Down To The Needle

by Mary Deal

  His breath was warm over her neck. “You can always sleep over.” She arched toward him as his hand moved down her body.

  “I've missed you so much.” His lips moved down her throat.

  She couldn't help teasing. “Did a few days apart do that much?”

  “It's been like forever.” He eased the straps of her gown over her shoulders.

  She gasped as his hands caressed her body. She clutched handfuls of hair as his lips found her nipples. He teased them with the tip of his tongue. “Miss me, Joe.” Passion heated her voice. “Miss me always.”

  Still his lips searched, lingering on her breasts, tongue gliding again and again across the underside and into the crease, then down her abdomen, finding places hungering for his touch. “Missed you…” Then suddenly he rose above her, drew her legs up and thrust himself deep inside her. “Missed you!”

  “Joe.” Her whisper came out ragged, torrid.

  His thrusts were forceful. She wanted him that way, but not if he was going to have his orgasm too early. Still, she could not stop him or herself. All thoughts left her as she succumbed to the surging tide within.

  He didn't finish prematurely. His repeated thrusts held the same force, the same strength as the first one, as if the act might satisfy some sort of deprivation. Over and over, he thrust, moaning and breathing heavily and all consumed by what he was doing. Suddenly his wild breath was all over her face. He thrust his tongue into her mouth.

  She opened her throat and drew his tongue in farther and fought for breath. She clutched at him and couldn't help herself. Her whole being joined in his forceful rhythm until at last, another orgasm overtook her. The sounds of her completion seemed to incite him further and after another frenzied moment, he finally succumbed with tremendous vocal emotion and release.

  A few minutes later, laying side by side, she rolled to face him. “Whatever possessed you?”

  He smiled tentatively in the dim light. “I guess I needed to touch you again.”

  Something had really excited him, made him want to perform. His entire ritual felt different somehow. He had always been a strong lover and they had been apart before and missed one another, but this felt different, as if they had been apart for ages. He seemed unable to control himself. His enjoyment was more intense, vocal, unrestrained. As she began to relax, an idea slowly filtered in. Had he just spent the energy he would have had with Margaret?

  He lay quietly, saying no more. After dozing briefly she woke and found him staring wide-eyed into the darkness. She felt pangs of disappointment. “All right, let's talk it through. You found Margaret. Then what?”

  “Actually.” He lifted up on an elbow, “I wanted to tell you this in person and not before we made love.”

  “Okay, you're here.”

  “Over the phone, when we speak on the phone, all we hear is the tone in our voices.” He was stalling for time to get his thoughts together.

  “You felt you had to see my reaction when you told me what?”

  “I took Margaret off the street.”

  “I would hope you'd do that.”

  “You don't understand.”

  “Well, give me a clue.”

  The night breezes passed the side of the house causing a low howl. Air through the slightly opened window kept the room cool and fresh.

  “I had to get her off the street, get her some help.”

  “Of course.”

  “I moved her into my place, the empty maid's room, behind the garage.”

  Abi felt somewhat shocked. “Your place?” Why did he have to bring her home?

  “Where else could I take her?”

  “Why not a transition house?”

  “You don't understand, Abi. I couldn't treat Margaret that way.”

  Abi was silent. Of course, Joe would think a transition house wasn't good enough for Margaret. “What about her health? Body lice, that sort of thing?”

  “She did go to a transition house. They gave her a bath and disinfected her, and even gave her a thorough medical exam and clean clothes that fit.”

  “She consented to all that?”

  “Well, after we talked, she still didn't know who I was. She kept looking at me like she might remember, though. She kept saying she wanted to have a better life, get off the street.”

  “Wait a minute, back up. How is it you were positive that June was Margaret?”

  “I was almost certain.” He quieted and took a breath. “So I had to take a chance. Now I'm sure.”

  “How, Joe? She didn't resemble her old photo or the computer aging.” He remained quiet again but Abi needed to know. “What cinched it? What made you sure?”

  He looked at her as if he didn't wish to reveal the rest. He pulled up the covers in preoccupation. How well she knew him. He hesitated for quite a while. Finally, he spoke. “Her birthmark.”

  “A birthmark? Where?” Again he hesitated. He habitually softened telling her something when he feared she might become upset and misconstrue the information. She had to know. After all, certainty was everything. “What birthmark, Joe? Where?”

  “Well, she's got this mark that looks like a trident, a fork.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Here.” He touched the underside of Abi's left breast.

  “On her breast? You made her show you her breast?”

  “It's the only way I could be sure, Abi.”

  Suddenly, all the vulnerability Abi felt till that moment bubbled up and spilled over. She rose on her elbow facing him. “How did you get her to show you her breast?” She had imaginings of Joe making love to Margaret again. Was that why he had been so powerful this time? Had he made love to Margaret in his mind? The thought repulsed her. She began to turn away from him but he wouldn't have it. He reached out and pulled her back.

  “You listen to me, Abigail Fisher.” Surely he spoke through pinched lips but Abi couldn't see them well with a shadow across his face. “I didn't have to tell you that. I knew it would hurt, but you insisted. All I said to Margaret was if she were the person I thought, that she would have a fork birthmark.”

  “And she immediately unbuttoned her blouse and showed you?”

  “She did exactly that. Actually, she lifted her sweater.”

  Now Abi was silent, recognizing her own jealous behavior. She still wondered if Joe had touched Margaret once she was clean and at his home. Had he not been able to stop himself after so long? Had they made love? She imagined the worst but remembered that Joe placed so much faith in his relationships that during the years they spent together, he had not allow himself one indiscretion.

  He must have read her thoughts. “I didn't touch her.”

  “Didn't touch her, Joe? Didn't even want to?”

  “Abi, I'm a man. Certainly I remember making love to her. But that love was full of denial and subservience and obsession and inability to get up off my knees. Don't you under—”

  “You're different now?”

  “With you? I'm not obsessed with you.”

  His words cut like a knife. Had he loved Margaret more after all? “You're not as deeply—?”

  “Stop, Abi. Stop right there.” He sat up and drew her up beside him. “I'm not obsessively in love with you. What I feel for you is unadulterated, free and clear and true. Try to realize the difference.”

  She sighed heavily and felt tired. She knew what he was saying, but for her own assurance, something inside wanted to hear him verbalize his renouncement of the past, and she wanted Margaret to know. “I guess I'm on shaky ground now.”

  “No, you're not.” He took her into his arms, then they lay down again.

  Their naked bodies came together and she again found comfort in the feeling of togetherness with him. She would have to find a separation between the fears about her daughter and what was going on in Joe's life. Her mood would have to change drastically before she visited Joe's home with Margaret living there. She felt a moment of self-pity. Why was life so complicated, so hard? It had
always been that way but Joe reminded her of her strength and that she had endured. She had found renewed strength in his devotion. But could history repeating itself cause her to now lose the man who helped save her sanity? A tear ran down her temple and into her hair. She was glad Joe was on the other side and couldn't see it.

  Chapter 27

  The next day, Emery phoned to say that neither the State nor any government agency would pay for DNA tests for a prisoner already sentenced to death if it did not involve facts concerning the case. They claimed a jury found Megan Winnaker guilty and who her parents might be had no bearing on the crime. If Abi wished to proceed, she could order the tests as a private citizen and pay for them herself.

  The prison physician and other officials would be present when a blood sample was taken from Megan. The vial would be packaged, sealed, delivered to Seaport Hospital, and then shipped with her own blood vial to the lab in Lawton via a transport company used by the police department.

  When Abi learned of the cost of the procedures, she could not wait for store profits to kick in. Without hesitation, she cashed in some stocks. The store was making good money and she would soon have cash to reinvest. This was, after all, a life or death matter, regardless how the officials saw it.

  She called her doctor who made arrangements at the hospital for a lab appointment. The simple procedure would take place on her way to the prison the next afternoon.

  Then, at the prison, the one-way window made her feel exposed to the entire world. At least Emery kept his promise and got permission for her to have physical contact with the woman who might be her daughter, the first contact since she was five years old. She glanced again at the window. This was not the intimate meeting the officials promised. Many pairs of prying eyes would be watching through the shaded gray glass.

  Abi paced the small cold room, which contained a dark green resin table and chairs. She fumbled with the tissue in her pocket till she felt the pills, all the while wondering why she bothered to hide her actions. Everyone knew of her condition now and at least one person on the opposite side of the window watched her every move. Two nitro tablets were the only items she was allowed to carry. They made her wrap them in a tissue so she wouldn't carry a plastic bottle into the room. Not that anyone ever tried to commit suicide or take a prisoner with a shard of plastic. Normal precautionary measures, they said.

  Abi sighed heavily. At any moment, the woman who might be Becky would walk through the door and into her arms, but Abi still held reservations. She wanted proof-positive and only the DNA would provide that. She would play by all the rules because that was the type of person she was, and because she kept positive thoughts that Megan would win her final appeal. With new information coming to light, certainly the Governor could not allow sentencing to be carried out without having more thoroughly investigated. She, herself, would do as much as possible to exhausted all leads to help a person she felt was innocent. The last resort would be to file a Petition for Clemency.

  Since being able to speak at length with Megan on a daily basis, Abi recognized peculiar aspects of her personality. Some days she was conniving and cunning when frightened; other days, she held no animosity, no dualism and no urge to harm. In fact, she was quite the opposite, meek and mild, like a timid child who needed encouragement to laugh out loud. Her mixed emotions were expressed in unpredictable moods. Her father had evidently sheltered her from more than just being found and identified. The lifestyle they lived had not promoted a lot of self-confidence when dealing with others.

  Abi easily understood the true nature of this young woman. Why couldn't anyone else realize Megan was not a crazed killer but a curious, naïve half-child who had never been encouraged to mature to womanhood? She must have endured much confusion just to understand life while growing up. Obstacles she dealt with in order to retain her sanity while being imprisoned were enormous. The legal system had been thrust upon her. She had summoned the where-with-all to manage her own appeals. What a powerful person she would become when all was set right. Abi wanted to do whatever it took to give this woman back her life, even if the DNA revealed she was not Becky, and despite her deception. If she was put to death and then found to be innocent, Abi would never forgive herself.

  Abi closed her eyes and remembered the scene in the visiting room when the inmate heard the nickname Bippy. How could she have faked her response? She knew the whole sentence that Abi used to sing during playtimes with Becky. Abi needed to try harder to accept this inmate as her daughter.

  The cold emptiness of the room and the long wait sent a shiver up her spine. She clasped her arms around herself and threw a sideways glance toward the window that only reflected her tense image.

  The door opened. Det. Britto stuck his head inside. “You all right? I saw you check your pills.”

  “It's the norm for me.” She waved him off.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, thanks for checking.” She glanced at her watch. “Where is she? They should have brought her ten minutes ago. We'll run out of time.”

  “Easy, now. Kenton knows what he's doing. I'm sure he's got you together for a solid hour.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  He sighed. “I'll be leaving, ma'am. Got an urgent call.” Det. Britto's expression showed disappointment at having to leave. He backed out but his hand held the door slightly ajar. Abi's heart jumped as people passed outside the open slit of the doorway. She strained to see and the few seconds seemed to take hours before the door began to open again. As the door slowly opened, with people talking outside, Emery walked in with Megan following behind. A stout matronly guard brought up the rear.

  Already in tears, Abi couldn't help herself and rushed forward and threw her arms around Megan's neck. She stepped away when Megan squirmed uncomfortably, waiting for her hands to be freed.

  The guard pulled tissues from Megan's pockets and then threw them onto the tabletop. She felt inside the pockets and patted her down. Finally, the guard fumbled to release the handcuffs behind her back and Megan lunged forward and they hugged and kissed and wept. The one-way window was forgotten as they pulled back to look at each other. Along with the loose orange jumpsuit, Megan wore flimsy rubber sandals. Emery left the room with the guard and the door was locked. Abi and Megan hugged and cried some more.

  Megan coughed and blew her nose. Abi sat down. Megan took the chair beside her and turned to face her. Their knees touched. They held hands. Although Megan made all the sounds of crying, she shed no tears. An eerie feeling came over Abi. Megan was simply going through the motions. How could Becky Ann possibly become that dry of emotion? It was difficult at best to see this woman as Becky.

  “Do you feel better now, Becky, having contact with people again?” Calling this woman by her daughter's name stuck in Abi's throat.

  “It's nice to know there's help.” Her gaze flitted away and then returned. “I've only had contact with one best friend all these years.”

  “Oh?”

  Megan looked a little sheepish. “I'm allowed to get letters. Rae—we're friends for life—she's the only one who writes anymore.”

  That was a surprise. As far as answering the mail, Megan was allowed to use the prison library's computer for outgoing messages. Replies had to arrive via the Post Office. Death Row inmates were not allowed pens or pencils, which could be used as weapons. Prison officials read all incoming and outgoing mail.

  Abi wondered how close she and her daughter would have been had life been normal. Thank goodness Megan had a friend who stuck with her through it all. Abi sighed heavily and prayed that God grant them time.

  She reached to touch Megan's face and Megan went rigid and pulled backwards. She seemed reluctant to show her cheek even though they had already talked about removal of the mole. Finally, Megan turned her head from side to side for Abi to see. Above one ear and continuing downward, following the contour at the front and stopping at the bottom, was an unremarkable scar a little lighter than her natural skin
color. The other ear was about the same. Abi took a good look. She reached up and pushed back the curls falling over Megan's left ear. Not a trace of a beauty mark remained, not even a dimple. Up close, despite how many surgeries might have changed her, now that her health was returning, Megan had stunning features. “No scar.” Abi was thankful for that. They leaned together and hugged again.

  “How are you holding up with your heart, mommy?” Megan seemed to accept her new position all too easily, just like her disposition that flip-flopped a lot.

  “My heart's so full right now.” Abi lied. Actually, Megan's strange behavior confused her. “I've wished for this moment for so long.”

  “You're not going to let this heart thing take you from me, are you?” Megan's voice was full of uncertainty.

  Then Abi realized just how much she wanted to believe that Megan was Becky. “No, but say it again—what you called me.”

  Megan looked at the floor. “Mommy?”

  “Yes.”

  Megan suddenly met her eyes again. “Mommy. You are my mother.” She smiled as if feeling childish.

  “Finally.” Strangely, Abi felt no relief. During previous visits, Abi spoke about her unrelenting but futile search. Megan already called her mommy, many times. If this woman was Becky, then her use of Mommy was a throwback to suppressed memories and that was why she had difficulty saying the word. “Looks like you're putting some weight back on.”

  “You don't know how relieved I am.”

  “As much as me?”

  She nodded. “I guess I should call you Mother or Mom, huh?”

  “Whatever feels comfortable.”

  Megan suddenly smiled. “I have a gift for you.”

  “A gift? Here?”

  “Mr. Kenton has it. Thanks for him, mother.” Again she looked away when she said mother. “I know he's going to get me cleared.”

  “We're doing everything we can.”

  “I'm innocent.” Her voice was choked, real. Her nostrils flared in anger. “They won't believe me. That girl Dara lied. She lied under oath.”

  “Do you think she set the fire?”