The Starks Trilogy (Book 1 & 2)

by Nesly Clerge

  He dreamed he saw Emma standing in the prison corridor, and that he went out to meet her. She smiled at him and held out her arms. He rushed to her, embraced her. When he stepped back to look at Emma, her expression transformed into one of malice. She grew taller, darker, larger, until it was Bo’s hands bruising his forearms. One hand let go and became a knife, which Bo took his time dragging across Starks’s neck, laughing as the lifeblood gushed out of him.

  Starks bolted up in bed, became aware his skin, hair, clothes, and blanket were saturated.

  Rain pelted the window. He tried to calm himself, tried to remind himself he’d been dreaming. He watched the rain stream down the glass and attempted to sleep again but couldn’t. The dreams had rattled him, and he was afraid they’d return. That was the only reason he could fathom for what he felt impelled to do.

  In the bed below, his cellmate snored. He called for Lawson, but couldn’t wake him. Starks slid out of his bunk, grabbed a pen and two sheets of paper, and in the dimmed illumination of the overhead lights, and in his small, concise script, he wrote two notes.

  Kayla,

  I’m truly sorry for the hurt I’ve caused. I’ve hurt you, our children, myself, and so many others. I’m sorry for how I reacted to the Ozy situation. I’m sorry I didn’t provide what you needed—and deserved. I equated providing material things with love. I now understand you needed more from me. I was disappointed that you’d deceived me in so many ways, and for so long, but who am I to judge you? I had my own secrets and my own indiscretions. I will always care for and about you, and I understand now that being together is no longer possible, because of the pain we’ve caused each other. Please know how very sorry I am about everything. Please watch over our children and tell them I love them.

  Emma,

  You were there for me throughout this emotional roller coaster, and especially when my grandfather passed away. I’m sorry for being so guarded about seeing you. I’m dealing with a great deal of pain from my past and, unfortunately, I feel I need to be careful, for now at least, about whom I let get close. I couldn’t take being hurt again, not while I’m trying to heal from all that’s happened. You have all the qualities I need and want in a woman but who knows what the future will bring. It isn’t fair to ask or expect you to wait for me. Just know that I truly care about you. If I make it in here, it would be wonderful to one day call you my wife.

  He’d apologized to Kayla and given Emma an out, if she wanted one. Maybe now he could sleep.

  Starks folded the papers, placing them under his pillow. He settled as best he could and kept his eyes focused on the window until, at some point, he fell asleep to the hammering drops against the glass.

  He didn’t dream.

  CHAPTER 55

  THE NEXT MORNING, after going through the motions at breakfast, he slipped the two envelopes into the mail drop.

  Lawson wasn’t in the cell, so Starks did what had become his habit: He removed the shank from his shoe and slipped it inside the slit he’d made in his pillow. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that when he was in his cell, it made more sense for the shank to be in easy reach. There was no perfect system for this, especially when out of the cell, but he couldn’t think of another way.

  He was lying on his bunk when a guard he’d never seen came to the cell and said, “Phone call.”

  “Who’s calling me?”

  “Do I look like your secretary?”

  “Not on her worst day.” He sat up. “Where do I go?”

  “Go to the central station. The guard will hand the receiver to you through the slot.”

  Starks had never been called to the phone before. In fact, he recalled another guard telling him they didn’t take calls for inmates. His puzzlement turned to fear about one of his children. The thought of an emergency, with him trapped in prison, made him leap from the bunk.

  “No running,” the guard reminded him.

  Starks went in one direction. The guard went in the other.

  He reached the center station in what felt like hours rather than minutes. “I’m Starks,” he told the guard inside the enclosure.

  “What’s it to me?”

  “I have a phone call.”

  The guard stared at him. “No you don’t.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If you’re stupid, that’s not my problem.”

  Starks was relieved there was no emergency after all, but if this was a practical joke, it sucked.

  The time on the clock inside the enclosure showed that lunch started in five minutes. He’d told Lawson he’d meet him in the chow hall and was eager to see what his cellmate thought about this fake call business. Speed-walking got him there with a minute to spare. Lawson was waiting. They got in line together for their trays.

  The bench where Starks usually sat was full across from him, so Lawson sat to his right. Bo and his gang sat at their usual table three rows away. And as usual, they watched him, glared at him, laughed at him.

  He glanced around. There were only two guards on duty instead of the usual four. Certain more guards would show up in a few minutes, he began to eat, staring, unseeing, at the food on his tray.

  The room grew quiet.

  Starks looked up and to the left, and watched as the two guards exited through the door.

  Nearby inmates stood and started to move slowly in his direction.

  “Lawson, stay sharp. Something’s going on.”

  Lawson laughed. “Can’t put anything over on you.”

  Starks felt pressure then searing pain in his right side. He directed his eyes downward and saw lines and numbers on a metal strip and recognized his shank, which had been driven more than halfway in. His cellmate’s hand was still holding it.

  A dark stain began to spread on the fabric of his shirt.

  “Lawson? What the fuck?”

  The crowd around them was larger now, and more inmates hurried to join them, forming a human tent over the action, limiting the view security cameras would have.

  Lawson drew the shank out and thrust it into Starks’s abdomen.

  Starks grabbed Lawson’s hand and shoved at him, punched at him, but Lawson kept pulling the shank out and finding another place to drive it in, sometimes shallow, sometimes deep.

  Blood mixed with food, dripped from the stainless tabletop, ran in streaks down his cellmate’s face and arms and hands.

  Inmates shouted. Some rushed in the opposite direction. Most held the circle tight, broken only when Bo came forward and started choking Starks.

  Starks, growing weaker, clawed at the large hands that then smashed his head into the table several times before letting him go. He twisted and fell, landed on the concrete floor, on his side, unmoving in his blood.

  The alarm began to wail. “Red Dot” was shouted over the intercom. Armed guards ran into the room, shouting orders for inmates to stand with their faces to the wall, hands clasped behind their heads.

  Starks saw Lawson move into the crowd with Bo not far behind him.

  Ted Landers reached him first.

  “God damn it! Someone get the doctor and a gurney. Now!”

  Starks eyes met Ted’s. He found the strength to grasp the CO’s arm and say with difficulty, “Kayla. Emma. Children,” before everything faded to black.

  CHAPTER 56

  DEMORY HAD A half hour before his next session began. He skimmed through his notes on the inmate he was to see and jotted down topics he wanted to cover. It was only their second session, and as often happened, getting anywhere took time.

  There was a knock on his door.

  “Come in.”

  The guard who opened the door didn’t enter.

  “Got some news for you, Demory. One of your patients just got offed.”

  He put his pen down. “Oh God. Who was it?”

  “Frederick Starks.”

  Demory’s arms fell flaccid at his sides. “Are you certain?”

  “Saw him myself. He wasn’t moving. Ha
d a pulse too faint for him to last much longer. And all that blood.”

  “What happened? Where?”

  “Chow hall. Stabbed a bunch of times. The fucking place is gonna have to be hosed down with bleach.”

  Demory glared at the man. Decided it was a wasted effort to comment on his callousness. “Who did it?”

  “Nobody saw nothing. You know how it goes.”

  “Didn’t any of the guards see anything when it started? For Christ’s sake, if he was stabbed multiple times, you’d think they’d notice. What about video?”

  The guard shrugged. “You know what they say: don’t kill the messenger.”

  “Jesus.” Demory slammed his pen onto his desk. “I can tell you who you should look at for this.”

  “Gotta run. Lots to do.” The guard pulled the door shut.

  Demory, devastated, leaned back in his chair and squeezed his eyes closed. He felt as guilty as whichever inmate had attacked Starks. An attack by Bo or one of his gang had always been a matter of opportunity. But if he’d just kept Starks in isolation longer… No, it could have happened any time, which Starks had known.

  The proper prison authority would contact Starks’s family. Whether the person would choose to contact the wife the man was separated from or his mother was an unknown.

  Jeffrey Davis came to mind.

  He pulled Starks’s file from the cabinet, remembering that Jeffrey was listed as the contact person in case of emergency, which meant he probably wouldn’t get in trouble for placing this call ahead of the formal one. He dialed the cell phone number provided.

  “Hey, Big D! Sorry if I sound winded. I’m rushing to my car. Running a little late for an appointment. I was just getting some goodies to bring to Starks. Approved stuff only, I swear.” He laughed. “What can I do for you? What does my friend need? Anything at all, it’s his.”

  Demory ran his hand back and forth across his forehead. “There’s been an incident.” He heard a car door close and outside noises disappear.

  “What kind of an incident? Is he okay?”

  This was more difficult than Demory had anticipated. “I’m afraid he’s… Starks was attacked. He’s dead.”

  Silence, then, “No. I don’t believe it. I… Jesus! I can’t wrap my mind around this. Are you certain?”

  “A guard just reported it to me. You’re listed as the emergency contact person in my file, but I think in this case the proper official for this will notify the family instead. I thought you should know as soon as possible. Once his family’s been told, I know you can be of assistance to them. I’m sure they’ll need it.”

  Jeffrey was silent for a few moments then cleared his throat. “What did they do to him?”

  “I’m not comfortable telling—”

  “What the fuck did they do to him? Tell me, goddammit.”

  “He was stabbed.”

  “Aw, Jesus.” He was quiet for a moment then said, “It had to be to the heart. Too fast for him to protect himself. One stab wound just anywhere wouldn’t have killed him, right?”

  Demory paused then decided to tell the truth. Too many incidents happened behind prison walls that got covered up. “It was multiple wounds. That’s all I know.”

  Demory heard wracking sobs coming from the other end of the line.

  Then the line went dead.

  CHAPTER 57

  JEFFREY WIPED AT his eyes. He ignored the heat building in the closed car. He ignored the sweat that dripped from his face onto his shirt. It wasn’t that he wanted to think about practical matters, but that he had to. Starks and he were business partners.

  Had been.

  One hand scrubbed at the back of his neck when he thought about Kayla, who was going to be furious when she learned how Starks had changed his will after she’d stuck it to him during the trial. He’d witnessed the revision and had a copy of it in the small vault in Starks’s office. Kayla could no longer get her hands on the business or the children’s trust funds; Jeffrey had been made trustee. He wasn’t looking forward to telling her about the changes. First things first: he had to tell her about Starks.

  He’d either call her tonight or in the morning. It was best to give the prison official or Starks’s mother time to notify her, depending on which one of them the official called. He also needed to make sure his head was on straight before he had the inevitable discussion with her. He’d seen Kayla’s temper unleashed, and the new will and trust were likely to set her off.

  Jeffrey dropped his head to the steering wheel and wondered how drama-free the funeral would actually be, considering what the media might do, and considering what he knew about Kayla and Starks’s mother. Those two together at such an emotional time practically guaranteed a nasty scene.

  He cracked his knuckles.

  Still sitting in his car, he cancelled his appointments for the remainder of the day. He wasn’t expected back at the office until just before noon the next day. It was better to break the news to the staff in person.

  Jeffrey drove home, grabbed a bottle of Scotch and a glass then went out to his terrace that abutted the large koi pond. He dropped onto one of the padded lounge chairs, oblivious to the soft breeze that ruffled leaves on trees on the other side of the water.

  After a strong shot of alcohol to help him do what he knew he must, he called Emma, Cathy, and Mason, advising them to keep the information of Starks’s death to themselves, explained that the family possibly hadn’t been notified as yet; that it should be sometime today, but he didn’t know exactly when. Each of them asked for more details, which he didn’t have. He gave them Demory’s office number and thought about calling the counselor back, but didn’t. Kayla could give him more information when he called her at six o’clock, or he’d get them from Starks’s family when he contacted them, if they didn’t contact him first.

  Jeffrey moved back and forth from the terrace to the house to the garage, unable to land in one spot. When he staggered, he realized the Scotch was having more effect than desired or useful. He managed three bites of a sandwich before tossing it.

  At four o’clock he fixed a pot of coffee and drank all eight cups over the next two hours.

  One minute to six, he poured half a glass of Scotch and downed it.

  Then he pressed the house number on speed-dial.

  CHAPTER 58

  THE LANDLINE AT Kayla’s house rang four times before someone picked up.

  Bret answered.

  “This is Jeffrey. Let me speak with Kayla, please.”

  “What do you want with her?”

  What the hell’s the matter with him?

  “She’ll know. Please put her on.”

  “Listen, bub, you called my house and I want to know what your business is with Kayla.”

  His patience was already thin, but this was inexcusable behavior from this asshole, especially under the circumstances.

  “Let me set you straight, Bret. It’s Kayla’s house, not yours. It’s the house Starks built for her. The marble floors you’re walking on, the bed you climb into with her—all made possible by Starks’s money. Now, put her on the phone.”

  Jeffrey jerked his phone from his ear when he heard the receiver slammed down.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  He hit the number on speed-dial again. This time Kayla answered.

  “Kayla… Honey, how are you and the kids holding up?”

  “We’re fine. You sound like you have a cold. Hey, was that you who just called?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You nearly got me in trouble with Bret. He started ranting about someone named Jeffrey insisting on talking to me. Said you cursed him out. I reminded him who you are; that it’s okay if—”

  “Pardon me if Bret’s feelings at such a time are insignificant to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Kayla’s light banter was now making sense—she hadn’t heard yet, which didn’t make sense, unless they’d contacted Starks’s mother, who’d decided not to tell Kayla.
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  Crap.

  “I really thought you would have… I have bad news.”

  “Oh God. Did something happen to the business? Is the money okay?”

  “Forget about the money for one damn minute, will you?”

  “What is wrong with you, Jeffrey?”

  “It’s Starks.”

  “What about him?”

  Jeffrey gulped a shot of Scotch. “I’m so sorry. Starks was attacked. He was killed.”

  “If this is a joke, it’s a cruel one.”

  “Kayla—” His voice broke.

  “No. Jeffrey. No! He can’t be.”

  “I know that underneath all that happened, you cared about him.”

  Kayla broke down.

  Jeffrey brushed at own tears.

  “I’m so sorry, honey. I can’t believe it either. I can’t believe he’s no longer with us.”

  Jeffrey heard Bret ask her what was wrong.

  “My husband’s dead! He’s dead. Everyone will hate me even more now. They’ll blame me. Because of Ozy. None of this would have happened if I’d—”

  “Kayla,” Jeffrey said, “the person to blame is whoever did this.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Everyone will blame me. But they weren’t there. They weren’t on the receiving end of his verbal abuse, how often he told me I was undesirable, that I was never good enough for him. And all the times he left me alone because he was too busy or was with one of his whores. I begged him to treat me like he once had, to love me like he had in the beginning. He practically shoved me into the arms of another man.”

  Through clenched teeth he said, “Kayla, this isn’t the time. As far as I’m concerned, anything he did to you, or you think he did to you, he’s now paid for. With his life.”

  Kayla’s weeping eased after a few moments. “You know I loved him, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, you loved each other but you both got lost along the way, and neither of you could find your way back.”

  “You don’t understand how I tried, Jeffrey. No one does. He stopped caring about me. I told him over and over that he was my king and I was his queen, and that he should treat me like one, but he ignored me. Oh God, I want to die. My husband is dead.”