Unreliable Witness

by Alana Terry

  Unreliable Witness

  a novella by Alana Terry

  Note: The views of the characters in this novel do not necessarily reflect the views of the author, nor is their behavior necessarily condoned.

  The characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic, audio, print, film, etc.) without the author’s written consent.

  Copyright © 2019 Alana Terry

  Scriptures quoted from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  www.alanaterry.com

  CHAPTER 1

  I didn’t murder my husband. It’s important to explain that from the very beginning. There are enough people in the world right now who think I’m a conniving murderess. I don’t need you to be one more of them.

  I didn’t murder my husband. Which, now that I write the words out, now that I see them there on the page in front of me, they don’t absolutely ring true.

  You’ve heard of the unreliable narrator, I assume. It’s a literary device. Meant to trick readers.

  I read a book like that once. It was written like a detective novel, which to be totally honest, isn’t exactly my cup of tea, but I was going through what you might call a rough spot and was willing to read anything I could get my hands on.

  In this mystery, the narrator herself ended up being the villain, but you didn’t find that out until the very last chapter. I saw it coming a mile away, mind you, but I went online to look at what the reviewers were saying, and most of them had been duped right up until the end.

  I’m harder to surprise. Probably because I know just about every trick there is, every manipulative tactic, every method there is for twisting the truth ever so subtly until reality itself bends to your command.

  I didn’t murder my husband.

  I want you to know that from the very beginning.

  But I thank God every day that he’s dead.

  CHAPTER 2

  Justine held her son’s hand as they stood in line.

  “How much longer?” West whined.

  Justine tried hard not to snap. She’d made herself a promise to hold it together for her son. For West.

  “This part can take a while,” she reminded him, “but after we get through the line and go through the big machines, we’ll find a spot by the window to look at the planes taking off.”

  As a toddler, West would have lit up at the idea of watching giant planes taxiing outside Logan airport. Now he was four and already jaded.

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, yanking down on her arm.

  Justine freed her hand and pulled out her cell, not because she had anything important to look at on her screen but because she needed to rest her nerves. It had been years since she’d flown anywhere. That was before she’d become a mother, and even those few short experiences hadn’t been all that friendly to her anxiety. Now she had West to worry about, not only for his safety but also for her sanity and that of all the other passengers on their flight.

  West was what his daycare teacher called “energetic,” and Justine wasn’t exactly looking forward to trying to keep her son entertained and quiet for the next five hours, especially not when she herself was so nervous about traveling.

  West had been looking forward to this trip for months. During his four years on the earth, he’d never ventured beyond about a fifty-mile radius from their New England home. She wondered what he’d think about Detroit.

  She wondered if he would hate it just as much as she did.

  It wasn’t exactly Justine’s idea to head back to Michigan. When she moved away, she’d made herself a promise never to return, and up until now she’d remained true to her word.

  Her husband and her therapist thought the trip was a good idea. A chance to get some kind of closure, maybe.

  Or maybe the chance to tell her mother how much she hated her once and for all.

  CHAPTER 3

  I’m not sorry that he’s gone. I think it’s important to get that out of the way. If I were to tell you all that he put me through … oh, well. The jury didn’t want to hear the details, and I assume you don’t, either.

  That’s fine with me.

  But I don’t want you to think I’m terribly heartless. You can think of these pages as my confessions of sorts. I don’t know. Maybe you’ll burn them after you read them. That’s fine with me.

  As long as you read them first.

  That’s all I ask.

  The jury didn’t get to hear the entire story. I realize nothing I’ll say here can change what already happened, but it’s important for me to tell you that I’m sorry.

  I’m not sorry he’s dead, mind you, but that certainly doesn’t prove that I’m the one who killed him. Did I think about it? Yes. Fantasize about it? Sure, but that’s not breaking any law. You can’t prosecute a woman for murderous thoughts. It’s just not how things work in a free society. And yet here I am.

  Here I am.

  I didn’t murder him.

  I don’t know if you’re going to believe me or not. I don’t blame you for hating me, for believing everything those newspapers wrote about me.

  But I didn’t murder him.

  I loved him, in a sick and twisted way. I was lost without him. Entirely and utterly lost.

  And I’m sorry for your sake that he’s gone.

  I didn’t want to leave you so young. I didn’t mean to abandon you like that.

  But it wasn’t my fault.

  I’ve looked up details about the family that adopted you. Seem like nice folks. Salt of the earth kind of people. I hope they did right by you. I know it’s too late now, but I would have liked the chance to thank them. For taking you in. For raising you right.

  I wasn’t ever planning on contacting you, but then I heard that your parents had passed. I was mighty sad to learn it, too. Here you are, barely in your thirties, and you’ve lost just about everyone.

  I wish I could have changed things for you, but we’ve all got our own path to walk. Yours, I’m afraid, has been riddled with difficulties and pain, and for that I’m truly sorry.

  You probably don’t want to hear this from me, but I’m proud of you. Proud of the woman you’ve become, the mother I know you are. You love that boy. Trust me, I know it. And now that you’re a mother yourself, I hope you can understand a little more fully why I did what I did.

  How I ended up here.

  That’s why I’m writing you now. To tell you my side of the story. I know I might not be able to change your mind, but I want you to hear me out. Think about what I’m telling you. Then you can decide for yourself if that jury was right or wrong.

  I want the chance to tell you my side of what happened. To assure you that I didn’t murder your father. That’s all I ask of you, Justine.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Come on, Mama,” West prodded her leg as Justine fiddled with the strap on her boots. Why had she decided to wear her heels on a day like this? It wasn’t as if she were trying to impress anybody back in Detroit.

  Justine smiled apologetically at the elderly couple waiting to go through security behind her. She and West were holding up the line.

  “Come on, Mama,” West repeated impatiently.

  When Justine’s husband booked tickets for their flight, she’d been adamant she wanted to travel during the day. No red-eyes for her, thank you very much. Now, she wondered if she’d made the wrong call. Maybe if West was dead tired, he wouldn’t act up so much.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as she finally managed to wedge her foot out of her ti
ght shoe. Steve was supposed to be here with her. She needed his support. It wasn’t her fault that the partners thrust this case on her husband at the very last minute.

  “Good thing we paid for travel insurance,” was all Steve said as he logged onto the website to cancel his ticket.

  She couldn’t believe he’d abandoned her like this. And why had she let him, anyway? She didn’t owe her mom this visit. When Steve told her he couldn’t make it to Detroit, she wondered if this was God’s way of warning her to leave well enough alone.

  She couldn’t understand why she let Steve talk her into flying without him. Didn’t he know how nervous she got on airplanes? No, she hadn’t ever specifically told him she was scared of flying, but he must know by now. Wasn’t that why he never suggested outlandish vacations in the Caribbean like so many of his colleagues at the firm took?

  She should have put her foot down. Told her husband that there was no way on God’s green earth she was going to travel alone with their four-year-old son, especially not to Detroit. No way she was going to subject their child to the ravings of a madwoman. Not that West was going to come within a ten-mile radius of his grandmother, but still. Steve should have known how impossible it would be for Justine to make this trip without him. Not just emotionally but logistically as well. Did he have any idea how many daycare providers she had to screen in order to find someone to watch her son while Justine went out to talk to Alice? What if he hated it there? What if the daycare was dirty? What if there was lead in the water or something worse? The entire state of Michigan was falling apart. One of Steve’s associates had even been called to Detroit as an expert witness to discuss that school where they built a playground on toxic soil. That kind of thing was happening all over the state. And Steve thought it was a good idea for her and her son to spend four days there without him?

  He was as insane as Alice.

  She set her boots on the conveyer belt and waited her turn to step through the full-body scanner. West was young enough they let him go through the gate after a cursory once-over with the wand. In ten or fifteen years, on account of his skin tone alone, he’d be stopped, questioned, harassed when he wanted to travel. It was part of life he’d have to get used to soon. Her son didn’t realize how lucky he was to be so young.

  For now, everything was new and exciting. He grinned widely at Justine as he waited for her on the other side of the full-sized scanner. She hated the machine, hated to think about whatever radiation might be coming out of it. She held her breath, reminded herself that there was nothing to fear, and stepped through the machine.

  “Wasn’t that cool?” West jumped enthusiastically as Justine tried to put her tight boots back on without losing her balance.

  “Yeah,” she mumbled. “Real cool.”

  “Will we get to do it again before we get on the plane?”

  She shook her head and answered mindlessly, “Not this time.”

  Justine glanced at the TSA line, which had only grown longer in the half hour they’d been waiting. First hurdle past. A hundred more to endure before this ordeal was finally behind her.

  CHAPTER 5

  I didn’t want to disrupt your life. I can only imagine you meant it when you told me in no uncertain terms that you didn’t want to have anything to do with me.

  I’m sorry, Justine. I really am. I wanted to be a good mother to you. I wanted to give you the life that you deserved.

  It sounds bad of me to say, unnatural somehow, but I think you were better off with those rich folks who took you in. I know it wasn’t easy. I’m sure growing up in the suburbs had its share of hardships, but it was a better childhood than I could have offered you.

  I don’t regret what I did, Justine. I only regret that it ruined any chance of having a relationship with you.

  That’s why I begged you to come and see me now. You probably don’t know this. I made him promise not to tell you, but I’ve been writing to that husband of yours. The rich lawyer. He seems like a nice man, Justine. He really does. And I’m happy for you. For the life you’ve created and that little family of yours.

  Your husband knows about my condition. That’s the real reason I need to see you. Why it can’t wait any longer.

  I’m dying, Justine. Cervical cancer is no picnic even if you aren’t serving a life sentence for murder.

  I didn’t want to tell you until I saw you face to face. But it can’t wait. Doctors have given me a few more weeks, a month or two if I’m lucky. But given my track record, Justine, I don’t put much stock into things like luck.

  I told your husband. I didn’t tell you. I was worried you’d think I was being manipulative. Conniving. But it’s the naked truth. By this time next year, you’ll be a complete orphan.

  I’m sorry, Justine.

  I would have liked to meet you again under more positive circumstances.

  There’s a journalist I’ve been talking to, nice young man from back East. We’ve been working together for the past year, putting together my story. I’m not allowed to profit from the sales, you know. That was part of the court order.

  The journalist tells me that my book has bestseller potential. It’s not even done yet, and he’s already found some publishers who want me to sign on the dotted line. But I’m not going to do that until I get the chance to talk with you first.

  You’re the only surviving relative of your father’s. That means anything I make from the sale of my story will go directly to you. I know you’re not worried about finances. That husband of yours has you set for life, and I’m glad to hear it. I don’t want to think of you and my little grandson suffering for lack of anything.

  I’m not writing my book for the money. It’s not for the infamy either. Trust me, I had my share of that during the trial itself. I’m sick of it all. But it’s an important story to get out there. Might even help women in situations like mine.

  I just want to clear my name.

  I don’t want you to live your life as the daughter of a murderess.

  I want you to know what happened.

  It’s time for you to hear the truth.

  CHAPTER 6

  West had eaten every single French fry and licked each individual particle of salt from his McDonald’s lunch. With nothing but the discarded pickles from his burger left on his tray, he was already asking for dessert.

  No surprises there.

  If West stayed where he was on his growth chart, he’d be taller than his dad before he graduated high school. Steve had been a football star before a back injury kept him from playing college level. He was proud of the life he’d made as a Boston attorney, but Justine knew he still had hopes that West would follow in his athletic footsteps. Genes were on West’s side, and if you could judge by their grocery bill, her son already had the appetite of a teenage athlete.

  “Look, Mama.” West pointed at a little bakery halfway down the terminal from their gate. “Donuts. Can we get some? I’m hungry.”

  Of course he was hungry.

  Well, their flight wasn’t scheduled to take off for another hour and a half. Dumping a ton of sugar into his system was probably easier now than trying to keep all his extra energy corralled at the gate.

  Justine picked up her purse, and West gave a preemptive squeal of excitement. “Think they’ve got sprinkles on them?” he asked while jumping from one foot to the other.

  Justine was fumbling through her wallet, trying to decide if it would be easier to just pay with cash than credit. West was so excited he started to dash out of the gate when he bumped into a white-haired woman wheeling her carry-on to a nearby seat.

  “Be careful!” Justine snapped at her son. She reached out her arm reflexively to catch the old woman in case she stumbled.

  “Oh dear,” the stranger exclaimed in a smiling voice. “I’m afraid I wasn’t looking where I was going. That could have been trouble.”

  “No,” Justine corrected and gave West an angry glare. “My son should
have been more careful and should have remembered not to run when there are so many other people around.”

  West stared at his feet and mumbled a half-apology. Justine doubted the woman even heard.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. The woman looked frail enough that a fall might have resulted in a broken bone or worse.

  “I’m fine, thank the dear Lord,” she replied, dusting off her pants. “I’m just worried that I hurt your little guy there. Is he all right?”

  “Yes.” Justine was still upset with West and was debating whether or not she was going to keep him from getting any donuts after all. If he was still so hungry, he could eat a veggie tray or something that wouldn’t send him into a sugar craze when he was already too energetic. When she’d convinced herself the stranger was fine and unharmed, she gave one last apology and prepared to leave, but the woman grabbed her by the hand.

  “You have a lovely child,” she said. Her grip was twice as strong as Justine would have expected.

  “Thank you,” Justine answered, somewhat flustered.

  “Children truly are a gift from the Lord, aren’t they?”

  Justine didn’t know how to respond. It was a saying she’d heard before at church and knew was there somewhere in the Bible, but on days like this, she didn’t exactly feel like West was as big a blessing as everyone else made him out to be.

  The old woman smiled and let Justine go.

  “I’ll see you two soon,” she said with an air of certainty that struck Justine as slightly creepy.

  She offered a noncommittal smile and took her son by the wrist.

  “Ow,” West complained, straining against her hold.

  Justine made him apologize once more, and then she led him down the terminal in search of something to eat.