Cecelia Ahern - Flawed

“Maybe his husband knows where he is and won’t tell you. Everyone knows you’re Crevan’s media girl. Why would he trust you?”

“I told him I want to find the truth. He says he doesn’t know where he is, and I believe him,” she says firmly.

“Why doesn’t he call the police?”

“He doesn’t think the police can help him,” she says quietly. “He’s afraid.”

I swallow hard. “Let me guess. Mr. Berry disappeared after Naming Day. Just like Tina, just like June, Bark, Funar, and Tony.”

She nods.

“Do you think he’s hiding or that he was taken away?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t know. I went to Tina’s house yesterday. It’s boarded up, all the furniture still inside, like they just upped and left. Her teenage daughter is gone, too. Her school hasn’t heard from her. Tina’s divorced and not close with her family, so they weren’t surprised she hadn’t been in touch the past few weeks. I’ve called Bark’s, Funar’s, June’s, and Tony’s houses, but their families won’t talk to me. I haven’t visited them yet. I think they’re more likely to speak off the phone, but guessing from Mr. Berry and Tina, I’m expecting the same thing. They’re all too afraid.”

“So now there’s no video of what happened in the chamber?” I say, my eyes filling up. “Everyone who saw is gone, and it’s my word against Crevan’s.”

But that’s not true, and I’m the only one who knows it. Carrick was there, Carrick saw what happened. Would anybody believe a Flawed witness? And has Crevan managed to get his hands on Carrick, too? Does Crevan even know he was there? Did he see him? Am I next? Should I be worried?

“I can’t write the story without proof,” Pia says. “I’m going to need more time.”

“You still don’t believe me, do you?” I ask angrily.

“Of course I believe you.” She raises her voice and stands. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve risked already for you?”

“Sorry,” I say quietly.

She rubs her hand over her face, and suddenly she looks tired. “No, don’t apologize. I’m not doing you a favor; you deserve this. I covered the Guild court and wrote about the Flawed because I believed in it. The words weren’t always mine, but I believed in the stories. I believed in outing those who were ruining our society, threatening to break us down. But … then there was Angelina Tinder and Jimmy Child, one right after the other, and then there was you, and now I know about Dr. Blake.” She shakes her head. “Whatever I told myself about the others at the time, I can’t tell myself that about you. Your case was flawed from the start,” she says to my utter surprise. “First, I was told to report you as a hero. Then I was told to report you as the enemy. It didn’t make sense. I believe Crevan is at a breaking point. My theory is he got a taste for revenge when he succeeded in finding Annie’s doctor Flawed, because she missed the early signs, and he got confident and did it again with Angelina Tinder and Jimmy Child. These cases have shown he’s starting to crack, and I believe he’ll get far worse. He is under extreme pressure now. With Art missing, Crevan is beside himself with worry and anger at you for taking his son away and for putting the Guild in the spotlight in this way. He was supposed to prove to the rest of the world that the Guild is something every country should adopt. It would give him an international stage, and he won’t want anything to jeopardize that. I heard that tomorrow he will announce that any journalist who writes a favorable article about a Flawed will be seen as aiding a Flawed.”

“So much for Lisa Life.” I feel my hope wither away. “There’s not much power in a Flawed journalist writing favorably about a Flawed.”

“He won’t find her,” she says, her jaw firm. “There will be trouble. Especially with my friends. Freedom of speech isn’t something you can mess with with journalists. You try to silence them, they’ll shout even louder. He’s digging his own hole, Celestine. Support for you will rise soon. You don’t need Lisa Life, Celestine, you are the bravest person I’ve ever met, and you’ve inspired me to find my own voice.”

She takes my hands in hers and squeezes tightly; I’m reminded of our first meeting in this room together, the one where we shook left hands so that my branded skin wouldn’t touch hers. Now she holds on tightly, my skin against hers. My wound pressed against her smooth skin. It’s how it should be, but it moves me deeply. “You are what the movement needs, Celestine, but remember you don’t need them . Don’t let them use you.”

There is so much urgency in her words. I’m so surprised by her change in personality, in her tone with me, that I can barely take it all in, yet I know she is telling me that what she is saying is important, so I try to treat it as such. She removes a file from her backpack and places it down on the strewn articles on the table.

“I appreciate your telling me about Mr. Berry’s video. I appreciate your trust. I know, after everything you’ve been through, it’s a difficult thing to do, and you probably don’t even trust me completely.”

I look away, feeling guilty.

“It’s okay, I understand. I just need to prove it to you. Here’s the information you requested.” She grabs her backpack, looking like she’s off on an adventure. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

“Are your kids going with you?” I ask.

Her eyes glisten, the hardness cracks. “They’re safer with their dad for now. Good luck, Celestine.”

I look at all the Lisa Life articles she has left behind on the table for me and my eyes scan the quotes, exact quotes that I have said, for the first time nothing twisted or out of context. I realize as I read them all that I have only ever said these words to one person and that’s to Pia.

Pia is Lisa Life.

“I thought that you hated me,” I say.

She smiles, sadness in her eyes. “I did.”

I respect her honesty, and I want her to know that I know the full extent of what she’s doing for me. I feel a lump forming in my throat as we say good-bye, and I hope that the next time we see each other, this will all be behind us and Crevan will be gone. “If you meet Lisa Life along the way, tell her I said thank you, from my heart.”

She smiles, knowing that I know, tears in her eyes. And she leaves.

FIFTY-ONE

“IS PIA ILL today?” Mom asks as I pass by her open bedroom door. “She didn’t seem her usual self. She was wearing jeans and not a hint of peach to be seen.”

“Yeah,” I reply, distracted, hugging the file about Carrick close to my chest. My heart is pumping. Just by having this information, I feel so close to him already.

I lean against the doorframe as Mom lifts a sweater over her head and throws it down on the bed. Her bed is covered in what looks like the contents of her entire wardrobe, only they’re not. They’re clothes I don’t recognize, and each one still has a tag on it.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying on clothes.”

“You went shopping?”

“Got a delivery while you were at the police station.”

I enter the room and start picking up some items. I’m intrigued because something doesn’t seem right, and I’m confused because I can’t figure out what it is, but then I realize what it is that’s jarring with the picture. The clothes are the wrong color, they’re the wrong shapes, they’re not meant for her.

“What are you doing?” I ask again. “Really.”

Mom sighs and pulls a red T-shirt down over her toned stomach. “I’m trying a different look.”

My mouth falls open. Sure, Mom does this every day for a living. As a fashion model, she has to try different looks, but at home, in her personal life, Mom has a very specific look that she sticks to. A look that has been studied and honed to within an inch of its life, a look that tells the world exactly the kind of person she is. She is the leader of this type of dressing. Her looks are flawless, seamless, figure-hugging, shape-flattering, coordinated with that of her family’s, safe when they want to be, daring when they need to be. Appropriate for all occasions.