Page 83 of The Making of Marnie Jones

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Never let them see you sweat.

Marnie’d opted for her newly purchased power suit. At the time she bought it, it seemed like a lark because in her real life she’d no need of a navy-blue business suit, and when would she ever wear it? Now she had her answer.Providential.

Under the powerful studio lights, though, she was hot. Uncomfortable. Slowly dying.

She didn't have to wait long before Jessica joined her. Marnie shifted again. They clipped the microphone to her jacket, the cord against her skin, leading to the audio receiver at the small of her back. Already hypersensitive, the whole setup made her uncomfortable. She’d raked the sides of her hair up to the back of her head in combs while she left the rest of it unconfined. She placed her trust in the makeup artist, yet the result still disquieted her. She debated wearing a blonde wig, seeing as that was how she’d been before leaving Toronto, but Phil had found her with black hair, so that horse wasn’t going back into the proverbial barn.

Jessica shook Marnie's hand with an odd formality and settled into the seat across from her.

The room was dark except for the bright lights. Three cameras were positioned—one facing each woman, and one encompassing both of them.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak to me, Ms. Derks.”

“Laura, please.”

“Okay, Laura.” Jessica offered reassurance, but it didn’t mollify. “Can you tell me why you agreed to speak to me today?”

Because you askedwas Marnie’s quick and sarcastic response, but she held her tongue. “I understand there's been some interest in what happened to me five years ago. There has also been speculation about me, and I want to put the rumors to rest once and for all. This seems as good a venue as any other.”

“I appreciate your honesty. Lester Ulster kidnapped you when you were twelve years old. Can you tell me what happened?”

Gut clenched, and fighting down bile, Marnie took a breath and allowed the memories to transport her into the past—a past she’d disavowed and spent five years running from. “I was riding my bicycle home when a man grabbed me and shoved me into his car. I tried to fight back, but he hit me repeatedly and threatened to kill me. I capitulated. I was young and naïve. Given my father’s wealth, when I was shoved into that car, I believed the entire event to be a kidnapping. Apparently, the police believed the same thing.

“Mr. Ulster gave me a television to watch and I saw the news reports.” Her breath hitched. “When he told me he was not a kidnapper, I panicked. I couldn't conceive of why a man would grab a young girl.” She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “Your viewers can piece together what happened next. I endured seven years of horrible…well, things no girl should ever go through.” She took a steadying breath, overwhelmed by the familiar emotions of both fear and shame. Lester always told her he wasn’t able to help himself and she brought on the rapes by her behavior. Ludicrous statements on the face of it, but real to a young, terrified girl.

“What happened that last day?”

“I was having a shower.” The memories yanked her back in time, like a bullet hitting its target. “I checked the basement door. This time, for the first time in seven years, I found the door unlocked. I didn't hesitate, I yanked it open and ran. Mr. Ulster was standing at the front door, so I pushed past him and threw myself into the delivery driver’s arms. Mr. Ulster tried to grab me, but the driver put himself between the two of us.”

She took a moment to steady herself, fighting the vortex of emotions accompanying the recitation. “I owe the driver everything. He saved my life. After seven years of horrors, suddenly I had a savior.” She swallowed, finding her mouth dry. “Then there was a gunshot. I recollect little beyond that.” Closing her eyes, she fought to not be swamped by memories. She’d never heard a gunshot before, and it’d sounded louder than anything she’d heard before or since. “I remember being loaded into an ambulance and taken to the hospital, but after that, it's a blur. I was reunited with my father, and he whisked me back to his estate. Although I didn't watch the news, I was told it was a big deal.”

Understatement of the year.

“The public wanted to know you were all right. Can you understand the interest?” Jessica’s tone was soft, encouraging, but her eyes glinted.

“Although I couldn't then, I do now. I've watched the frenzy around Olivia Bater, and although it galls me, it also fascinates me. Why would the public be desperate for details? Morbid fascination, or was it being fed by the media?”

The reporter had the decency to look slightly chastised. “How long were you at your father’s? Have you been there these last five years?”

“No.” She shook her head, the word clipped.

When no elucidation was forthcoming, Jessica tried a different tack. “Where have you been?”

“I opted, at twenty, to start a new life. I moved to a small town and have tried to live a quiet existence. I wanted to put the horrors behind me. “

“Can you tell me which small town?”

The look she gave Jessica would’ve cowed a weaker man, but the older woman simply smiled and continued.

“What brought you out of your self-imposed exile?”

Marnie’s eyes narrowed. They agreed Olivia was off the table, but would the reporter keep to that agreement? Still, a fair question to ask.

“Someone made me aware of Olivia Bater’s situation—her mother's disappearance—and that person believed I might help.”

“And have you?”

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