Right now, Elise would probably be making dinner. Polo would be hovering over her shoulder, trying to “test for poison” until Yuri came in to retrieve him. Reid would be throwing paper airplanes at Tyler (smiling only when he thought no one was looking), and Tyler would be trying to eat the airplanes, devouring them like a baby King Kong. If they weren’t fighting like an old married couple, Charlie and Ben Walden would probably be playing hearts, maybe war; betting ludicrous amounts of money that would never be called out…
My head snapped back up. I opened my book.
It was either study or think.
“You Lost the Case. What if you could have won it?
Mistakes are not uncommon during the first several months of practice, resulting in technically unethical conduct. While more than likely inadvertent, any violation of code may be considered a breach of ethical conduct. To prevent future mistakes, many practices will include an ethics code that encourages practitioners to take responsibility for possible mistakes on behalf of the client. Many practices also have peer-to-peer monitoring for new attorneys…”
Mistakes. What Charlie had done wasn’t a mistake, at least in his mind it clearly hadn’t been. He always thought he wasn’t intelligent, but I’ve never known him to carry out a plan without at least putting some thought into it. That being said, he never would have allowed himself to be so easily taken in by the police, to be spotted by someone who would have known him, then wait around to be arrested. He wouldn’t refuse his right to an attorney accidently, let alone confess to taking me, confess to doing something he didn’t do, not unless there was a reason for it, anyway…
I didn’t understand it; my brain had no capacity for it whatsoever. All I could reason was that someone was trying to hurt him, blackmailing him into confessing. If that was the case, then why couldn’t I get in touch with anyone? And why had Charlie been in my dorm just before turning himself in? What did that have to do with his jealousy? Or were they even connected?
Every molecule in me wanted to believe that Elise wouldn’t leave me out of the loop. Yet I was all too aware of Ben Walden’s true character. Was there even the slightest possibility that Ben was involved in Charlie’s downfall? I hadn’t thought him capable of hurting Charlie before, but now I wasn’t entirely sure.
I left the theatre, strangely suffocated by the darkness that surrounded me from without and within. Even though there were spots in my eyes, I could see the newspaper still in the stand, begging me to read it, demanding I suffer.
Kidnapper admits to additional charges, names suspects
Valley Sun Times—May 9, 2013
Officials revealed today that Charles Hays has admitted to additional criminal charges, tacking onto the growing list that includes kidnapping, murder in the first degree, assault and battery, witness tampering, as well as several counts of transnational related charges. Charges are expected to be filed by the end of the week.
During interrogation, Hays revealed another suspect in the kidnapping: Martin Wallace, who is wanted in connection with drug trafficking in Israel. A nationwide warrant has been issued for his arrest.
Criminal rights activists are challenging the charges, saying a lawyer should have been present regardless…
I kept thinking about what people said on the news all the time after tragedies. “Our hearts go out to the victim’s families.” What a strange novelty. How could someone’s else heart go out to me? Could people lend their hearts like some book or a sweater? I didn’t need their heart or anyone else’s.
My heart was rotting in a jail cell.
“College is supposed to be fun, ain’t it?”
How could anything ever be fun again?
Chapter 12
I saw Dad before he saw me, though he obviously looked through the crowd, expecting me to emerge any second. He looked just like I had seen him last, just a touch older. I scolded myself. Again, it seemed I had aged my father before his time. Because while the dean and police could keep the media off campus property, there was no way Dad could avoid them. Even though there was no substantial news this time, Charlie’s confession had made the mouths of newscasters water everywhere with the potential drama. Mostly there were tabloids and talk shows harassing him now, wanting his reaction to the ‘news,’ the human side of the story. On another level, I couldn’t help but be angry that no one seemed to want Charlie’s side of things. Wasn’t anyone else the least bit curious about why he didn’t put up a fight? Why he was willing to confess to the kidnapping all of a sudden, so obviously, it seemed to me, to spare me from testifying?
I stopped, falling behind the crowds and watched Dad for a minute. He looked like a kid on Christmas waiting for something great to happen, bouncing just slightly on his feet. With an authentic Marine ball cap and sunglasses though, he was unmistakably ready for summer. Then I looked down at myself. My blouse was wrinkled, though hopefully I could blame that on the plane ride. Still, I hadn’t gotten that haircut I needed, and my hair could have acted as a spare bird’s nest in a pinch.
Dad’s smile faltered when he saw me, but he worked quickly to correct it. “Finals were ah—rough, huh?”
I made a lame attempt to straighten my belt, but it hung almost a loop deeper toward my body, making my general appearance appear sloppier.
“Yeah.” I fumbled with the handle on my suitcase. “It was a doozie.”
He sighed and took my bag from me. “Well, you’re home now.”
I made an attempt to smile, but I couldn’t say anything. Home? Home was where Charlie was.
And Charlie was nowhere.
Like Dad, New Jersey was the same as I had left it. The murky sunshine over a late spring made weeds blossom between concrete. And somewhere alternating between the farms, pizza parlors, and dead end streets was the house I grew up in.
Dad ran out ahead of me, smiling once again. He grabbed my suitcase from the back of the car and made his way to the front door before I even had my seatbelt off. A couple of reporters and their cameras tried to follow our car up the driveway but stopped once they reached the halfway point of our yard.
“They were right up at the windows,” Dad quickly explained. “But the police got them under control with restraining orders.” I nodded but my body felt sludgy. One of the downsides of the black parasites was that it turned my insides into paste. It was a side effect I could deal with though, so I let it take me there even as I heard the click from cameras a few yards away.
I saw immediately that Dad had made a small attempt at some early gardening. He had planted purple orchids in the flower beds—made a genuine effort from the look of it—but they drooped into the mulch, sad and wilting. The white peonies weren’t doing so hot either, seeing shade for the better part of the day. I almost smiled. At least he had tried.
Inside, nothing had changed. Candles remained half melted, stains from Robbie’s and my childhood were still on the carpet, speakers on the wall were still not quite crooked enough for a stranger to notice. The only real difference was me. I wondered if Dad realized it, too. If he did, how much longer could I blame it on school stress?
“Dad?”
“In the kitchen.”
Sure enough, he was at the table. And so was a modest-sized cake box. Besides that, there was a pink gift bag with a blue ribbon hanging off its handle.
“Oh, uh, what’s the occasion?”
Dad looked down at me with a disturbed look. It was only as he opened the cake box that the date registered in my head, and I blushed for the first time in two weeks, truly embarrassed.
“My birthday was…”
“Last week. Didn’t you wonder why I didn’t send you anything?”
I shrugged. “I’m 18 now, Dad.” I tried to smile. “All grown up and everything. You don’t need to give me birthday presents.”
“You didn’t really forget, did you?”
I went over to the silverware drawer. “Of course not,” I lied. “I just need some sugar.”
Twenty minutes later I was still squishing icing roses under my fork, struggling to swallow down the corner of “HA” I cut for myself. But I think the silence finally got to Dad, his impending concern too much for him.
“Harpsten called this morning.”
“Hmm.”
“They need you to make another statement.”
“Dad—”
“There won’t be a trial or anything…not for this,” he added quickly. “The other things I don’t know, but they just need you to answer a few questions to close the file. It’ll be one day, a couple hours at most.”
Though I gripped it tighter, my fork slipped from my clumsy fingers, clattering on the plate.
Dad looked up from the steak he tenderized at the counter. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Honestly, I thought you’d be happier about this. Or at least relieved. This thing is over now.”
I smiled for Dad’s sake but he had no idea, and how could he? I had divulged in so many half-truths over the last year that no one knew the entirety of anything. I was so preoccupied with trying to keep everyone sheltered from the truth that I’d only ended up hurting them. Charlie was one of those people, too.
If Charlie wasn’t being forced to confess, then something else motivated him to do it, to lock himself away when he knew very well there was the possibility he’d never get out. I considered the basics: Charlie valued three things in life, his friends, his freedom, and adventure. While he was a criminal, he wasn’t greedy and would gladly give up his money to help his friends, would die for the right adventure…but what could make him give up his freedom? I continued to take out my frustration on the cake and consider options, but suddenly, it became obvious, hitting me in the face like the punchline to a cruel joke.
I didn’t want to think about it, of course, that despite his many talents, Charlie’s greatest was protecting me.
Dad must have seen me pale, because he still looked at me with that same fatherly concern. Or maybe he was watching how I had colored my paper plate with the remainder of the icing, watching as it dyed the paper. I concentrated on this to prevent myself from throwing up.
“We—” I swallowed hard and told myself to focus on the blue icing. “Can we talk about something else?”
Dad nodded. “Sure thing. So how’s this guy you’re seeing?”
“Dad—Dad stop. T-that isn’t happening anymore, either—” I had suddenly become my father’s daughter, tongue-tied and inarticulate. “He went away.”
Dad didn’t ask any more questions, though I thought I saw frustration on his face before he went back to busying himself in the kitchen. The sun was barely going down, but I couldn’t stand the unkempt tension between us, all the unanswered questions, and above all, the things I wanted to say, but couldn’t.
I got sick of listening to Dad pacing the floor sometime after midnight. Deciding to tip-toe to the bathroom, I wanted to see if the overcrowded medicine cabinet had any of those over-the-counter painkillers with the sleep-aid in them. I found some, though expired, took three, and went back to my room. Downstairs, Dad continued to pace. At one point I think he might have turned on ESPN but the sounds of the TV could have just been the voices from my nightmares.
The FBI didn’t waste any time. The next day they called bright and early, and when Dad didn’t pick up, having long disconnected the landline, they called his cell, though Dad was ignoring all unrecognized numbers there, too. At nine in the morning, they just showed up at the door.
Two agents, one man and one woman, looked easily bored but professional. They said very little, showed Dad their identification and insisted immediately that I go with them; he could come with me if he wanted. I watched from the top of the stairs through the crack behind Robbie’s open door. I had been hoping for a little more time to prepare for this, to practice what I would say and imagine what they would ask, but I guess that was out now.
I naturally hoped they would take me to see Charlie, imagined a line-up of some kind. But of course they wouldn’t. Still, would I be anywhere even remotely close to him? In a place where he had been in the last two weeks? Talking to one of the agents he had talked to? If I asked, would they tell me something about him? Was he okay? Was he taking care of himself?
“Addie?”
“Yeah?”
“Get dressed and come down here, okay? There are some people who want to speak with you.”
I took more time than was socially acceptable getting dressed and washing my face, brushing my teeth, and doing all those other little things to make myself presentable. So much so in fact that I heard the woman agent’s voice call up to me.
“Miss Battes? My name is Agent Nichols. Are you all right?”
I closed my eyes and sighed, putting on my best fake smile as I sat up from the edge of my bed.
“Yep.” I unlocked the door and wandered out into the hall. “Sorry. Just got preoccupied.”
The positive aspect of traveling with the FBI was that the reporters were not brazen enough to bother us. They saw the unmarked car with tinted windows and shiny badges and backed away without taking any pictures. I guess when Dad said they had straightened them out, they had straightened them out. The negative thing about it was that we were at their leisure. Since we were catching a ride with them, we were stuck with them and couldn’t leave until they let us leave, until they were satisfied with the answers I gave them.
Did you know that though spacious, an FBI field office is considerably boring? It’s more like a post office really, lots of windows and American flags, but not much else. I kept to myself, watching while Dad made small talk with the agents and passkeys were used, and nods exchanged in the front lobby. I felt Agent Nichols and the other one who called himself Cabot watching me, making me more self-conscious, so I pretended to be fascinated by my surroundings, the plaque of dedication to fallen agents, my reflection in the elevator, anything.
We went to a conference room on the fourth floor, and though I couldn’t see any, I knew there must have been cameras there somewhere. Although the chairs were those large, desk ones that made the room smell like leather, and between that and the lemon cleaner used on the table, I decided it could have been worse.
“Just take a seat anywhere, Miss Battes.”
I sat in the middle, my eyes still looking at the corners, but they were dark. Maybe the cameras were there. Dad sat next to me and the agents were across from us. And maybe it was just too many movies, but this seating arrangement made it feel like an interrogation rather than the casual conversation everyone insisted it was. Nevertheless, it was too late now, changing my seat would make me look awkward, and awkward was suspicious.
“Is it too cold in here?” Nichols asked. “Too warm? Do either of you want anything before we begin? Coffee maybe?”
I shook my head.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Dad said.
“Okay.” The table was so clean I could almost see the agents’ reflections in it. Cabot still hadn’t technically introduced himself and I found it rude. I wasn’t going to like him. “Miss Battes, do you mind if we record your testimony?”
I shook my head. I knew I didn’t have a choice anyway.
“We need you to make a verbal confirmation on that.”
“No,” I said, much more sternly than I had to. “I don’t mind.
I didn’t give either of them permission to call me Addie.
I relayed the same story I had told a hundred times. I didn’t see anything. I was asleep most of the time. I didn’t know how I got to California…
Most of all, I didn’t know who had taken me.
Agent Nichols and Cabot looked at each other, neither of them missing a beat when she said, “Miss Battes, Hays is going away for a very long time. He can’t bother you anymore. Do you understand that?”
Her voice was soft, patronizing, and I hated it. It was as though she were speaking to someone who was mentally handicapped, but I alre
ady understood all too well what she was saying to me; repeating it only made me angrier.
I stuck out my jaw, jammed my toes into the floor. If I did it hard enough, maybe I could grind myself into the earth like Charlie would a cigarette. “Yes.”
“You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
I laughed. I didn’t think about it, I just laughed. This woman’s voice cooed, and as she spoke I could see the tiniest little hairs on her expensive blazer. I could picture her talking in this same way to her cat or small dog and it just made me laugh. These people had no idea, no possible idea that yes; I had been afraid, anxious about Charlie, but only in the sense that this very thing would happen. And now that it was happening I was downright terrified. I didn’t have to be afraid anymore? Maybe that was right. Maybe now I could just be miserable instead.
Agent Nichols whispered something to Cabot just as I was getting my senses back, and I could see Dad wringing his hands together. That made me stop laughing, but only because I knew I had to hold it together for Dad’s sake. Losing my mind was not a reasonable option right now.
“Mr. Battes, how about you reconsider that cup of coffee? I don’t know about you, but I sure could use a cup right about now.”
I wondered if they were trained for this, for getting someone out of their chair before they can answer, but sure enough, before Dad could look one way or the other, Agent Cabot had him up and was leading him out the door. Little did he know Dad isn’t so easily convinced of any one thing, and he shrugged off the friendly arm from around his shoulder like it was contaminated. I could tell he didn’t want to leave me alone with these people but he was unsure about what to do.
“Addie, uh—is this okay?”
I looked at Agent Nichols and then back at Dad. Strangely enough, despite how cumbersome he could be, I briefly wished for Adam.
“Yeah, Dad.” I smiled. “It’s fine.”
Of course the second Dad was gone, I wanted to smack Agent Nichols in the face. Though maybe that was just a part of me missing Charlie.
Conviction (Wated Series Book 2) Page 16
