by Willow Rose
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“For what?” I say sleepily.
“Remember?”
“No.”
“We are going to see Marcia!” he says. “Don’t tell me you’ve made other plans. I pulled some strings, you know how us guys in uniform like to help one another…”
“No, but I do love the way you always manage to remind me.”
He looks at me, then shakes his head. “Anyway, I got us on the list for visiting her today. Normally, you have to apply first and all that, but…”
I smile. “You know someone who fixed that, am I right?”
“Sure did.”
“That’s perfect,” I say, and lean over and kiss his cheek. “You have no idea how perfect it is.”
Danny touches his cheek while I storm back in the house to get myself ready. I throw on a dress and brush my hair. I stop as I pass Mark on my way out. “Have you even seen her?” I ask. “Have you visited her?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t. DCF is looking for me. They want me to go back to my dad’s.”
I nod. “Maybe we should wait a little before we take you, then,” I say. “I’ll make sure to give her a kiss from you. You’re welcome to stay here in this house until we find a more suitable situation for you, all right? Be here when I get back.”
He smiles. “Are you kidding me? You have an Xbox. I am never leaving this house again.”
“That’s Salter’s. Be careful, it’s a time consumer. Don’t spend all day playing, okay?”
“No, ma’am.”
I laugh and run for the door. Danny is standing in the doorway, waiting for me. “Shall we?” I say, and walk past him.
I tell him everything on the drive there. Except the part about Rose. I leave that out for Mark’s sake. But Danny needs to know the details as well. He needs to know I believe Marcia could be innocent.
“I never believed she was guilty,” he says. “Just couldn’t get it to fit in.”
“I know. You’re a better man than I,” I say.
“I sure hope so,” he says with a laugh. “Since you’re a woman and all…”
“You know what I mean. I feel so guilty for having believed she did it, for agreeing to testify against her.”
“It’s different for you,” he says. “You were there. You saw her in that house, bent over the lifeless body of that woman.”
“But you can’t tell your little police-friends or anyone else in uniform,” I say. “I don’t trust them.”
Danny looks at me like I am crazy, then shakes his head. “Nah, who am I kidding. I know you’re right. This is a high-profile case and solving it is important. They won’t back down now. Not when they feel like they’re this close. I do know the guys at the Sherriff’s office that well.”
I sigh, content that Danny understands, as he drives up in front of the maximum security prison in the middle of nowhere on the road to Orlando. I remember it from just four months ago when I visited my brother in here. I swore I was never coming back to this place.
Guess that didn’t work out very well for me.
Chapter Eighty-Four
February 2016
They bring Marcia in. My heart drops as I see her on the other side of the glass. She looks confused, her eyes clouded. I feel the walls closing in on me, thinking about her being in here, thinking about how I was part of putting her here. How I believed she had done those awful things.
“Hey, Mary. And Danny. What a surprise,” she says, sounding almost normal. But then she adds, while looking at me, “I thought you were in New York?”
I smile, but not because I am happy. Mostly because I feel so terrible for her. She needs help, not to be in jail. Being in here can’t be helping her. It can’t be good.
“How are you, Marcia?” Danny asks.
“I’m great, Danny. Thanks.” Her voice is shrill. She leans over and whispers with great emphasis. “They’re trying to kill me.”
I chuckle, although I am not amused. I try to lock eyes with her. “Marcia. We need to talk to you. We need your help.”
She looks at Danny, then back at me. “Of course. Anything for the crew. Just keep your voices down. You don’t want them to hear.”
“Of course not,” I say, playing along. “We need you to remember something for us. Do you think you can do that?”
“Sure,” she says, like it is the easiest thing in the world for her. I brace myself because I know her memories are all over the place.
“All right. So, we are trying to help you. Remember that, okay?”
She nods. “Okay.”
“We don’t believe you killed all those people.”
She tilts her head slightly. “Oh. I hate to disappoint you, but I do believe I did. It was my lawyer…what’s his name again? …Anyway, he told me to pull back my confession, but I did it. I am pretty sure I did.”
I lean over and look into her eyes. “Why? Why are you so certain?”
Marcia is surprised by the question. “Because I remember it. I still hear them scream sometimes.”
“What are they screaming, Marcia? What exactly are they screaming?” I ask.
“Well they’re screaming: You did it, Marcia. You killed us! Most of the time. Other times, they’re just screaming for help.”
“When they scream, are there many different voices?”
Marcia looks at me, then at Danny. “I don’t understand.”
“Are the voices those of children? Of men or just a woman?”
“Usually a woman, why?”
“Tell me something, Marcia, what happened to Shannon Ferguson?” I ask.
“I killed her, why?”
“How did you kill her?”
“I stabbed her and dumped her in the river, why?”
“How many times did you stab her?”
“Thirteen times,” she says. The answer comes swiftly. The tone is the same as if I had asked her how many children she had. There is no emotion, no regret, and no sadness of having to relive this once again.
“And then what did you do with the body?”
“I dumped it in the river, I just told you.”
“How did you transport it?” I ask.
Marcia stops. She leans back in her chair. “I…I don’t really remember. I guess I must have stolen a car and taken it there. It’s really very blurry.”
“Try and remember. For me, Marcia. How did you dump the body?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I just threw it in the water. I can’t remember, Mary.”
“Then how are you so certain you even killed her?”
Marcia sits up straight with an exhale. “Because I remember what she looked like. Not alive. When she was dead. I remember the blood. I remember the yellow shirt she was wearing. I remember the flowers of blood that had spread on it. When they showed me the pictures of the body, I recognized her. I remembered her from when she was on the couch, the one with the flowers, where she was stabbed, where I stabbed her.”
“Do you remember doing it?” I ask. “Do you remember taking the knife and stabbing it into her?”
“Mary, maybe we should…” Danny tries to stop me, but I signal that he needs to back down.
Marcia looks even more confused. Her eyes are flickering.
“Do you recall what it felt like?”
Marcia shakes her head. “No.”
“Where did you do it?”
“At her house.”
“Did you knock her out first, or did you stab her first?”
“I don’t remember.”
“So, you’re telling me all you remember is standing in front of a dead body, the body of Shannon Ferguson, who was lying on a couch in her house? You don’t remember stabbing her; you don’t remember dumping her.”
Marcia is shaking her head violently now.
“Mary, I don’t think this is good for her,” Danny says.
“I know. I just need to get answers while she is still there mentally,” I tell him, and look back
at Marcia. “Tell me about what happened at the Elingston house,” I say.
She nods. “I entered the house and shot the husband, then tried to strangle the woman…” Marcia looks into my eyes. I detect deep confusion in them now. “It was thundering outside. I was in the garage…I was sleeping…When I heard something…No, that wasn’t then…that was something else, maybe a dream, I don’t…” Her eyes go blank and she looks away. “I don’t remember. The police tell me I black out when I do the bad things. When I kill. That’s why I don’t remember doing it. My mind isn’t right, they say.”
“Marcia I need you to help me, so I can help you,” I say. “I know it’s in there somewhere in your mind. There was someone else with you in the house that day when Andrew Elingston was killed wasn’t there?”
“No. The police say I was there alone, that I acted alone.”
“It doesn’t matter what the police say,” I say. “I am interested in what you say. What you remember.”
Marcia looks like she is scrutinizing her brain. She looks at me, and then tilts her head again. “Mary? Why aren’t you in New York?”
I sigh and give up. I look at Danny. “I don’t think we’re getting any more out of her.”
“It was great to see you again, Marcia,” Danny says.
“I’ll get you out of here,” I say, just before I get to my feet, heartbroken, crushed. “Trust me.”
Her face lights up. “Great! Then maybe we can go to Beef O’ Brady’s. Kids eat free on Tuesdays.”
Chapter Eighty-Five
November 2010
Daniel doesn’t like daytime TV. Yet he still watches it excessively every day while waiting for the phone to ring and someone to offer him a new job. Well, maybe it isn’t entirely true that he doesn’t like it. He does enjoy some parts of it, like the parts when other people tell their stories and make him feel better about his own. When Jerry Springer has them jump each other in desperation to blame someone else for their lives going wrong, Daniel feels a little better about himself. Not because his life is any better than theirs are, ‘cause it really isn’t. No, he feels relieved because at least he knows who to blame. Himself. No one else can take credit for screwing up his life, like he can himself.
Daniel has lost everything. His job, his wife, his family. He has moved away, as far away from Florida as he could, and now he is sitting in a small condo in Upstate New York, in a small snowy town called Accord, numbering around five hundred citizens, wondering if life will ever be good again.
He can’t blame Jill for leaving. Daniel started drinking and didn’t care for his family in the way he was supposed to. To be frank, he hadn’t for many years before then. Taking care of his brother Peter and the work with Kristin took too much of his time. He missed out on everything. He neglected them. The guilt following what happened to Peter after the trial ate him alive, and that was when he started to drink for real. Then everything else slid out of his hands. Soon he was fired, and his wife told him she’d had enough.
Coming from a wealthy family, Daniel has enough money to last him a lifetime, and for his family as well. So, he gave them a huge sum and told them not to miss him because he wasn’t worth it, then left without telling them where he went.
Daniel looks at Jerry Springer as he watches the two young women fight on the stage. He is smiling and shaking his head. Daniel knows very well why Jerry is smiling. The fighting is what keeps people tuning in to his show.
A true moneymaker.
Daniel sighs and gets up from his chair. He walks to the kitchen to get another beer. He can’t remember when he last ate. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Daniel has played with the thought of drinking himself to death. No one would miss him. His body could rot away in the apartment until it started to smell and some neighbor called the cops. They’d find him between beer and vodka bottles. Maybe so many the door would be blocked. The place would smell so bad they’d have to wear masks to not throw up.
Except that just isn’t quite Daniel’s style.
The women in the TV are screaming and pulling each other’s hair over some guy who watches with a sly smile, like he thinks he’s the king of the world to have two women fighting over him.
Daniel watches it from the kitchen while he opens the refrigerator. The big muscular guys are now splitting them apart and the fighting part is over. As the show goes to commercials, Daniel bends down and pulls out a beer. When he looks back at the TV, it’s been turned off.
What the …?
Daniel looks around to locate the remote. He spots it on the kitchen counter.
Did I put it there?
No. Daniel always puts the remote in the same spot. He likes things to have their place and always keep them there. Thinking he’s probably more drunk than he thought, Daniel grabs it and turns the TV back on. With the beer to his lips, he walks back to the recliner, sits down, and puts his feet up. He sighs, satisfied, and drinks some more of the beer, hoping he’ll pass out soon and sleep the rest of the day.
No need to be awake anyway.
His eyes stare at the screen as the show returns and the two women once again plunge at each other. Daniel chuckles.
“Every freaking day it’s the same. Every freaking day.”
It’s in the reflection of the TV screen that he realizes he is no longer alone in the apartment. Someone is standing behind his chair.
“What the…?”
He jumps out of his seat and faces the person.
“What are you doing here?”
The voice answering is calm and collected. Not at all as filled with anger or revenge as he has expected. Nothing like those people on TV. It’s not remorseful either.
“You know why I am here.”
Chapter Eighty-Six
February 2016
I hardly speak a word on our way back. Danny is very quiet as well. It’s not until we reach the bridge leading to the barrier island that Danny finally says something.
“So, what did you make of all that she said?”
I shrug. “All I know is that I don’t believe she killed any of them. She doesn’t remember anything about it. Don’t you think you’d remember at least a little bit?”
He shrugs as well. “I don’t know. If she’s as sick as we believe, then I’m not sure we can believe anything she says. She could have blocked it out somehow. If she is really mentally ill, then I believe the brain can do that.”
“True. I do suspect that she suffers from Schizophrenia. But what she does remember strikes me as odd.”
“I’ll give you that much,” he says, and drives up in front of my dad’s house. We hug goodbye and I walk inside. I yell to my dad that I am home, then grab my phone. I walk outside and sit in the sun, while wondering if I should do it or not, debating, arguing back and forth, then decide to do it anyway.
“Hello?”
“It’s Mary. Now before you get mad at me again, I am not calling to say anything about what happened yesterday. I understand why you’re mad at me. I am calling because I have a question for you.”
Steven exhales. “All right. What is it?”
“I know it’s going to sound strange, but bear with me.”
“Depends on the question,” he says.
“Did your sister have a couch with flowered-fabric on it in her house?”
“What?”
“I know it’s odd, just answer me, please.”
“Well then, the answer is no,” he says. “She had two beige couches, leather, as far as I remember.”
“Ah, okay,” I say. “That is all. Thank you.”
“That’s it?” he asks. He sounds so disappointed.
I pause. “That depends,” I say.
“Depends on what?”
“On you. If you’re still angry with me.”
Steven chuckles lightly. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be so angry with you. Of course you’re trying to protect your friend. It was wrong of me.”
I smile and spot Mark as he walks up from the beach w
ith a board under his arm. He is wearing board shorts and he is wet. He places the surfboard on the grass and showers. I am glad to see that he is not just cooped up inside. He is so skinny it hurts looking at him, and I decide I will make him a big lunch today, once I hang up with Steven.
“Apology accepted,” I say.
“Great. So I get a chance to see you again?”
“Yes.”
“I am glad. Maybe next weekend? We could go to Heidi’s. I’ll call you, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
I hang up and look at Mark, who now approaches me. “Was it any good?” I ask, referring to the waves. They look small.
“A lot more fun than expected,” he says. He stops in front of me. “So. How’d it go? How was she?”
“I’ll be honest with you. She didn’t make much sense. She seems okay, given the circumstances, though,” I add, to not give him more to worry about. “Tell me one thing, did you go to Beef O’ Brady’s a lot?”
He grabs a towel from behind a chair and starts to dry himself. “Yeah,” he says. “We went there every Tuesday. At least, we used to until she got worse. It sort of became this tradition because, you know…kids eat free. That way mom could take us out without spending a lot of money.”
It makes sense. Marcia never had much to spend, and with four kids, it was probably always tight for her. It also explains why she always mentioned it when I talked to her. It was a big thing in her life to be able to take the kids out every Tuesday. It was the one thing she could hold on to, the one thing…wait, how did she manage to remember it every Tuesday?
“Say, Mark. Did anyone else eat with you on Tuesdays?”
“Yeah, sure. Mom’s sponsor was there too.”
“Jess?”
“Yes. She’s the one who always knew how to find mom and make sure she came home. She would drive us all there in her truck. She would also take us home.”
“Did she spend a lot of time with your mom?”
