by Laurie Nave
“But you’re still drinking it.”
“You gotta do what you gotta do. Even bad coffee is still coffee.”
Celia laughed and then noticed a door opening. Keith walked through it and caught her gaze. He smiled and nodded before picking up a phone attached to the wall. After he hung up, he went to the door where Celia had come in, met a man Celia had never seen before, and escorted him back out through the opposite door.
“Who is that?” William asked.
“I have no idea.” Celia watched as the man walked with Keith. He looked to be in his thirties, and he was an inch or two taller than the guard. He wore a gray suit and purple shirt with no tie, and his dark hair was slicked back and slightly curled at the neck. He seemed to be very careful about making sure he only looked straight ahead.
“Is he going to visit Natasha? Is he one of her attorneys?”
“He doesn’t exactly look like someone who would work at Andrew’s firm,” Celia said wryly. “Maybe he’s here for someone else.”
“Yeah, he looks more like an ambulance chaser.”
Celia chuckled at that, and William offered her the last cookie. They sat in silence and watched the clock.
Chapter 34
Just before 1:00, a guard escorted Celia to visit Natasha. Instead of the dull, neutral scrubs-like garb she usually wore, the actress had on dark dress pants and a blouse, a bright blue that complemented her eyes. Her hair was in an updo that fit the red carpet better than an execution, and she was wearing makeup. Alicia wondered if the change in appearance was standard or if Natasha had finagled access to cosmetics. Regardless, she looked more like the star from the magazines than the convicted killer Celia had gotten to know.
“I see we both dressed for the occasion,” Natasha said. “Thank you for not wearing black.”
Celia chuckled. “I considered red, but I didn’t want to upstage you.”
Natasha laughed out loud. “You’re a refreshing change from today’s somber faces. Even William couldn’t bring himself to be witty.”
“I talked with him earlier. Is he staying?”
“He’d better not. He doesn’t need to see this. He’s seen enough.”
“Are you sure?” Celia didn’t want to overstep, but William had looked so unhappy. “I mean, do you think he’ll regret it? He’s...well, he’s family.”
Natasha’s head snapped up. “That’s exactly why I told him to go home. Does he know you know?”
“No,” Celia replied. “I assumed you didn’t want me to tell him.”
“Thank you again. Maybe down the road, if you think it will help him.”
“I understand.”
“So tell me something good. Have you and Keith finally broken your silly rules?”
Now Celia laughed out loud. “Oh God no! He’s a friend, and that is all I need. I think some self-imposed celibacy is better for me after the Bart fiasco.”
“You just have to do a better job of weeding out the crazy ones. Keith seems sane. I bet he’s more than capable.” Natasha winked.
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Celia smirked. “But I won’t be finding out.”
“Too bad.”
Celia reached across the table and covered Natasha’s hand with her own. “So what do you need? What can I do right now?”
“You’re doing it. You’re my friend. You’re in here dressed to the nines, letting me have a laugh. And you’re not begging me to fall on my sword.”
“Yes, I talked to Andrew earlier.”
Natasha folded her arms and scowled. “So what did he do to try to convince you to do? Seduce the governor?”
“No.” Celia chuckled. “He did ask me to get part of the story out. Try to pull at the heartstrings of the public. I said no.”
“As you should have.”
“But,” Celia leaned forward. “I could say yes. There’s still time. It might help.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. No one reads my story until after I’m gone. You write it, they read it, and it’s done. No reporters trying to get a comment or quote, trying to get another piece of me, or bleeding hearts using me as a cause.”
Celia squeezed Celia’s hand. For just a few seconds, she saw emotion in the actress’s eyes, an emotion she hadn’t seen in their interviews. It looked like Natasha might cry. Instead, she chuckled, and the emotion was gone.
“So, aren’t you going to ask me about my last meal?”
Celia laughed and shook her head. “Don’t tell me it’s kale and avocado toast!”
“Absolutely not!” Natasha made a face. “I’m having lasagna and an Italian cheesecake.”
“Oh wow! Talk about carbs!”
“Yes, I avoided pasta for most of my career. But I heard about this amazing little place called Verelli’s...”
“Ha! Marlene’s place! You won’t be disappointed. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”
“She may not know. I think a guard or Andrew makes the arrangements. I didn’t ask how it would work.” Natasha smiled. “And I’m not sure providing the last meal for a murderer would make the best advertising.”
“You’d be surprised,” Celia said.
“I want to thank you again for everything. I have no doubt it will be a great story, told the way I hoped it would be.”
“I’m the one who should thank you for trusting me with it.”
Once again, there was a flicker of emotion. Then she chuckled. “It’s almost time for Keith to knock for the last time.”
“True. I have to say, meeting him was a lifesaver I didn’t know I’d need. He’s practically my bodyguard.”
“So you’re saying he’s Kevin Costner to your Whitney Houston?” Natasha teased.
“Well, I won’t be singing if that’s what you mean.”
There was a knock at the door.
“I hate to interrupt, ladies, but time is almost up.” Keith stuck his head inside the door.
Celia and Natasha looked at each other before bursting into laughter. Kevin looked at each of them, shook his head, and closed the door.
Both women stood, and Natasha began walking toward Celia. “See that camera? The person watching this is about to freak out.”
“Why” Celia began. But she understood when the actress embraced her. She returned the hug.
“No physical contact! Step back!” A frantic voice sounded through the speaker.
“So predictable.” Natasha chuckled.
Keith walked in and cleared his throat. Celia walked toward the door, and he opened it for her.
“I’ll be there, Natasha. On the front row.”
“I know,” Natasha said, sitting back in her chair.
“You okay?” Keith asked as they walked away from the room.
“I actually think I am. I know what’s going to happen in a few hours. But she seems okay. And I kept my promise.”
“What promise?”
“One thing that was very clear in my contract,” Celia said. “Not a word of the interviews or the article could be leaked or published until after Natasha’s execution.”
“Seems strange, but that’s her call.”
“Exactly. As recently as this morning, her attorney was begging me to put out part of her story to generate sympathy and maybe get an intervention at the last minute.”
Keith sighed. He looked away.
“What?”
“I mean, I know you wanted to abide by her wishes. But do you think maybe the guy has a point?”
Celia closed her eyes. “Not you too.”
“Look, it’s none of my business. I’m just saying I can see why he thought it was a good idea. You did what you thought was right, what Natasha wanted.”
“I did. It was the right thing to do.”
“Okay then. I have to get back to work. Don’t hang around here all afternoon. Believe it or not, there’s a great café just down the road. Have a late lunch. Take a walk.” Keith smiled. “Just be
back before the protest crowd gets too big. Otherwise, I may have to carry you inside...like Kevin carried Whitney.”
Celia’s eyes went wide, and she punched him in the arm. “You eavesdropping ass!”
He walked away laughing, and Celia decided to take his advice.
At 7:30, Celia wove her way through a group of protesters outside the fence. She gave her pass to the guard at the gate, and he let her inside. After signing the register again and surrendering her personal items, Keith was waiting for her.
“I’ll take you to the family waiting area. It will be away from the others.”
“Others?” Celia asked. “Are there any others?”
“There are a couple of detectives, someone from the DA’s office. There are also a few family members of victims.”
Celia hadn’t considered family members. It had been over a decade but she’d only heard Natasha’s version of the murders and the victims. Of course, they had spouses, siblings, even children who were still grieving and wanted to see justice done.
The family area had a better coffee maker, nicer furniture, and no snack machine. I guess no one has an appetite for stale cookies at this point. There were a few inspirational books, the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and the Koran. For the atheists in foxholes. Natasha would appreciate the irony.
“We can go to the observatory now.” A guard Celia had never seen before opened the door and gestured for her to follow him.
They walked down a hallway, and Celia tried to step gently to soften the echo of her heels on the tile. The guard was silent, and though Celia wanted to fill the space, the small talk stuck in her throat.
Several heads turned as the guard opened the door and ushered Celia into the theater-style room. She avoided their gazes, hoping no one would recognize her. She didn’t want to lock eyes with a victim’s family member. Instead, she looked down at the cement steps as she walked to the front row.
Celia had spent some time researching the lethal injection process. Initially, it was for the story, but now she wished she didn’t know so much. While she studied the out-of-date curtains, she thought about what was taking place behind them. There would be a gurney, and the warden, at least one guard, and medical professionals would be prepared. In a separate area, a few people would be waiting to press a series of buttons. None of them would know who had administered the poison. Celia wondered how it would feel to be one of those people, if not knowing would be enough to assuage their guilt.
Her head began to ache as the curtains opened. Natasha was there, and she found Celia’s gaze immediately. There was no trace of the emotion Celia had seen earlier; she just nodded at the reporter.
Ring! Ring, dammit! Celia screamed inwardly at the white 1980s relic on the cinderblock wall. Natasha smiled, and Celia smiled back. Part of her wanted the actress to sit up and rip the IVs from her arms, break into a dramatic monologue, something. Instead, she lay there as her boy relaxed and her eyes began to close, surrendering to the barbiturate.
Once Natasha’s eyes closed, it was over. Celia knew the actress's body was being paralyzed, and her heart was going into cardiac arrest even as Celia’s own heart was thudding behind her sternum, which was still sore from the accident.
And then the doctor pronounced Natasha deceased. The curtain closed, people began to file out of the room, but Celia sat, fighting off nausea. She allowed Keith to help her out of the creaky chair. He led her up the steps toward the door.
“Are you okay?” Keith asked.
Celia didn’t hear him. She was already on her way to the ladies’ room, hoping to make it before she began to vomit. She did, but just barely.
Once her stomach was empty, Celia stood and walked to the sink. “I’m okay. It’s okay.” Celia whispered to herself as she splashed water onto her face and took some deep breaths. Her legs felt like over-boiled pasta, but she felt certain she wouldn’t throw up anymore.
Keith was talking with Andrew when Celia left the restroom. They both looked at her, Keith with concern and Andrew with disappointment.
“Do you need anything?” Keith asked quietly. He handed her the purse and other belongings.
She nodded.
“Ms. Brockwell, may I speak with you?”
Keith left them alone, and Celia sat on a bench.
“Is this the first execution you’ve witnessed?” Andrew sat next to her.
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s a difficult thing. I probably should have prepared you better.”
Celia shook her head. “I don’t think that was possible, but thank you.”
“I need to give you this. Natasha didn’t want it inspected.” He handed her a business envelope with her name written in Natasha’s script.
Celia took the envelope and placed it in her purse. “Thank you.”
Andrew nodded and walked away.
“Ready to go?” Keith asked. “You okay to drive?”
“I’m fine,” Celia stood and smoothed her pants. “I just want to go home.”
“I’ll walk you back to your car.”
Keith’s voice sounded muffled as nausea hit Celia again. Her ears rang loudly, and she couldn’t swallow the sour taste. She turned to grab Keith’s arm for support, and everything went black.
Chapter 35
Keith was talking to someone, a woman. The voices faded in and out, but Celia could hear Keith asking questions and the woman’s voice answering.
“It’s strange that she seemed fine for days and then passed out.”
“Every concussion is different. She seemed agitated last night, so we gave her something to help her sleep. She should be –“The woman saw Celia try to sit up. “Ah, you’re awake! Ms. Brockwell, just lie back. Don’t try to sit up.”
Celia realized she was in a hospital room. She was wearing a blue gown, which meant someone had undressed and dressed her. Ugh, great. An IV line was taped to her arm, and several sticky pads monitored her heart rate. The machine on the right showed that her blood pressure was 97/60.
“Ms. Brockwell, I’m Dierdre. How are you feeling?”
“Okay, just a little woozy. And very thirsty.”
Keith reached for the yellow pitcher and poured a cup of water for Celia.
“I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. She’ll be in soon.” Dierdre left the room, and Celia took a sip of the cool water.
“So what happened?” She asked.
“You passed out at the prison.”
“I remember feeling sick. I went to the restroom.”
“After you came out, you talked to Andrew and me. I was about to walk you to your car, and you just buckled.”
Celia groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t call an ambulance.”
“Prison protocol.” Keith shrugged. “Besides, the sirens were a good way to disperse the protesters. You woke up once you got here, but you were kind of out of it. They gave you something to help you calm down.”
“Well, at least I slept all night. You didn’t stay here all that time, did you?”
“I went back to the prison to do paperwork, and then I came back here. I’ve been here about three hours.”
Dierdre walked back into the room with another woman. “I’m Dr. Schuester. Glad to see you awake. Let’s check a few things.”
Dr. Schuester listened to Celia’s heart, had her track the doctor’s fingers with her eyes, and asked a few basic questions about the day of the week, her phone number, and address.
“Did I pass?” Celia chuckled.
“You did. The tests show no sign of bleeding or problematic swelling, and your blood work looks good.”
“So why did I pass out, and when can I go home?”
“It looks like you may have mild post-concussion syndrome. It can happen, even with a mild concussion.”
“So what does that mean?”
“You may have some lingering symptoms for a few weeks. A headache is common, along with difficulty concentrating. It typically resolves itself.”
; Celia nodded. “And can I go home?”
“We’d like to watch you a couple more hours. But yes, you can go home today. I’ll let you get some more rest now.”
Once she was gone, Keith poured her another cup of water. “Just so you know, I’ll be staying with you for a few days, and I don’t care how uncomfortable the bed is.”
“Yes, sir,” Celia teased.
Then she noticed a breaking story. Bart’s photo appeared on the television screen.
“Turn that up,” she told Keith. They both watched and listened.
“Local attorney Bart Vandiver was found dead in his Philadelphia townhouse last night, of an apparent overdose. Vandiver was a partner at Lewis, Tyler & Brown. He was 41 years old...”
Celia felt her heart rate accelerate. “Can I have a minute?”
“Sure.”
“Bring me my purse, please.”
He looked at her with a strange expression but did as she asked and then left the hospital room, cracking the door behind him.
Celia opened her purse and found the envelope Andrew had given her the night before. She muted the story about Bart, whose photo was still on the screen. Why are my hands shaking? Celia opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of notebook paper.
A gift, because I knew you wouldn’t
Celia took a deep breath and folded the paper, placing it back into the envelope. She took the remote and turned off the television. Bart is dead. I have a note from Natasha, and Bart is dead. Celia looked around the room until she saw a small trash can sitting in a corner.
“You okay in here?” Keith knocked and then walked back into the room.
“I’m good.” Celia shoved the envelope into her purse. “It was just a bit of a shock.”
“I get that,” Keith said. “But, and I hate to say it, at least you don’t have to worry about him.”
“Thank goodness,” she sighed.
“I talked to the doctor while I was waiting. I told her I was going to be staying with you, and I persuaded her to go ahead and release you. If you can get dressed, we’ll leave now.”
