The Land Where Sinners Atone

by Mason, V. F.

  “Zach, it’s me,” Zeke greets me, his voice unusually raspy before he clears his throat. “She woke up. She knows about the baby. I sent her pictures to your email.”

  My eyes open again as I grab my tablet nearby, pressing on the email icon, and my gaze lands on the tiny woman lying in bed, so pale she almost matches the disgusting prison hospital sheets, as nothing but hollowness fills her stare. Her cheeks are still wet from tears. The pillow under her face is practically soaked; she must have cried a ton of them.

  Her entire face is bandaged up, and there isn’t a place on her body that hasn’t been bruised.

  Ah, then it explains Zeke’s raspy tone. The guy can’t stand when women cry—sucker.

  But then maybe life has never been very kind, despite the wealth attached to me since my very first breath on this earth. I learned from a very young age to never pay attention to anyone’s pain, because yours is far greater, the power of it so strong it might rip you into tiny little pieces if you let it.

  “Did she ask any questions?”

  “She wanted to see the body, but we convinced her it was impossible, since so much time has passed. She then demanded to know what happened to the body.” Funny how the murderer, who didn’t admit to what she did despite all the evidence, demanded to see the proof of her daughter’s death.

  People are such hypocrites, but it doesn’t surprise me anymore.

  “We took care of that. Filled in some application showing her the baby had to be cremated. I think it was the final nail in the coffin for her.”

  At his words, the part of me that used to love a woman deeply comes alive, regret dancing on the edge of it before I crush it.

  She does not deserve my compassion, and whatever happened to her is the result of her doing. All our actions and reactions in this world have consequences, and we have to be ready to answer for them.

  “Good. And the other thing?” I ask him, not wanting to prolong the stupid conversation about Phoenix Hale, because I’m getting too bored with this topic.

  Besides, it’s not like I can do much to her while she is recovering in the hospital, but once she’s back in her prison cell… it’s game on.

  My life’s mission will be her suffering.

  “The paperwork is a bit complicated right now, but I’m working on it. You’ll have to pay a fortune for this. It’s expensive to keep everyone’s mouth shut,” he says, and I shrug even if he can’t see it.

  “Money is never an issue for me. Have it done as soon as you can.”

  “Right.” I’m about to hang up on him, but by his heavy breathing, I know he is not done yet, staying silent, so I decide to help him out. After all, he is one of my most trusted employees, even if he voices his opinions too often for my liking.

  “Don’t worry, Zeke. All this makes me a monster, not you.”

  “She is destroyed, Zach. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so crushed that she is ready to crumble. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she died the minute we told her about the baby. Her soul left her body. She is like a fucking ghost.”

  And it’s supposed to make me feel what? Remorseful?

  Hell would freeze over before that happens, and even then, I won’t ever regret anything I have done to her.

  There is something I’d like to know though. “Do you know what she wanted to name her daughter?”

  I hear the shuffling of papers in the distance, as if he is looking through some documents, and then he finally replies, “Yeah, she called her Emmaline.”

  Emmaline.

  A beautiful name for a little a girl indeed.

  Without saying anything else, I press the Disconnect button and throw my phone on the table where it lands with a loud thud then swipe the image on my tablet to another one.

  At this one, something in my chest, which I thought died several months ago, pangs.

  My heart.

  My heart that should have stayed cold but still showed its weakness, and in this, I did something I should have never done.

  But then… when did I listen to anyone but myself, even if what I’m about to do is insane on so many levels?

  Chapter Five

  “People say that time heals all wounds, and the pain that freezes us from the inside out becomes just a fleeting memory. Instead, there is a permanent sting in place of it that reminds us of what we lost, but it’s no longer the raging inferno that has the power to destroy us.

  I thought it was true until Zachary King happened in my life.

  After that, time stands still for me while pain continues to come, with no way of escaping it.”

  Phoenix

  New York. United States

  Three and a half years later.

  Phoenix

  Wiping the sweat from my brow, I squeeze the mop tightly into the bucket and wet it again to scrape the floor in the prison toilet area, although it’s a fool’s job, considering everyone is stepping through here every five seconds.

  Apparently, today’s soup was shit, and upset stomachs have hit everyone hard, but then that doesn’t surprise me. Olivia, bless her soul, has no clue how to cook anything, and by the smell of rotten vegetables alone, I understood not to touch the dish.

  Although one of the things prison has taught me is that you don’t turn your nose up at any food no matter how bad it smells or tastes, because there are no other options to sustain your body to work.

  Not that hunger is particularly my driving force, as living has no big meaning for me after….

  My hands on the mop tighten so hard my knuckles become white and my breath hitches in my throat as the memory of the doctor looming above me and informing me about my little girl flashes in my mind.

  Shaking my head to block it away, I continue to clean. Doing any kind of work here is the only reprieve I have from the nightmares that haunt me every single minute of my good-for-nothing life.

  But I don’t let that deter me as I think about all the medical terms in my head, which helps me concentrate on my task and ignore the loud moans coming from bathroom stalls or cries of pain from the kitchen when newbies are taught a lesson.

  When you spend so much time here, you get used to certain things and don’t pay attention to them, not if you want to live anyway.

  The most absolute law here is to mind your own business if you want to live peacefully and not have anyone attack you. And it might sound weak and pathetic, but I’ve learned to bite my tongue whenever someone suffers.

  “Hey, Phoenix!” Sara shouts from the doorjamb, and I turn around to face her as she points behind her. “Kathy needs your help. She cut her hand or something while peeling the potatoes.” Pushing the mop aside, I wash my hands and quickly run to the kitchen where Kathy sits on the chair, holding her hand up as the blood slowly drips onto the cold tile.

  Sara fishes for the first aid kit under the sink and gives it to me as I grab the chair nearby and put on gloves. “This looks deep,” I say and then raise it up while addressing Sara. “Bowl of water. We need to clean it up first.” She nods, and in a second, it’s by my side. As I clean it, Kathy hisses. “I told you not to cook without your glasses.”

  She chuckles. “Since when do I listen, child? Besides, I have a genius doctor tending to me.” Her words are salt she slowly rubs into my wounds. I used to be all those things.

  But not anymore.

  Instead of dwelling on it though, I reply, “We don’t have much equipment here or even at the nurse’s office. One of these days, you’ll need a licensed doctor.”

  She just chuckles again, and I roll my eyes. Explaining something to this stubborn woman is almost impossible, yet in a way, her scolding warms my heart.

  Maybe because in this awful place, she’s become one of the few people who has showered me with love, even if I didn’t want it or know what to do with it.

  After I lost my baby girl years ago, she came to my hospital bed and took care of me as if I were her own child, reading stories to me and patting my hair while murm
uring “everything will be okay.” I wasn’t even sure she was allowed to do it, not that I questioned it much.

  Once I got discharged, she ordered Haley and Sara to look after me as well, so they brought me food when I continued to sit in my cell and stare into space, rubbing my stomach over and over again.

  I thought if I did it enough times, it might bring my baby back to me, even if all those thoughts were irrational or impossible. How can you explain that to a grieving mother in the clutches of depression?

  Whenever I ventured outside, there were always women either spitting in my food or pushing me in the hallways, trying to corner me to deliver blows or knife wounds.

  I never felt a thing, didn’t even struggle, because what was the point?

  It could never match the pain killing me from the inside, so maybe I even hoped for them to finally succeed and make fucking Zachary King happy in delivering the news to him that his wife’s murderer was finally dead.

  As I slowly put the stitches along her wound, she asks, “You’re meeting a lawyer today. Any clue why?”

  “Probably the usual. He’ll take my statement and then promise to handle it all better. And then he’ll show up again with the same routine.” To be honest, I’m surprised he is still handling my case. He did a shitty job of it the first time around, so I’m not sure why he still shows his face here.

  Is it his lawyer pride or what?

  The judge granted Phoenix Hale ten years of prison with no chance of parole, plus a million-dollar fine I’d never be able to pay, considering my medical license was taken away from me and everyone turned their back on me.

  Not one visit, not one letter.

  It’s like I never existed to them.

  Even my best friend, Leiken Sawyer.

  Kathy huffs, her face twisting into a grimace. “I told you to use my guy for years, but you refuse.” Despite her care for me after the loss of my baby, she didn’t interfere with me besides the basic needs and kept away from me.

  However, with the constant new messages from Zachary, and me not doing anything to avoid them, she put a stop to it and offered me support when I lay beaten up and bloody, barely holding on to this life. As I found out later, she was one of the most important people here.

  Another funny thing about this place?

  People still want to live and dream no matter their circumstances.

  So, with Kathy’s veto, it meant a stop to the harassment for good.

  Physical, at least, not that it brought much relief anyway; what was one more scar on my body?

  They are meaningless.

  “You shouldn’t eat so much candy. It’s bad for your health,” I suggest, making one last stitch and placing the bandage over it after adding the ointment for better healing.

  “A woman’s got to have some treats in this life, kid.”

  Well, it’s hard to argue with that, especially if most of my life will be spent in this shithole.

  “Hale, you have a visitor!” the prison guard shouts as she motions for me to come closer.

  I get up and, with a nod to Kathy, leave the place and trail after the guard.

  We go through various hallways as she finally stops in front of the cell for interrogation and searches my body for any kind of weapon.

  Satisfied, she presses the button for the doors, and they slide open with a loud clang as she points inside. “Go. You have one hour.”

  I step inside and frown even more when my gaze lands on my visitor.

  The woman sitting behind the only metal table in the room is not my lawyer.

  She looks around my age, and her dark hair is styled in a tight braid that is thrown over her shoulder.

  Her lean body is covered in a tight black dress. She rises from her seat and extends her hand to me. “Phoenix, hi. My name is Lydia King.”

  I blink several times, taken aback by the family name but then curse inwardly.

  There are hundreds of Kings in the world; for sure she is not one of them. Those people must hate me viciously, even if the patriarch of the family, Anthony King, always gazed at me with sadness in his eyes and almost regret. Most of them didn’t come to court, but he was there for his son, who never even spared him a glance.

  However, it doesn’t change that they must share their feelings about me with Zachary and have helped him turn my life here into a never-ending nightmare. Sometimes when I lie in bed, I hate Zachary King so much my entire body trembles.

  Because of his hate, I lost my child.

  And even though it means nothing to him, I will never forgive him for what he has done to me.

  We sit down opposite each other, and I notice a thick folder between us and shift uncomfortably, not knowing what to expect and disliking the slight fear traveling through my system.

  What’s going on here?

  She watches me carefully, her gaze sweeping over my orange uniform and the cuts on my hands. I quickly hide my nails and my palms smeared in dirt as shame and embarrassment wash over me.

  Next to her, I’m nothing but trash on the street; she even smells nice, probably using some expensive perfume. Sebastian used to bring me those all the time during his travels abroad. According to him, his woman deserved the best, and he would make love to me for hours after that.

  A smile pulls at my lips at the memory, but it’s quickly gone.

  I’m not his woman anymore and never will be again.

  In this place, I learned another thing.

  Hate and love are the same emotions, because they have the power to turn in the blink of an eye. And part of you can still love a man who you considered the love of your life but despise him for how he betrayed you without looking back.

  But my torn-to-shreds heart has no place here. I need to focus on the woman and her agenda. “Excuse me, but who are you?”

  She smiles at me, although it doesn’t reach her striking brown eyes. “I’m a lawyer. One of the best in the country.” At her age? Highly doubtful, but I keep this observation to myself. “I came to get you out of here.”

  “Uh…” Oh shit, now I know for sure she is lying about being the best.

  Is she one of those crazy lawyers who needs some famous case to kickstart their career? I’ve had a few of those come over the last three years, but each one of them left disappointed.

  Simply put, all the evidence pointed at me, whichever way you looked, so it’s a fool’s job. And besides, no one wanted to grant an appeal to my case based on the small inconsistencies in the evidence they found.

  Over the years, I’ve even started to believe it’s true. Somehow, this conviction makes life here more bearable, because then I can feel like I’m getting atonement for my actions.

  Even if everything inside me rebels against the idea.

  Too bad the land where sinners atone doesn’t exist. Maybe then I would have gone there once my nightmare ends.

  “Look, it’s really nice of you to try, but my case is hopeless. So please don’t come here again, and go focus your talent on someone else. Who knows? Maybe you can help them,” I say before kicking the chair back so it scrapes loudly on the floor. I’m ready to bolt.

  Her cry of protest stills my movements though. “Please, Phoenix, listen to me.” She motions with her hands for me to sit back down, and even though I want to refuse, I do as she asks only because of the remorse written all over her features.

  She probably doesn’t know there are cases, in any career really, that you can’t help but let go of. As a psychiatrist, I learned to separate myself from the patients after coming to the hard realization that there is only so much I can do, that I couldn’t fight against their resistance or biology.

  It broke my heart every single time, but to survive in my profession, I had to learn to let go.

  She takes out a few photos from the folder and places them one after another between us on the table.

  They all showcase beautiful women smiling brightly at the camera. I don’t miss their expensive clothes and rings on their
fingers either.

  Whoever they are, they are rich and happily married.

  Lydia moves her fingers from photo to photo while talking, and her words sending a chill down my spine, icing my blood. “All these women were hit by a speeding car that didn’t stop no matter what. All died within the last couple months.” I cover my mouth with my hand, stilling a gasp. Dear God, those poor women. “Cases like this have happened through the last three years, although in different locations, and there was a big gap between accidents, so no one connected those.” A pause and then, “But the latest frequency concerned FBI agents, and they opened up a case.”

  All she says is very tragic, and I feel sorry for the families, but what does it have to do with me? Surely, they don’t think I know anything about it.

  Or do they want to put the blame for all these murders on me too? Is it another plan of King, making me rot in prison till the day I die, so I can atone for my sins?

  With confusion lacing my tone and a little anger, I say, “I don’t understand.”

  She huffs in annoyance, running her fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry I’m not explaining it right.” She clears her throat and fires a bullet at me; that’s how much her words shock me. “All the drivers had alcohol in their system. All the drivers claim they couldn’t control the vehicle and hadn’t drunk anything before sitting in the car. All the drivers mentioned how the car just acted on its own while they drove right into those women.”

  Oh my God.

  And with these words, it’s impossible to stop the memory that has been haunting me for the last four years. I’ve replayed this night over and over again trying to find a clue that could help me sort out the puzzling mess I ended up in.

  Turning on the radio, I smile as a loud rock song fills the space, and I sway my head a little to the beat.

  It’s much needed after the long day in the psychiatric ward with one of the ruthless criminals. They needed my assessment to know if the man really killed his three kids and wife with a shotgun. Was he in his right mind, or was it maybe something else?