The Family Tree: a psychological thriller

by S. K. Grice

  “Suit yourself.” Beth’s keys faded away into the ambient sound of chaos.

  I stared at the cracks on the beige painted wall. No police. Talking to Noah would only trigger bad thoughts, and I was too tired to fight the demons. I’d become content in my clouded world, separated from what was happening on the outside. To avoid triggers, I avoided newspapers and television. No one visited me, and that was exactly what I wanted.

  Pulling my pillow closer to my cheek, I closed my eyes. For now, I would doze back into that hazy world between wakefulness and sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I leaned my drowsy head against the metal cubicle and held the phone to my ear. Mrs. Nichols was rattling on in detail about her three-times-a-week visits to my house. I was grateful for her help, and I had nothing else to do, so I let her ramble about how she’d switched on lights in different rooms and pulled weeds from the garden. How she’d driven to the house instead of walked, so it looked like the resident had visitors.

  “I owe you and Mr. Nichols a lot for your help,” I said, putting as much cheerfulness in my voice as my lagging brain could manage.

  “We’re your friends, dear. It’s what we do.”

  “I don’t have many friends these days.”

  “Well… I did run into a couple of your friends at the mall the other day.”

  “Oh? Who’s that?”

  “The one with the dark spiky hair and the other one—the tall one with blonde hair.”

  “Nancy and Denise?”

  “Yes. I think so. Well, they recognized me first and were anxious to know if I’d heard anything from you.”

  A layer of fog lifted from my head. “What did you tell them?”

  “Pfft. I told them we stay in touch. But I didn’t want to go into any detail with them. I know they’re your friends, but, to be honest, they seemed like a couple of snooty women to me. I didn’t like the way they were asking so many questions about you.”

  A jolt shot up my back. I sat up straight and switched the handset to the other ear. “What kind of questions?”

  “Let’s see—asking if you’d been charged in Jackson’s murder… if you’re going into a psychiatric hospital... if you’re going to move back into the house… that kind of thing. But I didn’t like the tone of their questions.”

  My chest deflated. They didn’t care how I was doing. They thought I was Jackson’s killer. Why wouldn’t they? Even though I’d killed Mike in self-defense, I’d kept it secret for years. Who did that kind of shit? To them, I was a sideshow freak. “What did you tell them?”

  “Simply that you’re getting along just fine. I didn’t like the tone of their questions, so I cut the conversation short.”

  I imagined Nancy, Denise, and even Melissa hanging out at Ocean Joe’s, laughing and reminiscing over beer and fried oysters as waves crashed along the shoreline. A scene I’d never be part of again. At least not with them. “Well, it’s true. I’m getting along fine.” I took control of my shaky voice. “Any news about the anonymous caller?”

  “None that I’ve heard, dear.”

  The call soon ended, but the conversation with Mrs. Nichols played over in my head. Nancy and Denise were talking about me behind my back while I was stuck behind bars, helpless to defend my character and innocence. My name was being tarnished.

  Hot blood surged to my head with so much pressure that I thought steam might shoot out of my nostrils. I released a breath. It pissed me off that Nancy and Denise were sniggering behind my back, but what could I do? As long as I was locked up in this jail, I was helpless. How could I fight back?

  The murder investigation could go on for years, and I’d still remain under an umbrella of suspicion until they found the killer. I had to clear my name as a suspect in Jackson’s murder.

  The anonymous caller and Jackson’s murderer are the same person.

  To find the anonymous caller, I had to start thinking straight. The high dosage of meds I was being fed every day clouded my thinking, but I could do something about that.

  When the nurse dispensed my pill every morning, I wouldn’t swallow it whole. I’d wait until I was alone and bite off half, tossing the other half. Going completely off the meds cold-turkey wasn’t going to help. Lowering the dose would clear the fog in my head and put my thinking in balance. Fuck the obsessive thoughts. I had to a bigger battle to fight.

  After five days of secretly halving my dose, my mind started clearing. My children were at the forefront of my mind and with all the drama happening in my life, I wanted to give them stability.

  I called Aaron’s house. It wasn’t my weekly scheduled call to the twins, but I longed to hear their voices. I also had a wonderful idea.

  “Hello?” Aaron’s voice was unnaturally tinny.

  “Hey. It’s me.”

  “Jolene.” He coughed, sniffled. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m okay, but you sound like crap.”

  He made a grumbling noise, then said, “India and I just split up.”

  “What—oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I was sincere, too. India had been kind and caring toward my children. She’d never interfered with discussions Aaron and I had regarding the twins.

  He sighed deeply. “Yeah, well. She just told me last night. It came from left field. I’m still a bit shocked.”

  “I’m sorry about that. Really. How are the twins handling it?”

  “They’re not here.” He groaned. “They heard India and I argue, and we needed some privacy. I didn’t want them listening, so I took them to Mom’s place for a couple of nights. I haven’t told them she’s moved out yet.”

  “How do you think they’ll take it?”

  “They’ll be hurt at first. But they’ll get over it. You’re their mother. And they know you love them and would never abandon them.”

  A rope twisted around my chest, squeezing out my breath. “I miss them so much.”

  “They’re anxious for you to come home.”

  “I have a plan for my homecoming. Instead of dropping the twins off at the house when I get released, I was thinking you could drop them off at the new oceanfront resort hotel. The one with the huge pool and lazy river. I’m going to book two nights there.”

  “That’s extravagant. Are you sure you can afford that?”

  Aaron didn’t know that, thanks to the investments I’d made with the inheritance from my father, I could definitely afford it. I also wasn’t ready to go back to the empty house yet.

  Plus, I deserved some quality time with my children. Time to make joyous memories.

  I didn’t want to spend that precious time at the house with the damage in the backyard staring the twins in the face as a reminder of what their mom had done. I needed to get the debris cleared away and move on. I’d take care of that right after my reunion with the twins. “It’s only for two nights. I want to make our reunion a fun occasion.”

  “I guess I can’t blame you.”

  “You sound mopey. You don’t have to stay at home and mourn India. Your college buddies in New York are always begging you to go up and visit. After you drop the twins off at the hotel, why not head up there? It’ll be good for you to get some support.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” He paused. “You’re sounding cheerful. What’s been going on?”

  It was times like this, when I felt close to Aaron again, that I wanted to open up and tell him all of the paranoid theories I had swimming in my head. But history told me to back off. He’d accepted the secret about Mike and the tree. He’d accepted me coming back as a loving mother to our children and sharing split custody. I wanted things to stay exactly as they were.

  “I’m getting closer to release, so yeah, my spirits have lifted.” I switched the handset to the other ear. “Look, I’ve got people behind me waiting for the phone, so I should say goodbye now. Tell the twins I called and that I love them, all right?”

  “Oh.” His voice sank. “Will do.”

  I went back to my
cell and fell onto my bunk, feeling a tinge of pity for Aaron. Not because India walked out on him—hell, he’d bailed on me when I’d needed his support the most—but because he seemed like a lost soul.

  On the other hand, my head was lighter, clearer. The support from Aaron and the love of my children gave me all the strength I needed. I had a solid foundation for moving forward. For the first time in months, I was experiencing something unusual: hope.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The white envelope arrived at mail call.

  The same fake Lighthouse Beach return address. The folded piece of waxed paper. The distinctive shape of an oak leaf. Bright red bleeding through its veins.

  A scream caught in my throat. Every follicle on my head tingled and set my scalp on fire. I pressed the letter to my chest and all of my angst came out in a moan.

  Sally rolled over and looked at me. “What’s up, bitch?”

  “Nothing. Nothing.” I gave a shaky smile. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, but I needed to show someone I trusted what was happening. Sally just wasn’t that person.

  “Try doing nothin’ more quiet.” Sally rolled back to her side.

  I slipped the letter between the pages of the worn copy of War and Peace I’d been trying to read and put it under my pillow. Sitting on the edge of my bunk, I closed my eyes and took deep breaths.

  Relax. Relax. Relax.

  A vision of a creek gently flowing through a green forest came to mind and my heartbeat slowed to the lulling rhythm, but the water then turned red, flooding my eyes. I jumped to my feet with a gasp.

  Sally shot me a killer’s glare and groaned.

  I ran out into the common area. It was free time on our cell block, and inmates roamed the four corridors surrounding the reinforced glass recreation area.

  Scraping at the dirt beneath my nails, I stepped into the noisy rec room—a sea of khaki jumpsuits yapping and napping over the loud game show on the television. There was no one in this place who I could talk to about my situation. I went back into the corridor and strolled the square around the rec room, avoiding eye contact with other inmates. Nobody here was trustworthy.

  Well-intentioned-but-gossipy Mrs. Nichols was out of the question. And when I had tried to bring up the leaves in the mail with Riley again, he’d reminded me of the handwriting coincidence and suggested I discuss the matter with a psychologist.

  I’d considered hiring a private investigator, but I’d already paid a shitload in attorney fees. While I still had a healthy bank account, once I got out of jail, I’d need the money I had left in savings to help me get by until I started working again.

  I looked down at my fingernails, ripped so short they looked like part of a Lego log. There was no visible dirt, but I felt it. Dirt. Grit and grime so deep under my nails that I’d need to scrape the flesh to truly get clean.

  With no one watching, I snuck into the cleaning supply room and grabbed a bristled scrub brush from the sink and turned on the hot water. I’d thought about doing this a few times while I’d been here. Times when the pain of what I’d done seeped into my thoughts and pounded, pounded, pounded on the guilt and remorse. Today, I wouldn’t hesitate. I needed to relieve the anxiety and there was only one way.

  I scrubbed the bristled brush against my palms and fingers. Using the sharp bristles, I jabbed and scraped at the grime beneath my nails.

  Scrub, scrub, scrub.

  Watery blood swirled in the drain, taking away the pain.

  “Come out, damned spot. Out, I command you!” I channeled Lady Macbeth, but quoting Shakespeare wasn’t going to cleanse my fear, guilt, and remorse. For that, I needed to bleed. And I could never bleed enough.

  Scrub, scrub, scrub.

  Someone wanted to make sure I never forgot what I’d done. Why?

  “Jolene?” A woman’s voice.

  I dropped the brush in the sink and turned around. It was Candy, another inmate in my cell block. A real loudmouth. She stood at the door with a sideways grin. “I thought I heard someone in here. You okay, girl?”

  “Doing fine.” I turned off the tap and pulled a handful of white paper towels from the wall dispenser, and I wrapped them around my raw hands. “Just getting some paper towels.”

  Candy stepped inside the small cleaning closet and looked at my hands. “You sure? ‘Cuz I sees blood.”

  A spot of red bloomed through the white paper. I cupped my hand over the blood. My pounding heart reverberated through my body. Calm down. I forced a laugh. “A scab fell off and it started bleeding. It’s all good.”

  Candy moved in close and arched a brow. “You trying to hurt yourself?”

  My throat tightened. If Candy told people I was trying to hurt myself, the nurse would examine my hands. No one could know that I was still plagued by random thoughts, or how much relief I felt with the completion of a ritual. “Oh, hell no. I don’t do that kind of shit. I have a whole life waiting for me outside of this dungeon.”

  “Hmph. Lucky you.” She shrugged and walked out.

  I leaned my back against the cold tile wall. Tension pulled across my shoulders, and I pinched the bridge of my nose with my good hand. This mind fuckery had to end right now. It was time to stop the obsessive thoughts and rituals. Nothing could prevent bad things from happening. Logically, I’d always known that—but the voices and the urges wouldn’t let me rest.

  Regain control. I’d done it before. Even after we’d buried Mike, I’d managed to move forward with my life. I’d graduated from college, started teaching, bought my own apartment, gotten married, had children. I’d managed to control the triggers. It was the letters with the leaves which had set my demons free.

  I tossed the paper towels in the trash and left the cleaning closet for my cell. My fingertips throbbed where I’d gouged my skin. I needed Band-Aids, but the nurse would want to know why, so I crossed my arms, hiding my hands.

  Grateful Sally wasn’t in our cell, I sat on my bunk with my back to the wall and my knees to my chest, trying to figure out how the fuck I was going to fight back against this anonymous tormenter. Being stuck in this hellhole for another few weeks wasn’t going to help. If I had any hope of finding out who was sending me the leaves, I needed an ally. A strong ally. As much as I hated asking for help, I had no choice.

  Aaron was out of the question. I didn’t want him that close to my personal life. Keeping our relationship cordial and focused on the children was exactly how I liked it.

  I thought about calling Kate, but I didn’t need therapy. Not yet.

  Only one person in my orbit could help, and his name rang over and over in my head.

  Noah. Noah. Noah.

  Putting aside that I was a suspect in Jackson’s murder, and he was the homicide detective on the case, only he could answer the questions swirling in my head. Answers which could get me closer to finding who was tormenting me with the leaves and why. Who were the other suspects in Jackson’s murder, and who’d made the anonymous calls leading the police to the family tree?

  Though I was wary of his intentions for wanting to visit, I had little to lose. Noah had information I needed. I only had to meet with him and ask.

  Chapter Thirty

  The visiting room was set up with grey round tables and hard plastic chairs. A family of three occupied a corner table. A young couple held hands across another table. Next to them, what looked like a distraught mother was visiting her tattooed son. I almost didn’t recognize Noah. He wore a trendy, button-down shirt over black jeans and sneakers that screamed I’m-a-cool-dad. His walnut-brown hair wasn’t combed and slicked as usual. It hung loose and wavy at the top, cut short around his ears and hairline on the back of his neck. No suit and tie.

  He caught my eye and stood as I walked toward the table. His smile matched the warmth in his eyes. “Thanks for seeing me, Jolene.”

  Handshakes and hugs were permitted, but his best-friend demeanor made me wary, so I sat. “You’re persistent. I figure it must be important.” I tried
to read his intentions in his face. All I noticed were dark circles under his eyes and a greying hairline.

  He slid into the chair across from mine. “How are you doing?”

  “Hanging in there. But that’s not why you’re here.”

  “Actually, it is.” He exhaled. “I never wanted things to happen like this. I’d hoped all along that nothing was under that tree but roots.”

  “Me, too.” I cracked a smile and leaned back in the seat. “And, what? You wanted to tell me that? I’d rather know more about the anonymous caller. Who is it?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “You’re lying.” I crossed my arms. “You must have some idea.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. We haven’t received any more calls at the station.”

  I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table. “I find that hard to believe. Why would someone lead police to Mike’s body, but never try to collect the reward?”

  “Justice. That was all he claimed to want.”

  My teeth grinded together. It wasn’t true. If the caller was satisfied with justice, why would this person send me another leaf? The words almost slipped from my mouth. “I think the caller has other motives.”

  Noah tilted his head. “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure. Call it intuition.”

  “If you have a clue, please share.”

  Leaning back in the seat, I looked up to the paint-chipped ceiling. Oh, how I wanted to share. Share my entire twisted theory.

  “Jolene,” Noah said. “Let’s talk about Jackson’s murder—”

  “Ahhh, here we go.” I dropped my chin, pointed at his face, and spoke through my gritted teeth. “That’s why you’re here. Another interrogation.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “In fact, I’ve been taken off Jackson’s murder investigation.”

  Adrenaline shot up my spine and I sat as straight as a soldier. “What? Why’s that?”

  “Because I don’t believe you killed Jackson.” Noah kept his voice low. “Some people in the department didn’t like my opinion, so—”