by Willow Rose
"MARGOT!"
She wasn't moving. She had landed face-first on the tiles, halfway on top of me, completely limp. The moment she landed on me, I dropped the gun, and it slid across the tiles, far away from my reach. I screamed and screamed while pushing Margot's body off myself. Meanwhile, Bella moved around, cursing under her breath. Blood was gushing from her wound, and I could tell she was in pain.
"Would you shut up?" she grumbled. "Shut up!"
I was paralyzed. I stared at the blood on my hands and couldn't stop screaming. Then, as I saw Bella get the shotgun ready once more, I reached over and kicked her in the face. Bella shrieked and fell backward, landing hard on the tiles. With a second kick, I managed to knock the gun out of her grip, and it went flying across the tiles and hit the wall behind her, out of her reach. Bella then lunged at me, and I kicked her till she flew back. But soon she came at me again, raising her fist in the air and letting punches rain down on me. As I fell backward, my face throbbing in pain, she went for the gun again, but I grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her back, then I climbed on top of her, held her down, then threw a punch, hitting her on the jaw so hard her head flew sideways and stayed there.
Panting, I stared down at her beneath me, making sure she didn't move, then went for Margot's gun. I rushed toward it and grabbed it between my fingers when I felt her hands on my shin, and I was pulled back forcefully. The gun was still in my hand, and as she pulled me closer, I managed to turn myself around and point it at her face.
She didn't seem to care and kept pulling at me, so I kicked her hard in the face instead, and she let go of me. I then scrambled to my feet, pushed through a sudden spurt of dizziness, then stood hovering above her, holding the gun between my hands, pointing it down at her.
She grunted and kicked my shin, and I bent forward in pain, then lifted the gun again and fired it, shooting her in the thigh. Bella screamed like an animal, then rolled to the side, while I stepped backward, panting and wheezing. I found my phone that had fallen out of my pocket during the fight, then dialed 911. Then I rushed to Margot's body and turned her on her side. She was still breathing, but only barely. The bullet had entered her back, and blood was gushing out. I pressed my hand into it, to try and stop the bleeding, but it didn't help much.
"Margot…I am so…"
"I…I…can't breathe," she sputtered, half choked.
"Just lay still," I said. "There's an ambulance on the way."
Tears filling my eyes, I stared into hers, seeing all the regrets and fears she had suffered, all the disappointments, all the injustice done to her.
"I…I had it all. For just a few seconds, I had it all," she whispered, struggling to get the words out.
"Stay calm, Margot," I said, grief already overwhelming me. "Please, just lie still; they're coming. They're on their way. You can make it, Margot, I know you can."
Her lips moved into almost a smile while her body jerked. "I…I don't want to. Let me go. I…" Blood sputtered out of her mouth, and I whimpered, then leaned close to her. Sirens were wailing in the distance.
"We got her," I said, trying to entice her to stay. "We got Bella, and the truth will finally be revealed. Please, stay here with us."
Margot's eyes were strained. She opened her mouth to speak. Blood sputtered out, and I felt like screaming.
"There's nothing…there's nothing for me here anymore. You get her for me; clear my name. She shot me in the back. It ends here for me," she said, then exhaled and never inhaled again.
"Margot? Margot?" I shrieked, then leaned over her, terrified. "NO!"
As I heard the ambulances rush up in the driveway and the footsteps approach, I was certain I saw a smile spread across Margot's face.
69
"Let me get this straight; you’re trying to tell me that you went into the sheriff's house and found him like that?"
Detective Carter, who had held me at the station all night, had narrow dark eyes and no hair. He was the type who had it all figured out already but just wanted me to confirm it, which I wasn't going to do. I wasn't going to admit to having killed Sheriff Travers, no matter how long they kept me.
"I found him on the couch, yes; a knife was stuck in his chest. And then he died while I tried to perform CPR on him. That's why I called the alarm central."
"And then, by chance, a few hours later, you were suddenly at the house where the woman whose father you are suspected of killing lives, along with Margot Addington, who we found dead, and Mrs. Cunningham who was mortally wounded?"
"It wasn't a fatal wound. I shot her in the thigh because she kept trying to kill me. She killed Margot. I’ve told you this a million times," I said, bone-tired.
We had been at it all night, going over the night's events again and again, and I was exhausted. I just wanted to sleep, at least for a few hours. Wasn't that a human right? I felt like the night's events became more and more of a blur, and I couldn't really keep the details straight, which wasn't to my advantage.
"Let's go back to the beginning. What were you doing at Sheriff Travers’ house?"
I exhaled, then told him what I had said so many times before. "I had found something in the transcripts of the old case that I wanted to show him. I wanted to ask him about Isabella Cunningham's involvement in the killings of the two boys and why she wasn't questioned back then. I found out that Mrs. Cunningham was Bella when I saw the article on…"
"Margot Addington's table, yes," Detective Carter said with a sigh. "We've heard that. Okay, then let me ask you this, why did you kill Margot Addington? She is the only one who could have confirmed your story?"
"I didn't. Isabella Cunningham did. She wanted to shoot me, but Margot took the bullet for me. She saved my life."
"Nice little sob-story," Carter said and leaned forward. "If it were true. But we got another testimony from Isabella Cunningham. She says the both of you broke into her house and wanted to kill her because she knew that you had killed her father and Sheriff Travers. She said you shot Margot Addington when she said she didn't want to hurt her, when she didn't want to help you out anymore."
"That's nonsense. I’m sure your forensics will prove my story to be true," I said. "I didn't kill anyone. My hands were checked for residue. I never touched that shotgun. My hands would be covered in gunshot residue that matched the shotgun that killed Margot. They did find residue, yes, but that was from another gun. The one I used to shoot Isabella Cunningham with in self-defense. There will be no match with the shotgun on my hands."
Detective Carter's nostrils flared, and I could tell I had hit a soft spot. He knew I was right. If I had fired that gun, they would find the evidence all over my fingers. Now, they were going to find it on Isabella's instead. "We'll see about that. But several witnesses saw you run away from Sheriff Travers' house right before the police arrived. Why didn't you stay so you could tell your story? Running away makes you look guilty."
"First of all, I was the one who called for help; don't forget that. You have my voice on the recording. I ran away because I knew I would end up having to try and explain myself like I’m doing now. And I didn't have time for that because I had to stop Margot before…I thought she had killed Allan Cunningham and Sheriff Travers because of how they had framed her back then. I thought she was going for Isabella next because she too had been a big part of destroying her life. It would make sense, except she hadn't killed them. It wasn't her."
Detective Carter slammed his hand on the table. "Then who was it?"
"That's what I don't know," I said. I wanted to say Isabella Cunningham because she was the only person who I could see would benefit from seeing them dead, but I wasn't sure I believed it was her either. There was no chance that those two would ever reveal the truth since it would only hurt them both. The sheriff had gone to great lengths to cover for himself. He had lied about Alexander's death because he knew that, if he didn't, then people would know the killer was back, and that would mean it was the wrong person he had put away. It would
mean the truth would come out about him framing Anna Mae.
But if Isabella Cunningham hadn't killed her father and the sheriff, then who had? Worse than that, an even bigger question still remained:
Who had killed Alexander?
70
I was put in a cell, where I lay down on a hard bench for a few hours, finally able to get a little sleep. I didn't sleep very well, though. I kept waking up, gasping for air, bathed in sweat, crying loudly. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to find comfort, then went back to sleep again, dreaming about my children.
As the morning came a few hours later, the door to my cell was opened, and a deputy stepped in.
"Your bail was posted. You can go but stay close. We'll have you in for more questioning later."
I sighed and got my few belongings from the lady behind the glass. My phone had died and needed to be charged before I could call Sune and let him know I was still alive. He was probably worried sick. Then I reminded myself that he wasn't my boyfriend anymore and that maybe he didn't really care that much anymore. The guard guided me out the door, where a woman with short curly hair and blue eyes stood waiting for me.
"You're the one who posted my bail?" I asked and approached her.
She nodded and held her purse close to her body, looking nervously around her.
"You're Adeline's friend?" I said.
The woman reached out her hand toward me. "I'm Carol."
"I remember you from the Farmer's Market. Did Adeline send you?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"I don't understand. Then why would you post my bail?"
She looked around. "Let's talk in the car. I'll take you back to your motel. I parked right over there."
I followed her to a green pick up truck and got in. Carol put the key in the ignition, and it roared to life. She left the parking lot behind the sheriff's station, and then rushed down the main street, looking like she believed all eyes were on her.
"So…care to explain? What's going on, Carol?" I asked. "I have a feeling you didn't do this out of the goodness of your heart."
She bit her lip and stopped at a red light. "You're right. I didn't. I’m Anna Mae's aunt. I was the only one in her life that actually knew what was going on with her at home. I was supposed to take care of her. I wanted to, and I tried to, but I failed. I failed miserably."
I stared at the old woman in the seat next to me. Her slightly slumped forward posture made her look smaller than she really was. She seemed like she was ten years older than Adeline, but my guess was that they were about the same age.
"I was the only one who could have helped when they started all those accusations, but instead, I let the fear overpower me; I let them get to me and, finally, I gave in."
"You helped them frame her," I said. "Margot told me that. You gave them the fibers so they could plant them as evidence, didn't you?"
She nodded and took off as the light changed. "I was the only one she had. Her mother didn't want her; she tried to kill her, and when that didn't work, she used her and sold her to men who raped her. I let her live with me for a little while, but…you must believe me. I truly thought she had done those things. I feared she might hurt…more children. That's why I did what I did. That's why I helped them."
"But she was innocent," I said. "Isabella Cunningham killed those boys. She forced Anna Mae to keep quiet. Anna Mae saw her do it; that's why she knew so much about it; that's why it was easy to conclude that she was the one who had done it."
"I know that now," Carol said, then she took a turn down Second Street and drove past the old abandoned house. I shivered when thinking about Alexander being pulled out of it. "I read about it in the paper this morning. They say that the sheriff's office is looking into the old story and Isabella's involvement. They've reopened the case and are digging out all the old files and even looking into Sheriff's Travers' involvement."
"Really? They're actually doing that?" I said, feeling a light in the darkness. Apparently, Detective Carter had been listening to my story after all, much to my surprise. Maybe I had misjudged him entirely; maybe he wasn't as bad as I had assumed him to be.
"They said on the news earlier that it was because Anna Mae was shot in the back," she added. "Once they realized that, they decided to look into what you were telling them. Isabella kept telling them that she had shot an intruder and that she was within her rights, but the medical examiner said Margot, or Anna Mae, was shot in the back, which, apparently, is a whole different story. You're not allowed to shoot an intruder in the back because it can be argued that she didn't pose any danger. It's up to the jury, of course, but they say she risks being charged with murder."
My eyes grew wide. She had known. Margot had known when she took that last breath. She shot me in the back, were some of Margot's last words. That was why she had said it. She knew that Isabella could be charged with murder if she shot an intruder in the back. That was why she had smiled. By dying, she had finally gotten back at her old friend. She had finally gotten her revenge.
Carol drove into the parking lot in front of the motel, then stopped the truck. She turned to look at me.
"I feel awful for what I did to Anna Mae, and it will haunt me to the day I die. That's why I helped you. But that's not the only reason, I’m afraid. I need your help to find out who killed Sheriff Travers and Allan Cunningham because I have a feeling that whoever it was is coming for me next."
71
Carol walked me to my room, and I put in the keycard. I sighed, satisfied when opening the door. The motel room wasn't much, but it was way better than some prison cell. All I wanted was to jump into a shower while charging my phone, then get into bed and call my kids before hopefully getting a few hours of sleep. I was so tired that I saw black spots in front of my eyes.
"Will you be all right?" Carol asked. "If I leave you, will you be okay?"
I nodded and gave her a hug. "Thank you for getting me out. I don't know what I would have done if I had to spend another hour in there."
She nodded. "It was the least I could do. Now, get some sleep; you look like you need it."
I nodded, then held the slip with her number up that she had given me. "I'll call you later, and then we'll talk, once my mind is clearer again, and I can think straight."
Carol nodded. She lingered for a few seconds in the doorway, looking like she wanted something else from me.
"All right," I said. "Talk to you later, okay?"
Carol nodded. She turned around and walked down the corridor. I watched her as she approached her truck and got in, wondering if there was something Carol hadn't told me. It seemed like she had something she wanted to say to me but didn't quite dare to.
It'll have to wait, Rebekka. You need sleep.
I decided to ask about it later, then turned around to walk back to my door while Carol backed out, then took off. As I placed my foot on the threshold, I paused, then looked toward her truck as it left the parking lot and drove onto the street.
Then my eyes grew wide.
In the window in the back, I saw not one head poke up, but two.
Oh, dear God! Someone's in the truck with her! Someone must have crawled into the back seat and hidden there while she talked to me! I must warn her!
I searched for my phone, but as I pulled it out, I remembered it was dead. There was a phone in the room, and I ran to it, then dialed Carol's cell number that she had just given me.
"Pick up, pick up, come on, Carol."
When she didn't, I slammed the phone down, then ran into the street and looked after her truck. It had stopped at a red light further down and was taking off now. Heart pounding in my chest, I felt paralyzed with indecision.
Come on, Rebekka, think. Do something; think of something!
Not thinking straight, I walked right out in front of a pick-up truck, raising my hands in the air, signaling for it to stop. The truck came to a sudden halt.
"What are you doing?" the driver yelled. She
peeked her head out, and I saw that it was Adeline.
"Thank God it's you," I said. "I need your help…"
"Don't you think you've done enough? The motel has been crawling with police all night, and I just got my truck back from the police impound. I really don't think…"
I approached her. "It's Carol. She's in trouble."
Adeline stopped talking and looked up at me. She unlocked the doors by clicking a button.
"Get in."
72
Webster, Florida 1980
Carol waited outside the door until she was buzzed inside. Her heart was in her throat as she entered the room and sat down between the barren walls. It was her first time inside of a real prison, and it filled her with deep fear and a claustrophobic sense as she stared at the door in front of her, waiting for it to open.
She should have come sooner, she knew she ought to, but she simply couldn't get herself to come. It wasn't that she didn't want to see Anna Mae, she did, she missed her terribly, but she just felt so awful about what she had done.
The town had returned to normal, and people were mowing their lawns, trimming their palm trees, and greeting each other in the street like nothing had happened, like it never happened. Meanwhile, Carol sat on her porch and rocked in her chair, wondering how Anna Mae was coping inside that awful place.
They had put her in with the adults. Because of the seriousness of her crime, they had put her in with the worst murderers in the country. It made no sense to Carol why they would go to such extremes for just a young girl.
Finally, the door swung open, and there she was. Her hands were chained together, and so were her feet, and she waddled like a penguin toward her aunt. Carol smiled when she saw her, a tear shaping in the corner of her eye, but Anna Mae wasn't smiling back. The light in her eyes was gone, and nothing but matte indifference was left in them.