Unreliable Witness

by Alana Terry

  I gave my life to Christ right before my sentencing. There was a Bible study for the women prisoners. I started going, desperate to give hope or meaning to the terror I’d lived through.

  It was in prison that I learned how to pray. Of course, anybody can pray when their husband’s beating them up, but my new kind of prayers were different.

  I prayed for all the other people Dennis had hurt. Asked God to heal their wounds and show them grace.

  I prayed for the jury that found me guilty, the prosecutors who spread vicious lies about me, the public that devoured the scandal like vultures descending on prey.

  But mostly, Justine, I prayed for you. I prayed that God would place you in a good home, that he would help you to feel loved and cherished and safe. When I heard that one of your foster families wanted to adopt you, I was thrilled. I’d already been sentenced by then, and even though I was looking into appeals, I was starting to realize there was no way I’d ever leave my cell. Your father was just too smart. The life insurance policies, the journal he kept at work. He knew that one of us was going to die, and he made provisions to make me out to be guilty no matter which of us it was.

  I’m glad that you inherited that money. I prayed that your new family would use it well. By all accounts, it sounds like you’ve done well for yourself. I’m really glad about that. And I know it’s a lot to ask, Justine, probably too much, but I would certainly love to meet my grandson before the Lord calls me home.

  CHAPTER 22

  Justine hadn’t even realized she was still clutching Meredith’s hand beside her until the muscles in her fingers started to cramp. Five more minutes had passed. General’s timer beeped again.

  “What’s he doing?” West asked. Justine didn’t have any answer for her son.

  General was still in the back of the plane. It should have been good news. It meant that he was farther away from West. But Justine couldn’t keep herself from staring as he waved his gun at another young woman and told her to stand up.

  “What’s your name?” he demanded.

  “Willow,” she answered. Her hair was blue. Beautiful in various shades, all the way from teal to azure. She looked a little familiar. Where had Justine seen her before?

  “Are you following what’s going on at the schools in Detroit, Willow?” General’s voice was low. Menacing. Like a snarling dog warning another animal to keep its distance.

  “A bit,” the young woman answered.

  “They’re building playgrounds on toxic land.” His volume increased, and his voice became more animated as he spoke.

  Maybe, Justine thought, just maybe if he kept rambling, it would give the other passengers the chance to figure out some plan of attack. Maybe …

  “They’re literally poisoning our children, and they don’t care.”

  The young woman’s lip trembled. Even in her seat so many rows away, Justine was convinced she could hear the girl’s throat working to swallow.

  “I’m sorry that I have to do this.” General raised his gun and took aim.

  Justine willed her eyes to squeeze shut.

  “Let her go.” The strong voice echoed throughout the entire cabin. It sounded as if the engines themselves had all shut off to help Grandma Lucy’s words carry throughout the airplane.

  She was so short, she didn’t even come up to General’s shoulder, and yet the little old lady stood glaring at him until it felt as if General’s body shrunk a full foot and a half.

  “What do you want?” he asked, but there was confusion in his voice. Weakness.

  “I told you to let that young woman go.” Grandma Lucy took a step forward. West finally managed to squirm free and turn around in his seat, but Justine was too engrossed in what was happening in back of the plane to tell him to stay down.

  “Why would I do that?” General snarled.

  “Because she’s young, and you don’t want to take another innocent life.”

  There was a filling, soaring sensation in Justine’s chest. Had she been holding he breath this whole time? Now that Grandma Lucy stood to confront the hijacker, Justine felt like she could finally remember how to breathe.

  “This is the only way to get anyone to listen to what I have to say.” General sounded desperate. Scared. Like he was about to lose control any minute.

  If the passengers could just find a way to communicate with each other, all it would take was a few strong bodies to bring him down.

  Please, God.

  Prayers rushed through Justine’s soul in the same hurried, unexpected way her breath had returned to her lungs at the sight of Grandma Lucy’s boldness. Her body felt warm. Ready for action. Ready for something to happen.

  But what?

  Grandma Lucy stepped in front of General’s gun. “If you need a victim that badly,” she proclaimed, so loudly that her words seemed to echo and reverberate off the walls of the cabin, “you can take me. I’m more than willing to meet my Maker.”

  General stared at her as if considering, placed his hand on the trigger of his gun, and shrugged. “Fine.” The menacing growl was back in his voice, and his stature had regained its former confidence. He took a step forward until his gun was just an inch from Grandma Lucy’s forehead. “Have it your way, old woman.”

  CHAPTER 23

  They say that confession is good for the soul. I’m afraid if I tried to list out every single sin I’ve ever committed, I’d never finish this letter to you. Early on after my sentencing, I visited with the chaplain quite a bit. He kept asking me if I was sorry for killing my husband.

  I’m sorry, Justine, but that’s the one thing I can’t apologize for.

  I’ve forgiven Dennis. That much I can say.

  But I’m not sorry I killed him. If I hadn’t, he would have destroyed me and you as well. I’ve searched my Bible, and I’ve begged God to change my mind if I’m wrong, but I can’t regret the fact that he’s dead.

  The chaplain said that’s a sign of unforgiveness. I told him he’s never had to kill anyone to save his little girl.

  I don’t mean to tell you I’ve lived a perfect life. I struggle every day with anger at the men on that jury who put me here. But I can’t change what’s past. I can only try to make amends for the future.

  I’ve already told you I’m dying. I don’t know how much longer I have, but sometimes as I’m drifting off to sleep at night, I can hear the heavenly music that soon is going to call me home.

  I know you might read my words and decide I’m making it all up. You’ve read about your father’s journal, how manipulative he said I was. I imagine that there’s part of you that wants to believe I’m innocent and another part of you that might always harbor doubts.

  I can’t prove to you that anything I’ve said here is true. I can’t make you believe that killing your father was the only way to save our lives. You’ve read about me online, I’m sure, and have probably already come to your conclusions about who I am and what my motivations were and how reliable of a witness I am.

  Just remember, Justine, that looks can be deceptive. Your father had everyone fooled — the doctors, his coworkers, his friends. The jury. Except I have no proof to offer you. Nothing conclusive to guarantee my innocence. God alone knows what really happened. He is my witness as well as my judge. I’ll admit there are times when I wake up from terrifying nightmares. I’ve just died, and God tells me I can’t come into heaven because there’s blood on my hands. And I pray and I plead and I ask him to show me grace. I wake up crying.

  I believe God will judge me justly when my time finally comes, and I rely on his grace to cover all my mistakes. I know you aren’t all-knowing like the Lord, but I couldn’t die peacefully thinking that you believe a lie about me, about who I was, about why I did what I had to do.

  My conscience, my soul, my eternal destiny are in God’s hands now. All I can ask is that before I go home you hear my story and tell me that you understand.

  Then I can die and
finally be at peace.

  CHAPTER 24

  General stared at Grandma Lucy, aimed his gun at her head, and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Nothing happened.

  General’s eyes widened.

  “His gun doesn’t work!” The shout from the back of the plane was followed by confusion. Chaos.

  “Get him.”

  “Grab him.”

  “Careful.”

  A skirmish. Loud grunting. Someone punched General in the face.

  He fell.

  Several more shouts, and then it was over.

  “We got him!” someone yelled.

  And that was it. General was bound, his gun now pointed at his own chest. Passengers let out a collective sigh of relief. In the seat beside her, Justine heard Meredith offering a short prayer of thanks. The captain made an announcement that they’d be landing in Detroit soon.

  “You think you’ve won?” General shouted with a guffaw. “You’re all going to die.”

  Justine chose to disregard the ominous threat. It was the ravings of a madman. Nothing more.

  “Mama?” West asked.

  Justine wrapped her arms around her son, ashamed that in her fear and then relief she’d momentarily forgotten how scared he must be.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks. “It’s over. They caught the bad guy, and we’re all going to be okay.”

  General’s laugh still echoed throughout the cabin. “You’re all gonna die.”

  Justine ignored his words, hugged her son close, and thanked God for keeping them alive.

  CHAPTER 25

  “I’m gonna kill you both.” That’s what Denis told me. That’s what I believed.

  I’ve talked with the chaplain about it quite a bit since I’ve been here. Told him that the only thing I feel guilty about is that I don’t feel guilty.

  Am I a sociopath? Am I the monster the media made me out to be? The monster I’m sure you believe that I am?

  He would have killed you, Justine. As sure as I know you’re my daughter, sure as I believe God will usher my soul into heaven to stand in his presence any day now, I knew your father meant to kill us both.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  If you had never been born, I wouldn’t have cared. I would have given up years earlier. But you were so little, so beautiful, so perfect. You loved me. Trusted me.

  And you loved him too. Your innocence was completely unaware of the pure evil that lived inside that man.

  I took the knife. How could I watch while he slit open your throat? How could I sit by and do nothing?

  I took the knife, and in that moment, I knew.

  Either I would survive, or Dennis would.

  There was no way he and I were both going to come out of this alive.

  And since my brain was working for the first time since your father put me on those drugs, since I had the adrenaline surge that comes when a mother watches her child in danger, I did what I had to do.

  Your father’s attorney and the judge were right. I shouldn’t have run away after that. Shouldn’t have taken you in the car with me and tried to skip town. I didn’t even realize you were bleeding until we were halfway to Toronto. We had to stop, had to get you medical attention.

  If it hadn’t been for that, I like to think we might have made it across the border.

  I used to spend a lot of time thinking about that scenario. An alternate reality created entirely in my mind while I sit here, cold behind these metal bars.

  We cross the border. I smile and tell the crossing agent we’re going to do some shopping. Smile at him nicely, make small talk about exchange rates.

  I don’t know a single person in Toronto, but it’s a big enough city that we manage to get by. I go to one of those women’s shelters, take you there with me, explain that we’re in danger. I left my ID, everything I had at home.

  Eventually, we learn to start over. I get a job working as a nanny for a rich family. They have a little girl just your age, and the two of you become best friends. We go to church. I teach you about the Lord. We pray before meals and sing songs in the car.

  Life is beautiful, Justine.

  And we never, ever talk about your father again.

  CHAPTER 26

  Justine couldn’t believe it was finally over.

  The captain announced they were just minutes away from Detroit. The first thing Justine did when they landed would be to cancel her return flight and rent a car to drive back home.

  There were a dozen emotions she should be experiencing. Relief that the danger was past. Fear for what her son witnessed. Guilt that she had survived while several others on the flight hadn’t been so lucky.

  Curiosity and confusion. Why hadn’t the gun gone off? Was it the old lady’s prayers? Steve would tell her it was some sort of miracle. That God had saved her and West both. As glad as she was to be alive, if it really had been God’s hand saving them, why hadn’t he protected all the other passengers just the same?

  Justine’s body was trembling, but she wasn’t cold. It wasn’t until West reached up to touch her face that she realized she’d been clenching her jaw.

  “Mommy?” he asked.

  Justine’s heart nearly broke in two at the sound of her son’s sweet and innocent voice.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  West started to turn around in his seat. Justine held him so he couldn’t look behind and see the signs of violence in the aisles.

  “Mommy?” he repeated, squirming in her grip.

  Justine didn’t let go. “What is it?”

  “What’s that smell?” West asked.

  This time Justine did turn and saw a billow of smoke filling the back of the cabin. An alarm started to blare, deafening her ears.

  Please, God, no, Justine begged as the passenger behind her shouted in a shrill panic, “Fire!”

  CHAPTER 27

  Your leg was cut. To this day, I don’t even know how it happened. I’m so sorry about that, Justine.

  We had to go to the hospital. I tried to come up with a story. You were standing on a chair. You wanted to chop veggies like you’d seen Mommy doing. You tripped. You fell.

  The doctors didn’t believe me.

  I started shaking uncontrollably when they brought the policeman in. At first, he thought he was questioning me in a case of suspected child abuse. He had no idea I’d just ended your father’s life.

  But the truth came out.

  I suppose it always will. At least, that’s what the Bible says. Still, I like to indulge myself in daydreams from time to time, think about that nice lady in Toronto who might have hired me as a nanny, think about her imaginary little girl who would have become your best friend. It’s not what actually happened, but I’ve dreamed out the details so vividly I can tell you the scent of the family’s laundry detergent, feel the matted hair of their beloved little puppy, a mutt who’s just as endearing as ugly.

  I’m sorry that’s not the life I could have given you.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you my story sooner.

  I’m just glad that soon you’ll be here, that I’ll be able to explain to you what really happened, apologize to you for all the mistakes I made.

  I can’t believe I’m about to look at you face to face. I just pray God gives me a few more days, that my body holds out a little bit longer.

  I need you, Justine. I need to tell you the truth. That I didn’t murder your father. That I never would have deliberately lifted a hand against you if my life depended on it.

  That I loved you so much I would have done anything — yes, even kill — to keep you safe.

  CHAPTER 28

  She had to get her son away from the smoke. But where could they go?

  The Detroit skyline was in view, but all Justine could see was a jumble of chaos as men and women scrambled out of their seats in an attempt to get toward the front of the ca
bin.

  The screams of the passengers melted together with the shrill screech of the siren. Justine held her son close. “Don’t leave me,” she shouted into West’s ear, but even then she wasn’t sure he heard her.

  They were so close. How could so many things go wrong on a single flight? It didn’t make sense. General’s last words reverberated in her mind, as well as his horrid laugh. “You’re all gonna die,” he said. Was he the one who planned this? But how could he have set the entire plane on fire when he was tied up in the back of the cabin?

  The question of how the fire started didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was whether or not Justine could save her child. How long until the plane would land? And would Justine survive that long to keep West safe?

  Terror and chaos swarmed around the cabin as passengers shoved one another their scramble to get out of their seats. Justine gripped her son’s arm even more tightly. She was about to lift him up in her arms when she remembered that you were supposed to get low when there was smoke. But how could they get low without being trampled to their deaths?

  “West, be careful,” Justine shouted as someone plowed into her from behind. She lost her balance. Tripped. Her breath was stolen away as someone stepped on her back. She couldn’t breathe.

  Where was her son?

  “West!” She reached out her arm, flinging wildly. Someone lifted her up to her feet. The smoke was so thick she couldn’t even see the face of her savior.

  She shot her arms out, blinded by the smoke, terrorized by the fear. She couldn’t even see which way was the front of the cabin anymore. She could only assume that if she followed the swarm of panicked bodies she’d be heading away from the worst of the smoke. Not that she had any choice. Everybody pressed up against her. Even now that she was on her feet, the density of the crowds stole her breath away. Or maybe that was all the smoke.