Текст книги "Convicted"

Автор книги: Aleatha Romig

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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not a twin .

—Barbara Kingsolver

The autumn sun warmed the days, and the darkness cooled the nights. Claire’s knuckles blanched as the death-grip on her pen refused to subside. She knew Meredith would arrive soon with her evening meal, and they had plans to go out onto the grounds. Courtney was visiting again; nevertheless, Claire’s present confidants and their support couldn’t take away her past—no longer could the consequences of Claire’s truth be denied.

Dr. Brown had told Claire to write—just write. No other directives had been given, nor restrictions. Once Claire was confident that her writings were safe from the eyes of others, the good and bad memories of her past came to life on each page. Painstakingly, she filled notebook after notebook. With her heartbeat echoing in her ears, Claire’s hand seemed to take on a life of its own. This reflective therapy had been effective. She now knew why her mind had shut down. She understood why she had lost touch with reality. After enduring so much—so many highs—so many lows—she couldn’t take anymore.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that Nichol was alive and well or the hope that one day she’d be allowed to hold, care for, and love her daughter. No matter the reason, Claire knew before all else, she needed to face the truth of her conviction...She continued to write—

The office filled with smoke. It’d been a haze, but after Tony opened the door, waves of dense gray saturated the air, filling every void and compartment. As it consumed our history, I worried about our future. I worried about Nichol. I knew I needed to get her out of the fire, yet the aroma of burning wood and crackling of the flames also filled me with an unnatural comforting sense of déjà vu, one which momentarily, replaced the feeling of loss. I know it sounds unreal, but instead of seeing the fire before me—the one that threatened the lives of those I held the dearest—I, for a split second, remembered other fires. I remembered the Iowa state prison incinerator and couldn’t help wonder, if only I’d left the past in ashes, then would we all be safe today?

I remember hearing voices and chaos coming from all directions. I couldn’t see them, and I really couldn’t hear their words. My attention volleyed between the flames and Catherine’s gun; however, other scenes filled my memories. Is this what happens when you face death? I’ve heard your entire life passes before your eyes. Maybe that was what was happening. I knew at that moment death was imminent.

Could that be the answer for the last two years? Was my break with reality—as the doctors call it—my self-imposed death? After what I did, it’d make sense. After all, I’ve learned actions have consequences.

In those few seconds—that took a lifetime—I remembered scenes of surrender and desperation. All the memories I’d successfully compartmentalized away instantaneously proclaimed their presence, only to fade into the gray smoke. With Nichol still in my arms, I took a step back and rubbed my burning eyes. Still there were other scenes playing out before me. They weren’t of oppression or vengeance—no, in those last seconds, I remembered true love and affection. I prayed those scenes would prevail; however, when I closed my eyes they too disappeared into the growing haze and mayhem.

I knew that I couldn’t fall down and surrender to the fire or Catherine’s gun. I’d surrendered too many times, yet I knew no matter what choice I made, our lives would never be the same. I just didn’t realize the magnitude of that realization.

For once, with not only my life at stake, but those of my daughter and husband, I chose to face the reality. With soot covering my face and those around me, I stood tall and saw the horror in Tony’s eyes. I couldn’t surrender—I couldn’t give into emotion, not yet. In my heart, I knew there were cards yet to see—the game wasn’t over—I knew the rules—and I wouldn’t disappoint.

Claire wiped the tears from her eyes. She hadn’t been aware that she was crying until the large droplets of moisture hit the ink on her paper, causing her words to bleed.

She looked at the clock. Meredith would be there in less than ten minutes. She should stop writing, yet the memories were too clear. Claire needed to finish the story—

Nichol’s cries cut through the cold water that fell from the ceiling. Tony was yelling—telling me to get her out of the house. If only I’d listened. Of all the times I’d obeyed him, ironically, this was when I chose to exert my independence.

I’ve asked myself why, and I’ve seen the answer in my nightmares. It was the look in Catherine’s eyes as she was saying Nichol’s name. That look haunts me to this day.

Everything happened so fast. Tony knocked the gun away from Catherine. He told me to pick it up, so I did. Catherine rushed toward me and, oh God—I can’t keep writing. If I write it—it’s real.

Closing the notebook, Claire placed it in a drawer, went to the bathroom, and washed her face. She didn’t want Meredith to find her in this state. When she returned to her quiet room, Claire looked around at all the new items: the colorful throw pillows, the new bedspread, and the pictures on her dresser. It broke her heart to see Nichol’s big brown eyes. They looked so much like her father’s.

Slowly, she walked to the dresser and opened the drawer. The end of their story was quite simple. It could be summed up by writing only a few more sentences—

As I retrieved the gun from the floor, Catherine stole Nichol from my grasp. When she did, Tony was there! He fought for our daughter. I saw the panic in his eyes when he noticed that I had the gun. I don’t think I meant to pull the trigger. I remember shaking. I don’t know if it was the cold water or fear, but when I heard Phil’s voice and felt pressure on my shoulders, I flinched, and I pulled the trigger.

Claire heard the sound of her door opening. Squaring her shoulders, she finished their story—

The sound was deafening. In that moment, I watched them all fall and knew, without a doubt, I’d shot the love of my life—I’d killed Anthony Rawlings.

Stoically, she placed the notebook back in the drawer. If Meredith noticed Claire’s red eyes, she didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, she did what she’d been doing since before Claire could remember, she chatted as Claire ate her dinner.

Later, when they stepped outside into the early evening, the air was still comfortably warm. Unfortunately, the nights were descending faster by a few minutes each passing day. The setting sun returned the cool crisp chill to the October breeze. Although this was only Courtney’s third visit since Meredith had brought them together, Claire constantly feared raising questions if they stayed out too late. She hated that the twilight dictated the length of their visits. It wasn’t like she wanted to lie to Emily or to anyone. She’d repeatedly asked Emily to allow more visitors. Emily always had a reason to deny her request—according to her sister the time was never right.

During Courtney’s first visit, she and Claire mostly hugged and cried. The emotion was too raw and intense to discuss Claire’s condition or the reason for her break with reality. On the second visit, they concentrated on Nichol. Courtney told stories, saying that she’d visited and been in contact with Claire’s daughter ever since Emily started caring for her. She reminded Claire, “How could Aunt Courtney stay away from Nichol Courtney?”

It wasn’t like Claire had forgot Nichol’s middle name or the person she and Tony wanted to honor—well, maybe she had momentarily forgotten—but hearing Courtney’s pride and seeing the adoration in her bright blue eyes, Claire knew that she and Tony were right to name Nichol after their good friend.

Claire believed this visit would be different. She knew what she wanted to discuss—what she needed to say—aloud. It had taken some time and reflection, but the therapists were right. The journaling helped take her along her own safe, personal journey.

The walk to and from the clearing, as well as the impending nightfall, only allowed Claire and Courtney thirty to forty minutes of together time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—to Claire, that was a lot!

Claire couldn’t thank Meredith enough.

As they approached the small clearing, Claire fell into silent reflection. Her mind swirled; she worked desperately to control her thoughts, wanting to phrase them correctly, in a way her friends would understand. Perhaps Emily wasn’t ready to believe Claire was better—maybe the doctors and therapists weren’t convinced she was beyond relapse—but Claire wanted her friends to know—she’d come to terms with her past and was ready to move on to her future.

Once their greetings were said and the three ladies sat on the blanket that Courtney brought, Claire began her story, “I want to thank you both for believing in me.” Claire reached for Meredith’s hand. “So many years ago, when we pledged sisterhood, I don’t think either of us had any idea where it would take us. I know that I wouldn’t be here without your help.”

Meredith smiled.

Claire reached for Courtney. “I can’t imagine anyone else standing by me like you’ve done. Who would’ve thought, when Tony took me to your house so many years ago, we’d end up here? You’ve had many opportunities to walk away from me and all the drama, but you never have, thank you!”

Claire sat straighter. “Courtney, I told Meredith I wanted to see you to learn what happened at the estate. Recently, I’ve been writing things down and working them out. I don’t need you to tell me...I remember”—bravely, she fought the emotion and pushed it back down—“I know why there’re rules about Tony, mentioning his name, or acknowledging that he existed. The thing is”—she inhaled and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand—“I’m tired of people acting like I can’t handle the truth...I remember shooting him—I know—I know that I killed him.”

Courtney and Meredith looked at one another, their expressions ones of confusion and disbelief. When they started to speak, Claire spoke over them, “You don’t have to pretend. I remember the gun, the deafening sound as I pulled the trigger.” Claire stammered, “I—I remember him falling, Catherine falling, and Nichol—thank God she wasn’t hurt. I don’t think I could live with myself if I...” Her voice momentarily trailed away.

Regaining her composure, she said, “I was so happy to hear she was all right. I don’t understand where I was for so long, or how I got there. Maybe I was crazy? Sometimes I wonder if it’s craziness to deal with real life—day after day—or if it’s crazy to want to live in the good times”—she smiled through her tears—“I want the two of you to know that there were good times! The man I married—the second time”—she added. “We had something I’ll never forget. Emily and the doctors may think I should forget and move on, but I’ll never forget. The thing is—I’m ready to move on.”

Meredith interjected, “Claire, oh my God, if I thought that was what you thought—I’m so sorry.”

Courtney squeezed Claire’s hand. “Honey, Tony isn’t dead! You didn’t shoot him. You shot Catherine!”

Happiness erupted throughout her entire being, only to be immediately replaced by a heaviness that filled Claire’s chest—she fought the thoughts and memories. Suddenly, the numbers were back—counting dominated her thoughts—three, four, five, six—Pushing everything away, stopping the lineation of numbers, she asked, “If he’s alive, why hasn’t he been here? Doesn’t he want to see me? Is it Emily or is it him?”

Courtney reached out and grasped Claire’s shoulders. “No! He wants to see you. Claire, he’s in prison. He can’t get here.” Giving her a reassuring hug, Courtney softened her voice and added, “I saw him recently, he wants to see you very much—I promise.”

Prison—Claire tried desperately to recall their conversations. She pushed forward, “Why? I thought the FBI was going to make him a deal...is it because of Simon—because Tony hired someone to sabotage his plane?”

This was all new territory for Meredith—she couldn’t answer Claire’s questions if she wanted; however, Courtney could. She knew what Claire needed to learn.

“No!” Courtney looked to Meredith. “I don’t know what to do. Can she handle this?”

Claire’s eyes sharpened, the days of treating her with kid-gloves were over, she replied, “Hello, I’m right here. Yes, I can handle this—I need to know. I need to know what happened.”

Courtney shrugged. “Tony was upset that Simon approached you in Chicago.”

Claire nodded.

“He was so upset that he contacted someone to arrange for an airplane malfunction.”

None of this was news. “He told me. That’s illegal.”

“It is.” Courtney continued, “However, that wasn’t how Simon died. Tony’s connection, the man who was supposed to arrange the malfunction, took his money, but he didn’t complete Tony’s request.”

Claire tried to reason. “But Simon’s plane crashed...”

“Simon’s plane crashed because Simon fell asleep. His body was so badly burned they had very little evidence. It was your friend Harry. He was the one who put it all together. Ask yourself, who benefited from Simon’s death?”

Claire contemplated and finally answered, “I don’t know—all I can think of is Amber, but she—”

Courtney interrupted, “Yes! The way I understand it, she was upset. Things had been rocky in their relationship and Simon was obsessed with you. He’d gone to see you on multiple occasions. Apparently, Amber wasn’t happy. She knew he’d planned to leave a great deal of money to her, and she hoped she could convince the board of directors to follow through on Simon’s lead and allow her to run the company—he also left her the majority of the stock in SiJo, so she arranged for an overdose of antihistamines prior to his flight. Actually, the amount she arranged for him to ingest wasn’t too much for most people, but apparently, Simon had sensitivity to that kind of medication. It caused him to fall asleep while flying the plane.”

Claire tried to follow. “Amber? No, that can’t be true.”

“It is,” Courtney replied. “When you contacted her from prison and told her your theories, she decided it was a great way to deflect any suspicion away from her. She told her brother, Harry—who happened to be Agent Harrison Baldwin—and the FBI became involved. There were lingering concerns about your grandfather’s death and some other cases which led to Anton Rawls. When Amber talked to the FBI, they saw it as the perfect storm. By utilizing Harry—having him get to know you, they assumed they’d learn more about Tony.”

Claire shut her eyes and tried to concentrate. Finally, she asked, “So, Tony didn’t kill Simon? Amber did?”

“That’s right, and last I heard, she’d been convicted and is still in prison.”

Meredith shook her head and mumbled, “This is unreal! You can’t make this shit up!”

Courtney’s blue eyes sent piercing stares toward Meredith. “Remember what I said!” Courtney’s voice no longer held the reassuring tone she’d used with Claire.

Meredith responded with a simple nod of her head.

After a moment of deliberation, Claire said, “Oh, my God—poor Harry. He had to build a case against his sister?”

“I don’t know much about him. I think I heard he retired from the FBI, but honestly, I don’t know.”

Claire sat silently and contemplated, she couldn’t even think about her grandfather. Her thoughts centered on her husband. Finally, she asked, “So why is Tony in prison?”

Courtney exhaled, “I hope to God I’m not telling you anything new. He confessed to everything.”

Wide eyed, Claire repeated, “Everything?”

“He admitted to hurting you, kidnapping you...” Courtney looked toward Meredith. “He admitted that everything in her book was true. He also admitted to having knowledge regarding other incidents—some people who went for a hike and never came back—and John’s legal issues.” Courtney squeezed Claire’s hand, “He admitted publicly to everything. He didn’t want it to be dragged out in a lengthy legal battle. He asked to do his time and pay for his sins.”

Claire sat silently for a minute and tried to comprehend this new information. After a moment, she asked, “The FBI, they knew most of this before we returned to the states. They said Tony would receive preferential treatment for his help with Catherine. Did he get it?”

Courtney smiled. “His sentence has been served at a minimum security prison which gives him many more rights than you had during your incarceration, and his sentence was significantly reduced. As a matter of fact, Brent thinks he’ll be released during his first parole hearing.”

Claire’s heart momentarily skipped a beat. She stared at her friend. Up until now, Claire hadn’t been ready to discuss Brent. The last she’d heard, he was on a plane that went down. “Brent?” Claire’s eyes filled with new moisture as she searched the deep blueness of her friend’s eyes. “Brent’s okay?”

“Yes! He wasn’t on that plane—the one he was supposed to have been on. He later said he wanted to get home to you and Tony, but there were extra legal documents requiring modification. He stayed a little longer in Chicago and decided at the last minute to catch a later commercial flight. It wasn’t until he landed in Cedar Rapids that he knew anything about the crash.”

Claire shook her head—this was all so much. “Parole, when could that happen?”

“I don’t know the date—Brent said soon.”

Claire smiled, she liked soon! Though the sky was darkening, she wasn’t ready to leave this conversation. Her thoughts went back to the plane and Catherine. “What happened to Catherine?” Her voice quivered, “D—Did I kill her?”—she looked down—“I wish I could remember more specifics. I remember something about an insanity plea. All I could think about was Tony telling me years ago that it was my best option. If I needed a plea, I must have killed her.”

Meredith chimed in, “You didn’t. You shot her, but her wound wasn’t life-threatening. She stood trial—a long and drawn out one—but one that was kept very quiet from the media. She was convicted on multiple counts including multiple murders.”

Courtney added, “That day at the estate—Tony baited her into confessing to more crimes than he even knew existed. Eric arranged for the office to be wired, and Phillip Roach made sure it was all recorded. That information was essential in her conviction.”

Claire stared in disbelief. “So, there was a reason for him to go to the estate.”

Meredith said, “Well that and your sister and brother-in-law. Apparently, they were trapped in an upstairs suite. Tony got them out before the fire or smoke reached them.”

Claire rubbed her temples. “There was a time that I trusted Catherine without question.”

Patting Claire’s leg, Courtney added, “I know Honey—I know you did. We all thought she was so kind and sweet. The saddest part was her daughter.”

Wheels turned, Claire stuttered, “H—Her daughter? Oh, yes, I remember Sophie—no Sophia.”

Courtney nodded, “She didn’t make it out of the house. They said it was smoke inhalation.”

“Oh!” Claire’s stomach wrenched. She’d never met the woman, but she knew Tony thought highly of her.

Courtney continued, “Her husband was on that airplane. Brent said he had great potential.”

Claire contemplated the onslaught of information for a moment. She thought about her grandmother’s beliefs and those of Madeline and Francis on the island. Slowly, she wiped the tears and felt her cheeks rise into a seemingly inappropriate smile. “So, Catherine’s goal was to keep Sophia and her husband apart?”—she didn’t wait for an answer—“I guess God had other plans. Her husband’s name was Burke, wasn’t it?”—she went on—“I hope Sophia never knew her biological mother was Catherine.”

Meredith and Courtney shrugged. Finally, Courtney answered, “I’m not sure what she knew. From the audio of Tony’s office, I think we’re right to assume she didn’t. She died peacefully unaware.”

In the days that followed, Claire replayed the conversation over and over in her head. The loss of any life was terrible. Catherine had been directly responsible for so many; however, what kept coming back to Claire was the idea that Sophia and Derek were still together. She had to believe they were. If their love could overcome death, Claire believed her and Tony’s could overcome insanity and incarceration.

It was that belief that inspired her to confront her sister again, two weeks after her conversation with Courtney and Meredith. “Emily, seriously, I’m not a child. I’m much better. I want to see Nichol. I want out of here, and I’m ready to address the world.”

Emily leaned forward and covered Claire’s hand. “You know I love you?”

Claire nodded.

“We’re all happy your hallucinations are gone.”

“Memories,” Claire corrected.

Emily pursed her lips before she continued, “Honey, I worry about delusional thoughts. Your doctors and I believe some of this has been occurring for a long time”—she patted Claire’s hand—“You have a history of irrational decisions. I don’t want you making decisions now that will later come back to upset you or Nichol.”

Claire continued to plead her case as Emily recited her concerns. It was a different version of their same discussion. Unexpectedly and without warning, the door to Claire’s room opened behind her. She didn’t need to turn, she didn’t need to see. His presence overwhelmed her—filled her and the room with electricity that only seconds earlier didn’t exist. According to the law of conservation, energy can neither be created nor destroyed, which meant the electricity was already present; nevertheless, when the door opened, she felt unbridled power surging through her veins. There was only one person—one man who held that kind of power. Seeing the astonished look on Emily’s face, Claire knew she was right.

Without thought or concern, Claire stood. Closing her eyes, she turned toward the doorway confident of who she’d see when her eyes opened. This wasn’t a hallucination or a memory—it was real. Although Emily’s voice pleaded for Claire to listen, she didn’t hear her sister’s words. There was nothing and no one else at that moment other than her husband. The rest of the world ceased to exist, and she was powerless to do anything other than surrender to his gaze.

They were the eyes she’d dreamt about—the eyes she saw in pictures of their daughter. They were the black holes which years ago swallowed and consumed her heart and soul.

Did she move? Did he? There were noises, but the words being spoken weren’t coming from either one of them. They didn’t need words. Over the course of the years, there’d been too many words—words they remembered—and ones they sought to forget. At this moment, none of them mattered.

In merely a split second, Claire took him in—prison had changed him, to a degree. His black mane now held more hints of white—new lines appeared around his eyes—and the hardness in his expression was replaced by something stronger, yet more serene. No matter the differences, he was still her husband—he was still Anthony Rawlings.

Their bodies nearly touched when the scent of his cologne filled the air. She inhaled the intoxicating scent she’d imagined over the years and melted into his embrace. Her face rested against the lapel of his silk suit as her body molded to his. Closing her eyes again, she relished the sensation of his muscular chest and beating heart. They still hadn’t spoken, yet the volume of the room around them had increased exponentially. His hand reached for her chin and brought their eyes together. It was the blending of brown and green—light to dark and dark to light—it was their connection—and it surpassed all other obstacles.

“I’ve dreamt of those eyes.” The sound of his deep baritone voice brought a smile to her face.

“As have I.” Suddenly, Claire worried and looked away. Did he know about her break with reality? Did he know people thought she was crazy?

“Look at me.” His commanding tone required obedience. Claire looked back up. “I’ve missed you so much. Why are you looking away?”

“Do you know? Do you know what they say about me?”

His eyes lightened and his cheeks rose. “I know—I love you.”

“They think I’m crazy.”

His hands which held her tightly caressed and soothed her back. “I think we’re all crazy. That doesn’t mean that I’m leaving here today without you. My love, you’re coming home.”

She caught her breath and tried to comprehend. Slowly, the rest of the room came back into focus. Apparently, they weren’t the only two people on earth. Her normally empty room overflowed with people. Emily stood to the side, with tears in her eyes and an anguished expression, as she spoke on her phone. Brent and Courtney were there, and Brent was talking to another man, showing him documents. Courtney was hugging herself, smiling, with tears running down her cheeks.

Finding her voice, Claire sought the reassurance of Tony’s gaze, “I’m leaving here? How?”

Brent nodded at the other gentleman and stepped toward Tony and Claire. Claire reached out and squeezed Brent’s hand. “I’m so thankful you’re...”

Brent smiled and said, “Me too—if I weren’t alive, I couldn’t be the one to tell you”—he grinned toward Claire. His eyes sparkling with new vitality—“I wouldn’t be the one to help you.”

Claire remembered him telling her one time, how he’d always wanted to help her—not hurt her. While holding tight to Tony’s hand, she smiled at his clandestine reference.

Brent continued, “As long as Tony was incarcerated, Emily was your listed next of kin and held your power of attorney. I’m holding the judgment by Judge Wein, your husband is, once again, legally your next of kin. Until you’re completely cleared medically, he has the power to make your medical decisions including your release.”

“I thought I was here because of an insanity plea?”

Brent shook his head. “Originally, that was true, but you were cleared of all charges by self-defense.” He looked to Emily and back. “You’ve been kept here for your safety; however, I’ve obtained statements from your doctors substantiating your mental health. Soon, you should legally be able to make your own decisions. In the meantime, with Tony’s signature, you can go home. There are some hoops we need to jump through—therapy you must agree to complete—but we’re not leaving Everwood without you.”

Turning toward Emily, Brent continued, “You can choose to fight—if you want. I’m sure John will be here soon; however, I can assure you—I’ve left no ‘T’ uncrossed or ‘I’ undotted.”

The aguish in Emily’s expression broke Claire’s heart. Barely able to bring herself to let go of Tony’s hand, Claire walked to her sister and wrapped her arms around her neck. “I know you’ve been doing what you thought was best, and Emily, I love you for it, but now it’s time for all of us to move forward.”

After a moment of obvious internal turmoil, Emily said, “John is on his way, but we’re not going to fight.”

“Emily, there’s one more thing,” Brent said as he handed her another document. “This is from the Family Court. Anthony and Claire Rawlings have been granted full custody of their daughter, Nichol Rawlings. They will be assuming the roles of custodial parents—soon.”

As they listened, Tony’s arm tightened around Claire, and she smiled up at him. It was more than she’d ever hoped—more than she’d dared to dream. “We’re going to be a family again.” Her words were a mere whisper that only Tony could hear. Feeling the warm grasp of his large hand around hers was confirmation enough. The terrible ordeal was over.