Carved in Blood (Evan Lane Mystery Book 1)

by E. R. FALLON

  “It’s not important,” I said. “I can’t remember what I said.”

  “That’s convenient for you.”

  She wanted to play a game with me? Well, then, I would play. I stood up and retrieved my bag from the floor. “If you plan to waste my time here, then I might as well leave.”

  Alice looked aghast. “Please don’t leave, Mr. Samuels. Please, we’ve barely started.” Her voice thinned out with panic.

  I paused before I spoke, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word please more.” I smiled, hung my satchel over the chair, and sat down again. It took some time getting used to and conquering the rhythm of her manipulation but in that instance, I’d believed she had a genuine desire for me to remain there with her. Then I corrected myself before she could reflect, ponder, and ask me to elaborate on my observation, seeing as I’d supposedly met her only once before then. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word more, since we met yesterday, that is.”

  Alice watched me with interest. “Are you going to write anything down today? You didn’t take notes yesterday.”

  “You have a good memory, and so do I.”

  “You should ask them for a copy of the tape on your way out. They record everything we say in here, I’m sure. Did you know they do that?”

  I shook my head but didn’t let her see my reaction either way. I had thought of that before coming there. Being recorded was another reason to avoid disclosing my relation to her, as anyone could have been listening in on the meeting and could have used what I said against me or for their benefit.

  “That must be hard for you,” I said to Alice, softening my tone. “It must be difficult to get privacy around here.” If we could form even the most delicate, tentative buds of a friendship, maybe she’d open up to me—in a moment or two.

  “Yeah, sometimes it is,” she said. “I’ll admit it’s not as hard as it had been when I first came here. I’ve adjusted.”

  “Have you always—lived?—at this prison.” I didn’t know if ‘lived’ was an appropriate term to use for a person housed somewhere involuntarily. But I did know Alice had always lived there.

  “Yes, I have. I nearly pissed my pants when the car pulled in and dropped me off,” she said, and I instinctively pulled back in my chair at her severity. Pissed. I’d never known her to have been so crass. She must have picked up the language on the inside. “I got the royal treatment. Most inmates in here got dropped off by a bus. Never thought I’d live to see the word ‘freedom’ paired with ‘prison’.”

  My mother laughed faintly. She seemed more contented behind those unbreakable walls than I recalled her being inside our home. Had prison served her well? It certainly hadn’t ruined her spirit.

  “I thought the same thing about the sign when I drove inside this place,” I said.

  “Driving,” Alice said. “I miss having wheels. There’s nothing like the feel of the open road and the power of an engine. Trouble is, you don’t value it until you don’t have it any longer. Did you drive here?”

  I’d never known that about my mother, that she liked to drive. “I did,” I said.

  “Why do you own a car if you live in the city, or did you rent one, is that what you did? Isn’t that the whole point of living in a city, so you can walk everywhere?”

  “My girlfriend likes having a car. We both do, actually.”

  Alice smiled. “I knew a young man as handsome as you are had to have himself a lady. What’s she like? It’s none of my business but I’d love to hear. Is she smart? Pretty? It’s better for a woman to be smart than pretty. Most men don’t realize that until it’s too late and they’re stuck with an idiot with fading looks.”

  Her last remark took me off guard. Did she believe my father left her because she lacked something, beauty or intelligence?

  “Sammie is smart and beautiful,” I said.

  “If you marry her and she took your name, she’d be Sammie Samuels.”

  I chuckled, and then realizing I gave her Sammie’s name, a very personal detail of my life, I stopped short.

  “Is something the matter?” Alice asked.

  “No. I realized we don’t have that long to talk. I wouldn’t want you to miss lunch.”

  “Would you like me to shut up and get on with it?”

  I wasn’t sure whether a smile was appropriate. “Yes, I would be grateful.”

  Alice folded her hands on the tabletop and then seemed to be anticipating how to proceed. “First, you need to know something. It’s regarding me. Something very important that could change how you feel about me and our interview and about what I’m going to tell you.”

  I nodded at her dramatic, drumroll-inspired technique and wondered how many writers she used that line with before me.

  “They’re recording us,” Alice said, “but they’ve already caught their killer and are satisfied. At this point, it’d be a pain in the ass for them to reopen the case. The police are happy to have their killer and the case closed. Even someone as noble as your acquaintance Mack wouldn’t bother anymore. I—we—fooled them all. After the years that have passed, I’m sick of putting on this act.”

  We?

  “I don’t understand.” I walked my chair closer to the glass plate. This close, her blue-green eyes shone softly and beautifully.

  Alice watched her hands. “You see, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and the doc gave me a few months to be left here on this damn earth because I’ve asked them not to treat me.”

  Overwhelmed with so many emotions, I couldn’t gather my thoughts to speak coherently. But her disclosure warranted an immediate response from me, so I asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

  Alice smiled. “I feel a connection to you?” she shrugged.

  How had the revelation made me feel? It affected me but I couldn’t show how much. Alice hadn’t received the death penalty but cancer would take her from me. My mother. My mother, the murderer. My mother, the murderer, was dying.

  A tear wet my cheek and I stared down at my lap to disguise my reaction, quickly cleaning my face with my hand. I thought of all the things we would never get to do together and all the things we hadn’t done because she was locked in there. In a way, a small part of me had clung to the threads of hope that she’d be exonerated and released from the prison. Now, that couldn’t happen. She’d be released upon her death, in the form of her body, but she wouldn’t get to walk through those gates of freedom to meet me, her child. I breathed deeply and struggled to preserve my equilibrium. Alice wouldn’t have understood my display, and losing control of my emotions would have raised her suspicions.

  “Are you all right?” Alice looked toward me. Her expression appeared as though she didn’t comprehend my reaction. Why would a stranger have become so emotional over her news?

  I sat up and spoke quickly. “I’m fine. My allergies are acting up.”

  “This time of year?” Alice lifted her eyebrow. “I may be stuck in here with minimal contact with the outside world except a quick walk around the courtyard once in a while, but isn’t it a little cool this time of year for allergies? You came here wearing a jacket.” She gestured to my coat. “It looked like you were crying. Because of what I told you? I’m touched.” Alice gave me a slight smile.

  “People can get allergies this time of year. I do.” Then I altered the direction of the conversation to throw her off guard. “The other day, you asked me about the weather. Why did you enquire about that when you must know about it yourself from your walks?”

  Alice lifted her hands and shrugged. “It was just something to talk about.”

  I’d taken my phone—the guards had checked it when I arrived— in with me and it rang in my pocket. A text from someone. I touched my pocket to quiet it. I didn’t want to go through the trouble of removing it from my pocket in front of Alice, who’d almost surely ask me questions regarding the caller.

  She asked anyway. “Was that a phone I heard ringing? Do you have one of those com
puter phones I read about? Don’t look so surprised. I’m allowed to read magazines in here. And I’ve seen my lawyers using them.”

  “Yes, it’s a smart-phone.”

  For a moment I forgot about her illness. Then another matter occurred to me. Alice had raised me and I had never suffered under her hands during my childhood, but she’d also managed to hide from me the fact that she was a murderer. What if she was, simply, a versatile liar and was dishonest in general?

  “You aren’t lying about your illness, are you?” I asked, feeling miserable for asking, yet wondering if that could have been a way for her to pull my leg.

  “Lying to you, for, what, attention?” Alice frowned. She didn’t like that I’d mistrusted her. “No, I’m not lying to you. Why would I invent an illness? I may be sick but I’m not that sick.” I refrained from responding, and she said, “I’m surprised you’d doubt me. I thought we were friends. I know you won’t believe me but I’ve tried to be a good person in here and outside.”

  “Fine, if your definition of good is murdering people. You hid your crimes from your community for years so I don’t think it’s so surprising that I’d have some doubt about the things you say. You don’t have a reputation for being straightforward about who you are.”

  I was angry. Angry that she was dying and that I hadn’t known, but how could I have, when I’d isolated myself from her? Angry that she hadn’t really been the loving mother who I believed she was during the time she raised me. She’d been an ideal mother, and when I learned she wasn’t truly that, it had shattered me.

  “If I’m wrong, I’m sorry,” I added, in a humbler tone.

  “That’s in the past,” Alice spoke quietly. “If I said prison’s changed me, would you believe me?”

  “I’ve known you for two days,” I spoke cautiously. “And with your past, I honestly don’t know you well enough to trust anything you say.” Alice looked around for her escape plan, and I said fast, “But, Alice, I’m willing to listen. I hadn’t meant to upset you, Alice.” I emphasized her name to win her over.

  Silence from her. And more silence. I considered she might ring for the guard and that I might have to collect my belongings and return tomorrow, assuming she would see me again. I was pretty sure they couldn’t force her to talk to me. To Mack, yes, but not to me. Then Alice began to speak.

  “They, the prison, didn’t seem to have a problem with my decision not to seek treatment for my cancer,” she said. “Why should they care if I don’t want to be treated? They figure I’m a murdering scum so what do they care if I die? Better sooner than later, is what they’re thinking.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “You shouldn’t deny yourself treatment.”

  “Why should you care, either?”

  I’d made her suspicious and I struggled to correct myself. “If you want to get treatment, you should,” I said. “You shouldn’t let their feelings about you prevent you from doing what’s best for your health.”

  She smiled and I felt myself blushing. “It’s nice of you to care,” she said. “But I’ll pass.”

  I almost stood up, and I didn’t know what to do with my hands or how to control my emotions. “You’re just going to let yourself die?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” I demanded.

  “Because that’s what I want.”

  “What about what your family wants?” I rose from the chair.

  She shrugged and I wanted to scream at her.

  “Do they know about your illness?” I said.

  “They know what they need to. I know what’s best.” She spoke with confidence. “Please sit.”

  “You’re giving up, just like that?”

  “I’m not talking about this anymore. Please sit down.”

  As a stranger, I could only push her so many times before she shut me out again. I took a few moments to collect myself—Alice watched me the entire time—and then I sat.

  “Once I’m gone, no one will find out about her unless I tell you. Once I’m dead, you bet you can forget about anyone finding out.” Alice made a gesture of slitting her throat and I recoiled. “Sure, there’s a chance that on my death, someone in my family will spill their guts, but if that doesn’t happen, I want you to tell my story.”

  I flinched at the image of guts spilling over. Someone in her family. I was someone in her family and I didn’t understand what she meant, so, then, what had she meant?

  “I’m giving you permission that upon my death you can write about what I’m going to tell you today,” she said. “I promise you this will be a big, career-making story for you. Everybody’s going to know your name when you write this story.”

  “I see.” I was unable to curb my disbelief. “And you’ve chosen me to write it, why?”

  “You help me, and I help you in return. As I said, I feel a connection to you.” Alice smiled as though she had a secret she wanted to disclose, which, evidently, she had. “I’ve protected her for long enough. I went to prison for her. Now, when I die, I want you to tell my story so you can let Evelyn know I’m not a killer like everybody thinks. I want Evelyn to have some peace.”

  “You are a . . . ” You are a killer, I’d almost uttered. Then I reminded myself that she had been declared insane. “Why don’t you tell Evelyn yourself when I find her and bring her to you? Isn’t that what you want?

  “You might not find her before I die, even I know that. That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make in order for you to get my story out there. Even if I don’t see Evelyn before I die, as long as I know she’ll be reading the truth, then I’m fine with that. She needs to know about her. It’s time.”

  The truth.

  “I’m sorry but who is this her you’re referring to?” I asked. “Is she your daughter, Evelyn? Are you talking about your daughter?”

  “No, there were two.” The tears made Alice’s eyes appear larger. “Two daughters. They’re identical twins.”

  I nearly fell back in my chair. “What did you—I don’t understand what you—”

  “Evelyn isn’t my only child.”

  “But I’m—”

  “I’m discussing my children. This isn’t about you, handsome.”

  Had Alice somehow figured out who I was, and did she, my own mother, get some sort of pleasure out of fucking with my mind? She had never been cruel to me but what if she’d suddenly revealed her true nature to me? I swallowed and planted my feet firmly on the floor to keep myself upright. If I was wrong and she was telling me the truth, she wouldn’t understand if I keeled over.

  I looked back toward the call-button. Leaving and never hearing what she had to say could have been regrettable later on. On the other hand, staying and hearing that my life wasn’t what I’d thought, that as complicated as I’d thought it was, it was even more complex, could have been equally as traumatic. My mantra had always been that bad things happen but you can’t let them ruin you. You simply find some way to move on. I wasn’t sure I could move on from what she might tell me.

  “I don’t understand. You mentioned one daughter,” I said.

  “Mentioned one, but have two,” Alice corrected me.

  “You’re pulling my chain, aren’t you? Making a fool out of the reporter because of all the nasty things we’ve said about you in the past, aren’t you?” I spoke fast. If she wasn’t jesting, then the revelation would have been unfathomable.

  Alice shook her head. “I’m a dying woman, why would I waste what little time I have left by fooling you? I’ve kept up this ruse for too long. It’s not easy pretending to be insane. In fact, maybe I am a little insane. You don’t do what I did if you’re normal. None of my therapists over the years figured me out but I believe a few came close.” She zeroed-in on my eyes. “This seems to be upsetting you. I’m sorry.”

  She reached up as though to touch me, to comfort me, then seemed to remember the glass that separated us. I would have liked to have felt my mother’s caresses, which had been soft and patient during my y
outh, and I wondered whether her touch would have felt the same, or if prison and time had hardened her skin, and her spirit.

  “Please, don’t apologize,” I said. “I’m not upset. It’s my allergies.”

  “Oh, right, your allergies. I forgot.” Cynicism didn’t sour her tone. She spoke as though she sensed the discomfort of the moment and wanted to assure me there were no strange vibes among us. The feelings passing between us through the glass were such that if we hadn’t been physically divided, she would have leaned over and patted my hand.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I said. “It can’t only be because—”

  “I’m dying? No.” Alice tilted her head and her gaze traveled over my form in the chair. “You remind me of Evelyn. Isn’t that funny, because you’re a man?”

  I sat up in the chair and didn’t smile like her. “I don’t see how that’s possible. I’m, you know, and she’s . . .”

  I sought consolation in something familiar and reached around in the chair to touch my bag and ground myself in reality. I breathed in and comforted myself. This is happening. I’m here visiting my killer mother in prison, and I might have a long-lost twin sister.

  Alice smiled and slapped her knee. “Heck, I didn’t say you were her, just that you remind me of her, or of how she was when I knew her. I have no idea what she’s like today. I do bet that she’s as pretty as you are handsome.” Her eyes brightened with admiration. “Let me explain because this is a strange story.”

  Chapter 14

  As complex as my life had been up until that point, it was about to become even more so.

  “Evelyn didn’t—doesn’t—know she has a sister out there,” Alice said. “My other daughter, Evelyn’s twin, isn’t the type of person you’d want to meet, if you catch my drift.”

  I took my grip off my bag. “No, I don’t ‘catch your drift’.” I should have removed my notepad from my satchel to make it look like I was genuinely interested, hence my questions. I didn’t, though. “You hid Evelyn’s sister from her? Why would you do something like that to your daughter?”