by Willow Rose
Mark shrugs. “I think so. She helped her a lot.”
“Was she with you the last time you went to the restaurant?”
“Sure.”
“When was that?”
“I don’t know. In January some time. Five-six weeks ago. Why the sudden interest in her?”
I shake my head. “No reason. Just got me thinking. That’s all.”
Chapter Eighty-Seven
February 2016
When Mark is inside the house, I pick up my phone again. I call Chloe.
“Just the person I wanted to talk to,” she says. “I have something important I need to talk to you about.”
“Me too,” I say. “Back in the beginning of the investigation of the murder of Shannon Ferguson, the police looked at Marcia because someone had told them that Marcia herself believed she had done it. I need you to tell me who the person was. I need a name.”
“I can tell you right away,” she says. “I have the files right here. I printed all of them out, just in case they somehow managed to lock me out of their system.”
I can hear her flip the pages. My heart is beating fast now. An idea is shaping in my mind, but it’s still vague. I can’t see the details yet.
“Here it is. Yes. Someone came to the station and told the police that Marcia Little had told her she believed she might have killed Shannon Ferguson.”
“And the name?”
“It says here her name is Kristin Martin.”
“That’s odd,” I say. “I was certain it would be Jess, Marcia’s sponsor. Well, thanks anyway.”
“Wait, I have something…”
“Not now, Chloe. Later, okay?”
I hang up, frustrated. No, that’s putting it too mildly. I am aggravated. I am good old-fashioned pissed. I was so sure of my theory, whatever it was. I didn’t have the details, but somehow I believed Jess had framed Marcia.
Something is off about her and her relationship with Marcia. She told me she hadn’t seen Marcia in three months when we arrived at that AA meeting. Why did she say that if she had seen her only a few weeks ago? Why did Mark say that she always knew where to find Marcia when no one else could?
There could easily be a very ordinary explanation for all these questions, but I have this feeling, this itch, that there isn’t. I sit down in front of my computer with another deep sigh, wondering how the heck I am supposed to solve this. How I am to prove Marcia’s innocence? I will never be able to live with myself if she is convicted of this.
Not knowing what else to do, I decide we need food to think. In the kitchen, I start lunch, and soon Mark comes out and helps me. I am making a big portion of spaghetti and meatballs. I have a feeling Mark will like it because it has always been Marcia’s favorite dish. So much about him reminds me of her when she was that age.
“Smells divine,” he says.
He sets the table, and I get my dad out of bed, using the lift and help him get into the wheelchair. I bring him to the table, where he smiles when he sees Mark. He seems to enjoy having the boy here.
I feed him a spoonful of spaghetti and meatballs. “Oh, this is good,” he says.
Mark digs in as well.
“So, tell me, Mark, what else do you know about Jess?” I ask. I am not ready to let go of this angle just yet.
“Not much,” he says.
“Do you know her last name?”
“No.”
“Do you know if she has any family? Any kids?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did your mom spend a lot of time at her place?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. I never knew where she was.”
We finish the meal, and I clean up, while my dad is enjoying the sun on the porch. I look at my laptop from the kitchen and an urge overwhelms me. I walk to it and sit down. I Google Jess and try to guess her last name. Then I try to search for Jess and Cocoa Beach, but only a lot of useless stuff comes up. I try something else. There is something about that name, Kristin Martin, that rings a bell. I’ve heard about her somewhere before. I Google her name and…
Bingo!
I lean back with a deep sigh, as I open the first picture that Google found.
“Well, hello there…Jess.”
Chapter Eighty-Eight
February 2016
“She fell in love with him.”
I am almost yelling in the phone.
“Who fell in love with who?” Chloe asks.
“Kristin Martin. She was a therapist or a professor of some sort. I knew I had heard that name before. She was that lady who fell in love with a disabled man, and was sent to jail for three years and nine months because she couldn’t prove that the guy had given his consent to have sex with her.”
“Ah. Now I remember. That was a long time ago, right?”
“She was convicted nine years ago.”
“So, she’s out now?”
“Exactly. And, get this. The disabled man was the youngest in the Elingston clan. And she is also Marcia’s sponsor,” I say. “Calls herself Jess. The two of them have been spending a lot of time together, I believe.”
“Ah.”
“I need you to find her address. It must be in the police file somewhere,” I say. “I dropped her off the other day outside her condominiums, the Palmas De Majorca by 3rd Street North, but I don’t know which number she lives in.”
“I’ll check.” Chloe disappears for just a second, then returns. “Here. Apartment number 329.”
“Great, thanks.”
“By the way, there is something I have been meaning to talk to you about…Joey asked me to…”
“Not now, Chloe. I don’t want to hear about him. I’m not ready yet. Besides, I need to find this woman.”
“Don’t go alone!”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, and hang up. Thinking about what she said, I go to my dad’s room and grab his gun from his safe to bring with me, just in case.
I look at Mark who is playing Xbox in the living room and wonder if I should tell him anything, but decide not to. There is no reason to alarm him further. He’s been through so much.
“I’m going out for a little while,” I say to both my dad and Mark, then walk to the car. I drive to the Palmas De Majorca, where I park and walk towards the condos. I want to call the police, but I don’t have enough evidence to prove anything. They’ll only think I’m crazy. I need to look into her eyes while I ask her about it.
My plan is to pretend I am here to talk about Marcia, and if that doesn’t work, then talk about my own addiction to food and how to get out of it. How I am going to get her to talk about the Elingston family and the murders, I haven’t figured out yet. But somehow, I will.
It’s one of those condominiums where the stairs and hallways are all outside. They are very common in Florida, because it is always so warm out. I walk up to the third floor, find her condo, and ring the doorbell. There is no answer. I ring again, then look in the window, covering my eyes from the light with my hands. I have to stand on my tippy-toes to reach. Inside, I immediately spot something that makes me shiver.
A couch.
Not just any couch. A couch with pink flower-covered fabric.
I swallow hard and pull back. Maybe I am in over my head here. Maybe I should get the police involved instead, but how? How am I to make them believe me? The couch was in Marcia’s head, not in any evidence material. Besides, why should they believe me? Because of what Mark said? Because the woman has been in jail before? Because of a stupid couch? Still doesn’t prove anything.
“Can I help you?”
An elderly woman approaches me.
“I was just visiting someone.”
“I live right next door. She’s not here anymore,” she says and points at Jess’s door. “She rented the place a year ago, fully furnished and everything. Guess she knew she wouldn’t stay long. A nice woman, though. She’ll be missed around here.”
“Do you know where she went?” I ask, feeling my heart drop with the pro
spect of yet another murderer getting away on my watch.
“Yes. I spoke to her this morning when she left. She told me she was going to Winter Park. A lovely place this time of year.”
I stare at the old lady, while everything inside of me is screaming.
Winter Park? She’s going for the last Elingston. The only one left.
Oh, my God. She’s going to kill Steven!
Chapter Eighty-Nine
November 2010
The gun is pointed at him as they drive. They’re in his car and he is behind the wheel. It’s a long drive. Eighteen hours, and they only stop for coffee and food. Daniel is exhausted, but feels kind of uplifted as well. For the first time in a long time, he is actually doing something.
“Take me to see him,” Kristin said, back at the condo.
Of course that is what she wants. To see Peter after spending almost four years in prison. Daniel can’t blame her, and to be honest, he is really excited to give Peter the chance to see her again. The past years have been terrible for him, and in the end, Daniel simply stopped visiting Peter because he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t take seeing him lying there, strapped to his bed with dead eyes like some vegetable. He couldn’t stand the guilt.
Daniel fought for years to get him out of the home. He drove his siblings crazy, constantly bugging them about it, telling them they had to do something. Anything. But they refused.
“He’s fine, Daniel,” Jack would say, over and over again. “He’s safe. He’s being taken care of.”
But what did they know? They never visited Peter. They didn’t even care enough to listen to what Daniel told them. They were just happy to have Peter locked away somewhere, so they no longer had to care. So they could move on with their lives and put it all behind them.
Daniel even suggested that he take care of Peter himself. He told them he could take him to his home, he and his wife would care for him, maybe hire a nurse to be there all day long. Jill protested wildly, but he told her he had to do this. That he couldn’t live with himself anymore. He would do anything to get Peter out of that awful place. Even if it meant losing Jill. Daniel was desperate, the guilt was eating him so badly he couldn’t sleep or eat, and that was when he started drinking, like seriously drinking. But, no matter how much he begged his siblings to let him ease Peter’s pain, to give him back his life, they never would agree to it. And they had to. According to the law, they all had to agree since they had joint custody over Peter after their mother died.
“He’s still in there,” he kept telling them, using all the same arguments he had when they were much younger. “I know he is. What if he understands everything? What if he is a normal man with normal intelligence in there behind the disease, a man who just can’t communicate because his body refuses to cooperate?”
In the end, he gave up. Gave up as everything slowly slipped out of his hands. But the guilt wouldn’t leave him alone. In the end, after Jill had taken the kids and left, moving far away seemed like the only reasonable thing left to do.
“You really don’t have to point that thing at me,” Daniel says, as they approach the home in Rockledge.
Kristin looks down at the gun, but doesn’t remove it.
“I’ll take you there anyway,” he continues.
She smiles cautiously. He still thinks her smile is beautiful. The years in prison have been hard on her, and she looks at least fifteen years older. Her hair is cut short and it makes her look like a boy. But she still has that quality about her.
“All right,” she says, and puts the gun back in her purse. “But it’s right here, in case you don’t behave.”
Daniel parks the car and they walk up to the entrance. He can sense Kristin is nervous. She is not allowed to be anywhere near Peter. They both know that. She could go back to prison for this.
“It’ll be fine,” Daniel says.
She nods with a nervous sigh. “I hope so.”
Daniel presents Kristin as his wife at the counter, and soon they’re both shown to Peter’s room. As the nurse opens the door, and they both enter, they see Peter in his bed. Kristin cups her mouth when she sees him. Daniel feels like someone punched him in the stomach.
“Oh, my God,” Kristin says, addressed to the nurse. “What have you done to him?” She walks to his bed and touches his straps. Daniel feels sick to his stomach. He can’t believe how small and skinny Peter has become. It’s like there is almost nothing left of him. Not a single muscle, nothing but skin on bones. He hardly recognizes his face. Peter looks more dead than alive.
“We have to keep him strapped down,” the nurse explains. “It’s the only way we can keep him calm, the only way he doesn’t hurt himself or others, for that matter. It’s for his own good, really.”
She sounds just like Daniel’s daughter when explaining that she only hit her younger brother because he started it!
“You monsters!” Kristin says.
“As I said. It’s for his own good. We have tried to contact the family and tell them—well, tell you, that he refuses to cooperate with us, but no one seems to react to our inquiries. Don’t blame this on us,” the nurse snorts angrily, then leaves the room.
“What have they done?” Kristin says, after the nurse is gone. Her voice is breaking and she is fighting to breathe between the sobs. “What have you done?”
She walks to Peter and unleashes the straps on his arms and legs. He doesn’t move. Kristin waves a hand in front of his eyes.
“He’s not reacting?”
“They probably sedated him,” Daniel says, condemned by the responsibility. “I think they do that.”
“Sedated? But how…why…why Daniel? Why would they do such a terrible thing? How could you let this happen?”
Daniel shrugs. “I…I’ve tried everything.”
Kristin helps Peter to sit up by putting pillows underneath him. She sits in front of him and looks into his eyes. His head keeps turning away from her.
“He’s completely lethargic,” she says, startled. “Peter never used to be like this. He was in constant movement, never would settle down, weren’t you, Peter?” She strokes his cheek gently while she speaks. “Dear gentle sweet Peter. You were so full of life. What have they done to you? They took everything from you. They took your beautiful voice.”
When she speaks, something seems to happen to Peter. His eyes are looking at her. Kristin is crying heavily while yelling, agitated. “Did you see that, Daniel? He looked at me. He is still in there. I know you are, baby. I know you are still there. Can you see me? It’s me, Kristin. Hi.”
Peter’s eyes are staring at her now. Daniel’s heart is thumping. Next, Peter lets out a small vague sound.
“He chirped!” Daniel says, tears in his voice. “Peter just chirped again. Just like he used to when he was happy, like he always did when we were kids. Did you hear it, Kristin, did you?”
Kristin wipes away a tear and nods with a sniffle and a light laugh. “Yes. Yes. I heard it. I told you he’s still in there.” Kristin points to her bag on the floor. “Could you grab that for me?”
Daniel hands it to her. “I brought something for you, darling, she says, and pulls out a keyboard. Let’s see if you can remember how to use one of these. I’ll help you. Just like we used to. Do you remember that?”
Peter chirps again. Daniel is struggling to hold back tears. To see life in Peter’s eyes again is like seeing sunlight after years of darkness. It’s such a relief, such a deep hopeful sound.
Kristin grabs Peter’s elbow and holds it in her hand. Daniel moves closer to see what Peter is typing. It takes a few minutes before his arm moves and the first letter is typed. Soon the rest arrive like pearls on a string.
“He does remember how to do it,” Kristin says. “I knew he would. I knew I could get him to speak again. I’ll give you your voice back, Peter. What is he writing, Daniel?”
Daniel writes down each letter, then when Peter is done, he reads it. He looks at Kristin.
&n
bsp; “Don’t look at me like that. Tell me. What does it say?”
Daniel can hardly get the words across his lips.
“Please kill me.”
Chapter Ninety
February 2016
I drive like the wind towards Orlando and Winter Park. Meanwhile, I am on the phone trying to get ahold of Steven, but he doesn’t answer.
“Pick up. Pick up!”
But of course, he doesn’t. I have only been to his house once, a couple of weeks ago when we went to a concert at the Amway Center in Orlando and I picked him up. So, I know where to go.
It takes me about an hour to get there. He lives in one of those nice cookie-cutter neighborhoods where all the houses are big and expensive, but they all look the same. I park in the driveway next to a brown truck, that I am afraid might be hers.
I try and call his cell one last time, and when he doesn’t pick up, I storm to the front door. Not knowing what else to do, I ring the doorbell, one hand on my father’s gun inside my purse.
Seconds later, Steven comes to the door. He looks surprised. “Mary?”
“Are you alright?” I ask, thinking of how Jess or Kristin held those families hostage before killing them. Maybe she is doing the same to Steven right now, maybe she is hiding somewhere behind the door, pointing her gun at him, waiting for him to say something to me, to alert me, and then shoot him. I have to be careful right now. I have to be very careful.
“Sure? Why wouldn’t I be? A little startled to see you here, but…”
“Can I come in?”
He looks confused. “You know what? Now is not a very good time. The house is a mess…and well…I wasn’t expecting you.”
I scrutinize his eyes to see if I can detect anything, any signal, any small sign that he is, in reality, fearing for his life. I remember the many documentaries I’ve seen about the killing of the Elingston family in their home, and how both the accountant and the pizza deliveryman never noticed the fear in the father’s eyes when he opened the door. I don’t want that to happen to me.