Letting Go (Chapter-9)

Michelle

The room seemed dark, despite the fluorescent ceiling lights illuminating the table and the glass of water placed on it. There were four blank white walls surrounding her, a door to her left, and two cameras - one in the top right corner and one behind her in the back left corner. She had seen rooms like this only on television - interrogation scenes that typically ended with a large man lurching himself from one side of the table to the other at his interrogator, only to be nailed down and cuffed by three or four cops who had been watching from a two-way mirror.

She smiled for the first time that day, thinking of how ridiculous she’d look hurling herself across the table at Agent Keene. The officers watching from outside probably wouldn’t budge. She had lost nearly 13 pounds, and the chemo made her look almost as weak as she felt. Even if she tried, she probably wouldn’t have the strength to hurl herself out of her chair.

She reached for the glass of water, but quickly pulled her hand back when she heard the doorknob turn.

“Hello, Michelle. It’s been a while.” Agent Keene was tall and thin, wearing a grey pantsuit and black heels. Her dark red hair was pulled back in a bun and her brown eyes were covered by a pair of oval-shaped glasses. She carried a manila folder tightly in her right hand.

Michelle could feel sweat accumulating on her hands. She rubbed them against her jeans and pushed herself up slightly, offering her right hand.

“Nice to see you again,” she said.

Agent Keene smiled, shook her hand, and sat down across from her. She placed down the manila folder and leaned forward on the table, clasping her hands. It had been years since they’d seen each other, but the intimidation Michelle felt from the agent’s presence remained the same. She wiped her hands against her jeans again. She was too afraid at first to look directly into the agent’s eyes, so she lowered her gaze slightly, spotting a small coffee stain on the white button-up blouse beneath the woman’s grey jacket. The stain eased Michelle slightly - it made Agent Keene seem more human.

“So, Michelle – I see that you’ve changed your last name from Rowen to Wilkes since your last interview with us.”

“Yes,” Michelle looked up, “I, umm- it was a personal choice.”

Keene nodded and continued, “I know that you were informed prior to this meeting that everything you say will be recorded and possibly used for investigative purposes.”

“Yes.”

“Alright. But before we talk about the case, what I want to know is why you’ve decided to come forward with this information now. This case, as you know, has been declared unsolved for nearly fifteen years.”

Michelle adjusted her position slightly. “Because I’m... I’m dying.”

Agent Keene leaned farther forward but didn’t say a word.

“Cancer,” Michelle said after a short pause.

The agent nodded slowly. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Really, I am.”

“Yea, well,” Michelle continued, “Karma’s a bitch.”

Agent Keene unlaced her hands and opened the folder.

“So sixteen years ago,” she said, changing the topic, “you were interviewed by Agent Hulsey.”

“Yes.”

“From the interview, it was stated that your first interaction with the abductor and Serena Moore was on the night of---”

“With all due respect, Agent Keene,” Michelle interrupted, “going through that interview would be a waste of time.”

The agent looked up from her paper. “And why is that?”

“Because I lied. About all of it.”

Agent Keene sat up straighter. She folded her hands again and stared forward. Michelle immediately turned her eyes away, first focusing on the coffee stain, then on the glass of water in front of her. The silence that followed made her feel uneasy; she couldn’t tell if the agent was waiting for her to speak, or if she was expected to wait through the silence. But seconds turned into minutes, and the woman sitting stoically across from her hadn’t budged, so Michelle finally spoke.

“I know who abducted Serena Moore.”

Agent Keene tilted her head slightly. “Are you going to tell me who?”

Michelle looked up from the water glass.

“His name is Edmond. I don’t know where he is now… I haven’t kept in touch with him for almost fourteen years.”

The agent didn’t move at first, then glanced up at the camera located above Michelle’s left shoulder and gave a small nod. She turned back to Michelle and remained silent for a moment before unclasping her hands and looking down at the manila folder on the table.

“I don’t recall ever hearing this name during the initial investigation,” she said, skimming through the pages in the folder, “So may I ask, Michelle, why you’re so confident in telling me this?”

Michelle took an audible, deep breath.

“Because, Agent Keene,” she paused and stared straight into her eyes, “the man who abducted Serena Moore was Edmond Rowen - my ex-husband.”

Agent Keene straightened her back and paused. “Excuse me,” she said, pushing herself away from the table. She left the room, carrying the folder beneath her right arm. The door clicked shut.

Michelle leaned against her chair, dropped her head back, and closed her eyes. She had hoped that the guilt would eventually dissipate with time - but although the memories of the abduction had faded, the guilt never did. It was after her diagnosis that she believed this burden was killing her - that in order to die peacefully she needed to come forward, regardless of how difficult it would be to do so.

She heard the doorknob turn and watched Agent Keene enter the room, looking slightly tenser than before, as she walked silently to the table with a spiral-bound notebook and a small stack of papers in her right hand. She sat down, pulled a pen from her jacket, opened the notebook to a blank page, and looked at Michelle for the first time since walking in.

“First, I would like to know how you met Edmond Rowen,” she said, her right hand hovering above the blank sheet of paper.

Michelle pushed herself forward so she could rest her elbows on the table.

“I was working at the restaurant, I think I had just turned twenty-three,” she began, “so it was…nineteen, almost twenty years ago now? He came in on a Sunday, in the morning, before the brunch rush. We got to talking, just a friendly conversation at first --

“So what do you do?” Edmond had made himself comfortable, sitting at the bar with his coffee and a blueberry scone.

Michelle, who had been washing the counter several seats down, turned and smiled playfully.

“I already told you what I do,” she said, gesturing to the empty tables filling the restaurant, “I’m making coffee and scrubbing tables better than any waitress in LA.”

“No,” he said, tilting his head with a slight smile, “this is your job. What do you do?”

Michelle bunched up the rag she was holding and dropped it into a bin behind the bar. She took a few steps closer to him and leaned back against the counter.

“I read. All the time,” she said, “if I could spend every second of every day in a room full of books, I would.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

She let out a small laugh. “Sure, yea. Working at a library would definitely pay enough for me to live in the most expensive city in America.”

“No, I mean,” Edmond took a small bite of his scone, “how about going to college? Enrolling in some English courses? Cal State’s enrollment for the fall is still open.”

Michelle crossed her arms and looked at him - really looked at him - for the first time that morning. He seemed perfectly put together, despite the scruff of his unshaven beard - his brown hair was clean cut and combed, his blue tie brought out the color of his eyes, and his skin looked tan and flawless despite a small birthmark on his cheek. She locked eyes with him for a moment, then shyly turned away.

“I would,” she said, walking to the coffee maker, “but I don’t think I’d get accepted, and even if I did, I can’t afford it.”

Edmond paused before responding, “If you finished high school, you’ll get in. And they have scholarships, financial assistance.”

“I’ll think about it,” Michelle said, pouring a cup of coffee for herself.

“But you won’t do it,” Edmond replied, smiling.

Michelle took a sip of her coffee and turned to him. “Excuse me?”

“You’ll think about it, but you won’t do it. I can tell.”

Before she could respond, a man and a woman entered the restaurant. She put down her coffee, grabbed two menus, and turned away from him without looking back.

Michelle stopped speaking for a moment and watched Agent Keene’s hand as it scribbled rapidly on the notepad. She reached for her water. “Anyway, he left his card with the check when he left. On the back, he wrote his number, and, well, things just went on from there.” She took a small sip of water and placed the glass back down.

Agent Keene put down her pen and looked up.

“So, I assume that the age difference didn’t bother you.”

“No. A seventeen-year age gap seems like a lot, looking back… but at the time it didn’t really bother me.”

The agent nodded slowly.

“I mean, I was young. And desperate, I guess.” Michelle said, glancing down at her hands.

“Uh huh…” Agent Keene looked down at her notebook, then quickly lifted her gaze, “And how did you feel about Edmond’s previous marriage?”

Michelle tilted her head slightly. “I’m sorry, what?”

Agent Keene leaned her elbows on the table. “His previous marriage.”

Michelle sat up straighter. “No, he...he wasn’t married. He never mentioned it - he would have told me that. I swear he would have told me that.”

The agent pushed the notebook aside and placed the stack of papers before her.

“The information we just gathered proves otherwise,” said Keene.

Thoughts started to race through Michelle’s mind. She knew after Edmond had kidnapped Serena, what he was capable of. But she’d never questioned his honesty with her. Even after she’d left him, she still believed that everything he’d told her had been true. The lights started to feel hotter than before, and the room seemed smaller. She leaned her elbows on the table, held her head in her hands, and counted her breaths until the door opened.

Agent Keene cleared her throat and continued.

“Edmond Adler was married in 1970 to Sharon Williams in Seattle, Washington --

“You mean Rowen,” Michelle interrupted, “Edmond Rowen.”

Agent Keene looked up from the papers, “No, Adler. Edmond Adler legally changed his name to Rowen in 1983.”

Michelle lay back against her chair. She felt exhausted suddenly as if what she heard from Agent Keene was draining energy from her body, one word at a time.

“On May 10, 1971, Sharon gave birth to their daughter, Miranda Rose Adler. On June 12, 1982, Sharon (31) and Miranda (11) were killed in a house fire that, Edmond claimed, took place when he was at work. Edmond moved to California in April 1983, and changed his name to Edmond Rowen on September 9, 1983.”

Agent Keene looked up from the papers. “You knew none of this, did you?”

Michelle leaned forward, took a sip of water, and leaned back in the chair.

“Nothing. I knew nothing.”

The agent shuffled through the papers for a second and pulled out two pages.

“There’s something that occurred to me when they printed Edmond’s information,” Keene said, looking at the papers she had pulled, “I’m curious to know what your first impressions are of these.”

She turned over the pages and pushed them toward Michelle.

They were two photographs, one of a young woman and one of a girl. The woman, who looked like she was in her early twenties, had a small frame, short blonde hair, and blue eyes. The girl was also blonde, blue-eyed, and had clusters of freckles covering her cheeks and nose.

Michelle picked up the picture of the girl. “This is Serena Moore, but I don’t know who that woman is,” she said, pointing to the other photograph.

Agent Keene tilted her head to the side and gave a small smile, then a nod.

“That’s not Serena Moore,” she said, pointing to the paper in Michelle’s right hand, “it’s Miranda Adler.”

Michelle looked back at the picture.

“And that,” the agent touched the picture on the table, “that’s a picture of Sharon Adler.”

Michelle put the photograph back on the table.

“Do you see what I see?” Agent Keene asked.

Michelle stared at the pictures until the revelation hit her. A sudden chill raced through her body, and her breaths grew shorter. She closed her eyes and, feeling a small relief from the darkness, sat still for nearly a minute without opening them.

“Yes,” Michelle said, opening her eyes, “Sharon looks like me.”