Convicted (Consequences)

by Romig, Aleatha

  Ms. Nichols was last seen September 4, 2013. Mr. Anthony Rawlings disappeared after his private plane made an emergency landing in the Appalachian Mountains, September 21, 2013. The FBI will not confirm or deny the survival of Mr. Rawlings following this incident. The FBI refused additional comments claiming an ongoing investigation. Currently, no charges have been filed.

  Rawlings Industries is currently operating with a temporary CEO and the same Board of Directors. It has been speculated that the pending charges will force the SEC to investigate Rawlings Industries. Since September the share price has dropped from $142.37 to $86.84 at last call.

  Despite her reading material, when Claire realized she’d eaten all of Madeline’s food, a smile appeared on her face. Madeline’s voice came above the sound of surf. “Madame el, may I get you more tea or perhaps some water?”

  “Madeline, I’d love some water. It’s getting hotter by the minute.”

  “Then perhaps you should be in the water?” Her husband’s rich, husky voice came from behind. She couldn’t see the handsome source, yet instantaneously her neck tensed and goose bumps appeared on her arms and legs. It amazed Claire how something as benign as a voice could continue to incite such a visceral response.

  Madeline saw Claire’s reaction and laughed, which in turn, made Claire giggle. Claire loved Madeline’s laugh, so deep and rich, just like her voice. “Madame el, I will bring you some water, and Monsieur?”

  “Madeline, I’d like some coffee, please.” Tony bowed toward the woman.

  Laughing at his gesture, Madeline replied, “Why, of course. I’ll bring it out soon.” With that, she disappeared, leaving the lady and gentleman of the house alone.

  Tony reached for Claire’s shoulders and gently massaged. Closing her eyes, she sighed momentarily lost in his touch. His lips unexpectedly met her exposed neck, causing goose bumps to erupt up and down her arms and legs. His baritone voice brought her back to reality. “My dear, your shoulders are tense. You saw it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “I had hoped to make it home before you did.”

  “Because”—she paused—“you wanted to stop me from seeing it?”

  Still massaging her shoulders, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “No, I wanted to be here, while you read it.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “I just wish John and Emily would back off—it’s hurting Rawlings Industries.”

  “We’ll be alright.”

  She inhaled. “I know. I understand their ignorance is best, but I can still wish for Iowa.”

  He came around in front of her, sat on the lounge chair near her tanned, shapely legs and caressed the silky skin of her thighs. “We’ll get there again—I promise. First, we have a little one who needs to join us.”

  Claire reached for his hand. “It’s getting closer every day.” She placed his hand on her hard midsection.

  “Why is it so hard?”

  “I think it’s one of those contractions, not the real ones—Braxton hicks. Remember Dr. Gilbert told us about them? They’re happening with more regularity.”

  “Do they hurt?”

  Claire loved the concern in his voice. “No. They just feel strange.”

  “How will you know when they’re real?”

  She shrugged. “From everything I’ve read—I’ll know when they are real.”

  His lips engaged hers. It wasn’t the fervent passion they were known to share. Instead, Claire felt reassured that Tony would be by her side as they welcomed their child into the world. He removed his shirt, revealing his tanned abs, swim trunks, and a mixture of dark and white chest hair. Finally, he found his voice. “Are you up for a swim?”

  She smiled. “I just ate. Aren’t I supposed to wait for a half an hour?”

  “I promise to keep you from drowning.”

  His devilish grin captivated her once again, rendering her defenseless to his desires. With a smirk, she replied, “I think I should’ve learned a long time ago not to trust you.”

  He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. His tone held a hint of amusement as he leaned toward her. “I should’ve learned—I’m helpless to your beautiful emerald eyes.” Her fingers threaded through the curls on his chest as her gaze lingered on his chocolate eyes.

  In the pool, Claire held tightly to Tony’s shoulders relishing the coolness of the water. Her thoughts went back to the article and her sister and brother-in-law. “I’m so sorry about John and Emily—I hate what they’re doing to Rawlings Industries.”

  “I’ve been watching it too. It seems to me that Tim is doing an excellent job of building confidence in Rawlings Industries from within. He needs that inside support to get the support outside the company. I’ve always had a good feeling about him.”

  “I remember you telling me that, a million years ago, when we went to the Simmons’ barbeque.”

  Tony laughed. “That was a million years ago, wasn’t it?”

  Laying her head against his shoulder, she nodded. “It sure seems like it. Is there any new information from Phil or Agent Jackson?”

  “Well,” he hesitated, causing Claire to look up. Although she couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, from his secretive smile she knew he was up to something.

  “What?”

  “Phil said he’s been released from his current job. He doesn’t believe Sophia’s in any danger. Catherine has worked very hard to introduce and include herself into Sophia’s life.”

  “Then I’d say she’s in danger.” Claire added quickly, “but not enough for you to go protect her. I need you here.”

  “Yes, you do. You may be pleased to learn who else will be here; let’s say for your Christmas present.”

  Closing her eyes, Claire sighed. “A little Claire or a little Tony would be the best present. I’ve loved most of this—it’s just lately, I’m so tired and uncomfortable.”

  “We really do need to pin down some names. I’m not comfortable with either a little me or a little you”—He smirked—“You see, I really like the big you, and when I think of the name Claire, the feelings that ensue are totally inappropriate for my daughter.”

  “Big?”

  Laughing—“You know what I mean. Now first—back to your Christmas present.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, it won’t be the exact one. Phil can’t exactly ask Catherine to go through our bedroom, but he did see your wedding band. After all, he’s the one who bought it back and brought it to me.”

  Claire’s voice perked up. “You’re getting me a wedding band for Christmas?”

  “More than that, Phil will be here in less than a week to deliver it. I thought you might enjoy company, and since he’s the only one we can have, my choices were limited.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love it! Thank you.” Then she realized. “But wait, what can I get you for Christmas?”

  Kissing her lips, he said, “I’m not picky. A girl—or a boy—would be fine.”

  “I’m not due until the second week of January. Will you take your gift late?”

  “Only under one stipulation.”

  “So, now there are stipulations on gifts?”

  “Yes, my dear, and before you start with that beautiful, smart mouth of yours, let me say that this one isn’t debatable. I must insist upon it.”

  She shrugged. “Rather demanding, but I guess I’m used to it—what do you want?”

  “That nothing happens to you while my gift arrives. I’ve read a few things too. I thought maybe if Phil were here, if we need anything, well, the man is very resourceful.”

  “I’ll be fine”—she kissed his cheek—“but I love that you’re concerned.”

  “My dear, you are my only concern.”

  Claire felt the tightening sensation once again. “Oh, I think someone else wants to be your concern, too.”

  Truth, like gold, is to be obtained not by its growth, but by washing away from it all that is not go
ld.

  —Count Leo Tolstoy

  September 13, 2016

  Last night, I was too shocked to write. I had to think about what happened, mull it over, and figure it out. By the time I got Claire back to the facility, she was no longer speaking. I don’t understand. She was still hearing me; every now and then her eyes would register and lock onto mine. Then she’d look away.

  I’ve decided she gave me a test. She knows that I know her story. Her recognition of her surroundings is new; it didn’t exist last month, week, or even a day ago. If she isn’t ready to share this revelation with others, I guess it isn’t my place to divulge it. I just hate that I won’t be around to help her move beyond this milestone.

  I’m off to my last day. I’ve decided that I owe it to Claire to allow Emily to fire me. My husband reminded me last night that I’ve been in violation of their restraining order. I’d actually forgotten that—which is in a way comical. This whole exercise has morphed through so many phases—curiosity—investigative reporting—recognition of guilt—and finally, a deep agonizing friendship. No one will believe that I’d given up the reporting, to help Claire. At least, as I sit in jail, I’ll know the truth.

  Claire paced the trek she’d created next to her bed. Since she’d found her voice last night, she was anxious to use it. Yes, she considered speaking to some of the other people, but she was afraid. There were so many things she couldn’t recall, so many voids, and so many things that didn’t make sense. It was painfully obvious; this facility—as Meredith called it—was a mental facility. She had recollections of discussions about that. Each day, more memories surfaced. Some were clearer than others. She remembered Tony telling her that the offer of a mental facility was to protect her. Was that why she was here? Was she being protected?

  That’s why she needed to talk with Meredith. Claire’s speed increased as she walked exactly six steps one way, turned, and stepped six paces the other way. She didn’t mean to count, but behind her thoughts, concerns, questions, she heard the numbers: one, two, three, four, five, six—turn—one, two...

  There wasn’t a clock in the drab room. As she truly looked around—there was nothing. No pictures, no personal items, nothing that gave the room her personality. Claire wondered how long she’d been there...two, three, four, five, six—turn...The only indication of time was the gray in her hair, and what did that tell her?...five, six—turn—one...

  Claire heard the door open. She wanted to look, but what if it wasn’t Meredith, she wasn’t prepared to speak with anyone else.

  “Hi, Claire, it’s me, Meredith.”

  She wanted to turn, but she was only on two. Claire waited until it was time to turn. That was a better time to break the cycle; however, by the time the voice behind her thoughts said turn, Meredith was talking again, “...when I got here. They told me you were all right after our late night. I think that was their way of reminding me not to do that again. They also said there’d been no changes with you.”

  Claire turned toward Meredith’s voice. She wanted to look up and see her friend’s eyes. No, she didn’t want to see Meredith’s eyes—she wanted to see Tony’s. As she forced her glance toward Meredith’s face, she saw dark blue irises. Her knees weakened. It wasn’t the dark brown she sought, but it was color! For so long, there’d been no color. Inhaling deeply, she smelled the food that Meredith had placed on the table. If she ate it fast, they could go outside. If they went outside, she could ask her questions. It was too risky talking in here.

  “Why, Claire, why haven’t they noticed any changes?”

  She didn’t answer; instead, she walked to the table, uncovered the dish, found her silverware and began eating. Each bite she took faster and faster.

  “Slow down; I can’t have you choking on my watch. I’m already on probation for our late night escapades.”

  It wasn’t funny. Claire knew she was supposed to be concerned about appearances. Following rules and behaving was essential for appearances; however, listening to Meredith talk about breaking rules made her smile. It was either that, or the blue in her eyes. All the people around the facility wore white scrubs. Well, except for Emily, the doctors, and therapists. Suddenly, more than food, Claire wanted color. Wasn’t that an odd request? Maybe that was what being crazy was all about, seeing things differently and wanting things that others didn’t realize were gone.

  When her plate was clean, Claire stood and went to the closet for her jacket. The voice that had been counting told her to look down. She knew to obey; disobeying could have negative consequences; but hadn’t Meredith just been talking about breaking rules? Shyly, Claire lifted her eyes. There was Meredith watching her. Before she could stop it, her lips morphed into a smile—the rush was intoxicating. The voice would be mad; however, if Tony wasn’t going to visit anymore—Claire wanted to talk with her friend.

  Meredith asked, “Do you want to walk by yourself?” The panic in Claire’s eyes was enough of an answer. Meredith gently tucked Claire’s hand into the crook of her arm and led her toward the outside. As she did, she spoke calmly about the weather and the changing leaves. The entire trip down the corridor, through the multiple doors, along the perimeter of the cafeteria, Claire kept her eyes downcast and walked in step.

  Dr. Fairfield had instructed the staff to be less accommodating, to wait and see if Claire would recognize her needs, and then ask to have them fulfilled. In Claire’s excitement to go outdoors, Meredith noticed she’d forgotten the sunglasses—that was all right, Meredith had remembered. As they walked toward the outside doors, Meredith wondered if she should’ve waited for Claire to ask to go outside; however, it seemed that when Claire got her own jacket, it was more of a request than she’d previously made. Dr. Fairfield may not agree, but to Meredith it was enough of a request to propel Meredith to walk the ends of the earth—if Claire so desired.

  When they stepped into the courtyard, Claire lifted her face and momentarily basked in the sunshine. At that moment, she opened her eyes and immediately closed them. Turning her face toward Meredith, Claire’s eyes made the unspoken request. The friend in her wanted to reach in her pocket and hand her the glasses; instead, she contemplated this being her last chance to help Claire and placed her hand over Claire’s and walked forward. When Claire’s steps stopped, Meredith asked, “What’s the matter? I thought you wanted to go for a walk.”

  Claire kept her eyes half open and half shut—that action should’ve been enough to tell Meredith what she needed; however, instead of helping, Meredith continued walking. When Claire didn’t move, Meredith said, “If there’s something you need, just ask.”

  Oh, Claire had heard that before—she knew this routine. She also reasoned, if Meredith was using Tony’s words, it couldn’t be against Tony’s rules to ask. Nearing her friend’s ear, she whispered, “Sunglasses.”

  Claire then remembered Tony’s requirements from a long time ago. He’d never acquiesce to one word. If Claire wanted something she needed to ask—in the form of a request. Just now, she hadn’t asked. Looking from side to side, being sure no one was listening, she cleared her throat and proceeded, “Did you bring them?”—“Can”—“I”—“please”—“wear them?” Her words didn’t truly form a sentence, more phrases glued together with silence.

  Meredith didn’t answer. She reached into the pocket of her white scrubs and removed the sunglasses. Once again, Claire let her smile shine and reached for the glasses. Although Meredith didn’t require it, after they’d walked a short distance, Claire said, “Thank you.”

  It was the most she’d said—or wanted to say—since before she could remember. By the time they reached the far side of the courtyard, Claire was ready to ask the question she knew would take away her happiness.

  Although the sun was bright, the breeze blew with cooler gusts than the day before. It didn’t bother Claire. She actually appreciated it. The colder weather kept others from going outside; they were alone in this remote area of the grounds. Looking down, Claire summon
ed the little bit of strength she’d acquired throughout the day. She’d silently practiced her question a hundred different ways. In her mind, it started with an eloquent preamble. Now that the opportunity was present, she blurted the words she could no longer contain, “Is Nichol—dead?”

  Before Meredith could respond, the counting voice came back loud and clear. Claire had to obey; it was the only way to make it quiet.

  Meredith momentarily stared. Why would Claire think Nichol was dead? Her heart broke. Hadn’t Emily told her anything?

  The focused, smiling woman evaporated before her eyes. Claire began pacing, her eyes seeing something no one else could. Meredith reached for her arm. This time, she didn’t back down when the determined expression turned toward her, she answered Claire’s question, “No! Claire, your daughter’s alive! She’s beautiful and healthy.”

  Claire collapsed into Meredith’s embrace. Burying her face into Meredith’s lapel, she willingly accepted her friend’s comfort. Trying to quiet the counting, Claire concentrated on Meredith’s words. Slowly, they morphed from words to a murmur and back to words. Yes, she’d missed some of what Meredith had said, but now she was listening, “...brown hair and beautiful brown eyes. Emily and John have been taking care of her. Claire you should be so proud.”

  Timidly, she faced the reality of her insanity. If that wasn’t an oxymoron she didn’t know what was. Wiping her eyes on the tissue Meredith offered, Claire asked, “How old? I can’t remember”—“how long I’ve been here”—fighting the tears she added—“I just don’t know”—“It’s blurry.”

  Holding Claire’s hands, Meredith answered, “She’ll be three in December.” With a look of concern, she added, “This is September.”

  It was as if the wind had been knocked from Claire’s chest. Two years! She’d missed two years of her daughter’s life. Her knees buckled, and Claire sunk to the ground. This time, Meredith didn’t instruct her to rise. No, she too moved to the cold, hard earth and sat knee to knee.