one, I peer at the men. No. No.

The third man is vaguely familiar but only because I remember him from one of the dog shows I covered early in my journalism career.

No to the fourth man. The fifth, again is familiar, but he doesn’t trigger a memory. Likely, it was another event.

Then my eyes fall on the sixth and final man.

My entire body reacts, tensing. My esophagus clenches and I’m nearly sick again.

I haven’t seen this face in many years. But I know it.

It’s burned so deep in my memory that I’d forgotten until just this moment.

“This man,” I say, pointing with a shaky hand. “He liked to use the whip…”

The words hang in the air, chilling the whole temperature of the room. I feel cold all over, like icicles might form on my skin.

“You did good,” Miles says, and flips the folder closed. He slides it across the table, away from me, and to Hugo.

Hugo glances.

“Number 6,” Miles says.

“Who is he?” I ask. “A whisperer?”

“Yes,” Hugo says. “His name is Mr. Carpenter. He’s in high-end real estate.”

Powerful then, with a lot of money and friends.

Miles catches my eyes and holds it. His are as warm as they are fierce, and I slowly feel myself thaw.

“He will pay, Esther. They all will.”