“Ryan, this worked for such a long time, but eventually it all came crashing down. I never took responsibility for my bad decisions. I put up walls, and used my past to justify everything I did. I held onto anger like a weight around my neck that got heavier and heavier until I couldn’t carry it any longer. I grew more and more unhappy. I expected you to make me happy. I blamed you when I wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t you. It was me. I had a husband and three beautiful children who loved me. Instead of focusing on these things, I listened to people who didn’t love me; not really.”
Ryan lowers his head to hide his expressions. He finally looks up and says, “Faith, I don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t know why it took so long,” I continue. “I don’t know why it took this place for me to see all I had. I want you to know that I’m not that person anymore. I’m not where I want to be yet, but I’m getting there. I’m getting my life together, and it feels really good. When I get out of here, my life is going to be different … simple … real.”
I did it. I finally got all the words out. If Ryan and I are going to be together, it can’t be like it was before. I left it all on the table, but did it work?
“Ryan, I love you. I just hope it’s not too late. Can you please forgive me?”
Ryan slowly shakes his head back and forth as if to say no. Then when he looks at me, I can see that he’s shaking his head in disbelief. He closes his eyes and says, “I forgive you, Faith.”
Our twenty minutes is over so a guard approaches me and, in Thai, he says, “Time’s up!”
When they say “time’s up” they mean time’s up! They don’t give you more time for long goodbyes.
At the sight of the guard, Ryan quickly says, “Faith, I’ll be back at your trial with the witness we need.”
Before I can say more, the guard takes the phone out of my hand and puts it back on the cradle. I put my hand on the glass one last time before I’m pulled away.
“I love you so much,” I say through the glass one last time.
– CHAPTER 57 –
As the months go by, my yoga and meditation intensify. I sit on my thin blanket or, if possible, I lie down. I breathe slower and slower, taking deeper, longer, smoother breathes until my body is completely loose and comfortable. Slowly, my awareness focuses. My breath is the anchor as I shift my awareness from my mind to my body—my heart, my lungs, my skin, my muscles, my bones, my ligaments, and even my cells. My whole being becomes relaxed. My mind goes from surface awareness to subtle awareness, and then to no awareness at all as I slowly move deeper and deeper into my inner self. The deeper I go, the more I’m mentally freed, even if my body is in a cage. I’m able to escape my prison life, and leave these prison walls.
Day after day, I concentrate on the broken ceiling fan. The middle has a brown circle where only one fan blade hangs. As I focus on this middle circle, the fan blade slowly disappears. The circle becomes a doorknob. Sometimes it takes minutes, sometimes over an hour, and sometimes it doesn’t happen at all. The doorknob slowly becomes bigger as I see myself walking down a long hallway with a door at the end. Every step I take is slow and gentle and corresponds to my deep, easy breaths. There’s no rush as my feet lightly touch the ground again and again. When I finally reach the door, I take a deep breath and turn the doorknob. I slowly open the door to see what’s on the other side. It’s much more than just a memory. All my senses take in everything that’s in front of me. I see it as clear as a movie playing in front of my closed eyes. I hear every sound and smell every fragrance. Over time, I have control over which doors I open, and which doors remain closed.
So many things I have long forgotten now return. I relive them all over again. I travel back to be with my children. I see their faces and hear their voices. I feel all the love I have for them, and receive from them. I see my childhood self in my father’s arms or helping my mom in the kitchen. I relive my childhood days riding my bike around the neighborhood, playing in the woods, swimming in the cool water, or playing with my friends.
I again see the Ryan who I completely forgot about. He’s so kind and loving. We’re together again for the birth of each of our children. We’re celebrating birthdays, Christmas, and holidays. We’re outside working in the yard, eating at wonderful restaurants, or lying in each other’s arms. I go back to New York, Rome, or Paris and stand in front of the Eiffel Tower, at the Statue of Liberty, or the Coliseum. I see us on vacations holding hands, kissing, and making love again. I’m sitting in court, watching with pride as he wins his first case. Our love is as strong as ever. The arguments are long gone. We only speak to each other with love in our hearts.
Today I walk down the hallway, and open the door that takes me back to our fifth wedding anniversary. I’m reading to Grace who’s still so little. Her blonde hair is so curly and her eyes are as blue as the sky on a beautiful Austin autumn evening. As she laughs and points at all the pictures, I can’t help but laugh here in Thailand.
Ryan calls me from his office. “Happy anniversary, babe,” he says.
The phone in my hand, Grace in my arms, and Ryan talking into the receiver are no longer in my past. Those things are right in front of me in my present. As I hear his voice again, I feel a smile spread across my face in prison.
“Happy anniversary to you too, sweetie,” I answer him.
“Get ready, I have a little surprise,” he says. “Oh, and don’t wear anything nice. You might want to grab your boots.”
This is a weird request. Ryan is always well dressed when we go out so I always follow his lead. Now he tells me to dress down on our anniversary? It adds mystery to the evening. “What do you have in mind,” I ask, looking for some clue to his plans.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” he warns.
I smile again. “Okay, I won’t dress up,” I agree.
I put on blue jeans, boots, and a comfortable cotton shirt that stops just above my waistline. My hair’s pulled back, and I limit my makeup to lipstick and a little eye shadow. Ryan arrives in his Mercedes wearing new jeans, a collared polo shirt, and brown leather dress shoes. To him, this is not wearing anything nice.
As soon as he sees me, he says, “I thought I said not to dress up. You look as beautiful as the day we met.” Another smile spreads across my face.
“You look better than the day we met,” I say. I put on my seatbelt and ask, “So where are we going?”
He takes my hand, gives it a light squeeze, and says, “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”
We drive to a strip center and park in front of a craft store. It’s full of people inside. There are four long tables set up with rows of easels. A blank canvas sits on each easel. At each setting, there’s a new set of paints, a palette, brushes, sponges, an apron, and a water cup. I heard about these painting parties, and it’s something I always wanted to do. I turn, and Ryan has a big smile on his face. I throw my arms around him, kiss his cheek, and whisper, “What did I do to deserve you?” in his ear.
He picks me up off my feet in front of everyone. “I love you so much,” I say as he lowers me back down to the floor. Back in Thailand, I take a deep breath as I feel my body lower to the floor.
He takes my hand, and we walk to two place settings that are different from all the others. There’s a bottle of red wine, two wine glasses, crackers, cheese, olives, chocolates, and strawberries. “I love you so much,” I say as tears of joy well up in my eyes.
The woman at the front of the room can’t hide her happiness as she sees us together. She guides everyone through the whole evening. She tells us about herself, gives us a little background about art in general, and then shows us the picture we’re going to paint. She explains how we should use colors and shading.
I lean over and whisper to Ryan, “Have you ever painted before?”
“Oh yes,” he says, “You can find my paint by number paintings at the best galleries around the world.” I nudge him in his side and we both laugh.
The picture our inst
ructor shows us is a landscape with a mountain, a bright blue sky, a river, and a small lake. “Good,” I whisper to Ryan, “I prefer landscapes.”
“I know,” he whispers back. “I paid the woman five hundred dollars to change to a landscape.” He jokes so often that I don’t know if he’s being serious or not. I wouldn’t put it past him to do such a thing.
The instructor leads the way. We start by painting the background sky and the clouds. It’s been a while since I painted anything. She makes it look so much easier than it really is. I take my painting much more seriously than Ryan does. He’s more focused on the wine and the cheese. Each time he gets behind, he catches up with some quick strokes. It’s all fun and games to him, but I want to create something I can keep.
Step by step, stroke-by-stroke, we make our way from the sky to the mountains dotted with snow. We add a stream and a lake at the bottom of the mountains. We finish by adding trees that take up the whole left side of the canvas. I go one step further and add a dock and a boat tied to the dock. Each time I try to look at Ryan’s painting, he turns his canvas away. He says he’s working on a masterpiece.
The entire process takes two hours. When we finish, the instructor gives us another fifteen minutes for anyone who needs to catch up. Everyone shows their work. The quality of the paintings is all over the place. Some people look like they’ve been painting for years and others look like it’s their first time.
“Yours looks the best,” Ryan says in my ear. He drank the whole bottle of wine by himself other than the two sips I took from my glass. When the instructor announces that the time is up, I again ask to see his work.
“No way,” he says.
“Come on, I let you see mine,” I say, reaching for his canvas.
He pulls it away and laughs. “The old ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”
“Exactly!” I smile. “I show you mine and you show me yours.” I reach for his painting but he pulls it back in the nick of time.
“The problem, Picasso, is that yours is good. Mine looks like a three-year-old painted it.”
“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” I smile, trying to encourage him.
“You gotta promise me you won’t laugh,” he says.
“Ohhh, that’s mean,” I say. “I’ll never laugh at you.”
“Okay, as long as you promise not to laugh.”
He turns his canvas around. I, along with everyone else who sees it, burst out laughing. It really does look like a three-year-old painted it. He painted two stick figures each holding hands with the sun shining behind them. The girl has blond hair, blue eyes, and red lips. Above her is the word “FAITH” in all capital letters. The boy has brown hair, is wearing a big tie, and has the word “ME” written above him. There’s a small red heart between them. Everyone wants to know what’s so funny, so they come over to see his painting. One by one they all break out in laughter.
When we’re all done, everyone takes their painting to the front of the room for a group photo. Ryan looks like he had the best time of all with his picture in one hand, a wine bottle in the other, and red paint on the side of his face. We say our goodbyes, and walk out holding our paintings. He walks right up to the closest trashcan like he’s going to throw his painting away. I grab his arm and pull him back. “There’s no way you’re going to throw it away,” I warn lightheartedly.
“I was just being silly,” he laughs. “You keep yours. Trust me, no one is going to pay for this one any time soon.”
“I know someone who will pay millions if they had the money,” I say.
“Oh really…who might that be?” he asks like he doesn’t already know the answer.
“Maybe the model in the painting,” I say putting my lips close to his without actually touching. “I tell you what. I’ll pay you one kiss for your painting.”
“Only one kiss for such a masterpiece?”
“What do you want?”
He puts his finger up to his lower lip, and asks, “Hmmm … how about ten thousand kisses?”
“That might take a while,” I grin.
“I’ve got all the time in the world,” he says as he moves his lips forward to mine.
Back in our car, I hand Ryan the card I bought for our anniversary. His eyes fill with tears as he reads my words of love. When he’s finished, a tear rolls down his cheek.
He turns to me and says, “I am so lucky you’re my wife.”
Back in the Thai prison, I feel another tear run down my cheek.
I reach across the car, and kiss his tear away. I pull away and say, “I’ve had such a wonderful evening.”
“It’s our fifth anniversary, sweetie. We’re just beginning.”
I feel like I’m in some romance novel. We eat at a beautiful little French restaurant in downtown Austin. Then we drive to a club where we dance the night away.
In the middle of the dance floor, I stop dancing, wrap my arms around his neck, and throw myself in his arms. “What?” he asks caught off guard.
“Nothing, just hold me,” I say. We stop dancing, and kiss in the middle of the dance floor. “How does it feel?” I ask.
“How does what feel?” he asks loudly over the music.
I raise myself so I’m standing on my toes, and speak over the music into his ear. “How does it feel to know you’re stuck with me forever. There’s nothing you can do to lose me. I will always love you.”
He pulls back, looks right in my eyes, and says, “Faith, I will always—”
At that moment, the bell rings for us to go to dinner. I gently move my fingers, my toes, my arms, my legs, my neck, and then I open my eyes. This slow transition helps me bring more of the “meditation feeling” into my present life. When my mind, body, and spirit return to me, I’m back in my prison cell. As much as I want my spiritual calm to remain, it is slowly replaced by loneliness, despair, and deep pain as I take in all I’ve lost.
Somewhere, I got way off track. Ryan’s the man God sent to love me and protect me. I was supposed to love and protect him. We made a vow to God and to each other—a vow that was supposed to last until the end of time. I don’t know how life got so complicated. Somehow, I lost the love I felt for him. I forgot the man I married. The angel in Central Park was right. God gave me everything I needed to make me happy, but I threw it all away. As the weeks go by, I realize I didn’t lose it at all. The love I lost was here all along.
– CHAPTER 58 –
Ryan left only three weeks before my trial. Without him, I’d have gone to court with absolutely nothing. I couldn’t have hired an investigator. I wouldn’t have known about Christian … or whatever his name is. I wouldn’t have known to get this woman. I’d have probably pled guilty to something I didn’t do. Now I have a case. This is what Ryan does. He digs, and digs, and digs until he finds the witness or the piece of evidence to win the case. There’s nothing I can do but wait and believe he’ll get this woman to cooperate. For the first time, I get it—I finally get why I was given my name. I now see what those words actually mean:
“Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” —Hebrews 11:1
A week before my trial, I write Ryan one last letter
===============================================
My Dearest Ryan,
I wanted to write to tell you how much I love you and appreciate everything you’ve done for me. It’s still hard for me to believe that you still love me after all you’ve been through. I know God gave you to me and I’m forever thankful to Him for that.
Ryan, you are a dear, dear man. No matter what happens to me I want you to know that I’ll always love you. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you happy.
Even if we can’t be together in the end, I’m so happy you were a part of my life. Thanks again for all your love, help, work, and kindness.
I count the days until I’m back in your arms.
Your loving wife,
Faith
xxooxxooxx
ooxxoo
===============================================
– CHAPTER 59 –
The morning of my trial, I’m driven back to the courtroom in a bus along with about forty other inmates. This has to be the longest drive of my life. My whole life hangs in the balance, and I’m scared to death. I spent the whole night in prayer. The thought that I’m finally going home kept me up all night.
I was hoping I’d spend time with my lawyer to go over my testimony and prepare for the trial, but I’ve only talked to him one time. He spent most of that time trying to convince me to plead guilty and avoid a trial. He thinks the judge will give me twenty-five to thirty years. If I don’t plead guilty I can actually get a death sentence. I have no idea what he has planned. I know from my last conversation with Mr. Sassen three weeks ago that my case is considered open and shut. At least that’s what the prosecutor thinks, but the prosecutor doesn’t know Ryan. There’s no doubt in my mind that Ryan, and Ryan alone, holds the key to my release.
I can’t believe that I somehow managed to survive five months in this filthy, overcrowded prison full of roaches and lice. As bad as things were for me, I only had to look around to see how much worse life can be. So many women have sentences that might as well be death sentences. I was one of the lucky ones who had money deposited into my account. Knowing that I’m going home allowed me to hold on. Mali is not one of the lucky ones. She has no one helping her. She has no hope for an early release. No hope until now. I’ll be back. I’ll put money into her account, and do whatever it takes to get her out. No matter what I have to do or how long it takes me, I’ll never stop trying.
I haven’t heard from Ryan since we last spoke at the prison. I got no answer to the letter I sent two weeks ago. The mail is so slow here, he might not have even received it. I had a dream a few days ago that I walked into the courtroom, and Ryan was nowhere to be found. I was found guilty and sentenced to death. I woke up and screamed when a noose was tightened around my neck.
The Killing of Faith: A Suspense Thriller You Won't Soon Forget. (The Killing of Faith Series Book 1) Page 30
