The Lost Sister. Megan Kelley Hall
She backed up into another table and practically knocked over another waitress. “Hey, watch it, CeeCee.” Cordelia steadied herself and turned to apologize to her coworker. She’d gone by CeeCee, a nickname given to her by the man she grew up thinking to be her father—the man that up until his untimely death from cancer was her true father. The man who cared for her as if she were his own flesh and blood, and who, a few horrible months ago, she discovered was not her real father. Her biological father was this man sitting in front of her. This waste of a human being. This horrible, selfish narcissist. He finally looked up at her. After months of her serving him his morning coffee and his afternoon tea, he actually made eye contact with her.
“Are you all right, darlin’?” A look of concern crossed Malcolm Crane’s face, the lines around his eyebrows deepened. Despite his weather-beaten face, she could see why some girls in his classes hung on his every word and the waitresses at Maine Tea and Coffee Bean cooed about him looking like Robert Redford. Yet instead of the lusty feelings that his gaze seemed to evoke with everyone around her, she only felt nausea.
“I’m fine,” she clipped. “I’ll be back with the milk for your son.”
He winked, rolled his newspaper up, and lightly bonked the little boy’s head. “Say thank you to the pretty lady, Daniel.”
“Thanks, pretty lady,” the little boy whispered, and then giggled.
Cordelia knew in her heart that she couldn’t go through with it. She couldn’t take away this little boy’s father. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t stick around long enough to make Malcolm Crane wish he was dead.
From behind the Formica counter, she saw a look of concern wash over Malcolm Crane’s face. He scrunched up his forehead and peered more closely at the newspaper. Then he sat back and stared straight ahead for a few moments, looking as though he were very far away, while little Daniel busily colored the paper place mat with the café’s crayons. Cordelia walked hesitantly back to the table, curious of what had caused this sudden shift in his mood. She placed the plastic cup in front of the young boy and tried to see what paper Malcolm had been reading.
It was the Hawthorne Gazette . Odd that he was still receiving news from home all the way up here in the boondocks. She prayed that it wasn’t another article about her disappearance. By now she had managed to avoid the second glances and the quick looks of recognition, people trying to place her face, knowing that she looked familiar, but not quite sure from where. When she first left Hawthorne, she had chopped what was left of her hair and dyed it brown so that she could slip away easily. Redheads often commanded more attention than brunettes. But she couldn’t change her features. People often called her beautiful, ethereal, even exquisite. She wondered how they’d describe her after she’d become a murderer.
Cordelia watched as Malcolm gathered up his son and left the coffee shop in a hurry. She rushed over to the empty table and grabbed the newspaper that was left behind in haste. Her eyes flicked down the page and a jolt of shock went through her body. There was an article about an ongoing fight between the Endicott family and the historical society of Hawthorne. Other neighboring towns of Salem, Marblehead, Beverly, and Swampscott were weighing in on the historical importance of the building. But that wasn’t what caught Cordelia’s attention. The article was written about all of the tragedies that occurred at Ravenswood Asylum throughout the years, especially the most recent one that took place only months ago.
Cordelia’s fingers trembled as she read the story entitled “Bloody Night at Ravenswood Remembered.” She skimmed the story, picking out the most disturbing phrases.
Rebecca LeClaire, one of the last inmates before the closing of the asylum, apprehended after apparent suicide attempt…Witnesses at the site were sister, Abigail Crane, niece, Maddie Crane, and local teen Finnegan O’Malley. Tess Martin, 82, passed away in her sleep that same night, unaware of the tragedy that had overtaken her family.
Cordelia inhaled deeply as she continued reading about what had happened in the wake of her disappearance. Since that night, there had been an ongoing fight over the property—how the Endicotts wanted to turn it into a luxury resort, capitalizing on the fright factor of its proximity to Salem, Massachusetts, and the witch trials, as well as all of the tragic legends that surround the place. The historical society had tied up any future projects with enough red tape until they could declare it a historic property.
Cordelia was hit by a wave of vertigo. The world spun around her, almost knocking her from her feet.
I have to go back , she thought. Something she thought she would never do.
“Easy there, CeeCee. Take a load off. You look like you’re going to be sick.” Her manager, Chris Markson, had come up behind her and noticed the color drained from her face. “Sit down, I’ll get you some water.”
Cordelia was used to getting this attention from the guys in her life. She knew that the girls were probably in the back gossiping about how she was being a drama queen and how unfair it was that she got a break in the middle of her shift. But Cordelia didn’t care. All she could think about was what her family had gone through—all of the pain that she had brought upon them by running away—and all that she had missed while she was gone. How long had it been? How many months had she made them suffer in her absence? Could it really be almost a year? A year of hiding her past, her true identity, her intentions. Keeping everyone at an arm’s length, not letting anyone in and trying desperately not to think of all the people she’d left behind.
In her attempt at starting a new life and seeking vengeance on the one person who, in her mind, was responsible for destroying all of their lives, she had done even more damage by leaving than she could ever have thought possible.
In her attempt to cut herself off from everyone and everything in Hawthorne and create this new life, she never realized all of the destruction she caused in her wake. Why would she do that to herself and her family?
“Water?” the voice called out. And then again, “Water?”
Cordelia looked up and saw her coworker holding a glass of water in front of her.
“Yes, water,” Cordelia said in a daze, remembering the ritual hazing events that took place on Misery Island—Fire, Water, Air, and Earth—the degrading and painful events that forced her to leave it all behind. The pain and humiliation she endured. The betrayal. The lies.
“Thank you, Chris,” she said, taking the glass from his hand, ignoring his perplexed expression.
As she gulped down the water, she allowed herself to think about what had happened that night. Since she’d moved to Maine, she had managed to put those memories aside, choosing not to think of that night, but instead to channel her anger and energy toward the man she believed was at the root of all of her suffering: Malcolm Crane.
“Uh…CeeCee?” Chris hesitated. “You need to lie down or something? Do you need a break?” She could hear her female coworkers snickering behind the coffee bar. Cordelia was uncomfortable with this kind of attention. She had managed to fly under the radar for so long, she wasn’t about to let anyone get too close to her. Not even a handsome and sweet college student like Chris Markson. When she looked at him and his perfectly sculpted features, all it did was make her miss Finn and his crooked smile even more. She couldn’t imagine facing Finn again. For all he knew she had taken off carrying his child. He must hate her for not letting him know if he was a father or not. The truth was that even though she might have been pregnant, she couldn’t even be sure that the baby was his. It could just as easily have been Trevor’s. A bastard child from a bastard rapist.
“Yeah, I just need some fresh air,” she managed. Standing up, she tucked the newspaper under her arm and rushed past him and out into the crisp autumn air. She walked across the street to a bench and sat for a few minutes staring at the paper folded on her lap.
What’s happening? Everything was falling into place and then that little boy came out of nowhere, and then this newspaper shows up with the article about Tess and my mother’s attempt to kill herself. What have I done? she thought miserably. She knew what Tess and her