The Long Fall

by Daniel Quentin Steele

  “Now it’s not enough to skip regular school, you’re skipping summer school as well?”

  “Mom, that class is boring. I’m just skipping one day. Have a heart. The day’s already half over, anyway. Tommy and Reese are going to be coming over in a couple of hours and we’re going to see the Fantastic Four 8 o’clock showing. It’s got that Jessica Alba in it. God, what a fox!”

  She thought about chewing him out, but-

  “Hey, what are you doing home, anyway? Don’t you have classes?”

  She tried to cover, saying with a smile, “You’re not the only one that likes to play hooky once in awhile”

  “Doug’s going to be coming over, isn’t he?”

  “Why –?”

  A look of disgust crossed his face.

  “Why don’t you guys just get a room?”

  “We’ve got one. It’s upstairs. In MY house.”

  “Yours and Dad’s.”

  “For now. Why don’t you do something to try not to make this day a complete waste, educationally.”

  “Yeah, sure. Hey, did you hear about dad? They’re reaming him out a new one.”

  “What? Your dad? What’s going on.”

  Bill Jr. turned and walked into the den and she followed him. It would probably be an hour before Doug got there. She wondered idly why she was so hot for him after four crashing climaxes only a few days before.

  “Maybe I am turning into a slut,” she thought. But if she was, she might as well enjoy it because she it was the best sex she’d had in years and Doug wasn’t going to last much longer and who knows who or what might come along later.

  “...the guy is a prick. Sorry, that’s probably one of those things the FCC will go after me for, so everyone keep quiet, okay? But honestly, the old guy has been taking care of his wife for years, he’s finally getting some on the side, and this pr- this A-hole takes it upon himself to play God and drives him to kill himself. And that’s our tax dollars are works, folks. Honestly, I wonder how that A-hole, Maitland I think his name is, sleeps at night.

  “I tell you, I just wish I’d run into him in a bar some night. Any guy that would abuse a sick old man has got to be a chickenshit coward. I’d like to see how he does against somebody closer to his age, somebody who doesn’t have one foot in the grave. I see the phone lines are lighting up. People are slobbering to tell me what they think of Mr. A-Hole Maitland. Or the Angel of Death as they’ve started calling him. Shit. He’s no angel.”

  “You’re on line one.”

  “The guy killed his wife, you dumbass. You think he should have walked away from that.?”

  “How do you kill someone who’s been a vegetable for years, according to the stories I’ve seen. The old guy didn’t do anything any of us wouldn’t have done. His wife probably would have kissed him for letting her go. Except for you, right. You’re the same kind of chickenshit this Angel of Death is. You’d probably back him up in a bar fight. Oh, except like him, you’d be crapping in your pants. Another chickenshit.”

  “You-“

  “Sorry chickenshit, on to the next line. You’re on, and you’ve got some sense. You think the Angel of Death is the Angel of Shit.”

  “Yeah, that guy is the reason people hate lawyers. The old guy should have been left alone, not pushed into offing himself.”

  BJ looked at Debbie and said, “I’ve had guys call me already. They think Dad is a real asshole.”

  She found herself grabbing the remote from him and clicking off the television which had been turned to one of the local radio stations on the access channel.

  “I’m not going to listen to any more of that crap, and you can tell your little asshole friends that none of them, or their fathers, are half the man your father is.”

  BJ looked at her funny.

  “C’mon, mom, dad is ...okay. But he does do a lot of bad things, like driving that old guy to kill himself. And he’s not exactly an action figure, you got to admit.”

  She found herself imaging what Bill was feeling this morning. She had seen the newspaper story Carl Cameron had written about the trial in this morning’s paper. And that “Angel of Death” crap. She had to admit Cameron had written a great story. Even if she hadn’t known the subject of the story, it would still have grabbed her.

  The cold, implacable figure of justice untouched by mercy or human feelings….Cameron had painted a haunting word picture of the man who wandered the halls of the courthouse impervious to normal human emotions. Separated from wife and family, no close friends even among his colleagues, the Angel of Death was a man walked apart.

  “Carlos Reyes, who supervises the cleaning crews for Montgomery Cleaning Services which has a contract for cleaning the courthouse and State Attorney’s offices, has seen Maitland working late many nights.

  ‘Mr. Maitland has always been around at night. A lot of times he’s been one of the only people, other than my guys and myself, in the courthouse at night,’ Reyes said. ‘That was before…his wife left him. Since then….I think he must live there.’

  “Reyes said he’s not a superstitious man, but, ‘Mr. Maitland can be kind of…scary….when you run into him late at night. He’s quiet. Sometimes I’ll be working and he’s just there…behind me. And….he doesn’t smile. He’s not…he just doesn’t smile. And a lot of times, he just looks through you’.

  “When told of the Bingham case and Bingham’s daughter dubbing Maitland the ‘Angel of Death’ Reyes thought for a moment, then made the sign of the cross.

  ‘I was working late one night. Nearly 1 a.m. The courthouse has lights on but there are areas where they turn the lights off…to save money. I was cleaning the hall when I thought I heard something. I turned the sweeper off and I could make it out. Steps. Someone walking on the tiled floor. Through the darkness. Coming toward me.

  ‘I kind of…held my breath. There were three other guys on the floor and the one above…but it felt like I was alone in there. I got a funny, a very funny feeling. I couldn’t run. My guys would have never let me live it down. But I wanted to.

  ‘And he came out of the darkness. I’ve seen him a lot of times around the courthouse over the years. But for a moment, it was like I’d never seen him before. This sounds crazy, but….I could have sworn for a minute that his eyes…were glowing in the dark.

  ‘I got to tell you, I got a chill. I knew who he was then, but….I still had the weirdest feeling. He was dressed in normal clothes, not all black like now…but…He looked at me as he came out of the darkness. And, this was my imagination, but it seemed like he kind of glided out into the light. Like he was….graceful, somehow. He still didn’t smile. Didn’t even nod. Just walked past me to the elevator and got on without looking back.

  ‘I was kind of glad, to tell you the truth. I know he’s….just a guy….and he’s had a rough time of it from what I hear…but I was just as glad he was gone. And I was glad….very glad….that I wasn’t a bad guy right then. And that he wasn’t coming for me’.”

  She knew that the entire story was a giant load of crap. Bill as the “Angel of Death?” He’d never had much of a life apart from his job even before they’d split, and if he’d been a normal guy, he should have been out screwing around and enjoying being a bachelor, but she didn’t have to have anyone reporting on him to know that Bill wouldn’t be doing that. Instead, he’d probably spent every moment of his life at that damned courthouse.

  She felt a flash of something. Mingled emotions, so swirled together she couldn’t separate them. Anger. She had lain alone in the upstairs bed so many nights. He could have been there. Maybe if they’d fucked more often he’d have wanted it more, maybe he wouldn’t have let himself go so badly. Maybe their sex wouldn’t have become so…mechanical...even before she felt herself losing interest in him physically.

  Sadness. He was such a good guy in so many ways. There was a reason why she had fallen for him in college. And she had loved him, even if he doubted it now. There was a difference between sex and love. He
was the first man she had really loved. Really loved. Not puppy love. Or a crush.

  And the bad part was, she probably still loved him. But it wasn’t enough. He was a good man. But he wasn’t a real man. Where it counted. Between her legs.

  She looked at her son staring at her. She wasn’t sure what her face showed. He would never, could never, understand how she felt about his father. How do you tell a boy that the man who had played with him as a child was a failure as a man. In the only place where it counted.

  No one outside would ever understand. She knew his reputation in the courthouse and among his legal peers. Not flashy, but solid. He didn’t win every case he tried, but he won enough. And he won the important ones.

  Always there. Always reliable. Always willing to do whatever was necessary for the office. Willing to miss any party for the kids, anything that mattered to her or them. Willing to leave the country for a week for an international white slaving case beginning in Paris.

  He had missed their anniversary. He had called her in the late afternoon Northeast Florida time and she could hear music and laughter and glasses clinking in the background. And in the few minutes he had he quickly explained that his liaison with the French prosecutor’s office working the case had insisted on taking him out to sample the Parisian nightlife while picking each other’s brains about the case.

  She could hear women’s voices in the background, laughing, teasing. And she hadn’t been jealous. She couldn’t visualize Bill doing anything out of line. She couldn’t fight down the anger, though. He’d take her out when he got back to the U.S. But it would be the rare exception. He was so damned serious and sober. He had been fun…once upon a time. But not for a long time. And there were times when she wanted to forget being a mother and a wife and just be a woman. And Bill had forgotten that somewhere along the way.

  Bill could go out to a bar and he might even have a good time. But only in a good cause. For justice. Or something. Otherwise he’d be at home watching television and going over paperwork for another case.

  She had been on the Internet the previous afternoon sniffing around for something to use in a future lecture when one of her student assistants stuck her head in her office door and said, “Professor Maitland.”

  She gave the girl a quick look as she said, “Bascomb” and the girl flushed. Then, as she gestured, she slid back from her desktop and let the girl at the keyboard. A few quick strokes brought up a photo Debbie couldn’t believe. A very bald Bill all in black caught by a flash outside a courtroom.

  “I just thought…I was surfing through the hot hits for today on the web and the ‘Angel of Death’ came up. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the picture and the cutlines and then I read that story. It’s your…”

  “I know who it is, Sharon. Thank you.”

  The girl stood up and quickly left the office. She was a nice girl. A bit of a kiss-ass, but she meant well.

  She sat at the computer and read the story on the screen. It was a story focusing on the Bingham case and his suicide, with the first version of the “The Angel of Death.” It was Bill, doing what he always did. The right thing. As he saw it. No matter what it cost him, or anyone else. In this case it had cost an old man his life, and destroyed the lives of two daughters. Knowing Bill, it had bothered him. But he had done it anyway.

  She wondered about his locking himself in his office. But Bill wouldn’t do that. He probably came out after Cameron left. He wouldn’t abandon his duty. Bill was a rock.

  Just out of curiosity, she prowled the net after she read the story and was amazed at how often it popped up, and where it popped up. Bill had been doing this for 10 years, in cases more important and famous. And he’d never gotten anything like this.

  It could have been the issue. Mercy killing stories always grabbed people. Or the old man’s suicide. Or Cameron’s word picture portrait of the “Angel of Death.” But put them all together, and it was clear that the story in whole or part had been picked up and run on web sites all over the world. She shook her head.

  Who would have thought she was about to be divorced from a now-famous man. Maybe he would only have his 15 minutes of fame, but he would get it.

  She had thought about it all Tuesday afternoon and as expected, both Kelly and BJ had been aware of it when they finally checked in at home. Both of them had mentioned it too casually until she told them she’d read the stories. It was okay to talk about him. And when Doug called that night he had teased her about wanting to get back with Bill now that he had gotten hot and famous.

  She should have teased back, but for some reason she hadn’t.

  “Let it go, Doug,” she’d said. “He was just doing his job. And knowing Bill, it wasn’t an easy day for him. I hope he’ll be alright.”

  “What the hell, he’s famous. He’s already on all the entertainment and news shows. He might get a book deal out of it.”

  “That’s not who he is, Doug. I just hope he’s not home alone tonight blaming himself for the old man’s death. “

  She thought about it as she watched Entertainment Tonight and a half dozen other news shows, switching the channels. It was amazing how many of them had picked up on the story. And how all of them reported that Bill and the entire State Attorney’s Office had flatly turned down any interview requests. But they all ran that same damned picture of Bill in black. And she thought she might be the only person in the world who really understood the emotions behind his unblinking stare into the camera.

  She reached out for the phone a half dozen times but always stopped herself. You couldn’t be married to a man for 17 years and not know when he would be hurting. She knew he had to be. He wasn’t the hard man that most people saw him as professionally.

  But he wasn’t her husband anymore, or at least he wouldn’t be for long. His pain was no longer her problem. But-

  She came out of her thoughts and saw her son staring at her. She decided that he deserved to know the truth about his father, the kind of man he was. Bill deserved that.

  “You don’t know anything about your father, BJ.”

  He looked at her curiously.

  “You don’t even know the true story of how we met. You should, but you don’t.”

  “I’ve heard that story before. You were crossing a street at UF and Dad pushed you out of the way and got smashed. Wound up in the hospital and you got to know him while he was recovering.”

  She walked over and sat at the coffee table. She looked away from him because even though he was almost grown, this was still going to be embarrassing.

  “No, not exactly like that. I – uh – you’re old enough to hear this. I..was kind of wild when I was your sister’s age. I wasn’t the kind of woman I’d want her to be, or you to have anything to do with. I was a freshman at UF and I joined a sorority. I was – I looked pretty much like I do now, except better and the Frat guys loved me.

  “Anyway, there was a party there one night and there was a guy – he was on the football team and I thought I was crazy about him. He invited me and there was a lot of alcohol and pot and some cocaine. Anyway, I was stoned and out of it and we started making out. I didn’t know too much about what was going on except that I liked it….at first. Then I heard some loud noises, people yelling.

  “Somebody pulled Brad, my boyfriend, off of me and I would have yelled at them for disturbing us but I couldn’t make much noise by then I couldn’t talk....because...my mouth was full....”

  She kept looking down at the coffee table because she couldn’t look her son in the eye.

  “Someone pulled...the guy...on me away...and I heard thuds and people yelling and then there wasn’t’ anybody near me and I opened my eyes. It was dark in the room but I was on a cot...and I was naked. I didn’t know what was going on except....they’d been having me...everywhere...I was sore and starting to hurt. There was a light coming from outside. I was in some small room. And I could see...a shape...a figure standing in the light. And he was swinging...I thought
I was in a movie and he was swinging a sword, back and forth...”

  “Then the shape was gone and there were a lot of people in the room and shouting and I was screaming....because they were on me....and in me...again...and this time it hurt.”

  “It seemed to go on forever....but sometime there were other people in the room and more shouting and the guys on me were being pulled off and there were a lot of bright lights and then they had a blanket around me. They wrapped me up and the next thing I knew I was in a hospital emergency room and doctors and nurses were treating and examining me.

  “At some point, my mom and dad were there and they wouldn’t let them take me home because....because I’d been torn...anally and bruised...inside....in my vagina. I fell asleep confused and hurting...not so much the physical pain as the realization that a guy I really liked had lined me up for and was taking part in gangbanging me. He’s obviously set it up for this frat brothers, using me like a party favor.”

  She finally looked up and met her son’s eyes. He looked more embarrassed than she was.

  “I was a stupid young girl. I had let myself get into a situation where I’d gotten physically hurt. That was when the AIDS crisis was just beginning to be realized, but I could have gotten any number of venereal diseases. I could have been torn up so badly that I could have lost the ability to have children. I might have lost you and your sister forever.

  “Except that your father was working at the frat house that night. He’d never pledged and he was a poor kid on an academic scholarship. The frat guys wanted to be free to concentrate on drinks and drugs and...women....so they hired a few nerds to do house cleaning, keep the drinks coming, keep drunks from setting the house on fire, that kind of thing.

  “I didn’t know any of this at the time, but I learned it afterward. Your father was working when he saw them take me into a storage room toward the back of the house. He knew there was nothing but a cot and some cases of beer back there. He stepped inside and saw what was going on...and...He tried to get them to stop but they were jocks. They just threw him out.