The Con Girl
Later that evening, they sat alone in their apartment, wondering if they had made the right decision. The air around them was thick with tension, like a fist wrapping around their hearts and squeezing. Their eyes held back tears that they dared not shed, and fear pressed around them like tight walls.
“Do you think they’ll be back?” Jenne whispered, nervously twirling a lock of black hair around her finger.
“No,” Meiko answered. He swallowed hard.
Jenne turned to her brother. Her chest felt tight with suppressed panic, and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. “We shouldn’t have run,” she told him. She put her hands over her eyes, catching a few stray tears with her palms. Hastily she wiped them on her jeans.
“They told us to run,” Meiko said firmly.
“That’s because they’re our parents!” Jenne exclaimed. Her hands clenched into fists and she tried to breath in deep, but the air felt like a blow to her chest. “They’re supposed to say that. We should have stayed and helped them.”
“There’s nothing we could have done,” Meiko said. His slim eyebrows drew to the center of his forehead in a frown. “If only you hadn’t talked to--”
“Quiet!” Jenne hissed. She turned her head to look at the closet just a few feet away from them. “She’ll hear us.”
“She’s locked in the closet with her hands bound,” Meiko said flatly. “She can’t do anything.” He sighed heavily. “Jenne,” he said. “This is your fault.” He looked straight into her brown eyes as he said it. The words pierced like daggers in her heart and she stood up from the couch, fuming.
But he was right.
“If only you hadn’t talked to Zamora, none of this would have happened,” Meiko said in a hushed voice. “Don’t you remember? You’re the one who told her about--”
“I know.” She did remember. She remembered everything as clearly as if it had happened mere minutes ago, every detail still sharp in her mind…
Her name was Zamora Quill. Everywhere she went she was harassed by her classmates, her library books torn by other students. She was the only one with red hair, the only one who wore rainbow socks. It was simple--she was bullied because she was different.
It was on a Tuesday when Zamora caught her eye. She was sitting at her usual table, sadly chewing on what appeared to be a wrinkled apple. Her face was wrinkled with sadness, and Jenne felt a surge of sisterly affection. She always had a fondness for those who had hurt in their hearts, and couldn’t help but reach out to them in hopes of showing comfort.
And it was for this very reason that Jenne abandoned her own table to take a seat next to Zamora. “Hello,” she said with a cheery smile. “I’m Jenne.”
“I know,” Zamora said. “We’re in the same algebra class.”
“So we are,” Jenne said, her joyful tone still steady. She looked at the half-eaten brown apple in Zamora’s hand. “Don’t you have anything else to eat?” she asked.
Zamora scoffed and took another nibble of her apple. “Nope,” she said.
“But why?” Jenne said. She pointed to the cafeteria chef behind their table. “Is it a money problem? I thought they give out free lunches to kids with not enough m--”
Zamora slammed her fist on the table, making Jenne jump. “You think we’d stoop down to accept charity?” she said with fury in her voice.
“No, of course not,” Jenne said with a shaky laugh. “It’s not charity, it’s just… to help you.”
“We don’t need help,” Zamora said. She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you even here?”
Jenne took in a breath before smiling. “You need a friend,” she said softly.
And it was at those words Zamora smiled back. It was a small smile, her lips barely curving. But it was a smile. And it was enough for Jenne to know that she really did need a friend--and she’d be willing to give her one.
“I’m sorry,” Jenne whispered to Meiko. She buried her face in her hands and finally let the sobs come. They shook her whole body, her arms, her legs.
“Shh,” Meiko hushed her. She felt her hands pried from her face. “I’m sorry too,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said it was your fault. It isn’t. It’s Zamora’s.”
She looked at the closet again and gulped. “What do we do with her?” she said quietly, not wanting her to hear.
Meiko bit his lip. “We can’t bring her to the police,” he said thoughtfully. “We’d look like kidnappers.”
“Which we are,” Jenne pointed out.
“But you’re the kidnapper,” Meiko said.
“I know,” Jenne said. She walked over to the window. Drops of rain splattered on the glass, blurring the faint view of the street below. Were her parents on that street? She imagined them, hurt but alive, limping back home to them. “I know I was wrong. Otherwise Mom and Dad wouldn’t be… gone.”
“They’re not gone,” Meiko said firmly. He stood up from the couch and joined her by the window. “We’re going to find them. We can fix this.”
“Your bedroom is huge,” Zamora said, sitting down on Jenne’s bed.
“A little too huge,” Jenne said as she sat next to her. “I’m glad you came.”
“So am I,” Zamora said. She looked down at her hands. “They almost didn’t let me. I have to work, see.”
“Homework?” Jenne asked.
Zamora shook her head. “No,” she said. “Actual work. I work at the pet shop downtown. You know, the one with the beige walls and concrete floor?”
Jenne wrinkled her nose in disgust. “That place is nasty,” she said with a shudder. “They leave their dead fish in the tank.Why do you work there?” Jenne asked her.
Zamora shrugged. “They pay me five dollars an hour,” she said. “It’s not much, but it helps get food on the table.”
Jenne frowned. “But you can’t do that!” she cried. “You shouldn’t be working in a filthy pet shop for your parents. Don’t they have jobs?”
“They do,” Zamora answered. “But they’re using it all to pay back debts.” She sniffed. “We have to borrow so much money.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jenne said softly, putting her arm around her shoulders. Sadness filled her heart.
Her mind drifted to the safe downstairs. It was locked using a 12-digit combination, and was hidden behind the kitchen stove. Only the family knew where it was, because if anyone else knew they could--and probably would--be robbed. Jenne had come across the combination by accident, when she was in her father’s office looking for a pen and found it written down on a small piece of paper.
It had $500,000 dollars inside. Her father had won it with one of his novels that he submitted to a contest. He used one half to buy a car and other luxuries. The rest he hid in the safe, lest they would ever need it.
But they didn’t need it; they had thousands of dollars to spare.
Zamora needed it.
She didn’t know what foolish thought drove her to do it. Perhaps it was because of her constant need to help others, no matter what they needed. Or perhaps it was because she was sick of the money just sitting in the safe, serving no purpose.
She told Zamora to wait for her and walked downstairs into the empty kitchen; her family was in the living room. Making sure to be quiet she walked to the safe, took out $2,000, and stuffed it in her jacket pocket. When she was safe in her bedroom again she gave it to Zamora. “So you won’t have to work anymore,” she said. Then she hesitated. “And… if you ever can… pay it back, would you?”
Zamora snatched the money from her hand. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll pay you back if I can. I have to give this to my mom.” And she left Jenne’s room without saying goodbye, cramming the money into her pocket.
Two days later Jenne was sure she saw Zamora with a new jacket, a new backpack, new shoes.
She convinced herself it was just a coincidence.
“I hate to ask you this,” Zamora said days later. Tears streamed down her face, soaking the neck of her pink jacket.
Jenne handed her a tissue and put her hand on her shoulder. “You can ask me anything,” she said softly. “Anything at all. I’m here for you.”
“Well…” Zamora dried her eyes with the tissue. “M--my parents used your money to pay the bills. They don’t have any more. We only had bread to eat last night. I… I mean, you don’t have to, but if you can spare a little more money to help with the groceries…”
Jenne sucked in a breath. She had to refuse. She couldn’t give away so much of her dad’s money.
But then again, Zamora had to eat bread for dinner. What if tonight they had nothing to eat at all?
“Come to my house,” Jenne told her. “I’ll give you some there.”
Zamora squealed and threw her arms around Jenne’s neck. “Thank you!” she cried. “I promise I’ll pay you back.” She stepped back with a large smile on her face. “You’re changing my life,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
“They were here!” Meiko cried in despair. He waved his hands at the alley where they had last seen their parents. “They were right here!”
Jenne’s blood ran cold. “Where are they?” she said. “Where could they have gone?”
“Maybe they went to the police,” Meiko said. “Or they called them. I don’t know!” He sank to his knees. “We’re too late.”
“No, we’re not,” Jenne reassured him; but her own head was spinning with frenzied panic. There they were, two kids alone on the street. Unprotected. Anything could happen.
The dark seemed to close in on her. She collapsed to the ground and folded her head in her arms, closing her eyes. The black she saw behind her eyelids comforted her, like a sanctuary only she could escape to. She could feel nothing, hear nothing, see nothing…
She felt a hand on her shoulder and reluctantly looked up. Meiko’s face was frozen in terror.
She stood up. “Meiko?” she said. “What is it?”
Wordlessly he pointed at the ground. When she saw it she tried not to cry out.
Blood.
$4,000 went to Zamora. The next week she came back for more. And the next. Jenne tried to avoid Zamora, even eating lunch by her locker so they wouldn’t have to sit next to each other. But she kept cornering her in the most unexpected places.
And each time her eyes would be shining with tears. “We need more,” she’d whisper. “Please.”
Guilt grew in Jenne’s mind until she could bear it no longer. “I don’t have any more to give you,” she told Zamora on the seventh week. “I’ve already given you $100,000. That’s it. Your family should be getting along just fine now.”
Zamora shook her head wildly, and fresh tears flooded down her cheeks. “The money from the past four weeks… My dad wasted it all. He gambled in a poker game and he’s lost it all. We couldn’t even eat last night.”
“I can’t give you any more!” Jenne cried. “My parents will find out I’ve been taking money from the safe. It’s not my fault your father is an irresponsible--”
“Safe?” Zamora interrupted, her tears halting. “What safe?”
Jenne froze. “The… I get the money from a safe in our kitchen.” She winced. Why did she tell her where it was?
“If you give me the combination,” Zamora said, “I can take the money for my parents myself. And if your family catches me, I’ll take the blame. I won’t mention your name at all. I promise.” Her eyes widened ever so slightly and she looked at Jenne with a face that resembled that of a begging puppy.
She knew it was wrong. But she also knew that if she refused, Zamora would go hungry. And there was something in Zamora’s eyes, something bright. It made her almost afraid to resist her. “Fine,” she said. She bent down and whispered in her ear, even though they were alone. “The combination is 385913678347. The safe is behind the stove.” She straightened. “But how will you get it?”
“Don’t worry, nobody will see me,” Zamora consoled her.
Jenne bit her lip nervously. “Don’t take more than $5,000, okay?” she said.
Zamora laughed and hugged her tight. “I won’t take all your money,” she promised. “And this is the last time I’ll ever be taking it.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Jenne clung to Meiko’s arm. “That’s--that’s--” she couldn’t form a sentence.
“Blood,” Meiko said. She heard him swallow. There it shone, bright red on the pavement.
“Our parents are dead,” Jenne sobbed. “They’re dead. They’re dead and we didn’t do anything to help them.”
“They might not be dead,” Meiko said, but his tone of voice said otherwise. “They could be back home, waiting for us.”
“Look at that!” Jenne shouted, pointing to the red mess. “Tell me what you see. Blood! Our parent’s blood! That’s solid evidence that they-re…” she didn’t finish her words. She felt as if her throat had closed itself up.
There was silence for five agonizing minutes. It was as if time had stopped in front of their very eyes. Even the wind stilled, and the raindrops ceased until they were just slow drops on their shoulders. Finally Meiko took her hand and they walked home side by side, saying nothing.
The guilt crushed her like a stone. It was her fault. It was her fault her parents were dead.
It was gone.
The money was gone.
Except for one dollar, left in the bottom of the safe.
Jenne couldn’t believe her eyes. Just a few days after she had given Zamora the combination she went down to the kitchen in the dead of the night. A slow, aching dread had kept her up. She had a feeling that something was wrong, but she couldn’t tell what.
Now she knew.
Inside the safe was a note.
This is the last time I’ll be taking your money. I didn’t take all of it.
-Zamora
Jenne fell to her knees. All her father’s money was gone, save one dollar, and that hardly amounted to anything. It was her fault. If only she hadn’t given Zamora the money in the first place, none of this would have happened.
She stood up and walked to the door, determination set in her mind.
She was going to get the money back, no matter what it cost her.
She didn’t know how long she and Meiko stayed there, sitting by the roadside. They wept, they were silent, they cried all over again.
Two policemen found them. They were shivering in the rain that had grown stronger again, clothes soaked through so that it stuck to them like a second skin. “Are you Jenne and Meiko Murphy?” one of them asked.
“Yes,” Meiko answered, standing up and pulling Jenne with him. “Why?”
“Your mother is looking for you,” the other policeman said in a grave voice. “Your father is in the hospital. Come with us.”
And so they climbed in the police car, the rain splattering on the windows and blurring the outside. Maybe the clouds are crying, she thought to herself. Maybe they are grieving too.
About a half hour later they arrived. In Jenne’s opinion, hospitals were like graveyards. They housed dead people, almost-dead people, and people doomed to be dead. It was in the air, the death, like a sickness she didn’t want to catch. She held her hand over her mouth as the redhaired nurse led them down hallways. Her shoes made clicking noises on the floor, and they echoed in her mind. Click, click, click.
“Right this way,” the nurse said. She stopped in front of a door and opened it.
Everything seemed to slow down. Her heart beat in her ears, slowly, and everything around her moved in slow-motion, as if they were swimming through air the thickness of mud. Inside the bed was her father.
He wasn’t sleeping.
He wasn’t awake either.
He was dead.
Once, Zamora had sent Jenne a letter. It was a Christmas card, with her address on the back of the envelope. She’d kept it lest she would ever need it, and after retrieving it from her desk drawer she set out to find Zamora’s house. She expected to see a small lowly shack of a place, with cracked windows and missing shingles from the roof. She thought that the gate--if there was a gate at all--would have chipped paint and rusty hinges, so rusty that it would not open properly.
She was sure she had gotten the address wrong at first. Zamora lived in a condo.
It was huge, and white, with a pool on the upper balcony and fountains outlining the front path. Had her parents finally paid back their debts? Did they win the lottery? They must have. And why didn’t Zamora pay her back all her money? Why did she even take it?
Jenne pulled her face in a deep frown as she rang the doorbell. A handsome woman opened it. Her face bore a strong resemblance to Zamora’s--pouted pink lips, narrow eyes, freckles dotting her neck. Her dress was red and sparkled, her jewelry golden and shining.
“Yes?” she said. “May I help you?”
“Does Zamora Quill live here?” Jenne asked.
The woman looked surprised. “Why, yes,” she said. “She’s my daughter. Is she a friend of yours?”
Jenne hesitated. “Ma’am,” she started, “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Mrs. Quill frowned at her. “Has there?” she said.
Jenne nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Zamora told me that you were poor and in debt. She borrowed a lot of money from me, and it’s clear now that she doesn’t need it anymore. I… I was hoping she’d be able to pay it back?”
Mrs. Quill’s face seemed to darken. “There has been no misunderstanding,” she said. “I must ask you to leave now.”
Jenne stepped closer. “I’d like to see Zamora, just for a bit,” she said. “Just… to talk. Not about the money, she can have it,” she lied. There was something about her mother that seemed off.
Mrs. Quill sighed, then stepped aside. “Fine,” she said. “But make it quick. We have a dinner party to attend. Zamora’s room is on the third floor, second room to the right.”
“Thanks,” Jenne said, hurriedly stepping inside. The sight only made her feel more confused--and angry. The living room was adorned with white plush furniture, a furry carpet, and an electric fireplace that bore bright blue flames.
Poor people couldn’t afford electric fireplaces.
She rushed up the marble staircase. When she reached Zamora’s bedroom she entered without knocking. Zamora was sitting on her bed, which was king-sized and held a white duvet that looked soft enough to be a bed on its own.
The girl looked up. Fear flashed across her face. “Jenne,” she said, getting up. “What are you doing here?”
Jenne stood her ground. “You stole my father’s money,” she growled. “Look at this house! You were never really poor, were you? Don’t give me that face,” she added. Zamora had put her puppy-dog eyes on. “I know you were faking it the whole time. You just wanted the money, didn’t you?”
Zamora laughed, her expression changed. “Oh, yes,” she said. “My parents were in on it too. I told them about you, the rich kid who went to public school. We knew you would be our next victim.”
Jenne swallowed. “Victim?” she whispered in fear.
Zamora smiled at her. “I’m afraid that since you know this information now, we’ll have to do something about you. But… yes, I’ll tell you. You see, my parents move around a lot.” She began to pace around the room. “And they send me to private school, occasionally public school, to look for the rich kids. Then I play this act.” She gestured to herself. “The poor kid the rich one wants to befriend. Or, if that doesn’t work, I trick them another way. But you’re kindhearted, you fell for it right away. Once I have the money, we use it, move to another state, do it all over again.” She smirked.
Jenne felt a rush of power. She was bigger than Zamora.
And she was much angrier.
She dove forward.
“I can’t believe it,” Meiko said.
“We tried to save him,” the nurse told him, clutching her clipboard to her chest. “His wounds were too deep. He passed away half an hour ago.”
Half an hour ago. Half an hour ago Jenne and Meiko were walking alone on the street. Half an hour ago they doubted he was even alive. Half an hour ago they tried to find him, to help him.
Half an hour ago he was still alive.
She wondered what they were like, his last moments. Did he see black crawl along the edges of his vision? Did he see visions of the people he loved, or feel guilt from past mistakes? Or maybe he felt nothing at all, no cares or worries, and he was drifting away from life aimlessly, like a loose seam coming undone. She hoped it was painless. Calm. Maybe even blissful, to let go of the hurt he felt and float away into… into what? Where did one go after death?
Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard Meiko muttering. “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it,” he said over and over again. But Jenne stayed silent beside him, stiff as a statue. She felt as if she was made of stone. Stone couldn’t feel pain. Stone couldn’t feel grief. Stone had no loved ones to lose.
Jenne was stone.
Sudden fear fled into her mind, a theory she didn’t want to happen. “Where’s our mother?” she asked the nurse. “Tell me!”
The nurse laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said gently. “Your mother is fine. She’s taking a shower and putting on some new clothes.”
Jenne relaxed, but the relief of knowing her mother was okay did not fill the empty hole in her heart. The hole only her father could fill.
And he was never coming back.
“Tell me again why your friend is inside our closet,” Meiko said, rubbing his forehead. “And why you tied her up.”
Jenne chewed her nails. “It’s a long story,” she said.
Meiko crossed his arms. “Then tell it short,” he said.
“Promise you won’t tell Mom and Dad?” Jenne told him.
“Tell me first.”
She knew that when Meiko made up his mind, it couldn’t be changed. And so she launched into the story of Zamora, how she had tricked her into giving her the money. She felt the guilt she had been carrying loosen just a little, and even under the furious glare of her brother she felt better.
“You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that you gave away our father’s money to a rich girl who conned you?”
“Yeah,” Jenne mumbled.
“And that after you figured that out, you marched over to her house…”
“Yep…”
“…Attacked her, knocked her over the head with a lamp, dragged her unconscious body downstairs, took the rope tied around their living room curtains, bound her hands and gagged her with a napkin, took her back home, and locked her inside our closet?”
Jenne grimaced. “Yes,” she said.
“And you did this all without her parents noticing?” he exclaimed.
“Er.” Jenne tucked a lose strand of hair behind her ear. “Not exactly.”
Meiko’s eyes were hard and cold. “What do you mean?” he said.
“Well…” she swallowed. “They noticed me go out the front door--they were upstairs when I bound her--but they didn’t chase me. They said it was too easy. And they let me go.”
Meiko’s eyes widened. “That’s not good,” he said. “That’s not good at all.”
“But they let me go!” Jenne cried.
“They’re up to something,” Meiko said. “I think--”
Just then their parents burst into the living room, Jenne’s father holding a piece of paper in his hand. “Come with us,” he said. Their mother rushed forward to unlock the door. “Someone’s taken our money, and we’re going to take it back.”
“My babies.” Jenne flew into her mother’s arms. They wrapped around her, safe and strong. She and Meiko clung to her as if they were infants, unwilling to let go.
“You did the right thing,” she whispered into their hair. “You ran when we told you to. You’re safe.”
Jenne had always read of people’s hearts breaking in books, but she never truly knew what it meant. And now she knew. At her mother’s words she felt as if her heart had shattered, breaking into a million little shards, falling down through her body. She felt empty. Empty of feeling and yet so full of pain at the same time.
“I didn’t do the right thing,” she sobbed against her mother’s chest. “I didn’t. This is all my fault.”
Her mother pressed a long kiss to the top of her head. “How can you say that?” she said.
“I…” she sniffed. “I gave them the money. At least, I started it. I gave them some of it.”
Her mother frowned, confused. Jenne could say no more.
So it was Meiko who told her about what happened, about how Jenne thought Zamora needed help and gave her the money.
Jenne heard her mother sigh a deep, shuddery sigh. She felt her arm clutch her tighter and closer. “You have such a kind heart,” she said. She broke down in sobs.
Jenne knew then of the grief her mother felt, because not once--not ever--had she seen her shed a single tear.
“What’s happening?” Jenne cried as the family ran down the sidewalk. “Where are we going?”
Her father handed her the piece of paper as they rounded the corner. She held it to her eyes, squinting in the fading sunlight.
To the Murphy Family:
We have your money. The $500,000. If you want it back, come to the back of Super Marcus’s Market west of Pine Street. You know the place.
Take note that we are not the thieves. We are your friends. Though we failed to catch the robbers we have the money and are waiting to return everything to you. Trust us in knowing that we are your friends.
We await you at 7:00 PM.
Yours truly,
Anonymous.
The handwriting was hastily scribbled. Jenne had an uneasy gnawing feeling in her chest. “We shouldn’t go,” she said as they hurried along the street. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Don’t worry,” her mother said. “We know the robbers are still out there, so we’re taking you with us--just in case.”
She and Meiko shared an anxious glance. She couldn’t tell her mother that they were walking right into a trap--on one hand, they might not be, and on the other, she would have to tell her everything. If they truly were getting the money back, then perhaps she wouldn’t have to tell them at all.
They approached the back of Super Marcus’s Market.
She knew it. It was them, Zamora’s parents, still clad in fancy clothing.
“We’ve come for the money,” Jenne’s father said.
Zamora’s parents smirked. From her purse Mrs. Quill drew two knives. One she handed to her husband. The other she kept, advancing towards them, her heels clicking on the pavement.
Jenne’s parents screamed. “RUN!” her mother shouted. “Both of you, RUN NOW!”
She didn’t want to leave. She couldn’t take her eyes away. She saw the knife, glinting, a silhouette in front of the falling sun. And then her head turned, she felt Meiko’s hand on her wrist.
They ran.
Jenne knew that if her father could see his own funeral, he would be happy. The morning was crisp and cool, and birds perched on tree branches and sang their songs to him, as if they were grieving too. Family and friends from all over came, not swimming in their sorrow but reliving the memories they had with him. Some smiled at his past, others even laughed. But Jenne and Meiko stood to the side, listening to the chatter and watching the bustle. She didn’t feel like laughing. She and her brother could only stand there, memories of them and their father playing over and over in their minds.
Jenne wondered if he was watching her right now. She looked up at the sky, the clear blue sky without a trace of storm. “Hello, Dad,” she whispered. A cool breeze tickled her nose, almost like a kiss, and for the first time in days she smiled.
But behind the mixed sorrow and grief she felt, there was hatred. Pure cold hatred, and anger, and cruelty above all else.
Because Zamora was the cause of all this.
And she would do everything it took to find her.
Because when the police went back to their house to retrieve her from the closet, she was gone.
She was found three years later, in Nebraska. She’d disguised herself as a girl named Maddy Baker, and when Jenne was allowed to see her she didn’t strike her, or scream at her, or curse her as she thought she would.
Jenne had learned to let go. She let herself forgive. Because she remembered one of her father’s old sayings:
“To forgive is to not forget. It’s to let go of the hatred that will infect your heart.”
