The Walls

by Hollie Overton

  Panicked, Kristy reached out to grab Lisette by the arms.

  “Lisette, I don’t know who killed Lance … I mean Wayne. Are you hearing me? I don’t know. But if you’re here, and they know I talked to you, they might stop looking. Do you understand? They might suspect me.”

  Lisette’s eyes narrowed. “They can’t arrest you. You did such a good thing.” Lisette rubbed her eyes, childlike and world-weary all at the same time.

  She was teetering on the edge. Any little push might set her off.

  “Lisette, I didn’t do anything. I need you to know that.”

  “Okay,” Lisette said, shrugging. She didn’t believe Kristy for a second. She reached out and hugged her again. “You know, you seem like a good mom. When I watched you with your kid, you seemed so nice and loving, just like my mom.”

  Lisette moved back toward her car, unsteady on her feet, and swung open the car door. She called out to Kristy.

  “We’re all going to be happier now that Wayne is gone. You’ll see.”

  Kristy couldn’t do this. She couldn’t let this girl drive off, not in this state. She’d take her to the police station and explain everything. Lance Dobson would never do that, but she wasn’t Lance.

  “Lisette, wait. Wait,” Kristy said, following after her, but Lisette was already in the car, waving as she pulled out of the driveway, tires kicking up dirt.

  Kristy’s head was pounding, pulse racing. She leaned against her car. She wasn’t sure what to do. Her phone buzzed.

  Kristy girl, where are you? I’m starting to worry … and I’m hungry. And I’m out of my Tums. Can you swing by the store?

  She glanced back at the road. Lisette was gone, and going after her would only put Kristy in more danger. She couldn’t help Lisette. Not when her own life was on the verge of coming apart. She sighed and climbed back into her car.

  Kristy returned home, sweat trickling down her back, her head aching. Pops sat in his recliner in the living room, the TV tuned to some sitcom rerun.

  “Sorry I’m late, Pops. Ran out to do some errands but I’m not feeling well.”

  “Did you get my text?” he said. She didn’t stop to look at him.

  “Sorry. I need to lie down.”

  “All right, well take care of yourself. I’ll text Ryan and ask him to go.”

  She barely made it to her bedroom, collapsing onto the bed, shivering and shaking, her body fighting off the trauma of the day. Kristy drifted off to sleep. In her dream, the police were chasing her down. Ranger Santiago, a calculated glimmer in his eyes, led the charge. She ran, faster and faster, but the ranger grabbed her. As Kristy was cuffed, she turned and saw Lance watching, his skin that awful shade of blue, his hands clutching his hollowed-out gut. By his side was Clifton, his body rotting, shaking his head in dismay, the two of them watching as Kristy was led away.

  Gasping for air, Kristy woke. It was dark out. Her bedside clock read ten fifteen. She frantically searched in the shadows, but no one was there, only the guilt and regret that clung to her. Kristy couldn’t do this. Not anymore. She was not Lance Dobson. Lance would have waited out the cops with silent indifference. He would have reveled in the suffering of others, soaking it up. If she could just play this role a little while longer, Kristy might be able to escape prison and resume her life. It could happen. But she’d never be free, and that’s what this was all about. That’s what Clifton had tried to tell her. Kristy was a good person until Lance forced her hand. But she could still find her way back to who she was. She could become the old Kristy Tucker. That was possible. There was only one thing left to do—she had to tell the truth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The water was piping hot, steam rising up. Kristy eased herself into the tub. She hadn’t taken a bath since Lance began abusing her. She hated seeing her bruised body in the water, so vulnerable and indefensible. But tonight, she undressed and slowly lowered herself into the claw-foot tub, the scalding water prickling her skin.

  As she soaked, Kristy allowed herself a peek into the future, pondering what her life might be like if she didn’t confess. She would be that mysterious woman people couldn’t help noticing. “The Widow Dobson,” so dignified and strong. “Her husband was murdered,” people would say after she’d walked by. “She was a suspect for a while, but nothing came of it. Never married again, her love ran so deep, her heart torn into pieces.” The widow would greet everyone she encountered with the same pressed-lip smile and silent nod of the head. If only she could live with the guilt, the gnawing uncertainty that greeted her each morning. If only.

  After her bath, Kristy dressed in dark blue jeans and her favorite worn gray T-shirt and black hoodie. She took a notepad from her desk, grabbed a pen, and went into the kitchen. The house was creaking and settling; Pops and Ryan were sound asleep.

  She brewed a pot of coffee, poured herself a large cup, sat down, and began writing. She wrote about her first charged meeting, how she clashed with Lance at the YMCA over his training her Ryan, the support he offered when she’d been threatened, their whirlwind courtship, and how the violence all began with that damn cigarette. She filled page after page with details about the abuse her husband inflicted upon her. She was careful and precise, wanting to make sure that when the police read it, they understood why she’d done it. They had to know it wasn’t a simple decision, that it wasn’t something that happened overnight. They had to know she was out of options.

  “Mom?” Ryan asked.

  Kristy started. Ryan stood in front of her, bedhead hair sticking straight up, eyes wide as he studied Kristy.

  “Mom, are you okay?” Ryan asked.

  Kristy quickly wiped away her tears.

  “Go back to bed, Ry,” Kristy said.

  Ryan didn’t budge. “It’s about that cop, isn’t it?”

  “Please, Ryan …”

  “No. He came here for a reason. Something’s wrong. I know it. There’s something you’re not telling me. And we never lie. Isn’t that what you’ve always said, Mom? Honesty always.”

  She couldn’t do this. Not yet. She grabbed the notepad and stood up.

  “I’m going back to bed.”

  He reached out to stop her.

  “Mom, what did you do?” Ryan whispered.

  His soft accusation shattered Kristy. She sank back into her chair and put her head in her hands.

  “Mom?” he asked again, his voice strained and desperate.

  She glanced up at Ryan and gestured for him to sit. He did so reluctantly, adjusting his baggy sweatpants, rubbing his hands back and forth on his legs.

  “You know how much I love you, don’t you?” she asked him.

  “Yeah, Mom, I know.”

  “And you know how much you and Pops mean to me?”

  “Mom, you’re scaring me.”

  “Everything I did, everything I’ve ever done, is for you.”

  It was cowardly not to tell Ryan herself, but she would never be able to find the words. She slid the notebook over and waited. Ryan read slowly, his expression blank, turning page after page.

  Toward the end of Kristy’s confession, she saw him sizing her up, trying to reconcile the crime she’d committed with the person who had raised him. By the time he finished reading, Ryan was sniffling, wiping away his own tears, his expression one of disbelief.

  “You … you killed Lance?” His voice came out in a terrified whisper.

  Kristy had never said the words out loud, but it was time to stop lying. Honesty always.

  “I did. I killed Lance. But I didn’t have a choice.”

  Ryan’s eyes flashed with disbelief.

  “Why didn’t you tell me what he was doing to you? Or Pops? Or the police? Or Mac? Why didn’t you tell anyone Lance was hurting you? Why?”

  Shame coursed through Kristy’s body, the same shame she endured every time Lance hurt her. That’s what men like Lance counted on.

  “I thought it would stop and then it didn’t, and it got worse and worse. An
d, Ryan, I loved him so much, even when he was hitting me. You know how much I loved Lance. It wasn’t that bad, I told myself. And I was so scared of what people would think. How dumb could I be to marry a man I barely knew?”

  “He was good to us, Mom.”

  “I know he was good to you. And sometimes he was good to me. But other times he was … someone else. A man who got angry when I didn’t use hospital corners when I made the bed or who flew into a violent rage if I didn’t text soon enough to let him know I had to work late. Each time that happened, he punished me. And I wanted to say something but …”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Lance used you and Pops against me. He threatened you all the time. He took out life insurance policies on both of you. He kept saying he’d take away what mattered most to me and I believed him, Ry. That’s why I had to do it.”

  Ryan looked back down at the note.

  “And the car accident? That was … I mean, Lance caused it?” Ryan asked.

  “I told him I wanted a divorce. That was his way of warning me, telling me what would happen if I went through with it.”

  “Why would he do all that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was something that happened in his life that made him that way. But I’m not alone. He tormented at least two other women that I know about. You have to believe me. I never wanted you to get hurt. That was the last thing I wanted. The last thing!” Ryan sat at the table, head in his hands.

  “I did this,” he whispered. “It’s my fault. I brought Lance into our lives. It’s all my fault.”

  “Listen,” Kristy said, grabbing Ryan by the shoulders. “You didn’t do any of this. It just … it happened. He fooled us all. Made us believe he was something he wasn’t.”

  Ryan sat there, motionless. Kristy could see his mind working, calculating.

  “The cops still don’t know that you did it?” he asked. She understood what he was doing, trying to work out an exit strategy, but it was too late for that.

  “Not yet. I mean, they may have their suspicions, but they don’t have any evidence,” Kristy said. “At least I don’t think so.”

  “Then let’s leave. You’ve never liked it here. What if we ran away? Went somewhere else? Like Mexico? Or Costa Rica? Thailand? We could go anywhere, Mom.”

  Kristy had imagined starting over a million times. New passports, new identities, new lives. But running would ruin Ryan’s life. It’d ruin everything she’d worked for and sacrificed for. Ryan might not care about himself. But he’d never leave his grandfather.

  “I don’t think Pops is ready for international travel.”

  Ryan’s shoulders sagged. He hadn’t thought of that.

  “I don’t want you to go to prison,” he whispered.

  “I don’t want that either,” Kristy said. “But I don’t have much choice.”

  Kristy would likely spend the rest of her life in prison. But she had protected Ryan and Pops. That’s what would carry her through. Kristy checked her watch. It was almost three o’clock in the morning.

  “I’m not afraid, Ry. Not anymore. You’re going to be fine. We’ll sell the house and get Pops into one of those nice assisted living places he’s always talking about. You’ll go to Notre Dame and get your degree. You’re going to do big things in this world. I know it.”

  She reached out and squeezed his hands. “I should go,” she said, standing up.

  “No, don’t. Wait. Please … just wait until morning,” he pleaded.

  “Ry …”

  “You can’t go without telling Pops. I’ll be there with you. We can all have one last breakfast together.”

  God, she would miss those Puss in Boots eyes more than anything.

  “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I love you, Mom,” Ryan said.

  “I love you too, Ry. More than you will ever, ever know.”

  She released him and watched as he headed downstairs. She placed her coffee cup in the sink and grabbed her things. She went back to her bedroom and tucked the notebook in her purse. Kristy crawled into bed, still wearing her jeans and T-shirt. There wasn’t any point in changing clothes when she had to be up in just a few hours. Telling Ryan the truth had freed Kristy in a way she hadn’t expected. Her eyes grew heavy and she finally drifted off.

  She slept deeply and when she opened her eyes, sunlight was brightly streaming through the curtains. She glanced over at the clock. Shit! It was eight thirty. Kristy shot up out of bed, kicking herself for sleeping so long. Damn it. What was wrong with her? She brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her hair and slipped on her sneakers.

  The burnt tar smell of cigarettes assaulted Kristy’s senses when she entered the kitchen. She saw Pops seated at the table, his back to her, shoulders slumped just like Ryan’s. Pops hadn’t smoked in almost a decade, not since his diagnosis. Kristy froze. He knew. He knew what she’d done.

  Kristy wanted to rush back to the safe confines of her bedroom, wanted to do anything to avoid facing her father, but her Converse sneakers creaked on the hardwood floors.

  “Come in, Kristy Ann,” he said softly.

  Kristy sat down at the table across from Pops. His eyes were red and ringed, skin sagging, his face covered with age spots and three-day stubble. She wanted him to yell and scream, anything but this stone-faced silence.

  “I’m sorry, Pops. I’m so sorry,” Kristy said.

  “You could have told me, Kristy,” he said.

  “I couldn’t, Pops. There are so many reasons why.”

  Kristy stopped.

  “Wait, where is Ryan? He said he wanted to have breakfast. One last breakfast before I …” Kristy’s voice cracked. “Before I turn myself in.”

  Pops sighed deeply.

  “I tried to talk him out of it. But he’s so goddamn stubborn.”

  “Talk him out of what …?”

  Pops looked away and Kristy knew she was in deep trouble. She leapt out of her seat and raced back toward her bedroom.

  “It’s too late, Kristy,” Pops called after her.

  She burst into her bedroom and grabbed her purse, dumping it out, hoping to see the notebook, but it was gone. She spun around, raced through the hall and back down the stairs. She didn’t knock, just shoved open Ryan’s bedroom door. There was no sign of him. Ryan was gone and he had taken Kristy’s written confession with him, along with every single detail of Lance’s murder. Her son, the most selfless person she’d ever met, was going to try to save her; he was going to confess.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Kristy peeled into the Conroe Police Department and scanned the cars, but there was no sign of Ryan’s Jeep. She had called him and texted half a dozen times and no response. Kristy rushed inside, thinking about all the things Ryan had accomplished.

  Captain of the state championship debate team.

  President of the Conroe National Honor Society.

  A score of 1600 on the SATs.

  Peer mediator.

  Kristy may have been able to endure Lance’s beatings and his psychological torture but she wouldn’t survive seeing her son in handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit. He’s not a criminal. I am, she was about to scream at the top of her lungs.

  “I need to see Ranger Santiago,” she said to the officer on duty.

  “One minute,” he said before disappearing down the hall.

  Kristy stood there, scanning the place, searching for Ryan, praying that she could stop her son from ruining his life.

  “Mrs. Dobson, are you okay?” she heard the ranger ask. She looked over at him, his eyes wide with concern, or maybe a glimmer of excitement. Maybe he thought their heart-to-heart had worked.

  “Ryan, have you seen him? Is he here?” Kristy asked.

  The man looked puzzled, taking off his cowboy hat and running a hand through his thick black hair.

  “Afraid not. Is something wrong with Ryan?”

  She hesitated. He wasn’t here. Relief coursed through her.


  “If you want to talk, we can go somewhere more private,” Ranger Santiago said, gesturing to one of those grim interrogation rooms. No. That wasn’t going to happen. Kristy had to find Ryan but first she had to extricate herself from this place. She frantically searched for a proper cover story.

  “I’m okay … It’s just Ryan. He’s been struggling. He left early this morning. I thought he might come here, to ask about Lance and the case,” Kristy said.

  “Well, if you’re worried about him, I’m happy to help you look …”

  Ranger Santiago wasn’t even trying to be subtle. He wanted to get Kristy alone, to unearth the weakness, break her down. He could do it too. She was so close to breaking. But she couldn’t quit now. Not until she found Ryan.

  “Thank you, Ranger, for your time. But I can handle it.”

  She turned around, hoping he wouldn’t stop her. She hurried toward her car, dialing Ella and Ryan’s debate friends, but no one had heard from him. She even called Pops but Ryan hadn’t returned home. She drove and didn’t stop until she reached the high school parking lot. It was a weekend. Only a few cars remained but no sign of Ryan’s Jeep. She texted him again.

  I’m desperate to find you. Please tell me where you are.

  She saw the typing icon indicating that Ryan was texting back and held her breath.

  Our spot. I’ll be waiting.

  Their spot. Kristy peeled out, heading down the highway until she reached the entrance of the Sam Houston National Forest. All these years had passed since their mother-son weekend trips and Ryan hadn’t forgotten. Kristy pulled up and saw his Jeep parked on the side of the road. She pulled in behind him, and raced through the trails, winded and clutching her sides, but she didn’t stop until she reached the clearing half a mile up. She found Ryan there, sitting Indian-style on the ground, his head in his hands.

  “Ryan!” She rushed over to him and knelt down, wrapping him in her arms.

  “I burned the notebook. I burned all of it. It’s gone, Mom. I wasn’t going to. Not at first. I woke up this morning and took it from your room. I memorized all the important details. You know how good I am at memorizing things. I was gonna go to the police and tell them that Lance was hurting me, and I killed him to stop the abuse,” Ryan said. “I was gonna take care of you.”