Everyone went silent. The air seemed to still. No one moved. No one spoke. Grace sat a moment, her mind a blank. Soon, thoughts collected and she found her will to engage. She’d lost a husband already, and now, in a way, a daughter as well. She was a woman hardened from experience, so perhaps that’s why Mitch’s revelation, startling as it was, would not get her down and keep her there.
“So what now?” Grace asked.
“From a therapeutic standpoint, nothing changes,” Mitch said. “The goal is still integration. And it doesn’t change our strategy at her trial, though I imagine Navarro would have to confirm that.”
“But we don’t know who she is, really … who is the real girl? Who is my daughter?”
Grace sighed as she looked around the table for answers.
“I think she’s Isabella Boyd,” said Mitch. “Has to be. Penny’s kept her under wraps for years … she picked a shy, uncertain, and modest persona to adopt because it gave her primary self a buffer zone from which she could keep people at a distance.
“Then adolescence brought on a volcanic change of hormones that may have triggered the emergence of her other alters. The work I did with Penny helped open up a pathway to the primary self. That’s what I think we’ve been seeing. Honestly, it’s a very positive step toward integration.”
“What about all the things she told us?” Grace asked. “The bucket of ammonia—she wasn’t alone—gone and gone for good—what about all that?”
Mitch shook his head glumly. “I don’t have all the answers … can’t say how it fits together to be honest,” he confessed. “But I am sure of one thing: that mysterious fourth alter we’ve been searching for has been with us all along.”
CHAPTER 49
THAT WAS A SHOCK, Penny.
I should keep calling you that, right? You’re still my sister, even if you are an alter. I surprised myself with how quickly I adjusted to the idea that you aren’t really you. I know it was painful for Mom to think the child she’d raised, loved, and nurtured from age four was a mask of sorts for your true self. When I came up with the name Penny, it must have felt good enough for you to embrace as part of this new identity you’d assumed.
And it was Penny who was on trial for murder.
The first day of your trial happened on the first day of August. We were in the old brick courthouse, not the new glass-and-steel addition that had working air-conditioning.
Your trial took place in Salem, Massachusetts, a city notorious for its witch trials. I wonder if you felt a deep kinship to those poor souls. If you’d been born back then, if people knew of the others occupying your body, no doubt you’d have been found guilty of witchcraft and executed by hanging or left to rot in some rat-infested cell.
But on this day, you were in a carpeted courtroom that smelled like a new car. Under the fluorescent lights, the wood benches in the spectator section gleamed with heavy applications of varnish. The air tasted sweetly scented, a mix of colognes and perfumes. You’d been told it was best to be as understated as possible in court, don’t stand out in any way—a tall order for someone who was the featured attraction. Even so, you looked appropriately subdued in clothes Mom brought from home. I’d seen you wear that outfit to church before, but now, with all the weight you’d lost, the pants no longer fit like they once did. I know you didn’t like the white top, but the line pattern was done in neutral grays.
“Black gives the impression of power, not humility,” Navarro had advised.
You were being tried as an adult, but cameras were not permitted in the courtroom. Ironically, video was allowed, but the gaggle of reporters occupying a large section in the back had to share a single feed from the lone video camera. I’m sure everyone in our hometown, former friends and neighbors, were streaming the trial online, gawking at you like a freak in a circus sideshow.
I could feel leering eyes boring into the back of your skull. A soft murmur filled the room with white noise, which made me think of an audience talking before a show begins.
To settle your nerves, Attorney Navarro gave you clear instructions.
Keep your emotions to yourself.
Don’t smile.
Don’t frown.
Don’t look away in disgust.
Don’t nod your head.
Don’t shake your head.
“The jury will make assumptions about everything you do,” Navarro warned. “‘She’s too remorseful, she’s not remorseful enough, she’s too sincere, she’s not sincere enough’—everything gets judged in here, so sit as perfectly still and calm as you possibly can, don’t react to anything you hear, do exactly as I say, and you’ll do just fine.”