The Fifth Angel

by Tim Green

  He could still see clearly the look of triumph on McGrew’s face when the jury foreman read the verdict. Guilty.

  But then that smile was wiped clean. Jack was found guilty of assault. On the other counts—attempted murder, second-degree murder, and first-degree murder—the jury found him innocent. Eight women on that jury, that was the key. That and the fact that Amanda Lee had refused to testify. Jack recalled her, sitting there with her husband, both of them stone-faced.

  “I guess you got someone waiting for you,” the guard said.

  He opened the door at the end of the hall. They passed through a guard station.

  “See you, Jack,” the guard behind the glass said.

  “Hope not,” Jack said.

  The guard nodded.

  The first guard opened another door, and there she was. She stood up but didn’t move toward him.

  “Bye, Jack,” the guard said. “Good luck.”

  Jack heard the door close behind him.

  “You came,” he said.

  “I said I would.”

  Jack sighed. Her hair was down. She wore jeans and a black leather coat. She looked the same. She looked good.

  “It’s hard, you know, to know what will happen,” he said. “E-mail is one thing. I didn’t know if you’d ever really be able to understand.”

  “I don’t understand,” Beth said. “I told you that. I’ll never understand.”

  “But you’re here.”

  “I said I forgive you, Jack,” she said. “That’s different. I forgive you and I love you, but I don’t understand. I can’t.”

  “I know,” he said.

  The two of them rode together, holding hands. The warm feel of her fingers made Jack’s eyes well up with happiness. He kept breathing deep.

  When they reached Crestwood, it was almost dark. The great green trees were frosted with snow and still it drifted quietly down from the sky. A gentle breeze hinted of the ocean nearby. Jack walked up the stone steps, his footprints invisible in the golden light that shone from within the old stone mansion. Even though the place was closed, the door was open. Jack went in.

  There was no one in the waiting room and no one behind the desk. He looked at himself in the mirror on the wall, wondering how he would appear to her. His beard was neat now, and he’d cut his hair short.

  There was a noise on the other side of the big doors, footsteps, small and quiet. The ornate brass handle turned and Dr. Steinberg’s face appeared in the opening.

  “Come on,” she said. She spoke softly, saving her animation for the movement of her small knotty hands as she waved him in.

  Jack followed her down the long hall and into a cozy wood-paneled room that also looked out over the snow-white lawn. In a red leather chair, staring into the flickering light of a fire, was Janet.

  Jack caught his breath. She looked . . . better. Not all better, but better.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said softly, looking at him, sadly, but looking.

  “I love you, honey,” he said. He hugged her, gently at first, and then gradually tighter. She hugged him back and he began to cry. When he stopped, he took a staggering breath and, sitting on the arm of her chair, removed a newspaper article from his pocket. He handed it to her.

  She looked inquisitively at him. He glanced nervously at the doorway, but Dr. Steinberg was gone.

  “Read it,” he said.

  She read. Her fingers began to tremble. Jack saw a tear drop from her face and splat against the newsprint. He felt sick, but when she looked up at him, he saw the look of relief.

  “You don’t ever have to worry,” he said. “He’s gone.”

  Janet bit her lip and nodded. She hugged him again and he kissed the top of her blond head until Dr. Steinberg appeared in the door with an urgent whisper that he had to go.

  “I love you, Janet,” he said. “I have to go, but I’ll be back. I’ll always come back.

  “And then, one day soon”—he glanced briefly at Dr. Steinberg—“maybe you’ll come to me.”

  Jack let himself out the front door. The clouds gave way to a bright slice of moonlight. The snowflakes drifted down. He retraced his steps to the Saab. Its rear end sagged under the weight of all the things inside. He got in. On the way down the long lonely road, Beth reached over. Jack kept his eyes on the road ahead, but he grasped her hand as if he would never let go.