Empty Shell

by Ashley Fontainne

  Jack. My Jack. I’m so sorry for doubting you. I let my hurt and anger blind me to what my heart was trying to say to me. Since you are there now, you probably already know this, but God showed me in a dream the truth. The truth that my heart knew but my angry mind overrode.

  You didn’t kill Serena. I know that with every fiber of my being. And I’m sorry for not being a better wife, for not seeing and responding to your needs. I was too wrapped up in my own to see your pain. I have forgiven you, and I hope you forgive me. Forgive me for not standing by you, for running away and leaving in a fit of anger. For my last words to you. For not fighting for your freedom sooner. Had I come to my senses earlier, you wouldn’t be gone.

  I won’t let this go, Jack. I won’t let the world label you as a killer. I won’t let them laugh at your expense, mocking you for dying in jail. I will hunt, search and seek, until my last breath is taken, and find out who did this. I will clear your name. As God almighty is my witness, I will clear your name.

  Now that you are with our Savior, I ask just one thing. Please ask Him to give me strength, to run this race and not give up. Not for me. For you. Because I love you so much, Jackson Tyler Dickinson. I love you so much. I promise, I’ll make this right, no matter how many roadblocks and tricks the Devil throws at me.

  I will, so help me God.

  The street was quiet, the reporters gone. I breathed a sigh of relief as Kendal maneuvered his SUV into my driveway. My poor neighbors. Prior to all this, our little neighborhood was peaceful. The kind of place where you could walk down the sidewalk without worry, wave hello to your neighbor and see children playing outside until dark. In the last week and a half, the entire block had been subjected to cops, news crews and more cops, causing most of the residents to hide behind locked doors and closed drapes until the onslaught passed.

  It was just the five of us now: me, Mom, Regina, Kendal and Roger. Regina had kindly but firmly informed the few mourners at the service that there would be no visitation at the house afterward. Considering the circumstances around Jack’s departure, no one batted an eye.

  We walked inside in silence and headed straight to the living room. Simba was still curled up on the same spot in the corner. She hadn’t moved from Jack’s chair for three days except when I forced her to go outside and pee. She hadn’t eaten, either, or come down to check on me. Normally she was a bother under my feet, my little furry shadow that followed me from room to room, eager to be a part of whatever I was doing. But she knew. She sensed that something was wrong, that Jack wasn’t coming back. Her animal instincts kicked in and she mourned in her own way the loss of her other master.

  Her coat was dull, the vibrant sheen gone. It looked almost dingy gray now rather than ebony. She wound herself into a tight ball and whined every now and then, sometimes licking the arms of the chair or rubbing her face on the backrest. She wants to remember Jack’s scent, too.

  “Come on girl, let’s go outside before it starts raining,” I said, opening the back door. Her brown eyes looked at me, the sadness unmistakable. I saw her eyes move from Regina to Kendal, then to Roger. A low rumble left her throat, followed by a slow whine. He was an unfamiliar presence in the house and she didn’t like it. Simba gingery clambered off the chair onto the floor. She walked through the living room into the kitchen, stopping in front of Kendal to give him a good sniff.

  Poor thing, he looks so much like Jack she has to smell him to make sure it isn’t. Oh, Lord, she’s taking this really hard.

  Regina opened the fridge door and pulled out the pre-made tray of food she’d prepared earlier. She plucked out a fat shrimp and tossed it to me. “Here, see if Simba will eat this.”

  “Come on, girl. Look, yummy shrimp,” I said, wagging the cold carcass in front of her. Despite her yearnings for Jack, she followed her nose, and me, out the door.

  I tossed the shrimp across the yard and Simba bounded after it, gobbled it down, and started sniffing around to find her favorite spot. Lightning crackled a few miles away, followed by a loud clap of thunder. The summer had been unseasonably wet in Central Arkansas. All the rain and high humidity made for misery when one dared step outside. I counted the seconds between the bolt of lightning and the roar of the thunder. The storm was about fifteen minutes away, which meant I had enough time to smoke a few cigarettes before the rain came. I sat down in the wicker chair on the deck and reached under the seat for my hidden stash of smokes.

  Seriously, who are you hiding them from? Jack’s not here to scold you for picking up this nasty habit again. Oh, Jack, I wish you were here…

  “I thought you quit.”

  Roger’s voice startled me; I hadn’t heard him walk up behind me. Before I could light my cigarette, a lighter appeared in front of my face.

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I replied, leaning toward the flame my boss offered.

  “May I?” Roger asked, holding up a slim cigar.

  “Of course.”

  The sweet aroma of black cherry hung in the damp air as Roger puffed away on the stogie. He walked over to the railing at the edge of the deck and tried to pretend he was watching the incoming storm, but I could see he was eyeballing me. It was still a bit unnerving having him here, wallowing in the pit of my troubles right alongside me. Seems once we crossed the unseen line of boss and employee relationship, there was no going back to it.

  “Roger, thank you for all you’ve done during the last week and a half. I couldn’t have asked for a more supportive or understanding employer. Really. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

  “Melody, do you remember when Corinne died?”

  Indeed I did. I’d only been his assistant for six months when Corinne fell ill. Roger had died a little each day, watching his wife dwindle away as cancer destroyed her body. We had been forced to transfer all his cases to other associates during the last two months of her life so Roger could be by her side and care for her. He’d refused to hire a stranger to come to his house and take care of her, and threw a rip-snorting fit when the doctors suggested she be moved to Hospice care. He declined help from any family members or friends. I suspected he didn’t want them to see the deteriorated state of his once beautiful bride. After he told me about her diagnosis, I did a bit of research on the last stages of someone with a brain tumor and was shocked at the symptoms they could suffer from. Corinne had been a vibrant, lovely woman, full of intelligence and grace, not a charity she wouldn’t support or help raise money for. Her outward beauty couldn’t even hold a candle to her luminous soul. I’d surmised that Roger wished to keep those legacies alive rather than the final ones of her slow and agonizing death.

  When Corinne succumbed to the tumor inside her brain, Roger took a three-month hiatus from work and traveled to the Greek Isles to spread Corinne’s ashes over the azure waters of the Mediterranean. He’d told me he was leaving the States for a while to “take Corinne where she always wanted to go”, and I realized then what kind of man I worked for. I saw behind the mask of hardened lawyer he put on for the public into the heart of a man who dearly loved his wife and mourned her loss with great sadness. I’d never seen a man so broken.

  “Yes, Roger. And I’m sure all of this brings back some horrible memories for you.”

  “I won’t lie—it does. I…I know what you’re going through—the pain, the sorrow. Wondering what you could have done different, said different. Did you say ‘I love you’ enough and did they really know the depth of your feelings? The thought of going to bed terrifies you because you don’t want to sleep next to the empty spot alone. The painful memories of what used to be, staring you in the face with each step you take and haunting your dreams. And all that I experienced over a natural, normal death. Your situation has…complications. You’re going to need time to get through this, Melody. You need time to sort through the jumbled thoughts in your head, to mourn fully and deeply, and then time to recover. So, what I’m saying is, I want you to take all the
time you need to grieve properly all that has befallen you before you come back to work. You have plenty of vacation built up and we’ll just get a temp in until you come back. Take whatever time you need.” He turned and looked at me, his eyes full of sympathy and moisture. I was taken aback by his candor and it took me a few seconds to regain my faculties.

  “You are too kind, Roger. And though I appreciate the offer, I respectfully decline. You know me—I hate being idle. I’ve always zoomed from one project to another while juggling numerous others on the back-burner. My mom always says that idle hands are the devil’s playground and I never forgot that. Jack told me on several occasions that I thrived on the adrenaline rush of overextending myself,” I explained, forcing the lump of hot tears back down after saying Jack’s name.

  “The thought of sitting here at the house alone, crying myself to sleep while I trudge around in my pajamas doesn’t interest me. I need work to do to occupy my mind. I need this job, Roger. Things will be really tight for me, financially. In fact, this weekend, I will need to come to a decision about several things, including whether or not I will put the house up for sale. Besides, I’m going to need your legal expertise to help me. I made a promise to Jack today. Promised I wouldn’t give up until I solved this puzzle and cleared his name. I will find out who killed Serena. For Jack’s sake, for my family and for Serena’s. Her parents deserve to have the man who murdered their daughter brought to justice. I…I can’t rest, won’t be able to stop, until I do.”

  Roger flicked the ashes off the end of his cigar into the ashtray and eyed me. “Melody, are you sure? I mean, you’ve been through an inordinate amount of stress during the past two—”

  I held up my hand as I stubbed out my smoke. “Roger, there are three things in this world that I have never been more positive about. One, my salvation and relationship with God. Two, someone framed my husband for murder, and three, my very last breath will be spent discovering who that someone was. I won’t rest until Jack’s name is cleared. Period. So, will you help me?”

  Roger studied me for a full minute. I could tell he was assessing my sincerity. His face softened and he remarked, “You know I always stick up for the wrongfully accused. It’s why I became a lawyer, so how could I say no?”

  I stood up and whistled for Simba as the thunder grew louder and the sky darkened. Any second now, the bottom was going to fall out and drench us both. “Thank you, Roger. I’ll be at work tomorrow. The first thing I would like to do is go to Little Rock P.D. and talk to Detective Knowles. You know, show him the evidence and try to get him to reopen it. My guess is that the prosecutor’s office won’t even think about touching it without him on our side.”

  “Good guess. The head prosecuting attorney, Alex Renfro was handling the case himself. No way was he going to pass it along to a deputy p.a. Considering the victim is the daughter of one of his biggest supporters and that it’s an election year, it would take an act of God to change his mind.”

  “I figured as much. If we can’t convince the Detective Knowles to help us, I would like to set up a meeting with Mr. Rowland. Perhaps he would be interested in finding out that his daughter’s killer is still out there, and Mr. Renfro would certainly listen to him.”

  Roger nodded his head in agreement as he put out his cigar. “I’ll only agree to this if you wait to come in till Monday. Seriously, take the rest of the week and the weekend off and finish getting things sorted out here. I will make some preliminary phone calls. I suggest we start with Detective Knowles first—and on our turf. Philip Rowland is going to be a tough sell and if we can get the police department behind us, approaching him may be easier.”

  I knew arguing with the lawyer in Roger would be useless. I also knew he was right—I had plenty of things here around the house to keep my hands, and mind, from becoming the devil’s playground. Life insurance forms needed to be submitted, paperwork from Jack’s pension plan through the college needed to be filled out, and bills needed to be paid.

  “Agreed. Monday it is,” I replied, holding the door open to the kitchen. Simba bounded inside the door and went looking for more shrimp, her dirty feet leaving paw prints all over the tile floor. Thankfully, the food distracted her from Jack’s chair. I sat down on the bar stool and prepared to eat a few bites of food myself. A lot needed to be done in the next couple of days and it would require every ounce of energy and strength to accomplish.

  Regina poured us all a glass of Jack’s favorite Cabernet Sauvignon and we toasted to the memory of Jack Tyler Dickinson.

  Thank you God, for blessing me with their presence. Please, watch over us and pour out Your strength and love on us all. And guide my hand in getting justice for Jack. Amen.

  CHAPTER TWELVE - WEDNESDAY MORNING

  My eyes opened to find Simba staring at me, her hot breath caressing my cheeks, tail wagging against my blanket. I moved my head away from the smell of her rank morning breath and realized I was on the couch. Rubbing my eyes to remove the heavily caked sleep trying to seal my lids together, I heard a soft moan from across the room. I didn’t need to see the face to recognize the voice. It was the low rumble of Regina after a long night of too much red wine, too many smokes and way too many tears.

  I felt around for my glasses and found them resting in the knotted mass of my hair. My head thumped when I stood and my mouth tasted like an entire ashtray sat inside it. Simba jumped off the couch, her mood much peppier than it had been the last few days. I maneuvered around the kitchen at a snail’s pace to prepare some much needed espresso, feeling like a fool. I was a forty-three-year-old woman, a widow, who’d acted like a teenager that just discovered the keys to her parents’ liquor cabinet. The first few glasses last night went down in salutations to Jack, but the remaining bottles we drank were medicinal, numbing the pain in our hearts.

  While the machine spewed out the mahogany hangover cure, I slipped over to the back door and let Simba out. I peeked around the corner at Regina, who was splayed out in Jack’s old recliner, snoring away from her night of inebriation with me. One look around the kitchen told the story of our evening. Six empty bottles of wine and an empty fifth of Jack Daniel’s littered my new counter tops. I hadn’t seen this much alcohol in one place since Jack and I were in college.

  Coffee in hand, I walked down the hallway toward the master bedroom. I needed to wash my face and put my contacts in. I heard Kendal snoring from the guest bedroom, and tried to remember if Mom and Roger stayed and drank the night away as well. God, I hoped not. The thought of my mother or my boss seeing me in such a state made me want to crawl under the nearest rock. Thankfully, a fuzzy memory materialized of Roger taking my mom by her frail arm and leading her out to his car at dusk. By then, Regina, Kendal and I had been on our way to being quite hammered.

  I washed my face with the refreshing cold water and recalled Roger left when Kendal began regaling us with quirky tales of his childhood adventures with Jack. Blood staining my cheeks, I remembered why Roger took my mother home—Kendal had discussed the first time he and Jack had a crush on the same girl and Jack ended up winning her affections after a fumbling excursion in the backseat of Jack’s car.

  I shook my head in amazement at the crazy conversations that’d taken place. Death of a loved one brings out the strangest memories and thought patterns of those left behind. Well, death and alcohol. The same thing happened after my father’s wake. People drank, ate and told stories from the past, some cute and whimsical, others more embarrassing and downright raunchy like what Kendal had shared. A twinge of guilt hit me when I tried to remember how many years of sobriety Kendal had under his belt before falling off the wagon last night.

  Contacts in and fully awake, I forced my gaze to remain locked ahead. Although Regina had cleaned up the master bedroom, I had yet to sleep in the bed or go inside except to use the bathroom and grab clothes. I knew if I stayed too long, I would get lost inside the memories that permeated every inch of the space, and I couldn’t handl
e that right now.

  I headed back to the kitchen to try and straighten up the mess. I had to get organized today; there were a ton of things that needed tending to, bills to pay and death certificates to mail in.

  Death certificates to be sent in by the Widow Dickinson. Oh, Jesus, give me strength.

  Lost in thought, I turned the corner and ran into Regina. “Oh wow, that was close. You were almost wearing my coffee.”

  “Hey, I’ve worn worse. Felt worse, for that matter. Good morning, sunshine. How’s the head?”

  I ambled over to the counter and plopped down on the bar stool. “Pounding. Yours?”

  “Same. Haven’t drank that much since…oh, I don’t know when.”

  “Me either. Let’s see, in the space of two weeks, I’ve taken up smoking and binge drinking. Sounds more like I’m experiencing a mid-life crisis rather than in mourning. Guess it is a good thing I don’t have any children. What kind of example would I be to them?”

  Regina filled her mug with hot coffee and sat down next to me. Her arm was comforting as she draped it over my shoulder. “The best one—ever. Considering everything you are dealing with, I say you couldn’t be handling it better. Of course, Kendal and I aren’t really much help. Seems all we have done is aide you in picking up bad habits again.”

  “I don’t know what I would do without the two of you,” I said with sincerity. “Seriously. You’ve been my rock and Kendal has been amazing. You stayed by my side while I had my meltdown at the cabin, helped with all the funeral arrangements, and cleaned up the mess the cops left while I locked myself away, mentally and physically. And Kendal! He’s kept the yard up, taken my car in for service, shooed the press away and gone grocery shopping, plus fixed the leak under the sink. I’d still be in a ball downstairs, lamenting my lot in life if I didn’t have you all here to keep me going.”