Entrapment

by Aleatha Romig

  “Damn, that lady’s good.”

  “She is,” I agreed, though she hadn’t been the one to give me that information I was sharing. I reached into the breast pocket of my jacket and pulled out a small cell phone. “Try to get this to her. I’m sure they’ve taken hers.”

  Patrick reached for the phone and charger and nodded. “She got lucky getting assigned to you.”

  “No, I’m not a good person either, but I’m the only bad I want around her. Charli belongs to me and I’m going to get her back. A woman like your cousin doesn’t change her mind during the course of three days. Three days ago she was in our apartment, in our bed. That doesn’t even scratch the surface. Think of what this is doing to her education. She’s worked too hard for this.”

  I leaned forward again. “If Spencer so much as touches her, I’ll kill him. I’m not talking murder-for-hire. I’ll take him out with my bare hands.”

  “And then you’ll be in jail and Alex will be alone or worse yet, abandoned at the house of horrors.”

  “You’re right.” I cocked my head to the side. “I’ll miss the satisfaction, but I know people.”

  Patrick shrugged. “I believe you. Truth is, other than his mommy, I doubt he’d be missed and you’d be doing the world a service.”

  “No love lost?” I asked. “If you all grew up together, shouldn’t you know Spencer?”

  “I do, and no. No love lost is right. He’s a snake and if I thought you needed it, I’d contribute to the murder-for-hire fund. I know a few women who might chip in too.”

  “If you keep saying things like that, I’m back to storming the manor.”

  “Some of the accusations against him are more conjecture than substance, but not all… Take that current thing with that girl from Northwestern. I can’t believe he’s going to beat that rap. No matter what that ass does, he always walks away smelling like a rose.” Patrick looked down at the small cell phone still in his hand. “I’ve tried several times to call her. All I get is voicemail.”

  “She called my assistant and mentioned that she dropped her phone, but I don’t believe her.” I took a drink of my beer as Patrick tucked the small phone and charger in his pocket. “Tell me about the manor.”

  “House of horrors.”

  “I hate that name.”

  “Well, you should. She does. What do you want to know?” he asked. “It’s bigger than a fucking palace. The grounds go on forever. It used to be a tobacco plantation. I guess it still kind of is. I mean they still grow tobacco but it has more: gardens, pool, tennis courts, lake, woods…”

  “They’re not letting me in the front gate. Tell me how I can get on the grounds. If there will be a crowd there next Saturday, one more person shouldn’t trigger a red flag.”

  “I don’t know if you can. Uncle Alton will probably have a ‘WANTED’ picture of you posted in every room.” He narrowed his eyes. “Give me a minute. I’m trying to think. It’s been years since I wandered around that place, way back when we were kids.”

  I pulled out my phone and opened an email from Deloris. “This is the aerial view of the property. Does it bring anything back?”

  Patrick reached for my phone and swiped the screen, moving the image around; he enlarged and reduced the size systematically. As he studied the image, I took another drink of my beer and imagined Charli engaged to Edward Spencer. Swallowing became difficult as the pressure in my throat built.

  She hadn’t given into them when they left her penniless. I needed to know what had caused the change. I needed to know why she’d agreed to this dog-and-pony show, as Patrick called it.

  “See this?” Patrick asked, pointing to the image.

  Though it was grainy, I could make out a dirt access road. Deloris and I had noticed it before, but we weren’t sure if it was monitored or even accessible.

  “Yes, do you know if it’s monitored?”

  He shook his head. “It didn’t used to be. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk from the house to this wooded area.” He pointed again. “This road runs through it and connects to a little-used country road. I think the name is Shaw or something like that. A long time ago the road was used by the workers who tended the fields and picked the tobacco. Now that’s mostly done with machines. Of course, they still need workers, but when Uncle Alton took over, he didn’t want just anyone to be able to come and go on the property. He added another entrance, closer to the curing barns. That one has another guardhouse and workers sign in and out. This old road hasn’t been used for as long as I can remember, except to sneak Alex on and off the grounds a time or two.”

  For the first time since Charli entered that car, a smile tried to break my bleak expression. “You snuck her away from the manor when you were younger?”

  “Only a few times. She’s younger than me, but sometimes during boring family events, we’d escape for a few hours. We’d drive to town, get ice cream or catch a movie. I’d drive separately and after the mandatory family shit, I’d claim some excuse to leave.” He used air quotes on the last word. “She’d tell everyone she was going to bed and then we’d meet back on that road. At the time, we went there because we knew it wasn’t monitored. I don’t think Aunt Adelaide or Uncle Alton ever found out.

  “Jane probably knew,” he added.

  “What’s the deal with her?”

  “Who, Jane?”

  I nodded.

  “Nothing. She was Alex’s nanny when she was younger, probably her best friend.”

  “Do you know her last name? Why isn’t she helping to get her out of this?”

  “I don’t know her last name. She’s just Jane. If anyone could help, it would probably be her. She was always good at keeping Alex’s secrets.”

  I got a small bit of comfort just knowing that Charli had someone she could trust.

  “Tell me the truth, because if you say yes, I’ll fucking storm the damn gates.”

  Patrick’s eyes opened wide.

  “Do you think they’ve hurt her… or will?”

  His chest rose and fell as he considered his response. “It depends on your definition of hurt. Montague Manor is a messed-up house. Alex knows the rules, the ones about not talking. She never said specifically what went on. You’ve got to understand how this works where we’re from. We don’t talk about things. They happen. Everyone knows, but nothing is formally said. But I do know that she’s always hated my uncle. Hated. Like the two of them can barely stand to be in the same room. So for her to get into his car willingly… for her to agree to his terms… it’s big.

  “I always got the feeling that whatever happened between them when she was younger was more psychological, but still, she lived with it for most of her life. That shit has lasting power whether she wants to believe it or not. My uncle’s not a great guy. I remember hearing my parents talk about his and Aunt Adelaide’s marriage. They thought Alex’s mom would leave him, but she never did. It’s part of that control-freak thing.”

  “Does your aunt really have a drinking problem? Is that legit?”

  “I can’t once remember her without a glass. But in all honesty, if I were married to that man, I’d be drinking too.”

  “Get Charli the phone,” I said. “And let her know I’ll be on that old road. She just needs to get to me and I’ll get her out of there.”

  Patrick nodded. “I’ll try, but I’d guess she has her reasons for being there. She didn’t cave to them over the whole trust fund thing. I’m guessing it has something to do with Aunt Adelaide. My mom didn’t have much information on her, only that she’s ill. Remember, we don’t talk about things like that.” Pat took another drink and lifted his brow. “Informally, hell yes. I’m sure my poor aunt is the talk of the social circles. My point is that Alex may not want to leave.”

  His words churned the beer in my gut.

  “I need to know,” I said. “At least I need to talk to her. I’ll do it on that phone, but I’d rather do it in person. I’d rather look into her eyes when she tells me why sh
e got in that fucking car. You’ve got to go to that party and get to her. How about the house? You could call there.”

  Patrick nodded. “I could, but I think it’s better if I don’t. You don’t know my uncle. My chances of getting near her are better if he has no idea that we’re already close. If I show my hand too soon, I could be added to the do-not-invite list.”

  “Then we could crash the festivities together.”

  “Cy’s pretty excited to see the manor. He’s also worried about Alex.”

  “Then don’t get uninvited.”

  I SAT QUIETLY perched on the chair opposite Dr. Miller’s desk at Magnolia Woods. Though Alton was in the chair beside me, I occupied my time with taking in the surroundings. The office was large for an institution; however, I’d venture to guess that at one time it had been a home, a grand Georgia mansion. The dark oak paneling gave a warm yet regal feel and the large windows, unblocked by drapes, looked out upon the lush, scenic grounds.

  It was supposedly the best private facility in the state. According to the brochure I’d taken from the reception area, many clients came from out of state and even internationally to experience the skilled and caring staff as well as the luxurious surroundings. Even now out on the lawn were many clients, walking the paths through the gardens and enjoying the mild autumn air and sunshine.

  If only Momma could be one of them.

  She wasn’t.

  Before going to our meeting, Alton and I visited Momma’s room. She was the same as she’d been yesterday and the day before. Only briefly did her eyes open as if recognizing my voice, but then just as quickly, she was asleep.

  I wanted to believe she’d get better. I wanted to talk to her and let her know I was here. Instead, I smoothed back her hair, noticed the sprinkling of gray that had never before been visible and made a mental note to find out about the facility’s salon or learn if I could bring a beautician to her. It wasn’t much, but I knew how important appearances were to my momma, and no makeup and gray roots were not what she would want.

  I held her hand and talked. With Alton present, I told her about my moving to Savannah and about making plans for a Christmas Eve wedding. I never said I was engaged and avoided using Bryce’s name. It wasn’t necessary. Alton was there to fill in the blanks.

  “I did it, Laide,” he’d said. “I told you I would. It’s all going to work out. Alexandria understands her responsibility and is ready to take her place where she belongs.”

  I knew better than to contradict him.

  That didn’t mean that I agreed, only that I’d avoided further confrontation.

  My goal was to meet and talk with Dr. Miller. If I had to play nice to do that, I would.

  “Where is that man? Doesn’t he know I have a schedule to maintain?”

  Alton’s impatience pulled me from thoughts of my mother. “The receptionist said he had an emergency, but that he’d be here as soon as possible.”

  Alton stood and paced about the office. “Two more minutes and we’re leaving. I have better uses of my time…”

  His words trailed away as the door opened.

  “Mr. Fitzgerald,” a tall, handsome man said, nodding toward Alton.

  Alton extended his hand. “Dr. Miller, I was just telling my daughter—”

  “Yes, your daughter,” Dr. Miller said as he turned my direction and extended his hand. “Alexandria? Isn’t that correct?”

  His shining brown eyes scanned me before settling on mine as we shook hands.

  “Dr. Miller, we heard you have information regarding my mother?”

  “Yes.” He made his way to the other side of the desk as Alton retook the chair to my left.

  No longer shining, his expression dulled as his words slowed. “I understand that you, Mr. Fitzgerald, are a busy man. I’ll get right to the heart of the subject.”

  I sat taller, scooting to the edge of the chair, my back and neck straight with my knees and ankles together and my hands neatly folded on my lap. It was the perfect posture, yet inside I was a bundle of nerves, each one stretching and snapping as the tension built.

  Dr. Miller opened an old-fashioned folder upon his desk. “The blood tests indicate high levels of the opioid hydrocodone. We’re running further tests that will indicate the length of exposure and at what levels.”

  “Why is that significant?” Alton asked. “You know what she took. Isn’t that all that matters?”

  “Knowing is part of the plan,” Dr. Miller said. “It’s a good thing you brought her here. An overdose of this nature can be fatal.”

  I sucked in a breath, though my lungs remained empty. This was real. It wasn’t a ploy. I blinked away the moisture and concentrated on Dr. Miller’s words.

  “Fatal?” I asked.

  “Yes, Miss Fitzgerald.”

  “Collins.”

  “Collins, I’m sorry. Well, thankfully, your father realized the severity and sought treatment. From her previous records from…” He thumbed through the papers in the file. “…Dr. Beck, Adelaide’s normal body weight is anywhere from 122 to 119. Currently she weighs 109 pounds. Loss of appetite and nausea are early signs of hydrocodone overdose. Other symptoms include confusion and weakness.” He turned toward Alton. “Didn’t you say that she had been acting confused?”

  “Yes, saying things that made no sense. She even drove to local places and would become lost. I’d receive calls that she was out and about. I’d send someone to get her and later she’d have no memory of the incident.”

  Dr. Miller shook his head. “Mrs. Fitzgerald also had a blood alcohol concentration of 0.22%.”

  “Is that high?” I asked.

  “The legal limit for driving in Georgia is 0.08%. Your mother’s level was almost triple that content. Most people are unconscious at 0.30%. A significant factor is that we didn’t take her blood for over an hour after she was admitted. The body metabolizes alcohol at a rate of 0.016% per hour.” Again he turned to Alton. “You brought her in during the late morning. Was it usual for your wife to drink early in the morning?”

  Alton shook his head. “Doctor, I’m usually at work when my wife wakes. I don’t know how early she begins drinking. It did seem as though she had been consuming more as of late.”

  “It’s the combination,” Dr. Miller explained. “Mixing opioids and alcohol creates a depressed state. The two chemicals interact in a way that creates negative effects. The opioids slow the central nervous system, decreasing respiration and pain signals. Vicodin also contains acetaminophen, which blocks the pain signals. That’s why it helped with Adelaide’s headaches. Alcohol is also a depressant, slowing respiration and other body functions. It’s different than Vicodin, but both put strain on the body and organs, especially the liver. We have more tests scheduled to assess her liver enzymes as well as the function of her other organs, including her heart.”

  “Her heart? Does she have heart problems?” I remembered Alton saying that she did, but I wanted to hear it from the doctor.

  “The combination of opioids and alcohol creates hypotension. The slowing of the heart muscle leads to abnormally low blood pressure. Just as high blood pressure is dangerous for the heart so is low blood pressure. We haven’t fully assessed the damage that Mrs. Fitzgerald has done to herself.”

  “Why is she sedated?” I asked.

  “The process of detoxification is tricky. Your mother’s body has become accustomed to the toxins. Removing them has its own array of side effects: irritability, anxiety, headaches, nightmares, and insomnia. The primary nurse assigned to Mrs. Fitzgerald has noted episodes of anxiety and paranoia while attempting to minimize the current medication. It’s for your mother’s own good and comfort to sleep through the difficult process.”

  “Is she in pain?”

  “No, Miss Collins, your mother is blissfully unaware. The midazolam in her IV is keeping her from experiencing the brutal reality of her choices.”

  “How long will she be medicated?”

  “I can’t answe
r that,” Dr. Miller said. “We’re doing continual tests. The liver enzymes will be essential. If it’s too damaged, if the enzymes are too high, we will need to rethink our treatment. We don’t want to cause additional damage.”

  “Doctor,” Alton said, “do whatever you need to do. Money isn’t an object.”

  “She’s a lucky woman. This treatment is not always covered by insurance and can be quite costly. Once the toxins are removed from her body, intense counseling will be necessary.”

  Alton turned toward me. “Alexandria, don’t you agree that your mother should have the best care that money can buy?”

  My respirations came quick and shallow. I’d hoped for a miracle. I’d prayed that when I arrived at this place, I’d find my mother the vital woman I remembered. Instead, she was exactly as Alton had said.

  “Alexandria?” he asked again. “Dr. Miller and I are waiting for your answer. Do you agree that your mother should continue treatment here at Magnolia Woods?”

  Do you agree to sacrifice your life and happiness to save your mother? That was the real question he was asking.

  Swallowing, I nodded at Dr. Miller. “Will you please keep me informed?”

  Dr. Miller’s gaze moved quickly from mine to Alton’s and back. “Your father is the only one your mother listed on her HIPAA form, but this is a private facility so as long as he gives his approval, we can speak directly with you.

  “Mr. Fitzgerald?”

  “Alexandria?” Alton asked again, his tone strained by the repeated attempts to get me to answer.

  “Yes and yes,” I said, still not looking his direction.

  “Test results come to me first,” Alton said. “Daily communication can be shared with our daughter. I’m sure she’ll have more time to spend with her mother than I.”

  “Very well, Miss Collins, I’ll be sure that information is added to your mother’s chart.”

  COMPROMISES.

  That was the word I liked to use as I assessed my plight.

  I hadn’t given in to every mandate nor had I blazed my own way. Five days of compromises. Five days of avoidance. And most of all, five days without any contact from Nox.