As I scanned the rest of the small room, I noticed the bookshelf on the wall. I rose and ran my fingers over the books’ exposed spines. Most were practical veterinarian books. The shelf below held books on religion and others on the art of gardening. When I stepped back, a pattern emerged. The books, while clearly organized by subject, were also organized by color. On the wall next to the bookshelf was a faded, framed print of the Virgin Mary. She was draped in white and her hands were placed together in prayer, angels circling her veiled head.

‘Liz, would you like some dessert?’ I heard Rosie call out from the kitchen.

I ran a finger over the gilded gold frame, feeling the deep grooves under my fingertips. Pieces of information in my brain shifted and slid into place but I wasn’t sure what they were telling me. Everything seemed out of focus. It was like my brain was working independently from my conscious mind and I had no control over it. I shook my head and smiled at a photo on the wall of my aunt and uncle at some event, both dressed to the nines. Rosie was beaming into the camera, while Cris clutched Rosie’s shoulder with one arm, his lips slightly raised at the corners. It was clear how much they loved one another. But my smile fell when I looked at Cris’s face more closely and I wondered yet again if this man could be TSK, and if so, how much Rosie knew. I hated that these thoughts constantly threatened the connection I was making with my bio-family.

‘Liz?’ Rosie called out again.

I dragged my eyes away from the photo and yelled out, ‘Yes, coming!’

VICTIMS 18 & 19

Kristen McKay & Sarah Scarangella

2008

CHAPTER 22

Sarah’s back was killing her. She sat back on her heels and stretched her arms overhead, flexing her achy fingers. She’d been gripping the toothbrush for almost an hour and it felt like her fingers would be permanently bent in that position. They’d finished cleaning the toilet and sink and were now working on scrubbing the grout between the tiles on the floor. He’d already interrupted them twice to use the toilet, making them face the wall in the bathroom until he was finished and then demanding they re-scrub it. Sarah wasn’t sure she knew anyone who peed so frequently. Every Saturday sometime between lunch and dinner, the man led them to his private bathroom and ordered them to clean it, tossing them a bucket with frayed toothbrushes, old rags and a box of baking soda. On Sundays they cleaned the kitchen.

‘Come on, we’re almost done,’ Kristen said under her breath, tucking a few stray strands of auburn hair behind her ear.

Sarah sighed and got back to work. He popped his head in sometime later. ‘Are you ladies done yet? What’s taking so long?’