“But of course, that’s not quite what happened, is it? I guess I underestimated Connor’s power and his utter egocentricity. I didn’t know he’d be able to keep my disappearance out of the media more or less completely. I tried to make it a great story, too—the pools of blood, the bloody rings that Vanessa called into the police station—but news coverage was practically nonexistent, as you all know. So most of the women he was with never even learned that I was missing. There were no pictures of me, of us, in the news.”
She stopped talking and shook her head slowly, making eye contact with each of us in turn before saying, “Except for you, of course. You guys knew, and you didn’t come forward, either. You were supposed to be my friends, so I was sure you’d reveal the truth, in the interest of potentially saving me. But even you didn’t step up and say anything to the police, to the media. If you had, surely the story would have gained traction and Connor would have been taken down in its wake. And while I get that you have your own lives and families to think about, I’m not going to lie—it’s still pretty disheartening that you couldn’t step up for me. Even a few women would have been enough to expose him and cast a safety net around me and my daughter. But not a single person said a word.” She shook her head with disappointment and disbelief.
I desperately wanted to ask how she’d found out about us, but it didn’t feel like the right time. Bottom line, she knew. Right now, that was the detail that mattered more. Still, I felt compelled to defend myself. Slightly. “Isabel, I’m so sorry, but I truly didn’t know that the man I was with was Connor. I was so drunk, and that combined with the shame—I blocked him out completely. You have to believe me—I swear, until just now, I had no recollection that it was him that night that I—”
She held up her hand and sighed, but then softened and looked at me with genuine sympathy. “I know, Jenn. I know. That became obvious after I showed you a family picture on my phone in our very first meeting and you had absolutely no reaction. I couldn’t believe it. It complicated things. That’s why I put our plans for a night out in my calendar and had Vanessa write that note about me in your phone the day of my last meeting with you guys. To get you to really dig deep into my disappearance, for your own personal reasons—I was hoping to jog your memory, that if you saw enough pictures of Connor in your Google searches, or met him at my house when you went with Vanessa, you’d remember. But even then you didn’t, apparently.”
“Your password is Clara’s birthday. Pretty obvious, you know,” Vanessa said placidly, looking at me with a shrug.
As terrified as I was right now, a strange part of me was relieved to have an explanation for the calendar plans and the note—to know for sure that I’d had nothing to do with it, that I wasn’t quite as crazy as I’d thought. Still, one big question lingered—how did she know about me and Connor? About the others and Connor?
Isabel continued. “But what Vanessa wrote in your phone—Isabel doesn’t matter—it’s the way that I felt. That everyone had forgotten about me, that no one remembered I was even a real person anymore. It’s the way Connor made me feel almost every day of our marriage—I was always just a prop in his carefully curated life. When I met him in college, I thought he really loved me. It turned out that he just needed a woman like me to create the image of himself that he was determined to embody. I was completely irrelevant. So I’m used to feeling like I don’t matter. But, to be honest, I felt it again when none of you stepped forward to share the truth about Connor, even though it might have been pertinent, potentially lifesaving information. Instead, you just retreated. Acted like you knew nothing. Acted like I was no one to you.” Isabel looked genuinely hurt, and I felt terrible.
Kira cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was still a rasp. “I really am. For all of it. You’re right; I didn’t come forward because I thought it would look bad for me, knowing you, and knowing him, in that way. I’ve also just tried really hard to leave it in the past. But you’re right. I should have said something. Of course I should have.”
Selena nodded. “I’m sorry, too. I was scared. I was dating Cameron when I met Connor, and—well, I guess I was also just desperate to avoid reliving that night. I just—it was easier, cleaner, to squash it. Felt so, at least. But I regret it. All of it.” She looked down, and I could tell she was remembering her encounter with Connor; I looked at her intently, wondering how similar it had been to mine and Kira’s and when it had happened. She glanced back at me briefly, nodded slightly, and gave me a look that said Later. I looked at Vanessa, too, and silently questioned where she fit into all this—she’d rented this house for Isabel, had lured us all here. Her role was obviously much different, bigger, than ours.