by RJ Scott
It was as if Jim could read his mind, hurrying to reassure him. "Eden was upset, and she came here for help."
"Here? She came here for help?" Gerald felt sudden remorse stab through him that she couldn't have turned to him for help— but help with what exactly?
Eden seemed terrified, looking from Jim to him and back again. "Uncle J, why is Dad here?" Her voice was shaky, and it took only moments for Gerald to piece it together. The energy to stand left his body in one sharp exhalation of breath.
"Eden?" he said, suddenly afraid of what he wasn't hearing. He watched as she moved unconsciously towards Jim, pressing into his side, letting herself be led to the sofa, and he waited.
"Sit, we have some things we need to tell you."
Gerald listened, he learned, he stood, he sat, but he couldn't stop himself from shouting, then from apologizing, then feeling sick to his stomach. Gerald finally sat on the sofa next to his daughter, an arm around her protectively, encouraging her back to bed. "We will take care of this Eden. Lisa will be okay, but you must promise to never breathe a word of this to anyone."
When she was in the bedroom, Jim stood, his eyes narrowing as Gerald asked him for the gun.
"Why do you want the gun?"
"I want it away from Eden and Lisa."
* * * *
Jim looked down at his cell as it vibrated on the table, Riley's name on the screen, and he dismissed the call quickly, not willing to let Gerald leave as he seemed to want to.
"How do we fix this?" Jim said softly as Gerald shrugged on his jacket, seeing the man's face carefully blank, lined and gray. "You are losing Hayes Oil. The scandal will be enough too, if it gets out that Lisa shot her husband and Eden witnessed the shooting." Jim stopped, he didn't know what else to say.
Gerald took a deep breath. "I think I've wronged you in this life, Jim, for nothing more than money and the need to win. But, know this, I respect you. You've been a good employee, although I know you only stayed to watch over your son, and you have been a good friend to him. Without your influence, with just his brother and me as role models… Well, he would have been just another Jeff, with his vices and his vicious manipulations. I won't let Eden or Lisa get hurt in this. I won't let my grandchildren suffer."
"How can you stop them from tracking down Lisa?"
"With all the money I have, I still can't buy time," he said enigmatically. Jim looked alternately blank and then confused, but Gerald pressed on. "I'm not getting any younger. You promise me, look after Eden and Lisa, Jim… and Riley. You make sure they stay safe and well, and leave me to deal with what's happened in the time I have left."
"Gerald, this is stupid talk."
Gerald just half-smirked that familiar Hayes smirk and walked to the door, the gun safely in his jacket pocket. He turned to face the man who was going to have everything now —his family, peace— and he wondered for a moment what he could say. I cheated Alan out of everything, I lost Donna, I didn't love my wife, and I drove my children away.
"Gerald." Jim had one last question, suddenly taking in how frail Gerald seemed since the last time he saw him. "Are you okay?"
"I don't need long. I just need enough time to make it all right."
Chapter 46
Riley was out of his head with worry. He couldn't contact Jim, and he was following the cop car to the station across the dead landscape of downtown Dallas, empty of its usual rush and purpose and eerily silent. Josh had left immediately when he'd heard from Riley, saying he'd meet them at the station, emphasized with more curse words than Riley had ever heard come from his brother-in-law's mouth.
When he arrived, he wasn't allowed through the same entrance. The door closed in his face, and his last image was that of an impassive Jack being led down a corridor, his hands still cuffed behind his back. In a fit of anger, Riley smashed his fist against the heavy wood door before turning and leaning back, trying to figure out which way to go. By the time he got to the front of the station, Stafford's partner was there waiting, a look of expectation on his face, his stance solid and guarded.
"What the fuck is going on?" Riley spat out.
"If you'd like to take a seat, we'll be out to talk to you when we can," Patterson said calmly. He probably dealt with irate husbands every day, Riley thought bitterly, crossing his arms and mirroring the same calm stance.
"I'll wait," he said carefully, "but you have gotta know, my husband did not shoot my brother."
Patterson inclined his head and nodded, dismissing Riley's words and indicating a room marked for waiting. He turned on his heel, pushed past the doors marked Secure Area. Briefly the flash of an idea hit him, an idea whereby Riley pushed the door whilst it was still open, found Jack and dragged him out, an idea dismissed as soon as it formed. Instead, he started to pace outside the room, counting the time until Josh would arrive. He was a lawyer, and he'd know what to do. Damn it all to hell, where was Jim? Ignoring the No Cell Phones sign, he dialed Jim again, leaving another voice message and hanging up as Josh barreled in through the front doors.
"What the fuck, Riley?"
* * * *
Gerald stood for a moment next to his car, looking up at the sign for the private wing— the Hayes wing. It was a donation from way back. He turned the gun over in his pocket and held it tight. He had no real idea of what he was doing, or what he was trying to achieve, and he had to steady his breathing before he could move. The early morning air felt welcomingly cool on his hot skin.
Finally he simply walked in, nodding briefly at the nurse on duty and the security guard who sat at her side. No one stopped him; no one would dare to. It was his wing, and he was visiting his son.
"Mr Hayes, we have been trying to contact you. It's good news, sir. Your son regained consciousness for a short while earlier."
"Excellent," Gerald heard himself say, turning to the room, not wanting to hear anything else.
"Sir, the police who were with him left, saying you should call them when you can. Your son managed to talk to them, and the case has taken a turn for the better." She was obviously reading from notes, not realizing the pain that was knifing into Gerald as he listened. Was he too late?
Straightening his back, he just nodded and pushed open the door to the litany of beeps, his eldest child deathly white against the sheets, tubes and machines pumping nutrients and painkillers into his system. How easy would it be to dial up the morphine, or maybe pinch the tube for the oxygen? He'd seen it done in movies, subtle murders, but he had the gun. The gun that was cold and hard and very real in his pocket, an ideal solution, one bullet direct to the heart, no missing, no thoughts—just instant death. It took only moments for Gerald to close his hand tight and start to take the weapon from deep inside his jacket's hiding place. There was no decision to make other than the right one, but how long he stood there he didn't know. An hour— two— The nurses bustled around him, attending to his son even as he tried to get the courage together to bring this whole thing to an end.
The noise in his head was harsh, the confusion around him quick and deadly, as suddenly Jeff started to convulse, arching and twisting on the bed, alarms in the room alerting staff. Gerald just stood there, the rush of nurses and doctors around him, pushing him back out of the room. "Give me ten of— Charging— I need—" and he stood outside the door, listening to the sudden silence inside as everything was as still as death.
"I'm sorry, Mr Hayes, he was just too weak. We tried— Time of death? Oh, eight twenty two. Sorry—"
Gerald left in a daze. What had just happened had made it so easy.
He slid into his car, sliding the gun onto his lap and carefully wiping it of all fingerprints, Lisa's, Eden's, his own. Then gently he held the gun as if to shoot, pressing harder, pushing his prints and his prints alone onto the weapon. Finally he wrapped the gun in a T-shirt from his gym bag and placed it on the passenger seat.
He had only one other thing to do.
* * * *
The interview room smelled of
coffee and sweat, and Jack was uncomfortable in the hard seat. Stafford hadn't said much, simply repeating the Miranda, and then passing Jack coffee before he sat down opposite him.
"You have indicated you don't wish to have a lawyer present."
"I don't need a lawyer. I haven't done anything that warrants one."
"At oh seven-thirty this morning, Jeffery Gerald Hayes identified that you, Jackson Robert Campbell-Hayes, shot him at close range," Stafford summed up briefly, and then stopped, simply leaning forward in his chair and grasping his coffee in his hands, a thoughtful look on his face. "Talk to me," he added, almost gently.
Jack didn't know what to say, so he said all he could. "I didn't shoot my husband's brother."
"He says you did," Tom pointed out, "and let's be honest here. You have already admitted to grievous bodily harm, and you have no alibi as to your whereabouts after you left the Hayes mansion."
"And I say again, I did not shoot Jeff Hayes."
* * * *
Tom sat back, his face carefully blank, looking at Jack's steady hands and the shell-shocked but grim determination on his face. "So," he began carefully, "Tell me why you attacked him in his own home, why you beat him up."
Jack shuffled in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. "We already did this," Jack answered finally, a stubborn set to him that Tom was worried he wouldn't break through. Damn idiot was hiding something.
"Not under Miranda we didn't," Tom shot back, a glint in his eye as he leaned forward, seeing those words impact the prisoner, seeing his full lips tighten, and his blue eyes darken.
"I have nothing to add," Jack finally said, "we had a falling out, a family disagreement. It was an explosion of irritation that got out of hand."
"He came off quite bad." Tom opened a file listing the damage to the older man. "Facial bruising, finger marks on his neck, a couple of cracked bones, a broken nose." He didn't list everything, just left it hanging. "That must have been some argument when all you came away with was bruised knuckles." Jack dropped his hands to his lap. "A lot of passion. Just what exactly was the argument about?"
"He didn't like me marrying his brother," Jack offered.
"And for that you beat him, and… wait," he glanced at the notes again, "you tried to strangle him."
"What do you want me to say? We sorted it, and I didn't shoot him."
Tom collected together the papers, pulling out photos of the unconscious Jeff, of the crime scene, the blood from under him, and turned them to face Jack, who looked everywhere except directly at them.
"Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Or do you want to wait for your lawyer?"
"I want my lawyer," Jack spat out. Tom sat back. He stood, about to ask Jack for details, when his partner entered the room, indicating Tom should step outside.
It was a few words, but it was enough for Jack Campbell-Hayes to be in the clear. He walked back in, and gestured to the open door. "You will need to appear here at a later stage for the assault charge, but for the moment, you are free to go." Jack scrambled to stand, disbelief on his face. He followed Tom, passing other rooms. Tom caught Jack's expression, the younger man's eyes widening to see Gerald Hayes sitting at a table in an adjoining room. The man glanced up at him, nodded almost imperceptibly, and then lowered his gaze. In an obvious state of confusion, Jack just followed Tom to the booking area where Jack's brother and his husband waited. Jack almost fell into Riley Campbell Hayes's strong hold, gripping him tight.
"What is going on here, Detective?" Riley demanded.
"Someone has just turned themselves in for the shooting and murder of Jeff Hayes," Tom said softly. "Mr Campbell-Hayes is free to go for the time being."
"Murder?" Riley sounded shell-shocked, holding tight to Jack's jacket.
Tom turned to Riley. He had to be told, but it was never news he liked to tell. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir, but your brother died just over an hour ago."
"Who turned themselves in?" Jack asked softly.
"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," was all Tom replied, nodding to Josh and retracing his footsteps to the secure area, leaving the three men in various states of disbelief, the lawyer questioning, Jack confused, and Riley clearly in the beginning of shock.
* * * *
"Gerald is here." Jack said, pulling back from Riley. "Gerald is in one of the rooms." Riley looked blank, scared, confused, and couldn't even form words. His brother was dead, his dad was here. Gerald here?
"Riley? Riley?" Jack's voice seemed a long way away, distant, tired, concerned, and it was all Riley could do to clutch at him. He needed Jim. He might know what is happening. "Riley, Jim is here. Riley?"
Riley turned to his friend, his father, the one person who could sort this out, could help him, level him, maybe keep him sane. It wasn't grief he was feeling. It couldn't be; he hated his brother for what he'd done to Beth, to Jack, to his mom—
"Gerald Hayes is here because he's admitted he shot Jeff. He has the gun. Riley can you hear me? Riley?"
"I've got you," Jack's voice penetrated through the haze, and his hands held him upright. "We need to get him out of here, get some air."
"I'm staying for Gerald," Jim replied carefully. "Take care of Riley."
"Riley, come on, man. Let's get you out of here and get our heads clear." Riley felt arms holding him, Jack, Josh, but his head was full of noise, panic, confusion, questions, and he allowed himself to be led out to the warming morning air, the thick of it hard against his air-con-cold skin. The morning had changed. The noise of the city was around him as he was led to the back of the station, where there was shelter and peace.
He shook his head, trying to clear it, blinking and leaning against Jack, "Josh, I need to see Gerald. I need to know what's going on."
* * * *
He said it was against his better judgment, but Stafford gave Riley five minutes with his father.
Riley couldn't speak, didn't even know where to start, glancing up at the detective who was leaning against the doorframe just watching them.
"What you're doing for Hayes Oil was a good plan, Riley. I'm proud of you," Gerald started. "Jim will be good for Hayes Oil, better than Jeff would have been."
"Is that why you killed Jeff? Tell me, because I don't understand this." Riley was suddenly insistent. He only had five minutes with this man he'd once called Dad, and he needed to know—
"Yes," Gerald said simply, and Riley slumped back in the chair, disappointment running through his veins like ice. "You can never understand, Riley. I don't expect you to."
"You killed your son!" Riley shouted, watching for emotion, for a sign that Gerald felt anything, but there was nothing, only silence. He sensed the detective coming closer, probably worried Riley was going to lose it.
"Riley, I want you to know that I'm happy for you and your husband. I need you to talk to your momma, tell her Lisa is safe now, tell her she can come home, that they can bring my grandchildren home," Gerald said finally as the detective cleared his throat and indicated time was up and Riley needed to leave. Riley just stared at Gerald, his head swimming with grief, confusion and hatred. He turned his back and left.
There was nothing to say.
Chapter 47
Riley knew he wasn't doing very well. Every time he thought about everything that had happened, it was as if there was a surge in his heart rate. He would find himself sweating, edgy, jumpy, feeling constantly on guard. It was driving him mad, and he discovered the best way to deal with it was to avoid thinking at all. Every time someone asked him a question or alluded to the events of the last few days, it was easier to just switch off, to steer clear of places or people who reminded him of the Hayes family.
He realized this was wrong. He wasn't stupid, but he was losing interest in everything, feeling more and more distant from Jack. Sometimes, when he looked back over what happened, it was as if he could almost erase some parts of what had happened, and he knew he was developing far from healthy coping strategies. Added to that, he
wasn't sleeping, was irritable, and couldn't concentrate. He decided the only way to not entirely destroy what was left of his life was to stay away from everyone. Jim asked questions, Jack asked questions, Donna just hugged him every time she saw him. Lisa had visited, and Riley had held her as she wept. Eden took to following him around, her hazel eyes inevitably full of tears, her face permanently tear-stained and pale.
Beth couldn't look him in the eyes, and he knew why. He had let everyone down, not seen what was in front of his eyes. If only he'd been vigilant then Jeff might never have gone that far, never hurt Beth. His mom had visited, told him to pull himself together, that he needed to be strong for everyone. He thought she probably assumed she was helping, handing over the mantle of man of the family to him, but she wasn't. He couldn't say that, although he wanted to scream at her, tell her he wasn't the right person to be looking after everyone else.
And then there was Jack. He loved him, but Riley knew he didn't deserve to be loved back, not when his brother had wronged the Campbell family so very badly. He wondered how Jack could even look at him. All the time Jack would touch Riley with concern and half smiles and whispered promises of love, and it was all Riley could do not to run in the opposite direction. To think they'd almost renewed vows, well, that was laughable. There was no way he was going to force Jack to tie himself to Riley for any longer than the prescribed year. In fact Riley had researched the whole contract scenario. The contract could be easily made null and void. A divorce would be simple enough, and Jack could then find someone who wasn't so damn broken and pathetic, someone who didn't have the name Hayes carved into their soul.
He needed air, needed space, and after snapping at something Jack had said and having to look at pity-filled blue eyes, he saddled up one of the quarter horses, the movements familiar and soothing. The smells of the old barn served as a reminder of what he could have had, and he hurried the task until he finally stood outside in the Texas heat, his eyes fixed on the horizon, on the need to test those far off limits, to escape.
