by TL Alexander
“What about it?”
“It and you, thinking you have power over him, worries me.”
“Why?”
“Power in those terms is abuse.”
Shrinks! “I was spouting. I don’t have power over him. If I had power over him, do you think I’d be sitting here talking to you?”
“I don’t—”
“And by ‘game,’ I’m saying that’s all we ever were, a game. I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t, and he was pretending to love who… I’m not sure. Bri or Morgan?”
“I think you are sure.”
I shake my head. “You’re a clever one, I’ll give you that. You just turned the conversation in his direction.”
“We’ve yet to seriously talk about him.”
“How do you talk about something you don’t understand?”
“You don’t understand love?”
“If someone you loved—no, someone you gave a part of yourself to, a part you didn’t even know you possessed, until you’d given it. A part once given can never be given again. How would you feel about this someone after he did the unthinkable?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I. Until I understand what I’ve lost, I can’t…”
“I understand.”
“You do?”
He smiles. “Not really.”
This makes me laugh—something I rarely do anymore.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You’re the doctor.”
“I’m not so sure when it comes to you.”
“Ask away.”
“We haven’t talked about your—”
“And we’re not. Ever.”
“I think it’s important, Morgan.”
“Why are you so interested?”
“I’m concerned.”
I know he’s concerned. But I also know there is more to it. He’s been pushing me on this subject; one I’ve made very clear is never to be mentioned. Why now? Why won’t he let it go? Does he have an alternative motive? Or am I just being paranoid?
“Why did you move to Florida?”
“What do a lot of people in Florida do when they’re retired?”
“Golf.”
“That’s why I moved here.”
“You have a slight accent. Where did you grow up?”
“Why all the questions about my life?”
“Just curious.”
He frowns and quickly smiles. “I grew up in the South.”
Coincidence? “I’ve never really spent time in the South.”
“It’s not much different than most places. With the exception of the humidity and… Okay, it’s different,” he says and chuckles.
He pauses for a few beats.
I wait for him to make the next move.
“Where would you live, if you had a choice?”
“Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
“Anywhere in the world?”
He nods.
“Everywhere and nowhere.”
“At the same time?”
“Of course.”
“I see. You’d live on a boat.”
I nod.
Our conversation goes back and forth like this for the remainder of our time. We talk about sailing with my dad, and a little about my mother, nothing new, and nothing that isn’t public knowledge.
When my time’s up, I stand and we shake hands as we always do.
“I enjoyed our conversation, Morgan.”
“It was a pleasure, as always, Doctor.”
“See you next week,” he says, sounding as if it’s a question.
“See you then.”
Officer Willis opens the door to one of five conference rooms. I step over the threshold.
Two mouths drop. Two mouths of the two men I had trusted with my life and continue to do so.
“What the hell happened?” Dad yells.
Officer Willis uncuffs me, and I sit at the table positioned in the center of the windowless room.
“Willis? What the hell is this?” Peter says while waving a hand my way.
“It happened when I was off. I’m looking into it.”
Jack Steel looks anything but happy as he sits across from me.
“How long will you be?” Officer Willis asks.
“Give us two hours,” Peter tells her.
“Looking good as ever, Jack.”
Dad smiles. “You too, Willis.”
“Gross,” I tell them.
She chuckles and leaves me with two angry men.
Peter turns his chair around, like he always does. I think he does this because it creates an extra barrier between us. He gets a little upset now and then. Like hitting the table and wall when I tell him something he strongly disagrees with. I don’t blame him. I’ve asked more from him than I’ve had a right to.
I sigh heavily while I comb my hair back with my left hand.
From the murderous look on my dad’s face, I’d say the left-handed distraction didn’t work.
He’s now looking at the broken finger on my right hand as his face darkens a shade. He looks at my face. “And your nose. It’s broken?”
I nod.
“So… let’s hear it,” Dad says.
“Officer Rimes left me cuffed in my opened cell. Three ‘women,’ using the term loosely, came in and beat the shit out of me.”
Peter closes his eyes briefly and then says, “The same women?”
“Yeah. They told me my time was about up.”
“We need to get you moved or put into solitary or something.”
I shake my head. “Caldwell will just send others. And no solitary, I’d be more vulnerable there. The guards draw straws for shifts in solitary. With my luck, Rimes would draw the straw every day.” I’m not telling them the truth. The truth is, solitary is worse than being beat up.
Peter nods. “I agree. No solitary.”
Dad throws up his hands. “Well, just great! Then what, Morgan? What are we to do? Just wait until they kill you?”
I place my hand over his. “Dad, there seems to be a pattern to their abuse, every seven to eight weeks, payday I’m guessing. We have some time to figure something out.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’m worried, Morgan. I can’t…”
“I know you are. I’m not without friends here,” I tell him, hoping it helps ease his worry. “I’ll do what I have to do to stay alive. I have one very good reason to live.”
A fleeting smile brushes over his lips while he removes a photo from a file and hands it to me. I put it in the front pocket of my scrubs-like uniform without looking at it. I’ll have plenty of time to look at and study it later. “Is everything good?”
He nods as he hands me another photo.
I take it and look it over. “Oh my God. Who are those women on my boat?”
Dad chuckles. “Turn it over.”
I look at the back of the photo and read, “Me and the Coconut Bay knitting club.” I laugh. “Knitting club?”
“It’s good to see you laugh,” Dad says.
“I think that was Mark’s intention. Tell him it worked.”
Mark took the money I gave him and bought me a boat, the AKA. He told me he was going to test drive it for me, sail around the world. He hasn’t gotten very far on his world cruise. He started in Miami, and he’s still in Miami.
I put the photo aside. “So where do we stand,” I ask no one in particular. “Anything on my ‘biggest fan’?”
Peter slides me a file. “Nothing new there, I’m sorry to say.”
I open the file. His picture sits on top. I pick it up and look it over, while trying to rein in all the emotions that begin to rage within me. How can he look even better than I remember? How can I love him and hate him at the same time? He didn’t have the balls to come to my trial. Eighteen months in county lockup during the trial, and a year in prison, hasn’t lessened the sting of his betrayal. It’s only made it worse.
I put the photo
down and pick up another. I look into her eyes, as if doing so can help me understand. Does Suzette love him? Does he love Suzette? I can answer the first question by the smile on her face. The second question will remain unanswered. “Where was this taken?”
“Outside Caldwell International.”
I put the photo down and read the report. Halfway through, I look up. “What does this mean?”
“Right now it doesn’t mean a thing.”
“Why would he change his name? Do you think his wife made him?”
Peter shrugs. “Maybe it has to do with running Caldwell International. He was CEO for a few years.”
I read further. “Evans,” I say out loud. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“It doesn’t to me,” Dad says.
“Wait! Evans Hodges. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“I’m not following,” Dad says.
“The trial,” I tell them.
Peter shakes his head. “What? I don’t remember.”
“During his testimony, the judge called Hodges, Mr. Evans Hodges, and he corrected the judge, saying ‘that’s Hodges Evans.’”
“How did you remember that?” Peter asks.
“I don’t know. It didn’t pop out then, but now… If Senator Caldwell changed his name from Evans to Caldwell, then they must be related?”
“You’re right,” Peter says.
“There’s got to be a reason he changed his name.”
“I’ll check into it. Dig deeper into the senator’s past.”
“It can’t hurt,” Dad says.
“It’s not something we’ve looked into,” I add. “Maybe we’ll find something we can use.”
Peter nods.
I continue to read his report. I look up. “So nothing new on Tad.”
“I’m almost certain he’s dead.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I’m positive he wasn’t a knowing player in their game. I think Drake dropped by the cottage like he told you, and then he or one of the senator’s minions killed Tad and got rid of all the evidence. They weren’t able to identify the body of the vagrant who was found in the warehouse fire in Newport. I think that man was Tad, or the guy they hired who looked like Terrance Thomas.”
“That would explain the disappearance of one of them,” Dad says.
I nod and finish reading Peter’s report. When done, I set the file down. “That brings us back to my ‘biggest fan.’ I’m convinced that he or she is the only one who can help me.”
“We can still work on the contrived evidence. See if we can rattle the two lab technicians who testified,” Dad adds. “And we have several more appeals to file.”
“Let’s do any and everything we can,” I tell him.
“I think we should talk to Drake Hudson,” Peter says.
“No.”
“It can’t hurt,” Dad adds.
“Absolutely not.”
“Morgan, please.”
“No, Dad. Never.”
“Maybe we could show him the pictures, tell him the real story of his half-brother. Not the bullshit that was presented at the trial.”
“Drake will call daddy, and the senator will end his game. We need to keep him playing; he gets off on hurting me, just like he got off on driving me crazy. As long as he’s still getting off, I’ll remain alive.”
“Will you please think about it?” Peter asks.
“No. Not even for a minute. He betrayed me for money and position. And who’s to say he doesn’t already know about Terrance Thomas.”
“Do you really think Drake would have done what he did if he knew his half-brother was a serial rapist and murderer?” Dad asks.
“I don’t think Drake has a clue to what happened to Tara and God knows how many other women,” Peter says.
“I think you’re wrong. We’re talking about a man who fooled me. That doesn’t happen very often.”
“Love is blind,” Dad says.
“Yes it is,” Peter adds.
“I know you two mean well, but to believe Drake Hudson will help, is a false hope.”
Dad frowns.
Peter sighs heavily then says, “Okay, you’re the boss.”
I move the conversation away from the man who betrayed me. “Let’s talk about Tara. Why was she in Miami and why did Terrance Thomas kill her?”
“Do you think her baby could have been Thomas’s?” Dad asks.
“No. It just doesn’t fit,” I tell him. “Why would she be using an alias if she was involved with Thomas?”
“I agree,” Peter says.
“Do you think she was investigating him, or working on a story?” Dad asks.
“We’ve explored that,” Peter tells him. “Tried to find a link. We’ve found nothing.”
“But if we don’t know the identities of any of Thomas’s other victims, how could we make a link? Therefore, how could we rule it out?” I ask him.
“We can’t rule it out,” Peter says. “We can’t rule out anything.”
Dad shrugs his shoulders in defeat.
I squeeze his hand. Telling him, don’t give in or give up.
Peter rubs his goatee; he’s thinking.
“What?” I ask him.
“Tara’s dad, Frank, he was looking into your mom’s death.”
“Frank was obsessed with Ann and her death. He never found anything,” Dad says with a bite.
“How do you know that, Jack? Did he call and tell you?”
“There’s no link between Ann and the Caldwells,” Dad reaffirms.
“Tara did call me. Asked me why you weren’t answering your phone.”
“And I called her back, left a message.”
“Did she call you back?” Peter asks.
Dad shakes his head. “No.”
“We have nothing to lose by looking into what Frank might have found,” I tell them.
“I’ll do it then,” Peter says.
“It’s a waste of time. Frank was crazy.”
“I don’t think he was crazy,” Peter tells him. “I think he was in love with a woman who was in love with another man.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know a hell of a lot more than you do, Jack.”
“More than me! Morgan is in this mess because of you.”
“Dad. Lay off.”
“Why should I? If he didn’t make notes about you and then leave them in his office so Caldwell could break in and find them, you wouldn’t be here.”
“That’s not fair, Dad. I’m here because I killed a man. Peter was just one more pawn in the senator’s game.”
“We’ll he doesn’t know more than I do. And he has no idea what it’s like to have a daughter in prison. A daughter he can’t help.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Jack. Morgan might not be my blood, but I see her as a daughter. And there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about my role in this mess.”
“Can we please not fight? I need both of you.”
When it comes to Frank, my mom, or anything to do with her death, Dad can’t make himself go there. Even after all these years. I’m just like him. I’ll never be able to talk about the man whose betrayal cut so deeply, the wound might never heal.
“I wish we had more,” Peter says.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Dad says.
Officer Willis opens the door.
I look up at the clock, not believing it has already been two hours.
“Time flies in here, when you don’t want it to,” she tells us.
The brief and diminishing visits aren’t her fault. I should have every opportunity to see my attorney and other court-approved visitors, like Jack and Peter. But the prison runs by its own rules, or I should say Senator Caldwell’s rules.
“I’ll get another visit on the books,” Peter says. “Hopefully within the next two weeks.”
I nod and look at Dad. He always gets teary-eyed when we part. I wish I could comfort him, tell him everything i
s going to be okay. I want him to hug me. I want him to hold me in his arms and rock me like he did when I was a child. But we weren’t allowed to hug or to get close. We have to play by the rules or they’ll use it against me in any capacity they can. I stand and Dad follows.
“See you soon,” I tell him.
All he can do is nod. He’s too choked up for words.
“We’ll talk about the book that’s not about me.”
He nods again, adding a passing smile.
“Promise me you’ll keep him safe, Peter.”
“I promise.”
“Dad.”
He nods his understanding.
“See you both soon.”
Officer Willis cuffs me and guides me toward the door. We walk out and the door shuts behind us. I close my eyes and pray I’ll see them again.
LOSING THE QUEEN CAN BE THE FINAL BLOW
The next week goes by without drama, other than my nose. It wasn’t healing and needed to be reset, resulting in two fresh black and blue eyes.
I look at the clock. Ten till four. I look around the library. No books need to be put away, having had only one visitor today.
I return my book to the shelf and stand near the door. It’s Wednesday, and as always, I’m looking forward to my visit with Dr. Harrison.
Officer Smith meets be at the door. “Are you ready, Steel?”
I nod, put my arms together, and hold them out in front of me.
She cuffs them and then follows me to Dr. Harrison’s office. When we get there, his inner office door is closed.
“He’s late,” she says.
“He’ll be here soon.”
“He better be. I take my lunch at four fifteen.”
At twelve after, she pushes me toward the exit. “I’m not waiting anymore.”
His door opens just as we’re exiting.
“I’m here. I’m here,” he shouts.
Officer Smith frowns. She’s not impressed. “You’re late, Doctor.”
“So sorry. Got caught in traffic.”
“What traffic?” she asks. “There’s no traffic out here.”
“Miami traffic.” He gestures toward my face. “What the hell?”
“My nose wasn’t healing. I had it reset.”
He shakes his head as Officer Smith uncuffs me.
“I’ll need and extra thirty minutes with Ms. Steel,” he tells her.
