The Whispering Room

Twenty-Four

Evangeline was banging on Lena Saunders’s door bright and early the next morning. She’d dropped J.D. off at her mother’s house, then called the station to say that she’d be taking a personal day. Lapierre was actually very gracious and understanding, although Evangeline couldn’t help wondering if she’d just gone down a notch or two in her captain’s estimation.

She couldn’t worry about that now, though. Through a strange set of circumstances, her house had been invaded, her son threatened, and now she had to do whatever she could to make certain nothing like that happened again.

Josh let her in and she was pacing the living room when Lena finally came downstairs. This morning she was dressed in icy blue with a wide silver cuff that reflected the sunlight streaming in through the French doors. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, and for a moment, the resemblance to the wild-haired woman of last night was so striking that Evangeline wondered if there might be only one sister with a split personality.

“Hello, Ruth.”

The woman stopped in her tracks, her eyes going wide with surprise. “How did you know?”

“Did you not consider that I would figure it out the moment I laid eyes on your sister?”

Something shifted in her eyes and she put a hand to her heart. “You found her.”

“She found me. And let me just say, her recollection of the past is not exactly in sync with yours.”

“What do you mean?”

Evangeline lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “How do I put this delicately? She claims you’re the one who helped your mother murder your brothers.”

“She said that?” The woman walked over to the windows to stare out at the sparkling pool. “Rebecca is a very disturbed young woman.”

“Just to be clear—should I call you Lena or Ruth?” Evangeline asked with a trace of sarcasm.

“I’m not Ruth Lemay. I haven’t been in years. In every way that counts, I’m Lena Saunders.”

“Well, then, I guess it was Ruth’s sister who broke into my house and threatened my son.”

Lena whirled. “She what?”

Evangeline took a few steps toward her. “She let herself in using a key that my babysitter had hidden underneath a rock by my front porch. Which means that she not only found out where I live, but she also had my place staked out. Now, why would she do that? How would she even know who I am?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you sure she didn’t find out from you?”

Lena’s eyes widened in distress. “Of course not. I haven’t seen or spoken with her in years. She must have seen you leave here and followed you.” The woman tugged nervously at the pearl necklace around her throat. “Which means she also had my house staked out.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Our relationship has always been very complicated.”

“But you just said you haven’t seen or spoken to her in years.”

“That’s true. You have to remember, though, that in Rebecca’s mind, things that happened thirty years ago may still seem like yesterday. And as children, she and I were very close. But being the oldest, I had more responsibilities on my shoulders. Mama counted on me, not just to help out with the house and the boys, but as moral support. After Daddy left, she leaned on me even more, and Rebecca grew jealous. She wanted to be Mama’s little helper, and sometimes I think…” She broke off and turned back to the window. Her fingers tangled in the pearl necklace as she closed her eyes. “I think that’s why she did what she did. To show Mama that she could count on her, too.”

What a twisted family, Evangeline thought. Even considering Vaughn’s problems with the law when he was younger and her parents’ impending separation, their family seemed positively normal by comparison.

“You told me when the authorities got to the house, they found evidence that Mary Alice—your mother—had given birth. Who was the baby’s father?”

“Our father. Charles Lemay.”

“Rebecca says she took the baby and hid in the whispering room until it was all over.”

Slowly, Lena turned. Something in her eyes sent a shiver down Evangeline’s spine. “She told you about the whispering room?” She walked away from the windows and sat down heavily on the silver sofa.

Evangeline followed her. “What’s the big deal about the whispering room?”

Lena closed her eyes. “It was a secret. We were never supposed to talk about it.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where Daddy used to make us wait for him. That’s why we were never allowed to talk above a whisper. He didn’t want anyone to hear us.”

“By anyone, you mean your mother?”

She nodded and dropped her eyes to her hands, as if an old shame kept her from meeting Evangeline’s gaze.

In Evangeline’s mind, she saw the two little girls in the photo, huddling together, clutching hands and whispering to one another in the dark. Waiting for their father to come and claim their innocence.

“Rebecca would never go in there after Daddy left. She was scared to death of that place. She didn’t hide in there,” Lena said. “I did.”

“What happened to the baby?”

“I left it in the whispering room. I never even knew if it was a boy or a girl. Mama had it wrapped in a towel when I found it, and I never saw it again after that day. But even after all these years, I still dream about that little face. I still sometimes think I hear that tiny cry.” The hand that she touched to her wet cheeks was trembling.

Evangeline said softly, “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth before?”

“I never lied to you. Everything I told you was the truth.”

“But you neglected to tell me your real name.”

“My real name is Lena Saunders. I haven’t been Ruth Lemay since I was eight years old. I’m not part of that family anymore. I got out a long time ago.”

“You can change your name but you can’t change who you are,” Evangeline said. “Ruth is still in there somewhere. You can speak of her in the third person all you want, but that won’t make her go away. Ruth’s story is your story. Ruth’s truth is your truth.”

“But I can’t let it be. I have to keep myself detached in order to write about it objectively. And more than that, if I let myself become Ruth again…” She swallowed and blotted a tear on her cheek with the back of her wrist. “How would I be able to turn my own sister in for murder?”

“Is that why you told your story in the third person?”

“It wasn’t my story. It was the truth. And, yes, when I talk about that day…when I even think about it…it does feel like it happened to someone else.”

Her eyes suddenly turned desperate. “We have to find her. You see that, don’t you? Now that you’re onto her…now that she knows who you are…”

Evangeline’s heart thudded at the look of sheer terror on Lena’s face.

“If she feels threatened by you…” Lena Saunders turned, but it was Ruth Lemay who searched Evangeline’s face. “I don’t want to think about what she might do.”

Ellis Cooper cut across the yard and climbed the porch steps. Placing the wriggling burlap bag on the floor beside him, he sat down in an old cane rocker and fanned himself with his cap. The morning was hot and sticky, but it was cool here on the porch. The house was shaded by pecan and oak trees, and he could feel a slight breeze off the water.

The South Louisiana landscape that surrounded him was a far cry from the North Georgia hills where he’d grown up, but Ellis had taken to the swamp like a duck to water. His vista from the porch was as primordial as it was darkly beautiful, and he felt one with the elements here.

He drew in a long breath and the earthy scent of the bayou filled his senses, stirring something deep inside his soul. Ancient cypress trees grew thick along the banks, their limbs heavy with curtains of Spanish moss that dragged across the lily pads, abloom now in the spangle of light that filtered down through the leaves.

Resting his head against the back of the rocker, he let his mind drift as he idly watched the last of the early morning mist swirl among the treetops. After his first stay in the mental hospital, Ellis had spent the remainder of his youth in foster care, but the moment he turned eighteen, he’d returned to his father’s house, where he lived until the old man dropped dead in the kitchen one morning.

Ellis had stayed on for a while, had even toyed with the notion of taking over his father’s congregation, but the charismatic movement was slowly dying out in Georgia. He knew of active churches in Missouri and Kansas, but Ellis saw no appeal in moving North. And by that time, he’d already determined that his particular calling had little to do with preaching. The gospel could be spread by others. God had another purpose for Ellis.

After all, it was His hand that had guided Ellis here, to the swamp where he had met a blue-eyed angel that had further shown him the way.

From the moment he’d first seen her in church, he knew she was someone special. Like him, she was on a mission, and the fire that burned in her eyes that night ignited a primal lust deep inside Ellis. When he had taken up the serpent, lifting it high over his head, he could feel her eyes on him and the passion that pumped through his veins was so powerful, the experience so profound, he’d been afflicted with the aftershock for days.

That was the night it all started. That was the night when she had first approached him. That was the night Ellis Cooper had first answered his calling.

He had learned from her that evil could take any form. It could inhabit the bodies of the elderly and the infirm, could even threaten the innocent souls of children. He couldn’t allow himself to be thwarted by the package. He couldn’t afford to be weakened by the humanly concepts of guilt or conscience or remorse while evil remained afoot in the world. She knew that and so did he.

After a while, Ellis rose from the rocking chair, picked up the burlap sack and went inside the house. He opened a door off the kitchen and a dank, putrid scent rose from the bottom of the stairs.

For obvious reasons, it was rare to see a house with a basement in the swamp, but the space underneath Ellis’s kitchen had been a pleasant surprise. He had no idea what the original purpose might have been. A storm cellar maybe. A place to ride out a hurricane.

But even in dry weather, there was always standing water. It smelled of musk, rotting fish and other creatures that had wandered in and gotten trapped.

A high window at the far side of the room allowed in just enough light so that Ellis could catch glimpses of the swimming bodies and raised heads, the occasional gleam of the vipers’ catlike eyes.

He came halfway down the stairs, toeing a moccasin off the steps as he squatted and untied the burlap bag, then upended it over the water. The black body fell with a plop into the water, and for a moment, there was a scurry of movement at the foot of the stairs.

Ellis watched, as he always did, with an almost hypnotic fascination.