If I Live

by Terri Blackstock

  She stares at me for a moment, her face twisted as if none of it makes sense to her. “So you’re telling me that Jim didn’t have anything to do with killing our son, but that he was involved with those other deaths, the extortion, the money laundering? What was he being blackmailed for?”

  “I don’t think we know yet,” I say, trying to soften the blow. I would give anything if I could spare her this pain, but it feels like I’m wielding the weapon that will kill her.

  I watch all life drain out of her. Her face loses its color, and her lips blanch. Her legs buckle and she drops to the floor. I spring up and go to her side as her crying niece kneels on the other side of her. I check her pulse, and her heart is racing in triple time. Griffin calls an ambulance while I try to revive her. Her eyelids flutter open, but she seems disoriented, confused. She lacks the strength to sit up.

  Have I given her a stroke?

  I wait there with her until the ambulance arrives. Her vitals slowly come around as they load her into the back of it. Her blood pressure is rocket-high. They think it was a fainting episode and they say something about sedatives.

  I watch as they drive her away, praying that God will somehow help her through this darkness.

  As much of a victory as it is to have Keegan exposed, I know there will be some who still have to grieve.

  Maybe I’m one of them.

  58

  DYLAN

  Because I’m still homeless, I spend the night in a motel near the safe house where Casey’s family is, but I don’t sleep well. Thoughts of her in that jail cell plague me.

  When I get back to the police department the next morning, Keegan is being booked after being flown here on an FBI plane. He’s been treated for his gunshot and his burns, and now he’s waiting to move into his new digs.

  He has dressings on his arm, like the ones I’ve had on my legs, and he holds his arm carefully because of the sutures in his gunshot wound. But he hasn’t been humbled. He wears a sour expression, and the veins in his temples are protruding. He talks to the booking guards as if they’re his old friends. But no one engages with him.

  When he catches sight of me, he yells across the room. “Hear you got a job out of this whole thing, Dylan. No conflict of interest here, is there? Trumped up this whole thing—threw everybody you knew under the bus—so you could get a job. When they dig through this mess, they’ll find out the things you did. You and that girlfriend of yours. Watch your backs, guys.”

  Everyone in the area turns and looks at me, waiting for me to react, but I don’t. Gordon Keegan has no power over me. Soon he’s going to be in a jail cell, and the life he’s chosen will be lived out the way criminal lives often end. He’ll be around others like him who’ve murdered and assaulted and stolen to feed their own appetites. He’ll die in captivity, like I was supposed to at the lake house.

  I turn my back on him and walk upstairs toward the detective unit. Kurt Keegan is coming down the stairs. He looks pale and weary, as if he hasn’t slept since the news broke. I slow my steps as I approach him, not sure what to say. “You okay, man?”

  He stops and looks over the rail toward the booking office, where he knows they have his father. “Just trying to help my mom through this. It isn’t easy for her.”

  “Not for you, either.”

  “He’s getting what he deserves.” He rubs his mouth, and I can see the tears stinging his eyes red. “I just handed in my resignation.”

  “Why?”

  His voice is shaking, and I know he’s on the edge. “Everybody’s going to suspect me for the rest of my life. I’m his son.”

  “If you were involved you’d have been arrested with him. I’ll put in a good word for you. Don’t leave. We need you.”

  “No, I’m done,” he says. “For now I’m going to work for my future father-in-law’s business. He’s a good guy. Trusts me. Needs help with security. I can do that.”

  I can see that his mind is made up. “I’ll pray for you, man. I’m so sorry.”

  “He killed all those people,” he whispers. “I knew he didn’t have a heart. Now I know he doesn’t have a soul, either.”

  “He does have one,” I say. “It may be calloused, but he’s accountable for it.”

  Kurt doesn’t seem able to speak. He reaches out to shake my hand, then pats me on the shoulder and heads down the stairs. I say a silent prayer for him that this tragedy in his life won’t sour the rest of his years. His wedding is coming up, and this will overshadow it. I pray that God will protect his and Grayson’s joy as they become husband and wife.

  Later that day, I learn that Keegan is about to be arraigned, even sooner than Casey. Because the press circles like vultures and the district attorney’s office is plagued by charges of corruption, they’ve expedited this process to show they mean business. I squeeze my way into the courtroom and sit in the back row, trying not to draw attention. The gallery is full of press members.

  Keegan is wearing jail clothes—a red jumpsuit indicating violent crime charges—and he has shackles on his flip-flopped feet as he is taken before the judge. His lawyer stands beside him—one of the ones I’ve seen on the news locally. The gallery is so quiet that you can hear feet tapping.

  The judge reads Keegan’s charges: extortion, blackmail, obstruction of justice, kidnapping, homicide . . .

  My mouth goes dry as the charges are read out, and my heart is hammering. Keegan stands stiffly before the judge, his head tipped back arrogantly, as if this isn’t fazing him.

  “Do you understand the charges?” the judge asks.

  “Yes, Judge.”

  The attorney takes over. “Your Honor, we request a preliminary hearing, at which time a plea will be offered. The nature of these charges, and the public attention to this, warrant that.”

  “All right. We’ll set a date for the preliminary hearing.”

  “And, Your Honor, we’d like to request that you set bond for my client. We have every reason to believe that he can be trusted to appear in court.”

  My heart freezes, and I hold my breath. If they let him out, then it all continues. He could still come after us. Casey won’t be safe anywhere.

  “Bond is denied,” the judge says, and I let out that breath. “Defendant will be held pending the preliminary hearing.”

  I want to cheer as they escort Keegan out of the courtroom. He doesn’t look into the gallery. He simply keeps his eyes down and makes his way out of the room.

  I don’t like the idea that he’s going to be incarcerated in the same building where Casey is, even if he is on a different floor in a separate part of the facility.

  I have to get her out of here.

  But time ticks by too slowly.

  59

  CASEY

  The prison phone system is a racket. I try calling the last burner phone Dylan had, but I don’t expect to get through. In order for a call to go through on a cell phone, he has to buy a ton of minutes for like four hundred dollars and put it on his credit card. There’s no charging by the number of minutes we’ve talked.

  Even my sister has had to give the automated system her credit card number so I can call her and my mom on Hannah’s cell phone. I’ve promised to pay them back as soon as I get out.

  I don’t know how most inmates can afford to talk to their families at all.

  Now I wait as the phone rings, and miraculously, Dylan picks up. “Hello?”

  I wait again as the automated message tells him that it’s a call from the Caddo Parish Jail, and that he should enter a code if he’s purchased minutes, or press the number one to give his credit card. People often get flustered and frustrated as they scurry around trying to get the proper information together to punch in. I had to give my sister four tries before she got it right.

  But Dylan simply types in a series of numbers, then the voice says, “You are connected.”

  “Casey,” he says, his voice full of relief.

  “How were you able to connect?” I ask.


  “I signed up for the minutes. I’m so glad you called.”

  “Okay, I’m impressed.”

  “How are you? Are they treating you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “They have me in lockdown, which is kind of boring. But I can live with boring.”

  “They’re trying to keep you separated from the population. We want you safe.”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. Do you know anything that’s happening?”

  He tells me about Keegan being arrested and brought in, and denied bond, and how they’ve found the plane owner’s body and Jim Pace’s. My heart sinks for Brent’s mom. She’s lost so much. Her son, her husband. How will she survive this?

  Though I’m relieved that Keegan is where he should be, a desperate sadness falls over me at the thought of her grief.

  “I’m hoping they’ll get you before a judge later today or tomorrow. They’re waiting for paperwork and a press conference from the attorney general.”

  “I’m still in red,” I say. “They still have me classified as violent.”

  “Everyone there knows you’re not.”

  “Have you talked to Billy Barbero?”

  “Yes. He’s been contacted by this famous attorney who wants to represent you. Sid Jameson.”

  The name rings a bell. “Who is he?”

  “A celebrity attorney. He got that woman off who drove her car with her child in it into a lake, then jumped out and let her baby die. Remember?”

  I shiver. “I don’t want to be represented by someone like that.”

  “I thought that too, at first,” he says. “But, Casey, if they don’t do the right thing, you need somebody like him. Somebody whose ego is involved in fighting for you. The public scrutiny will make him do the best thing for you.”

  “But I don’t need all that, do I? I’m really innocent. Besides, I can’t afford it.”

  “He offered to do it pro bono. Barbero is on the way to the airport to pick him up now. Jameson is a publicity hound. That might work in your favor. It’s worth talking to him.”

  “But if I go to court tomorrow, can I just use Barbero?”

  “Yes. You don’t have to offer a plea tomorrow. Barbero can ask for bond.”

  My voice catches, and I try to steady it. “I want you to know that if I don’t get released, I’m okay here. I can do this.”

  “You can do anything,” he says. “Remember a few months ago when I told you that you were the bravest person I know? I still mean that.”

  My brave girl. My dad’s endearment hangs in my heart. “Thank you, Dylan. You’re the bravest man I know.”

  “I didn’t think it was even possible to miss someone this much,” he says.

  Once again, I can hardly speak. He gets quiet too.

  Finally, I ask, “So how is it being on the force?”

  “It’s great,” he says. “It was especially great helping them find Keegan. I want to help rehabilitate the image of the force. Keegan has done unspeakable damage.”

  “To a lot of people,” I say.

  “He’s going to pay. His days of getting away with everything are over.”

  I think of my father, and of Brent’s promise snuffed out so prematurely. No amount of punishment would be enough for a man like Keegan.

  The next morning, I get up early and ask if I can take a shower, and they take me into the bathroom where I use the harsh, all-in-one shampoo to wash my hair. Then I let it air dry as I go back to my cell. We’re passing the elevator when the doors open and two guards rush out. They go into the guards’ station and I hear them excitedly telling the other guards, “District attorney just killed himself!”

  “What?” the guard with me asks. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. He was in C Block. Managed to cut his carotid artery and bleed out before anyone knew it had happened.”

  “Was he in the cell alone?”

  “Yes, but he wasn’t on suicide watch. Not sure what he used, but . . .”

  The voices fade as I’m escorted down the hall to my cell. I look back as my door opens. The guards seem as excited as if they’ve just won a lottery pool.

  I step back into my cell, and the door is locked behind me. So the DA is gone. He can’t hurt anyone else.

  But I can’t help feeling the pain of his family. The shame of his death along with the horror of knowing what he was involved in. How will they ever overcome it?

  I get on my bed and pull my knees up to hug them, and I pray for all the people who will be impacted by that man’s choices.

  Later that morning, I’m loaded into the van with the others going to court. It’s a relief to hear the buzz of women’s voices around me as I take my seat.

  “You Casey Cox?” one of the women asks me.

  I look back at her and nod. Half of her head is shaved, and she has a tattoo of a mustang on her scalp.

  “How’d you hide all that time?” she asks gleefully, as if I’m a criminal celebrity.

  I turn back to the front without answering.

  “You can’t talk?” the woman blurts.

  “Not about that,” I say.

  “Leave her alone,” someone else tells her. “She ain’t done nothin’.”

  The woman behind me is suddenly distracted by my defender, and as they go back and forth, I let my mind drift as we drive the short distance to the courthouse. The press swarms around the front steps. The van turns into a small garage and takes us into another sally port, where it lets us out.

  They lead us all single-file into a holding room and tell us they’ll take us into court when it’s time.

  There’s a guard at the door, but she’s reading something on her phone. After a moment, she steps out of the room.

  Something whams me from behind, and I’m knocked to my face. I flip around, trying to see what hit me. One of the inmates is straddling me and her rough hands close around my throat, choking me.

  I swing my arms and fight, trying to get her off of me, and I manage to loosen her grip. She swings and hits me in the eye, then comes back down and her knuckles smash against my lips. Her hands close around my throat again.

  Some of the women are screaming for help, and the guards rush in and wrestle her off me. I get to my feet, gasping for breath and wiping blood from my eyelid and my lip.

  I hear someone chewing out the guard for stepping out, and things seem to move in slow motion as they take me out of the room and to a bathroom so I can wash my face. My eye and bottom lip are swelling. I pray there aren’t cameras in the courtroom.

  Two guards sit one on either side of me after that, and in a few minutes, they tell me it’s time.

  I don’t want my family or Dylan or the press to see me like this, bloody and swollen, but I can’t prevent it. I walk in, my head down until I’m facing the judge.

  The bailiff whispers something to him, and he frowns and adjusts his microphone. “Miss Cox, I’ve just been told what happened in the holding room.”

  Billy wheels up beside me. “Your Honor, we asked that you keep her out of the general population, and this is why. This is ludicrous.”

  “I agree,” the judge says. “Miss Cox, I’m very sorry.”

  Billy keeps going. “Your Honor, in light of this situation, surely you see that my client should be given bond. Her murder charges were dropped by the state’s attorney this afternoon . . .”

  I catch my breath. Relief pounds through me.

  “Her remaining charges are only misdemeanors, and she’s suffered so much that you must see how unwise it would be to hold her in the same population where her tormentors are also being held.”

  I look at the floor, resigned to having to get back into that van with those women, where it could happen again. Keegan has probably paid someone off. He’s not going to go down without a fight.

  When the judge grants bond at ten thousand dollars, I look up at him, stunned. Billy whispers, “You only have to put a thousand dollars down. We’ll get a bail bondsman here within the hour.”

/>   “That means . . .”

  “You’re about to be released.”

  I burst into tears and turn to see my family and Dylan sitting together in the courtroom behind me. They’re celebrating and hugging, but then they see my face, and their smiles fade. My mother bursts into tears. I hate it. I didn’t want them to have to live with this.

  I want to go to them, but I haven’t been released yet.

  “When you’re released,” Billy is saying as he wheels beside me to wherever the guards are taking me, “we’re going to take you in front of all those cameras and let the world see what they did to you.”

  I don’t want to do that. I just want to lie down. I feel bruises forming on my throat.

  “We’ll wait right here until they process you out,” he says. “You won’t have to go back that way.”

  “Not in the van?” I ask, my voice raspy. “Not with those women?”

  “No. They’ll release you from here.”

  I close my eyes and let the tears flow, and thank God for what he’s done.

  A little while later, when my bond has been paid, I’m allowed to put my clothes back on and have my possessions. I step out of the back room and see my family waiting. They rush to hold me, and I’m passed from Hannah to my mother to Jeff, and then Jeff passes little Emma to me.

  I weep as I kiss her—shocked at how big she’s gotten since I saw her last—and she looks up at me and studies my face, perplexed. I cover the side where my eye is swollen and play peek-a-boo. She seems to recognize me then and grins, her little dimples cutting into her cheeks.

  I had forgotten her dimples!

  Dylan steps through them, and still holding Emma, I step into his arms. He kisses my hair as he holds me, but he’s not smiling. “What did she do to you?”

  “Tried to strangle me,” I say, shifting Emma to my good side. I smile at her as she touches my face.

  “A Keegan stooge,” he says. “I could hurt someone. But I just checked, and if it’s any consolation, it’s all on videotape. The woman is in for second-degree murder. A hundred dollars was put on her books today. We think it was payment for what she did.”