Don't Believe It

by Charlie Donlea

  “Why didn’t you hire a personal attorney?” Sidney asked as the interview began. “From the U.S., to represent Grace?”

  “We did,” Glenn Sebold said. “As soon as they formally charged Grace, we started making calls back home. But acquiring a U.S. attorney took time, at least a couple of days. Longer for someone to actually fly down to St. Lucia and help us. We couldn’t stand the thought of Gracie in jail, so we also hired a local attorney so we could attempt to post bond as soon as possible. What choice did we have? We were trying to get our daughter out of jail. Plus, the St. Lucian courts require local counsel to lead the defense in capital-murder cases. During the trial, the local counsel—Samuel James—was not only ineffective, but incompetent. He and Grace’s American attorney never gelled well together, never agreed on the same strategy. The result, if you watched any of the trial back then, was a circus. If Scott and his team had been allowed to take over the defense, I believe Grace would be home with us today.”

  “Scott Simpson?” Sidney said in way of clarification. “Grace’s U.S. defense attorney.”

  “Correct,” Glenn said. “Real sharp guy. He’s kept working the case even all these years later.”

  “Scott Simpson is not sharp,” said a voice from the hallway. “He’s actually a fool who is just as responsible for Grace’s situation as the backward Caribbean attorney.”

  Sidney looked over to see a man in a wheelchair.

  Glenn smiled at Sidney. “Sorry. I hope you can edit that out.”

  Sidney shook her head. “It’s no problem.”

  “Why edit it? It’s the truth.”

  “This is Marshall, Grace’s brother.”

  “Scott Simpson was a pawn,” Marshall said. “Expendable in every way, and used by the prosecution to strategically set up their case.”

  “Okay, Marshall,” Glenn said in a practiced tone a parent might use on a teenager. “That’s enough.”

  “Are you going to help my sister?”

  Sidney hesitated. “Am I going to help . . . I’m going to try, yes.”

  “These two are going to send me away if Grace doesn’t come back.”

  “All right,” Glenn said as he stood. “Excuse me.” He walked over to his son and took the handles of the wheelchair. “Come on. Let’s go back to your room.”

  When Marshall and Glenn were gone, Sidney looked at Mrs. Sebold with an awkward smile.

  “Sorry,” Gretchen said. “Marshall is upset lately. We’re looking into a facility to help him out, and he’s not happy about it.”

  Sidney smiled and nodded her head as though her words made perfect sense.

  Gretchen hesitated. “Did Gracie fill you in on Marshall? About what happened?”

  “No. We’ve only really talked about her case. I was hoping today’s conversation might shed light on Grace’s past, though. Before Sugar Beach. It will be important to show the viewers who Grace really is, get them past the headlines many of them remember her for. Was she close with Marshall?”

  “Very. Still is.” Gretchen Sebold gave a far-off stare, then looked back at Sidney. “Marshall used to be quite an athlete. Football was his sport. During his freshman year of high school, he was on the varsity squad as the backup quarterback. By the third game, he was starting. Led the Wildcats to two state championships his freshman and sophomore years, and was being seriously recruited by some big universities. It was a big deal around this town.”

  The ramp up the front steps and around the corner flashed in Sidney’s mind, as did the first-floor addition on the side of the house.

  “What happened?”

  “I’m surprised Gracie never told you. It’s the reason Gracie decided to go into neurology. I mean, that grand idea she had about neurosurgery instead of delivering babies, like she always wanted to do.”

  Sidney noticed Derrick as he positioned himself across the room to capture Mrs. Sebold’s impending confession. The next episode flashed in Sidney’s mind. The world had never heard anything about Grace Sebold’s family life.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  The Girl of Sugar Beach

  “The Accident” Part of Episode 2

  *Based on the interview with Gretchen Sebold

  With the parents out of town, the party raged well past midnight. Predictably, the small gathering originally planned had bloated to include most of the junior and senior class. Sarah Cayling frantically tried to clear her house and stop the destruction that was occurring, from spilled beer to sex in her parents’ bed. She was ready to call the police, but instead recruited two guy friends from the football team to empty the house. The jocks gathered their friends and started shoving. At first, small scuffles broke out in the foyer. Then more kids joined in. Sucker punches were thrown, and before long, the fighting turned into a riot that spilled onto the front yard.

  The smart kids ran. The drunken kids stayed to watch.

  “We’re leaving,” Grace said to Marshall.

  “No way,” he said. “Somebody threw a sucker punch. I’m not leaving my teammates.”

  “The hell you’re not. The cops are coming, you idiot. You want to get thrown into a paddy wagon with a bunch of meatheads? Mom and Dad will kill us.”

  Marshall tried to walk back toward the house and the riot. Grace grabbed him by the back of the shirt. “Let’s go.” She cocked her head sideways and gave him a look when their eyes met. Her lips moved, but her voice stayed silent. Come on.

  “Your recruiting days will be over if you get arrested,” Ellie Reiser said.

  A far-off police siren screamed through the night. When they heard it, all three ran.

  “Gimme the keys,” Marshall said. “You’re shitty drunk.”

  “Screw you,” Grace said. “You were just doing shots.”

  “You can’t even run straight,” he said as Grace veered off the sidewalk.

  “Let me drive,” Ellie said. She had never had a sip of alcohol in her young life.

  They found their car on a side street two blocks over from Sarah Cayling’s house, where they had been instructed to park to avoid detection by the neighbors. Ellie sat behind the wheel and stuck the key in the ignition.

  “Let’s go!” Marshall said, climbing into the passenger seat.

  Grace slammed the door as she sat in the backseat behind Ellie, who put the car into gear and hit the accelerator. A police car streaked past on a crossroad ahead of them, causing Ellie to take a sharp right turn down a side street. Marshall veered with Ellie’s sudden jerk of the wheel.

  “No one’s chasing us, Ellie,” Marshall said. “The cops are going to break up a party. Just drive like a normal human being.”

  Ellie took a deep breath to calm her nerves, closing her eyes momentarily.

  “Stop,” Marshall said. “Stop! Ellie, there’s a goddamn stop sign!”

  Ellie opened her eyes in time to see the red hexagon, but it registered a second too late. The sign was already past her, and the nose of the car was well into the four-lane highway before she lifted her foot from the accelerator and slammed it onto the brake pedal. It was in that moment that Ellie looked to her left to see the car speeding toward her. She flipped her foot back to the gas and punched the engine, hoping to squeeze past the oncoming car in just enough time to make the left turn. Her hopes came true. The car, screeching and veering, narrowly missed her, coming within an inch of the rear bumper as Ellie skidded across the lanes, pulling the car hard into a left turn.

  She never saw the U-Haul truck speeding from her right. The impact of the truck’s front grille was square to the right passenger-side, where Marshall was sitting. His head connected with the side window, producing a sickening impact that rose above the screeching tires and crunching metal like a gunshot fired into the night.

  When the cars stopped spinning, nothing was left but the bleached aftereffect of a collision: ringing ears, blurred vision, and the smell of rubber burned across the pavement. Grace looked from the backseat at Marshall, who was slumped an
d unconscious in the passenger seat. A spiderweb pattern clouded the glass to his right.

  CHAPTER 18

  Monday, June 5, 2017

  AFTER HER INTERVIEW WITH MR. AND MRS. SEBOLD, SIDNEY ASKED TO visit with Marshall. It was agreed that Derrick would not record, as the Sebolds worried that sensory overload would cause Marshall to shut down. Maybe after Marshall got to know her, the Sebolds suggested, he’d be open to a documented interview. Sidney was looking for ways to show the audience who Grace was before Sugar Beach, and meeting her brother would only help her efforts. If it led to a recorded interview later, all the better.

  “He’s going to ask you to play a game of chess,” Glenn Sebold told Sidney before she entered Marshall’s room.

  “Chess?”

  “It relaxes his brain and takes the edge off his anxiety. All he’s known since he was a little kid was how to compete. He can’t do that on the football field anymore. Hasn’t touched a football since the accident. But somehow with chess, it makes him a normal kid again. Hell, he’s not a kid anymore, but when he plays chess, it reminds me of the old Marshall.”

  “Is that how you two connect with him?” Sidney asked.

  Glenn shook his head. “Gretchen and I haven’t played chess with him for some time. He’s thirty-five years old, but having to rely so heavily on us has caused a teenage-type rebellion in him. I told him you’d play, if that’s okay.”

  Sidney nodded. “Of course. If it helps him answer a few questions.”

  “He’ll talk your ear off during a game of chess. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be in the living room.”

  “I’ll let you know when we’re done.”

  She knocked softly and then opened the bedroom door. Marshall sat in his wheelchair staring at his computer screen.

  “Can I come in?” Sidney asked.

  Marshall shrugged, so Sidney walked into his bedroom and closed the door.

  “I was hoping to talk with you a little bit about Grace. No cameras.”

  “They said you’d play chess,” Marshall said.

  “Yeah, I’d love to play.”

  Marshall maneuvered his chair away from his desk and pointed to his closet.

  “You’ll have to get my chess set down.”

  Sidney pointed to the closet. “In here?”

  “On top,” Marshall said.

  Sidney opened the closet door and stood on her tiptoes to peer at the top shelf. Next to shadowed football trophies, she found Marshall’s chess set stashed away in a satchel. She pulled it off the shelf.

  “Your parents told me you haven’t played for a while,” Sidney said as she handed the chess set to Marshall.

  “Not with them,” he said.

  He turned to the table in the corner and slid his chess set out of the sack, which consisted of two pinewood cases that each held the competing black and white chess pieces. Opening the first case, Marshall revealed elaborately sculpted figures. The characters were seated in thick protective foam inside of the chess case. Eight white pawns ran in a circle around the perimeter. The rooks, bishops and knights made up an inner ring, and in the center sat the king and queen. Marshall removed each piece and studied it before placing it on the board. Sidney sat in the chair across from him amazed by the transformation. Marshall seemed to have an easier time with his motor skills when he handled the chess pieces. He sat taller in his chair and his articulation when he spoke was more precise and direct.

  “This is quite a chess set,” Sidney said, opening the second case, which held the black pieces. “I’ve never seen one quite like this before.”

  “It’s a Lladró. The pieces are porcelain and handcrafted.”

  Sidney removed a figurine and studied the design. She was never much of a chess player, but even to her untrained eye, she knew this was a unique set. Medieval themed, the figures each carried long, stoic facial expressions. The king was decorated with a tall crown and elongated beard. The pawns carried blank stares under their headdresses.

  “These pieces are amazing,” Sidney said.

  “Grace gave it to me,” Marshall said. “After the accident. It was a way to pass time while I was laid up. I haven’t played with it much since she’s been gone.” He pointed to the board once the assembly was complete. “You can open.”

  Sidney moved a porcelain pawn forward. Marshall did the same.

  “It seems a shame to keep this chess set stored in the closet. Why haven’t you played lately?”

  “I play online.”

  “Your dad says you won’t play with him.”

  “He’s said that for ten years. But the truth is that since Grace has been gone, I haven’t played with anyone on this board.”

  “Why?”

  Marshall was quiet while he studied the board.

  “Your dad thinks it’s because you’re angry with him,” Sidney said as she moved another pawn forward.

  Marshall shook his head. “No. It’s because Grace asked me to put my set away after she went to jail, so I did. Today is the first time I’ve had it out since.”

  Sidney smiled. “You two played a lot? You and Grace?”

  “Used to,” Marshall said, still scrutinizing the board.

  “Your mom said you and Grace are close.”

  “As close as you can get when you never see each other. But Grace and I don’t need to see each other. We have something that connects us.”

  “What connects you two?”

  Marshall pointed to the bedroom door. “They didn’t tell you?”

  “Your parents? No.”

  “Grace was born with a rare type of leukemia. The only thing that would save her was a bone marrow transplant. My parents couldn’t find a matching donor. So they had another child—me. I was a perfect match. Grace likes to say that part of me is inside her, so we’ll always be connected. And we each understand that neither of us would be around if the other didn’t exist. If I didn’t come around, Grace would have died. And if Grace hadn’t gotten sick, I wouldn’t have been conceived.”

  “That’s an amazing story, Marshall.”

  “They say they were always planning to have another child, regardless.” Marshall shrugged. “Grace and I talk about this invisible string that connects us. We always feel it, even now when she’s so far away.”

  Marshall advanced his pawn. Sidney imagined the story of Grace’s younger brother saving her life would play strongly into her intention of changing the way America saw Grace Sebold.

  “But you’ve still visited her, yes?” Sidney asked. “While she’s been in St. Lucia?”

  “Whenever they decide to go. They claim they can’t afford to visit more than a few times a year.”

  Sidney made another move. “It’s a long way, for sure. And expensive.”

  “It’s their daughter,” Marshall said, moving another piece.

  “Your mom told me a little about your accident.”

  Marshall shrugged, keeping his focus on the board.

  “Would you mind if I included your story in the documentary? Not just about the accident, but also about what you did for Grace to save her life?”

  “Why?”

  “Because it shows Grace in a different light than how she’s been portrayed for many years. I heard she decided to go into neurology so she could help people who had similar injuries as yours.”

  “She changed to neurology because she felt guilty.”

  “About the accident?” Sidney asked.

  Marshall nodded. “It’s the same reason she bought me this chess set. Just another way to try to fix something that’s unfixable.”

  “I’m sure everyone involved has regrets. Ellie Reiser, I’m sure,” Sidney said. “She was driving.”

  Marshall remained silent as he continued to stare at the chessboard.

  “I was hoping to ask you about Grace’s friends. You two are close in age. Did you hang out in the same circles?”

  Marshall shrugged. “Before. Not so much after.”

  “B
efore the accident?”

  Marshall nodded.

  “Can you talk about Grace’s friends?”

  “Like who?”

  “Ellie Reiser. Or Grace’s friendship with Daniel Greaves. They are the only two friends who have stayed in touch with Grace while she’s been in jail.”

  Marshall let out a laugh. “I can tell you anything you want about those two.”

  “Really? Anything? You know them that well?”

  Marshall looked up at Sidney, finally taking his gaze off the chessboard. “Ever since the accident, people assume that I’m unaware of what goes on around me. That I don’t listen. Just because I don’t drool over their every word doesn’t mean I don’t hear their conversations. I listened a lot while I was in St. Lucia.”

  “Listened to who?”

  “Grace and her friends.”

  “Can you tell me about any of it?”

  “Sure,” Marshall said, pointing at the board. “It’s your move, though.”

  The Girl of Sugar Beach

  “Friends” Part of Episode 2

  *Based on the interview with Marshall Sebold

  They sat in Grace’s cottage sipping rum and Diet Cokes. Ellie lay on the bed, legs crossed and with her back against the headboard as she stared at the television. Marshall sat at the table in the corner and arranged his chess set.

  “We should probably get going,” Grace said. “Charlotte will freak out if we’re late. She’s already acting weird today.”

  “Do you think she knows?” Ellie asked.

  Grace paused as she ran a mascara brush over her lashes. She was standing in front of the full-length mirror and glanced at Ellie’s reflection, then at Marshall in the corner, before quickly shifting her gaze back to her lashes.

  “Knows what?”

  Ellie made an unpleasant face. “That George Bush is president.”