Tear Me Apart

by J. T. Ellison

  Jasper’s mouth opens and closes a few times, but Lauren catches his eye and nods. She knows what she’s doing. She’s always known what she’s doing.

  “Honey, it’s okay. I’ve been holding on to these secrets for too long. It’s time. I need to come clean. I can’t carry this with me anymore.”

  “Lauren, please, don’t—” His voice cracks.

  Stockton steps between Jasper and Lauren. “What about your sister, Juliet Ryder? Do you admit trying to kill her?”

  Trying? She’s not dead? Shit. Shit!

  She shuts her eyes for a moment, mind whirling. What difference does it make at this point? “Yes. I tried to kill my sister.”

  A low moan starts from the corner of the room. Jasper, crooning, begging.

  But Lauren ignores him. Stockton is speaking, the Miranda warning this time, so he won’t have to throw out her confession, then makes her say it all again while he writes everything down, looking around the room as if making sure everyone there is hearing her confession. This is gold, she knows. This is going to make his career. Not only has he caught Lauren Wright, but he is also getting her to confess. Without a lawyer present, on painkillers, any decent lawyer could have a shot at getting it thrown out, but still. She offers to sign the confession.

  “Lauren, stop, I’m begging you.” The plaintive cry from Jasper almost breaks her resolve, but she shuts out his pleas. It is time for all the truths to come to light. They can only put her to death once, after all. She takes a deep breath. The room quiets in anticipation.

  “And I would also like to confess to murdering Detective Gorman. He threatened my family, threatened my daughter, threatened to put me in jail, and I pushed him off the side of a mountain.”

  89

  THREE DAYS LATER

  “Tell me. Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

  Zack Armstrong is sitting by Juliet’s hospital bed, absently stroking her hand. Parks is standing by the window, leaning back against the windowsill, his legs crossed at the ankles. He is tired. It has been a long three days since Lauren’s confession, full of paperwork and interviews. Cases to close. Widows, and widowers, to speak with.

  “Why would she confess to something if she didn’t do it?”

  “I don’t know.” Zack runs a hand over his face. He looks as tired as Parks feels. Parks knows he’s been here nonstop for the past three days, cycling between floors, spending time with Mindy, then Juliet, then Mindy, then Juliet. It is the latter’s turn now, which means Mindy is asleep upstairs.

  “You need to get some sleep,” Parks says, and Armstrong nods, though it’s clear he isn’t going to try to remedy the situation right now. “How’s Mindy?”

  “She’s doing well. Dr. Oliver is very optimistic. Her numbers aren’t getting worse. But with all the chaos...”

  He drifts off, and Parks shifts gears.

  “Listen, I know this is early to discuss, but are you going to be okay testifying? Lauren won’t be going to trial, not with her confessions, but the sentencing hearing will be in another month, and they are going to want you on the stand. And that means digging into your past.”

  “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Are you sure, Zack? Nothing at all?”

  Zack’s hand stills.

  “Everyone has something to hide,” Parks continues. “And Lauren, while she’s not exactly defending herself, has said a few things.”

  “A few things like what?” Armstrong’s dark eyes are on fire, and Parks is reminded yet again that this man was, at one time, a professional killer.

  “She claims you were abusive to Vivian. That Vivian asked her to take the baby because she was afraid for her safety.”

  “And you believe this?”

  Parks holds up his hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. If her lawyer has any moxie whatsoever, they’ll get an insanity defense started, and if they do, all kinds of weird shit might come out. I’m just saying, if there is anything you aren’t comfy with the world knowing, I’d be prepared to decline testimony.”

  He glances at the bed, where Juliet lies, silent as the grave, the machine pumping air into her lungs.

  “I have nothing to hide. I did my duty for my country. And I was not abusive to my wife. I loved that woman completely. I’m just sorry she didn’t trust me enough to explain her past to me. I would never hold her diagnosis against her. Then, or now.”

  Parks pauses a beat. “Lauren Wright is asking to speak to you.”

  “Hell no. She is the last person I want to talk to.”

  Parks shoves off from the wall. “Okay. I’ll let them know. I’ll see you back in Nashville. Starr and I are heading home on the late flight tonight. Our job here is done, for now. We have a bunch of threads to pull together back in Nashville, especially with the Gorman investigation. I have to tell his wife what happened. Ain’t going to be a fun visit. She’s a nice lady.”

  He is halfway out the door when Armstrong calls out, “Hey, did Lauren say what she wanted to talk about?”

  Parks stops, rubs his thumb and forefinger across his mustache. It needs a trim.

  “She says she has something important to tell you. That you’ll want to hear what she has to say. And she won’t tell anyone but you, directly.”

  Armstrong nods once, twice, as if he’s making up his mind.

  “I’ll see her. Do I go to the jail, or what?”

  “Yep. I can carry you down there if you want. I admit, I’m rather curious what she has to say, and I have a couple of hours to kill. I’m sure one of Woody’s folks can get you back up here.”

  “Okay.” Zack stands and turns, and as he does, Parks sees a flash of movement behind him.

  “Armstrong,” he says with a grin.

  “What?”

  “Turn around.”

  Juliet Ryder’s golden eyes are open.

  * * *

  The doctors have left, and Parks stands outside Ryder’s room, listening to Armstrong recount the events of the past few days, his voice soft and gentle. He wonders how many times Armstrong has told this story. So far, the man has refused all on-air interviews, has only talked to the police, but with Ryder, he’s as animated as Parks has ever seen him. It does his heart good to see the connection between them.

  Of course, Ryder is a captive audience. She is still intubated, though the doctors are planning to remove the breathing tube in a few hours. Armstrong isn’t going anywhere right now, and sadly, Parks needs to get to the airport. There are more cases on his desk in Nashville; he can’t wait around any longer.

  “It was chaos. Kat was barking,” Armstrong is saying, bending down to rub the dog’s ears. “Your sister was screaming, Mindy was screaming, Jasper was shouting. It was absolute mayhem for a while there. Where the hell did she get a gun? I know, I know, you can’t answer, I shouldn’t be asking questions. But you don’t need to worry, honey. She is in jail now. She can’t hurt you, ever again. Kat here will make sure of it.”

  Parks clears his throat, and Armstrong looks up. He salutes him, then walks away.

  A shame. He would have loved to hear what Lauren Wright has to say in person.

  90

  DENVER WOMEN’S

  CORRECTIONAL FACILITY

  The morning sun sends a shaft of light through the waiting area. The windows are placed high, so there is no chance of looking out, of dreaming, of seeing sunsets and sunrises, or the world passing you by. There are simply mean little thick-glassed windows there to allow extra light into the room so the overheads can be kept off at certain times of the day to save money.

  Lauren is wearing the tan jumpsuit the prison issues, with slip-on sneakers. Because Jasper told them she was at risk for hurting herself, she has been kept away from the rest of the prisoners, under a suicide watch. All part of your defense, her lawyers tell her. Just stop talking, fo
r God’s sake.

  Her hair is lank, she hasn’t had a shower yet, and she is lonely. So lonely.

  But this is what she deserves. She knows this, in her heart. She’s always known she was on borrowed time. For a sweet moment, her life was perfect. For almost eighteen years, she had it all. A family. A daughter. A life. That’s more than so many have. If asked, she will say it again and again: It was worth it.

  The guards haven’t been kind, but they haven’t been cruel, yet, either. Indifferent. They are indifferent to her suffering, her pain, her desires. She is just another cog in their overflowing machine, another idiot who chose to break the law. Her value to them is yet to be determined—she is famous, after all. There is plenty of time ahead to assess these things.

  They come to get her at noon. She is escorted from her cell to the receiving room and left there to sit on the dirty metal stool. Everything here is dirty; though it’s been cleaned, again and again, the stink of raw bleach hangs on every corner like a blanket. Bleach and fear, the prison olfactory. Plus the dirt of a thousand people, grimed into the history of the place.

  There is a phone on her side of the Plexiglas, and a phone on the other side as well.

  She doesn’t know who is coming to see her. The visit isn’t scheduled, isn’t on the books. Her lawyers usually send word ahead, and they’ve informed her they will come on Tuesdays and Thursdays to discuss her upcoming hearings. The guards tell her when someone else will be coming; she keeps hoping for Jasper, but he’s steered clear. She doesn’t blame him; there is still so much at stake. Sometimes the CBI agents come to accuse her of awful things. This time, there was no forewarning, and she is vaguely curious, but happy for the unscheduled alteration of her day.

  She hopes for a moment that it’s Mindy. She’s torn; she desperately wants to see her daughter—yes, daughter, still; she will always think of Mindy as her own—but hates the idea of her seeing her mother behind bars like this.

  Those hopes are dashed when the door opens, and a tall, dark, handsome man steps through.

  Zack Armstrong has finally come to call.

  He sits and stares for a moment, as if unsure what to do, then picks up the phone. She picks up on her end.

  “Hello, Zack.”

  “Lauren.”

  “How’s Mindy?”

  He doesn’t answer, and she sighs. “Please, Zack.”

  “She’s better. The transplant worked. She has another round of chemo to go, but Oliver is very hopeful. It’s too early to say she’s in remission, but the cancer has stopped growing.”

  For a brief moment, she shuts her eyes and raises her head skyward. Thank you.

  “Is she still refusing to see me?”

  “Yes. Do you blame her?”

  “I blame myself. If I hadn’t stopped off to pull Juliet’s plug I would have had time to talk to her properly.”

  Zack stares at her. “Are you really crazy, or are you just playing another long con?”

  “What do you think?”

  She is enjoying the cat and mouse. Everything here has been so dull and gray. She’s not one for torture, but it’s rather fun to watch him squirm.

  Not healthy, though. She needs to keep him in check for a little while longer.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say things like that. The prison psychiatrist says I’m too impulsive. That I blurt things out without thinking of the effect they might have on other people.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Why didn’t you come sooner?”

  “Lauren, just cut to the chase, okay? I don’t want to play your games anymore.”

  “Fine. Quid pro quo, my friend. I will help you if you help me.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “No? You don’t want to know what really happened? Then what do you want? If it’s within my power, I’ll make it happen.”

  “You’re in jail, Lauren. Haven’t you figured out yet that you have no power?”

  “Suit yourself. When you’re ready to deal, you come on back. You know where to find me.”

  She stands, smiling, and begins to put down the phone.

  “Wait.”

  Predictable. So predictable, Zack Armstrong. Such easy prey.

  “Sit down. I want to hear it. I want to hear it all.”

  “No cops, no lawyers. Just us.”

  “Just us.”

  She leans closer to the Plexiglas. “Just us, Zack. This is going to be our little secret. No pillow talk with Juliet, no late-night confessions to Mindy. I tell you exactly what happened, and you do me a favor. Deal?”

  Zack stares at her, calculating the cost.

  “Deal.”

  “I swore to Vivian I wouldn’t ever tell you this. But considering the circumstances...I suppose she might forgive me now.”

  “Are you playing a trick? Trying to get off? Is this some sort of technicality, some plan by your lawyers to prove how insane you really are? If you tell me the truth...”

  “I will. I won’t ever say this outside of this room. I will never repeat it, do you hear me? It’s not going to come up at sentencing. I’m willing to pay the price for my actions. This is just for us, to cement the strange tie we’ve always had.”

  “How do you know they aren’t listening?”

  She leans back, looking around. She has considered this. Are there microphones in the telephones? It’s possible. She will have to be extra careful.

  “They aren’t,” Zack says quickly as if he’s afraid he’s chased her away. “I asked. There’s no way for them to record these conversations.”

  She lets her shoulders relax. “Good. Thank you for checking. You always were a smart one.”

  “Would you stop playing with me and tell me, for God’s sake?”

  “All right. Vivian asked me to kill her.”

  “Bullshit. Give me a break.”

  He stands, and she shouts into the phone, “I swear it. And I have proof.”

  “What do you mean, you have proof?”

  “She wrote you a letter explaining everything.”

  “I know all about the letters.”

  “Not this one. No one’s ever seen it. Even me.”

  “And you’ve been keeping it safe all this time?”

  “Yes, I have. Along with copies of our conversations. In case this ever happened—” she waves vaguely at the room around her “—I needed something to help mitigate the circumstances.”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore, Lauren.”

  “Read the letters. You’ll understand everything. I promise.”

  “I want to hear it from you.”

  She looks at the ground coyly, and then she begins to talk.

  91

  NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE

  AUGUST 2000

  VIVIAN

  Vivian sits at the table with a cup of tea, watching Liesel bustle around the house. She has already packed the baby’s things, and really, there is nothing left to do but wait until darkness falls.

  It feels strange, counting down the moments until you die.

  Of course, she’s been doing it since Zack pulled away. She’d sat on the couch, consumed with a single thought: I need the baby out of me. I can’t take being pregnant another minute. And once she’s out...

  The bottle of castor oil was decidedly unpleasant. It, and a few other little tricks, worked to start her labor. She spent the next several long, painful hours running everything through her head, so weary of the blackness, of the sadness.

  When her water finally broke, she called her midwife, who hustled on over. She was surprised by the early delivery but winked when she saw the castor oil bottle on the counter. She’s the one who told Vivian to try it when she was to term, after all. She cleaned it all up. Put the house in order while Vivian grunted and moaned.
<
br />   It was the longest night. The blackest. Vivian feared it would never end. And when it was over, when she was empty, devoid of child, cleaned and stitched and assured the child was healthy, she breathed a sigh of relief. Not much longer.

  Liesel, too, now moves about the house, setting it to rights. As she does, they discuss it at length, what would be the easiest way to go, discarding suffocation, shooting, and strangulation. Stabbing is on the table briefly, but Vivian demurs. There is something so awful about the idea of metal entering her body. She already feels violated from the birth; she didn’t want anything else stuck inside her.

  Pills, then. Liesel, always exceptionally resourceful, has shown up with a full bottle of Talacen. It is a painkiller, she says, to help control her migraines. Liesel industriously grinds up half of the pills into a pile of death. They save some in case they need more, later. In case it doesn’t work properly.

  The plan is set, and breathtakingly simple. Vivian will drink tea laced with the Talacen. It won’t take much to make her stop breathing. Liesel will ransack the house and do something to Vivian’s body so it is clear she’s died in the commission of a burglary. Vivian doesn’t want to know what is coming. It is easier to think she is simply going to go to sleep. Liesel will leave for half an hour, then come to the house to “discover” Vivian’s body, murdered. She will call the police, and they will take the baby into protective custody until Zack can be informed. It won’t take more than a half a day for him to return from Gulf Shores. He’ll come home to the adorable young infant and get on with his life.

  What a good friend Liesel is. Helping her plan this.

  Only that’s not the way it happens at all.

  * * *

  “It’s time. Are you ready?”

  Vivian nods. Kissing Violet one last time, she hands her sleeping infant to her best friend, who lays her in the crib.

  Liesel places the cup in front of her. Pours the tea ceremoniously. It is Earl Grey, her favorite. The pain medicine is already ground up at the bottom, waiting.

  Once the liquid is in, Liesel pours honey on top, lots of honey, to mask what they both assume will be a horribly bitter brew. She stirs it, adds more honey, then stirs it again.