by Brenda Novak
“Then I’m taking you home,” she said.
“That’s what I thought.” He responded with a careless smile, but that didn’t fool her. He was disappointed.
And so was she.
6
“They also use a pendulum,” Peyton said as she drove. She was trying to get her mind back on business, back on the reason they’d gotten together in the first place, and stem the rush of hormones.
Virgil glanced over at her. “What are you talking about?”
He hadn’t spoken since they’d left. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, she drew a deep breath. “The Hells Fury. You asked me about their symbols. I didn’t mention the pendulum, but they use that symbol, too. I’m guessing it represents the passage of time, the steady march toward death.”
“Like in ‘The Pit and the Pendulum.’”
“You’re familiar with it?”
Leaning his head back on the seat, he closed his eyes. “‘I was sick—sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. The sentence—the dread sentence of death—was the last of distinct accentuation which reached my ears.’”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” The fact that he’d memorized the opening suggested he’d identified with the story in some way, but that came as no surprise, considering his situation. She turned down the radio. “That must’ve been uplifting material to read in prison.”
“I read it in high school, too.”
“So…you graduated?”
“I would have if my murder trial hadn’t interfered,” he said dryly. “I was in my senior year when they carted me off.”
Because it’d grown dark, Peyton had less fear that they might be spotted by someone who would later point a finger at “Simeon” and blow his cover. His glasses sat in his hat on the console between them. She was glad he could relax, but the quiet of the countryside they passed on their way into town made her feel as if they were just as isolated as they’d been at her house. “Did you get your G.E.D.?”
“Not for several years. I was too busy trying to get myself D.O.A.”
“D.O.A. is dead on arrival.”
“I know.”
She slowed for a traffic light. “You were suicidal?”
“Not in the classic sense. Just self-destructive, fatalistic. I was looking for trouble, and I expected the trouble I found to be the kind that would put me out of my misery for good.”
“It wouldn’t be easy to deal with being falsely imprisoned.”
“I was consumed by rage.” His hand curled into a fist. Obviously the rage hadn’t left him. But if his mother and uncle had betrayed him as badly as it appeared, he had every right to feel angry. Peyton couldn’t think of anything that would cut a child more deeply. “Is that when you joined The Crew?”
“Yes.”
The light turned green, so she gave her SUV some gas. “Why’d you pick them and not some other gang, like the Aryan Brotherhood?”
He stared out the window, toward the whitecaps of the sea. “The Crew is an offshoot of the AB. My first cellie was a member.”
“Thanks to the Hells Fury, The Crew doesn’t have much of a presence at Pelican Bay.”
“I know. You’re lucky. They’re worse than all the other gangs.”
“I doubt any gang could be worse than the Hells Fury. They live for violence. But I’ll take your word for it.” Peyton found herself less than eager to reach the motel. “So did your cellie actively recruit you?”
“He didn’t have to. He knew, once I’d had enough ass whippings, I’d come to him. And he was right. After a few months, I was burning to take out a few of the bastards who’d jacked me up. The Crew seemed the perfect network to help me do that.”
“The other inmates were giving you trouble?”
“That’s a euphemism if ever I heard one,” he said with a laugh. “I was getting the shit kicked out of me almost every day by big gorilla-like guys who were at least a decade older and had been pumping iron for years.” His lips slanted in a bitter smile, as if he was picturing it all. “That was quite a rude awakening after attending a nice suburban high school. But it wasn’t until one guy—a deviant called Bruiser—tried to make a bitch out of me that I actually joined The Crew.”
Making a “bitch” or a “punk” out of him was basically turning him into a sex slave. His youth and good looks would’ve made him particularly vulnerable to such “daddies,” and every prison had them—men who used sex to punish or control. Peyton did her best to keep that type of behavior out of Pelican Bay. The entire staff did. But she knew it went on despite their efforts. Too many inmates pretended that whatever relationships they had were mutually agreeable. Reporting the abuse could get them maimed or killed, so they refused to take the risk, which made it very difficult to punish the offenders. Virgil was telling her that, at eighteen, he’d chosen to die fighting rather than become someone’s “bitch” or “punk.”
They’d arrived at the street where she had to let him out. “The ‘blood out’ thing didn’t bother you?”
“I thought I was going to die either way. And I was getting used to blood, mine and everyone else’s. Being able to fight was all there was to take pride in. Once I learned how, I decided to be the best, the one everyone else feared. I didn’t think about the future. As far as I was concerned, I didn’t have one.” She stopped when she reached the corner and he opened his door. “I wish I’d considered what my actions would mean to Laurel. But I was so…in the moment. Venting my anger and taking revenge—that was all that mattered.”
Now that he’d matured and calmed down, he’d do anything to change that; she could tell. But even if he could go back, she wasn’t sure he’d be able to take a different path. Not with his temperament and determination. “You’re still here, right? The Crew must’ve given you the protection you needed.”
“They did at first. But after a while protection wasn’t the point. My reputation was enough to keep me from being ambushed. It was the friendships I enjoyed. They were my only family for fourteen years. That’s what I’ll miss.”
If he thought she’d be shocked to hear him speak kindly of men who belonged to a violent criminal organization, he was wrong. She knew why gangs formed, how close they could become. It wasn’t always for nefarious reasons. Some poor souls simply had nothing else, nothing better, anyway. “What will they do when they realize you’re out?”
“It’ll be a hell of a lot worse than a B.O.S., if that’s what you’re thinking. I know too much.”
“A B.O.S.?”
“Beat on sight. I’ve been gone almost a week. They’re probably already on my trail.”
Peyton let the car idle. “Some people don’t understand how you can love someone who does terrible things. They don’t understand the complexity of human nature, on both sides of a relationship like that.”
“Most of the men in The Crew are the worst people I’ve ever known. I hated them then. I hate them now.” He put on the hat and glasses, even though he was unlikely to run into anyone who’d be able to see him clearly enough to identify him later. “But there were a few others—” his voice changed, grew soft “—men I admired and considered my brothers.”
And yet even these “brothers” would very likely kill him if they ever found him. Which meant he’d be betrayed by his family again.
He closed the door as if that was that, but she lowered the passenger’s side window. “Virgil?”
When he turned back, she nearly told him that she’d seen contradictions like the one he’d mentioned and empathized with the conflict he must be feeling. But he didn’t need her empathy. If she couldn’t allow herself to be a closer friend—or whatever—to him, she’d only become another contradiction, one more person guaranteed to let him down.
“Never mind. I hope you enjoy your dinner.”
He studied her for a moment. “It was nice just looking at you,” he said.
Peyton
waited for him to laugh or shrug or indicate in some other way that he wasn’t quite sincere, but he didn’t. She was pretty sure he’d paid her a legitimate compliment, no censure or challenge or sarcasm involved. But by the time she believed it, he was too far away for her to respond.
Shifting the transmission into gear, she drove off but kept one eye on her rearview mirror until she could no longer see him. “You’re an interesting man, Virgil Skinner,” she murmured. A small part of her—maybe even a big part—wished she could’ve been irresponsible enough to sleep with him.
But she hadn’t become chief deputy warden by being irresponsible.
The last thing Rick Wallace wanted was to fly back to Colorado. Thanks to the long drive from Crescent City, he’d spent only a few hours with his wife and kids. But he needed to make sure Laurel Hodges and her children remained safe. If anything happened to her, Skinner would lose his motivation, and if Skinner lost his motivation, the whole operation would fall apart.
Mercedes, his wife, walked into the bedroom carrying a basketful of laundry and frowned when she saw him. “What are you doing in a suit?”
Having just showered and dressed, he straightened his tie. “I’m heading to the airport.”
“What?” She dumped the laundry onto the bed. It used to be that she had all the housework done by the weekend, so she could devote her time to him, but that’d changed. Nowadays when he asked her about the state of the house, she said there wasn’t much reason to keep it perfect when she and the kids were the only ones who ever saw it. She said even when he was home he walked past them as if they were inanimate objects and not real people, always thinking about his work.
Hoping to finish getting ready before she could really lay into him, he slipped into the bathroom. He didn’t like it when Mercedes was upset. That nasty edge to her voice ground on his nerves, making him wonder why he’d ever married her. If not for the kids, they probably would’ve split up years ago. But since they had children, that wasn’t an option. Growing up, he’d suffered through the divorce of his own parents and had promised himself that he’d never make the mistakes they had. And he wouldn’t. Especially considering the financial consequences….
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, but he’d said it so many times it was an automatic response that no longer held any meaning for either of them.
“Today, when you said you left Crescent City because you missed us and wanted to be with us, I thought…”
He glanced at her in the mirror, saw her nostrils flare.
“Well, I assumed you were home for the rest of the weekend. And you know I thought that.”
The last sentence dripped with accusation. In order to sidestep a major blowout, he decided to play dumb. “So? What are you getting at?”
“I’m wondering why you weren’t courteous enough to disabuse me of that notion.”
Because she would’ve started pouting and might’ve refused him sex.
“Rick?” Mercedes prompted when he didn’t respond.
Here we go again…. “I didn’t know I’d have to leave tonight.”
It was easier to lie, but he’d been too obvious about it. The disappointment he’d created by setting her up for this reversal made her pounce.
“That’s not true,” she snapped, coming to the door.
He didn’t bother arguing. “Sorry.”
Ignoring his second empty apology, she blocked his path and he realized it hadn’t been very smart to let her box him in. “Can’t we have even a partial weekend as a family?” she asked.
“We had dinner. That was more than we would’ve had if I’d stayed in Crescent City.”
“Dinner? You think I should be happy with one meal together in a whole week?”
“We had more than a meal.”
She rolled her eyes at his meaningful grin. “You were home just long enough to lift my nightgown so you could get off, and now you’re leaving.”
He should’ve gone to the trouble of pleasuring her. Then maybe she wouldn’t be acting like this. But he’d been so preoccupied…. “Better your nightgown than someone else’s, right?” He chuckled as if he was joking, but the anger that flashed in her eyes told him he’d been made on that, too.
“What are you saying?”
He sobered. “I’m saying that at least I still come home for it.” Usually. “That’s something.”
“It’s not enough. Not anymore.”
“Come on, Mercedes.” He hung his head, implying that he felt bad, but he didn’t. Not really. They fought so often, he’d grown numb. “Please?”
“Please, what? Please don’t ask for anything? Please don’t expect you to behave like a husband? Please don’t demand that you do your part in our relationship or as the father of this family?”
Jerking his head up, he shot her a look that said he was tired of hearing the same old complaints. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going to miss my plane.”
She didn’t move out of the way. “I want you to quit your job.”
He gaped at her. “Are you kidding? How would we pay the bills?”
“You could find something else.”
“Nothing that’ll pay what I’m making now!”
“Then I’ll go to work, too. I need to get out, anyway, make a change. I’d do anything to fix what’s wrong. Our children need to see more of their father. I need…” She let her words dangle, probably because she knew how selfish they sounded. “I can’t take the neglect, Rick.”
“Neglect?” He grimaced. “If you want to get off and I’m not around, use a damn dildo. Maybe you need to grow up and start fulfilling yourself a little bit instead of relying on me.”
“I’m not talking about sex!”
“Then what are you talking about? You think it’s my fault we’re having trouble? How do you know it’s not you? Maybe you don’t like that I have to work so much, but I don’t like that you’re so needy. It makes my skin crawl.”
He actually shuddered. The minute that registered on her face, he wished he could take it back. It was the stress—the pressure he was under. Maybe Mercedes had gained some weight, and maybe she’d let herself go in other ways. He couldn’t help finding her drab and worn compared to the women who caught his eye. Compared to Peyton, who particularly appealed to him. But he still loved her. Didn’t he?
“I wasn’t needy until I married you,” she said. “You made me like this.” He heard their youngest daughter come into the living room then, yelling “Daddy!” and Mercedes dropped her voice. “And sometimes I hate you for it.”
“You hate me?”
He expected her to deny it. He’d taken her words out of context. She hadn’t really said she hated him. But she didn’t attempt to correct him; she stood there, glaring at him through those hazel eyes that seemed years older than when he’d looked into them last.
“Mercedes?” he prompted.
“I hate what you’ve turned me into,” she finally declared.
The tears that streamed down her cheeks made it possible for him to breathe again. She didn’t mean it. It wasn’t as if she’d ever leave him. “We’ll talk about it when I get back, okay? I promise. And…and maybe we’ll get counseling.” She’d been begging him to go to a therapist for more than a year. Maybe if he gave her that hope, she’d calm down and he’d be free to do what he had to do before dealing with his marriage.
“If we don’t get help, we won’t make it,” she told him dully, and turned, like a tired old hag in her sloppy sweats, to do the laundry.
Rick knew he should put his arms around her, comfort her, tell her he still loved her and offer a sincere apology. He could see how she’d feel used. When they made love, he pretended she was someone else, someone more attractive. And lately that someone had been Peyton. Fantasizing about another woman wasn’t the best thing for their relationship. He owed Mercedes more. But he couldn’t bring himself to touch her right now. He kept seeing Peyton’s bright eyes, beautiful face and perfect figure, and the contrast betwee
n them was just too great; he was losing all desire for his own wife.
Or maybe it was Mercedes’s fault for not taking better care of herself. If she was more attractive, he’d want her—as long as she could stop acting like a bitch when he needed a little understanding.
Regardless, they’d have to solve their problems later. If he didn’t make this flight, Laurel might not survive the night. Then he wouldn’t have the option to quit; he’d be fired.
“Listen, I—I’ll call you later, okay? I wouldn’t go tonight if I had any choice, but…something big is going on at work. Something that came down from the governor himself. This isn’t optional. It’s flattering that they’ve chosen me to implement it. And I would’ve told you I had to leave except…I knew it would upset you and I didn’t want to deal with the backlash. You can understand that, can’t you? I’m so tired of fighting.”
“You can’t be any more tired of it than I am,” she said.
“Daddy?” Ruby came to their bedroom. “You’re leaving again?” she asked, and the disappointment in her voice and on her face so mirrored her mother’s he could barely bring himself to swipe a kiss across her cheek.
“I’ll be back soon, princess,” he said, and went to tell his other daughter goodbye.
7
Peyton wanted to know more about the crime for which Virgil Skinner had lost fourteen years of his life. She also wanted to know more about his mother and his uncle and what they’d done to help or hurt him.
Figuring there had to be some details about him in the media, a piece on his exoneration if not the crime, she went online and began to search. Because he’d been incarcerated in Colorado, she first visited the website of the Denver Post and was pleasantly surprised to find an article dated two weeks ago.
Convicted Murderer Exonerated
