by Gabriel Love
He hurries to my car and I get out. When he pulls me into a hug, I’m shocked. What is with the people in my past who seem to just need to comfort me? Or touch me? Whatever the reason, it’s weird. Not one of them knows me well enough anymore to offer true comfort. And none of them can even really understand what I’ve gone through.
He hands me a large black cardboard box that once held a computer tower. “It’s heavy,” he warns, but I carry it to my trunk without an issue. I put it in and close it before turning to him again.
“Thanks,” I say and he nods deeply.
“Feel free to call me anytime.” He hesitates, glancing at my trunk as if he can see the box within. “I have a feeling you’ll have questions after you go through that, so don’t be a stranger.”
“I appreciate it,” I say and he hurries back toward his car. I get in mine and pull onto the road while giving him a parting wave. Once on the freedom of the road, I race back to my hotel.
It’s a bit more work to lug the box to my room, and I’m glad I’m on the ground floor.
When I walk in I set the box in the largest patch of open floor and open it. While I rally myself, I can’t help but be curious. Brian thought I’d ask a long time ago. Why?
It’s a struggle to separate the Andrea in my head and the one I know I’ll find in this box. But I manage it.
I focus on the task at hand and begin to dig and study.
When I finally take a break, I realize it’s three am.
Andrea’s whispering from between the pages. Pictures send pain slashing through every nerve in my body. And words begin to blur together, until I can’t understand anything any more.
So I climb in bed and dream about Andrea.
I wake, shocked by the room I open my eyes to. My mind expected me to be in a tiny cell, yet this room seems gigantic comparatively. And everything comes flooding back.
I get up and drag a brush through my hair and brush my teeth. Boy am I glad I packed a bag.
I couldn’t do this at home. I don’t want these memories in my haven. Not that it’s much of a haven anymore, thanks to Philip. That space might never feel safe again.
And this way, Philip can’t track me down. I got the room in dad’s name with his card. Not that I’ve really spent much time thinking about my psycho ex. Everything else has seemed so much more important. He’s really just a mosquito in the swamp that is my quagmire of problems. And I can’t change anything about that whole situation.
This one I can change.
And it’s going to change a lot, very quickly.
The drive to the prison is quick and I race inside and into Parker’s office. He looks up at me in shock while uttering, “You’re early.”
Doesn’t anyone say hi anymore?
“I need to talk to him, now. And for more than an hour. Alone,” I say, hating how out of breath I am.
I see Parker hesitate and add, “And I need a pen and paper.” His eyes light up as he infers that I’m going to get Bannish to confess. He gives me the items and has a guard walk me down while telling me he’s busy at the moment.
I don’t say a word to the guard, but rush him every step of the way. Once in the room where we can converse in private, I wait impatiently for Bannish to be led in. When he is, I see distrust and concern in his expression.
He refuses to sit, but remains standing across the room from me.
“First,” I say in a positive, genuine tone, “I’m sorry for what I said. I was angry and let my emotions rule.”
He meets my gaze and I sense his confusion.
“Why wasn’t your 911 call introduced to the court?” I know the reason on paper, that it was inadmissible, but there had to be a real reason. And, for the first time I see something I expected all along in his expression; panic.
But why?
“You denied you killed her. Why wasn’t anything done for your defense? Why didn’t you use your family lawyer?” Still, he says nothing and I feel frustration rise in me. Knowing nothing productive will come of the line of questioning, I rise.
“I’m not next door anymore. But I’m close and we’ll continue the one hour sessions.” I pause, needing to say something but hating how it might sound or how he might interpret it, “You owe me the truth.”
He eyes me like a cornered animal and I leave the room. When I’m reunited with my cell phone, I call a number that I haven’t called in over four years.
“Hello?” The sweet voice on the other end hasn’t changed one bit over the years.
“Babs, it’s Ashley.” It must be nerves that make me use my full name. Or maybe it’s concern she won’t remember me.
There’s a pause before she erupts. “How have you been, Ash? We’ve missed you and Andrea.” Her voice turns sad.
“Sorry.” How do I tell her I couldn’t face her or her sons after what happened?
“What can I do for you, darling?” She asks and I plunge in.
“Why didn’t Michael use Thatcher? You had him on retainer then and now, right?” I bite my lip as silence takes over. When I taste blood I suck my lower lip into my mouth and suck on it.
I hear her sigh. “Michael refused. He told us he was innocent, and that there was not a chance he’d be found guilty.”
Shock roars through me.
“Is he?” I whisper. Somehow, I feel like she’d know. Maybe because she’s his mother. Maybe because I would expect him to confide in her. Maybe because she’s a sharp lady who raised five boys into powerful men while her husband worked day and night to build an empire. Or maybe because I respected her a long time ago.
“Guilty?” she asks before saying, “No. He loved Andrea. But...” I sense she wants to say something but she lets the words die instead.
“What happened?” I ask, needing to hear her to tell me what Michael had told her happened that day.
“Are you sure?” She asks, worry shining in her words.
“I’m sure.” I have never been so sure of anything in my life.
Still, she’s quiet for a few moments. “I feel like Michael should tell you his story. All I feel comfortable saying is that Michael readily admitted to killing Richard, but swore he’d never hurt Andrea.”
Richard. The guy Andrea was dating while she was on the rebound from Bannish.
Well, fuck.
Left with more questions than answers yet again, I thank her and she asks me to come visit some time soon. I promise I will and hang up, reeling from the conversation.
Sitting in the parking lot of the prison, I decide I might as well try again. For the second time that day, I meet with an again surprised Parker and am escorted down to the room I meet with Bannish in.
When he comes in he’s willing to sit this time and I notice his eyes following me with equal parts curiosity and worry.
I don’t sit. I pace back and forth, trying to formulate my thoughts in the best way possible. But when I open my mouth my carefully worded question flies out the window and I say, “Your mom said you admitted to killing Richard, but swore you’d never hurt Andrea.”
Shock fills his features and my words dive forward. “You said you didn’t need your family lawyer, that you were innocent.”
The pieces begin to fit as I keep speaking.
“Brian expected me to ask for your case files years ago.” His eyes widen and I sense his mounting distress and surprise. “The gun wasn’t yours, it was Richard’s.”
That part still bothers me. But not nearly as much as the next bit.
“You wrote a statement that you wanted to address the court with, but your public defender told the judge you had nothing to say.” And it clicks. “That’s why you won’t talk, isn’t it? You were made feel like your voice was silenced, that your words had no value.”
I stare into his eyes. He’s studying me like I’m about to spring at him and destroy his very being. He’s quick to his feet and stands his ground in what I recognize as an intimidating gesture. The tactic is lost on me.
“Yo
u don’t scare me. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” It’s a gamble, but I trust Babs. Between the two of us, I know she knows her son better than I know him. He doesn’t back off, but he relaxes just a tiny bit and I know my words had the effect I’d hoped they would.
“You loved her, why did you break up with her?” I don’t expect an answer me and I resume pacing.
“I was afraid.” The thick, harsh voice isn’t familiar and I freeze. My attention snaps to Bannish, who seems so grounded considering my shock.
“Afraid?” I whisper, hardly believing he was speaking to me.
He nods and I see regret and shame washing over his features.
“Tell me what happened,” I whisper. When I drop into the seat, he settles opposite of me. I see the dam in his eyes burst and know the truth has desired to be freed for a long time.
“She called me and I didn’t answer. So she left a voice mail telling me it was time.” I see the agony in the subtle expression of his lips. “When I listened to it, I immediately rushed to her place.” He pauses, as if reliving the nightmare.
My pulse jumps and I feel faint at what he’s about to reveal.
“I couldn’t save her...” he says barely above a whisper. “And Richard was so smug. He told me she’d been telling him how much her life ended when I left her. I guess the new guy doesn’t like to hear his girlfriend talk about how her life is over while he’s dating her.” I see the anger in his eyes and I straighten my spine, desperate to be wrong.
“And he told me...” Michael shudders, “that she’d never bitch about me again. And I knew something was wrong. When I rushed into her bedroom she was... gone” Tears redden his eyes, but they stay put as his voice deadens.
“Behind me, he said he’d gotten so tired of listening to her go on about how her life was over and finally just told her to fucking put her money where her mouth was. If her life was so over, why didn’t she just kill herself?” His pain melts into anger and my shock takes over.
My hands shake and my mouth keeps filling with saliva as if I’m moments from puking. I stay totally silent as he continues, his gaze focused on something over my shoulder and far in the past.
“He bragged that she finally did it. And I just... I don’t know. It was like all the pain became the darkest, most frightening anger I’ve ever experienced. And I grabbed the gun and turned to Richard.” His expression hardens and I gulp back a mouthful of saliva and will my body to stop violently trembling.
“And I just fired again and again and again.”
I shudder. In the file were images of those shots in Richard’s chest. Five shots in a tight area, almost becoming one. The lawyer swore it was obviously an execution, how else could the shots be so concise on the heart?
But his story makes sense on another level, why Andrea had one shot to the temple, while Richard had five shots. Why Michael’s fingerprints were all over the gun, why his nine one one call was so pained and why he begged Andrea to come back even as he told dispatch that he’d shot a man five times.
He speaks so softly my heart aches. “He preyed on her at her weakest. I should have been there to protect her.”
The silence between us stretches on and I find myself staring at him. He studies me, and I see worry in his eyes again.
“She wouldn’t have killed herself,” I whisper. I’m her sister, how could I not know she was that depressed? “I would have known if things were that bad.” I hear the accusation in my words and Michael simply looks at me and says,
“Why would you question what you consider normal?”
At his words, thoughts begin flooding me. I’d considered throwing myself off the ledge to escape Philip. I’d raced down the stairs not caring if I fell and broke my neck. And most damning, the night I found out Andrea was dead, I’d run a bath and took a box cutter with me. I didn’t need to research how to kill myself.
I knew how.
Because I’d looked it up before that horrible day.
Again, that memory of being thirteen nags at me.
“Have you ever just felt... sad?”
She’d been trying to talk to me, but I’d shut her down.
And suddenly it’s all my fault.
If I’d seen it, if I’d acted, f we’d gotten help, Andrea would still be alive. Agony escapes my throat in a mew of pain that’s a sheer echo of the torment within me. I drop my head on my arms on the table and break into uncontrollable tears.
In a moment, Bannish is stroking my back and pulling me close. I melt into him, both fighting what he said and seeing it as an accurate story that better explains the evidence.
It takes every bit of strength I have to pull myself together, but somehow I manage it. When I do, I look up into Michael’s eyes and see a gentle warmth there.
“You’re on death row for a crime you didn’t commit,” I whisper.
Pain flashes in his eyes, but he says nothing. Suddenly numb, I stand up and pace once more. What can I do? I feel like my hands are tied and every fiber of my being wants him to be a liar. But my mind closes up and I fight to keep myself upright.
I glance at the gate as Parker requests the guards to open it. He addresses me and I’m very aware of Bannish’s eyes fixed on me.
“Well?” Parker asks. “Did you get the confession you promised me?”
I feel Bannish’s anger and glance at him, begging him to understand, but he refuses to meet my gaze.
I face Parker. “He never said a word.”
Parker’s expression twists and I notice the papers in his hand.
“What’s that?” I ask, my heart sinking as I motion to the packet of papers in his hands.
A little smile crosses his lips. “The Attorney General set a date.” He turns to Michael. “You will be put to death on May fifth.”
Bannish’s whole body snaps taut and I yell at Parker. “Are you proud of yourself for making sure he lives every day of the next month knowing he’s going to die?”
In a flash Bannish is behind me, holding my shoulders as I jump forward, ready to punch the smug grin off Parker’s face. I see shock in Parker’s eyes and behind me, Bannish releases me. Quickly, I gather up my reserve of control and lower my voice to a growl.
“I promise one thing, Parker; you’ll get yours.” Without another word, I leave. I’m at my car before I realize I’m trembling so hard I’m probably not safe to drive. I pick up my phone and call Brian.
He answers on the first ring. “Hi, Ash.”
“I need a stay of execution.” I sound out of breath, but Brian doesn’t seem at all surprised by my words or my tone.
“I’ll see if I can get through to some contacts I’ve got.” He hesitates and I sense a compliment coming. “I’m glad you’re doing the right thing.”
It’s the first time in as long as I can remember that someone complimented me for an action and not my looks. “Thank you,” I whisper, feeling pride and fresh resolution rising up in me. I’m going to do what it takes to fix things.
As much as it hurts, I need to find proof that my beloved sister took her own life. And I know just where to look.
Several hours later I pull up in front of Dad’s house and park. I stare at the house, struggling to breathe as memories crush my chest and squeeze the air from my lungs. There was so much joy here, but it feels like that was a lifetime ago.
Now it’s more sorrow than joy.
I get out and walk up the front steps of the sprawling ranch house. Dad opens the door and pulls me into a hug. I hug him back as tightly as I can and my heart breaks at what I’m going to do. This is his daughter. I have to prove she took her life and that the man we’ve blamed and hated is actually just as much a victim as we are.
It feels like I’m betraying dad. But the truth needs to be known.
“I missed you,” dad mumbles into my hair before releasing me and stepping back.
“I missed you too," I say, giving him a brave smile. What else can I do?
“Are you staying for dinner?” h
e asks. I shake my head.
“I just need to...” I can’t say it.
He knows what I mean and turns so I can walk past him. In a daze, I walk toward her room and stop before her closed door.
“I miss you so much,” I whisper. Turning the knob, I open the door and look around. The faintly lavender walls are just as I remember them, covered in posters of bands we’d loved, horses, and pictures of us.
Tears sting in my eyes before rolling down my cheeks. A knot in my throat aches and I struggle to bite back the pain flooding my whole being. But the sorrow wins out, and I feel so very empty and alone.
Her ghost dances around the room as memories flash in my mind’s eye. But I focus on one single memory, a very important one.
“Shhh, don’t tell daddy,” she says, placing her finger over her lips. She closes the drawer and we giggle at our little secret.
It’s a long shot.
She didn’t live at home anymore.
But I can’t help but wonder if she left something for me. Something she’d know that only I would find. I walk over to her white dresser and pull out the top drawer. Inside, her clothes are exactly the same as they were four years ago.
My lips curve into a trembling smile as I remember her confiding that she left stuff at home so dad wouldn’t feel so alone after we moved out. Little did she know it would become a haven after her death.
Then again, maybe she did know after all.
My fingers quest under the drawer until I feel it; a hard covered journal strapped in place by hot-glued velcro.
I release the strap and gingerly take the notebook out. After she died, I’d never had the heart to read it. I didn’t want to remember the things I was sure she kept in there. It was the only secret she kept from me, and it never even occurred to me to violate her privacy.
Now I wonder why she told me where it was.
And my stomach turns as I realize I know the reason she told me.
She knew one day I’d need to know why.
My hands tremble and my legs feel weak as I walk to her bed and sit down. Kicking my shoes off, I climb up on the bed and sit cross-legged. The crimson colored journal in my hands shakes in my hands and I try to steady my hands.
