Tell me to Lie

by Charlotte Byrd

  The office is plush and comfortable with thick carpeting, a luxurious upholstered sofa, the color of wheat, and a glass desk with very few things on it.

  In fact, the office itself doesn’t really look like it belongs to an attorney at all.

  There’s even a big faux sheepskin rug on the floor that I can’t help but touch.

  “Thank you for waiting,” Nancy says, dropping her iPad on the table and folding her arms across her chest before asking me what she can do for me.

  I hope that she’s not just being polite but will actually listen to what I have to say this time.

  I remind her that I’m Nicholas’ girlfriend once again and start to review what I learned from Ricky Trundell and Robert Bortham when she interrupts me.

  “You’ve already told me all of that before,” she says.

  “I know but I just wanted to go over it again in case you didn’t hear me right before.”

  “I always hear everything right.”

  “Well, in case you forgot—“ I start to say but she cuts me off again before proceeding to review all of the facts that I learned from both of them in a much more succinct and detailed way than I could’ve ever explained.

  “What is it that you really came here to tell me?” Nancy asks, turning on the large computer screen on her desk and pulling out the wireless keyboard.

  “If I tell you this, can you promise not to tell anyone?” I ask. She narrows her eyes.

  “I can only do that if I am officially your attorney.”

  What is she doing? Is this some sort of ploy to get me to pay her?

  “I don’t have much money,” I say.

  She slides open the drawer in her desk and pulls out a single sheet of paper. I glance over it and it’s a very basic agreement saying that she will be acting as my attorney and everything that happens between us will be privileged information.

  “Sign this and pay me one dollar and I will never reveal anything you tell me without your permission.”

  I take a deep breath and write my name on the line. After I pay her in quarters, the only cash I have on hand, I tell her everything that happened.

  “What you all did is a very serious crime,” she says with a long sigh. “But I can’t say that it doesn’t give me some peace of mind knowing that I’m actually representing an innocent man.”

  A wave of relief rushes over me.

  Finally, someone believes me!

  “Okay, let me think about how we can approach this matter in the most delicate way possible and I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you! Thank you so much!” I say, grabbing my purse.

  “By the way,” she stops me by the door. “If you have any interest in seeing Nicholas, they have just transferred him to Boston.”

  26

  Nicholas

  When they take me to a new place…

  Prisons are the same and different. The location changes. Along with the people and some of the rules but the lack of freedom remains.

  Some prisons are better than others mainly as a result of relationships. You meet some people you connect with, you make friends, and then you have to move. At least, that’s what my new friend here in Massachusetts told me.

  He’s nice enough and he likes to talk. I like to listen so we’re a good match. He’s also not violent, which I appreciate since the last thing I want is to end up in solitary again.

  My bruises have pretty much healed on the outside, leaving me just with remnants of panic and sheer terror that comes out of absolutely nowhere and overtakes my body without my control.

  I haven’t felt this way since I was a child and had night terrors. Some people say that they happen to children just out of the blue. But mine didn’t.

  They were a result of my uncle and other scary men in my so-called family who not only didn’t protect me but actually hurt me. But that’s another story for another time.

  That’s the thing about being cooped up all day. You start to let your mind wander and the place it typically lands is somewhere pretty dark and inhospitable.

  Today, I have a meeting with my lawyer.

  She comes to visit me and nods compassionately as she brings one slice of bad news after another. It has been like this over the last seven visits, and today will be no different.

  Honestly, if I could save her a trip and just read her emails, I’d appreciate it. That way I don’t have to put on a brave face and pretend that what she’s telling me is alright.

  “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” she says, sitting across from me.

  We are separated by inches of plexiglass and holding ancient receivers to our ears so we can hear each other.

  “Not like I have a busy schedule nowadays,” I say with a shrug.

  “I have some good news for you.”

  I raise one eyebrow.

  “It’s about Olive…your girlfriend.” My heart tightens at the sound of her name.

  “Ex-girlfriend,” I correct her.

  “I know that you have had your doubts about whether or not she possibly was the one who called the FBI.”

  I shrug, trying to pretend that I don’t care.

  “She didn’t do it,” Nancy says, shaking her head.

  I narrow my eyes, not sure if I should believe her.

  “If they found her by following her, that I don’t know but she did her best to get to you without being seen.”

  “How do you know?” I ask, still skeptical.

  “Let me tell you a little story,” Nancy says.

  As I listen to everything that Olive has done ever since I got arrested, tears come to my eyes.

  At first, I think that Nancy is making things up even though in her profession that’s a very dangerous thing to do.

  But after a few moments, I know that what she’s saying is the utter truth.

  She finishes by telling me about how Olive got Owen’s DNA and confirmed that it was actually he who killed both of them. When I hear that part, I worry for a second that our conversation might be recorded and someone might use this as information against her.

  “She really did all of that?” I ask, wiping away tears with the back of my hand.

  Nancy nods and goes into her plan for getting the district attorney on board to do the DNA testing.

  According to her, it will still be an uphill battle but she’s on good terms with him and she hopes that handing them Owen, a convicted criminal, on a silver platter would be enough for them to let me go.

  But it’s still not a done deal.

  I spend the next few days floating on a cloud. People get into fights around me.

  They throw curse words and punches but nothing touches me. The only thing I think about is Olive. She didn’t turn me in and she has been fighting to get me out of this Godforsaken place the whole time I have been in here.

  She found out more than I ever thought was possible. She talked to Ricky and Pink Eye and so many other people from a world I thought I had left long ago. She even talked to my mother.

  Olive is coming to visit me today and I have been counting down the minutes until I see her again. I won’t be able to touch her or to even smell her but I will be able to see her and for now, that’s enough.

  It’s finally time. A guard walks me down the long hallway. My standard-issued rubber shoes make a loud scratching sound as they hit against the linoleum. When the door opens, I see her. Her face lights up and she smiles. I practically rush over to get to the phone so that I can hear her voice.

  “You’re here,” I whisper.

  “I’m here.” She nods.

  Her hair falls a little bit into her face and she brushes it away. Our eyes meet and I see a tear in the corner of hers.

  “It’s okay, everything is going to be fine,” I whisper.

  I have no way of knowing that, but it’s a good thought and right now I just want to think good thoughts.

  "Thank you so much for doing everything you’ve been doing to help me. Nancy just filled me i
n,” I say, putting my hand on the glass, wanting more than anything to touch her. “You really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it so much.”

  “It was Owen all along,” she says quietly. “He killed your partner and he killed his girlfriend.”

  I nod.

  Looking back, it totally makes sense. That’s why he was always accusing me of it. That’s why he was upset with me being around her.

  He wanted me to take the fall for his crime and here I am standing at the cliff.

  Olive puts her hand up to the glass matching the outline of mine. But then she hangs her head and pulls away.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. She doesn’t respond so I ask again.

  “Meredith got fired,” she says quietly. I have no idea who that is.

  “She’s the paralegal at the district attorney’s office who was helping me with the case. She knew everything about it and she believed that you were innocent.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say.

  “And Robert, I mean Pink Eye, is refusing to cooperate. He told me one thing but now he’s retracting his story. And without him and without the DA testing that DNA evidence…” Her voice trails off.

  “Don’t cry,” I say. “Please don’t cry.”

  But tears start to flow down her face. She wipes them off just as new ones arrive. After a few moments, she gives up and just lets them run.

  “It’s going to be okay, Olive,” I say over and over again, trying to calm her down.

  It’s a lie. We both know it but what else is there to say?

  What else is there to do but stay in this moment for as long as possible and hope against hope that tomorrow might be different?

  27

  Olive

  When I see him again…

  Seeing Nicholas again after all of that time was supposed to be a joyous occasion. I wanted to celebrate the fact that I found out the truth about who killed those people, and in the process proved that Nicholas was innocent.

  But then Meredith called. Keenan was refusing to budge on the whole testing the DNA issue and he was aggravated by how much she was advocating for Nicholas. It got so bad that he actually fired her.

  At first, I thought that maybe he somehow found out about the DNA testing but luckily, she kept that to herself. Had she not, she would probably be facing criminal charges now, as well.

  With her gone, I turn to Nancy for advice but she doesn’t have any. She keeps promising to put pressure on the DA’s office but so far that hasn’t yielded many results.

  I didn’t want to tell Nicholas about any of this, of course.

  I wanted to just enjoy our hour together. But I couldn’t keep it to myself.

  I saw how happy he was when he saw me and I was, of course, happy to see him, too, but I didn’t want him to believe that everything was fine when it wasn’t. And when I left, I saw the broken pieces of the man that I love.

  There must be something else I can do to help.

  That’s why I’m here.

  A long time ago, two police officers came to our door asking questions about a man who was last seen in my apartment building and who later was found dead.

  He’d attacked me and tried to kidnap me but we couldn’t tell the police the truth so we lied.

  We lied.

  And then we lied some more.

  I walk up the steps of the precinct where I found out he works. The officer at the front desk looks up at me and I ask him where I can find Officer Dockery.

  “Can you tell me what this is about?” he asks without changing the expression on his face.

  “It’s kind of personal,” I say. “Is he working tonight?”

  “Give me a second to make a call,” he says, showing me to the chairs at the far end of the wall.

  A few moments later, he hangs up and tells me to go down the hallway and through the double doors.

  I do as he says but instead of Officer Dockery, his partner greets me and shakes my hand.

  His name is Benjamin Inglese and he was also there that night.

  After a few pleasantries and casual mentions of the weather, he asks me why I’m looking for Dockery. I’m here because he used to be good friends with Nicholas back when they were friends and their lives took different paths. But looking into Officer Inglese’s earnest eyes right now, I decide to go on a whim and tell him about Nicholas’ situation and how we could prove his innocence and another man’s guilt if only the prosecutor got off his ass and did his job.

  Officer Inglese listens and nods and then looks away briefly. What is going on here? I think to myself. Why is he acting like this?

  “So is Officer Dockery here?” I ask. “I know that he and Nicholas were really close and I thought that maybe there was something he could do.”

  Officer Inglese shakes his head and looks down at the floor. “There’s nothing he can do,” he finally says.

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “Dockery is dead,” he adds quietly. I stare at him, not quite processing what he has just told me.

  “He was shot and killed about two weeks ago.”

  “I'm so sorry,” I whisper.

  “Are you, really?” His eyes flash in anger.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Yeah, I wonder about that.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, sitting back in the chair.

  “Well, he was still hard at work on the case of the man who went missing from your apartment, remember him?” he asks. Shivers run down my spine.

  Of course, I remember. How could I ever forget?

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” I say after a moment.

  “My partner had that case in the trunk of his car when he was killed and his car was set on fire. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  I shake my head. “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “He suspected that something bad happened to that guy in your apartment and you and your boyfriend and brother covered it up.”

  “No, that’s not what happened,” I lie through my teeth. I look him straight in the eye and refuse to look away.

  “Inglese, what are you doing?” Another cop approaches us.

  I glance down at my hand and hide it under my thigh as soon as I see how much it’s shaking.

  “I'm sorry,” the cop says to me. “He is still quite distraught over what happened to Dockery but he, along with everyone else here, knows that he was shot by a stupid fifteen-year-old out on a joy ride who then set his car on fire to cover up the evidence.”

  I let out a sigh of relief.

  “I am really sorry for your loss,” I say to both Officer Inglese and the other cop. Only the cop whose name I don’t know acknowledges my statement with a nod.

  I hold my breath when I get up to leave. I shouldn’t have ever come here but how could I have known?

  28

  Olive

  When nothing makes sense…

  The following week, I go back to see Nicholas. I don’t make an appointment, but I know that it’s during visiting hours and I hope that the guard tells him I’m waiting.

  It takes me longer than usual to get through the line of visitors and I go through two hand checks in addition to walking through the metal detector.

  Once I’m finally in the waiting room about to go into the visitor area, a guard walks up to me.

  “I’m sorry but Nicholas Crawford isn’t available at the moment.”

  “What does that mean? Did he get in trouble? Did something happen?” I begin to panic.

  Ever since I got back from California, I seemed to have one blow after another.

  I immediately think the worst.

  “I am sorry, but I can’t give you any more information at this time,” the guard says.

  I look at him but also through him, somewhere far away behind him.

  I sit here on the cold metal chair for a long time.

  It’s only when everyone around me starts to leave that I realize just how long I have been
sitting here.

  Walking out of the prison, I feel the lowest I’ve felt in a long time. I have no idea what happened to Nicholas and I have no idea if he’s hurt and suffering or just alone.

  I have no idea if he has done something in there to lose the privilege of having a visitor.

  Nicholas is not one to act out and if he did, then he was only doing it to protect himself. Still, it could be anything and not knowing makes my heart ache.

  I think back to how naive my thoughts were not too long ago when it all started.

  I thought that if only I was able to find out the truth then everything would fall into place.

  Everyone would believe me and he would be freed immediately. Little did I know that the wheels of justice turn very slowly and it is nearly impossible for someone to convince the district attorney that they are not guilty, no matter the evidence.

  I hope that’s not the case with all district attorneys but, unfortunately, it seems to be the case with this one.

  I don’t want to go straight home and show Sydney the disappointment on my face so instead I just drive around.

  It’s a surprisingly warm and sunny day and I even put on a pair of sunglasses to block some of the rays.

  I drive for a long time. I grab some food through the Starbucks drive-thru and then drive some more.

  I don’t care about being healthy anymore. I stuff my face with sugar and sweets and anything that will make my pain go away, even if it’s only for a little bit.

  I keep thinking about Nicholas.

  Where is he?

  Did he get into a fight?

  Did someone hurt him?

  Everything that I don’t know makes me sick to my stomach. How much more of this can I take?

  But what other alternative is there?

  I pull the car over and park in a sprawling parking lot of some big box store and I let myself cry.

  And in this moment of weakness is when I start to wonder if maybe I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough to fight for someone who is behind bars and wait for them to get out.