“Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because I deserve recognition—everyone thought you were so wonderful, and I was just the stupid housekeeper. None of what I’m saying can be proven. Months ago, I had the cameras in this office turned off, and after I took Sophia upstairs, I called the police. They should be here any minute. I told them that you just arrived and how afraid I was of what you might do. No one will believe your story. I’m just the quiet housekeeper. I wasn’t even in California when your parents died”—her eyes lit up—“You know the best part?”—She didn’t wait for him to answer—“I poisoned you with the same plant extract. Oh, I debated about the amount. I knew our plan was for you to only go unconscious. At first, I planned to use sleeping pills, but the irony was too beautiful to pass up.”
Tony walked toward her. “This is done. Why are the Vandersols here?”
“H—How—” she stammered. “How do you know about them?”
“Why are they here?”
She smirked. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself. The police will think you hurt them after all they’ve done to ruin your name. Did you know she was pregnant? Of course you did—that’s why you came here—to stop another Nichols from entering this world.”
His voice lowered as he walked closer. “Tell me if you’ve hurt them.”
“It depends.”
Tony glared.
“I don’t know,” she confessed.
“What the hell do you mean—you don’t know?”
Catherine shrugged. “We could check the video. I don’t know if they’ve decided to drink any of the water in the refrigerator. The room is quite warm and packing Claire’s things can be thirsty work.”
“Fuck’n sick! The police will take you away! You killed my grandfather for having a reaction to medication. He could’ve gotten out of jail and none of this would have ever happened. My father was right—in not trusting you! He was wrong too—my grandfather wasn’t crazy—you are!”
This time, Catherine attacked. Tony’s face stung as her open palm assaulted his cheek. Before he could form words, she was gone. He rushed after her, seeing her disappear behind a door in the corridor of his and Claire’s suite. Reaching for the handle, it didn’t move. He pounded on the wooden barrier and screamed her name. Within seconds, members of the shocked staff began to surround him.
“Mr. Rawlings!”
“Mr. Rawlings?”
Their surprised and questioning voices filled his hearing. Tony hoped Eric or Phil heard Catherine’s plan and were rescuing Emily and John. He continued screaming. Suddenly, smoke wafted from the opening below Catherine’s door.
Tony yelled, “Get out of the house and call the fire department!” At first, the staff didn’t move; finally, he yelled, “Now! Get out! Call for help!”
Everyone scattered.
His thoughts went from Catherine—to Sophia—to the Vandersols. He’d saved Catherine’s life, on more than one occasion—he wasn’t doing it again. As smoke billowed from below the door filling the corridor, Tony raced toward the backstairs.
Running toward the S.E Corridor, he went directly to Claire’s old suite. The lever wouldn’t budge. Cupping his hands against the door, he yelled, “Emily? John? Are you in there?”
Despite the commotion below, he heard nothing through the door. His heart sank until he heard a faint pounding against the door. He’d forgotten the room was soundproofed. There was a time that had been necessary. Reaching for the electronic release, Tony prayed it still worked. What seemed like an eternity later, he heard the once familiar beep. Grasping the lever once again, he pushed the door open to find his brother and sister-in-law laying upon the ground.
John looked up. “How? How are you here? Did you do this? You’re sick!”
Tony shook his head. “We don’t have time. No, I didn’t!” He pointed to Emily with her face down. “Is she all right?”
John shook his head. “You’re going to jail for this!”
“We’ll argue later—is she all right?”
“Yes—we’re trying to avoid the smoke.”
John was right; the smoke whirled in gray waves near the ceiling. Tony and John both helped Emily to her feet as water began to rain from the sprinkler system. Within seconds, they were all soaked. Leaving Claire’s old suite, Tony looked both directions down the long corridor. As smoke and water limited their visibility, Emily clung to John’s arm with her other hand protectively covering her mouth and nose.
“John, listen to me”—Tony screamed above the whoosh of sprinklers—“Go right—in about thirty feet, you’ll find the backstairs—when you reach the ground floor—go right again. There’s a door that opens to the kitchen. From there, you’ll be able to get out into the backyard.”
John reached for Tony. “You’re coming with us. You can’t stay up here.”
“Just go. There’s another person I need to find.”
“Oh God! Claire?”
Tony shook his head. “No, Claire’s safe. She isn’t here.” He could tell John was debating their next move. “Go! Get Emily and your baby out of this smoke!”
John didn’t argue. Tony stood, momentarily watching his brother and sister-in-law disappear into the gray haze. Wiping the water from his eyes, he headed the other direction toward the grand staircase. Each room he passed, he opened in hopes of finding Sophia.
As he neared the front stairs, he considered the southwest corridor when he stopped dead in his tracks. Straining his ears, Tony listened again. Suddenly, his world crashed in around him. With all his might and his shoes slipping on the wet marble, he ran toward the voices.
Only moments earlier…
The feeling of foreboding that Claire had experienced ever since she learned they were coming back to Iowa, was too strong to deny. Phil had told her to trust her instincts and her instincts told her that they should’ve stayed in paradise—but her heart wouldn’t allow Tony to travel to the U.S. without her. Now, she knew why.
When Courtney received the call about Brent, Claire knew she needed to get to Tony. He’d told her to stay away from the estate, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t that she wanted to save Catherine from his wrath—she wanted to save Tony from the consequences of his possible actions. She knew if he learned about the Rawlings plane while with Catherine, he’d blame her—possibly rightfully so; nonetheless, Claire didn’t want Tony to do something else that he’d regret. He didn’t need another crime added to his list.
As Claire entered the gates of the estate, she glanced in the rear-view mirror. Nichol was peacefully sleeping in the car seat. She should’ve left her with Courtney; but Courtney was too distraught to watch over their daughter. Besides, Claire’s plan was simple—find Tony, Emily, and John and get them out of the house. She could’ve called, but then she’d have had to tell him about the plane crash. Claire didn’t want to do that over the phone. As she parked the car in front of the house, she thought about Phil and Eric, where were they?
Looking up at the stately home, she pushed away the onslaught of memories, and straightened her stance. This was their home—Nichol’s home, and Claire wanted it back. Fury filled her chest as she thought about Catherine. The woman’s plan had worked successfully to force both her and Tony into hiding. Suddenly, Claire was tired of running, tired of revenge, and tired of the fight. Lifting Nichol from the car seat, Claire declared, “Look, sweetie, this is your house. This is all yours, and your mommy will not let that mean woman have it a second longer.”
Yes, she wanted to get Tony out, and she wanted to get Emily and John out, yet what Claire wanted more than anything, was to get Catherine out—out of the house—and out of their lives. Damn it! I’m Mrs. Anthony Rawlings, and I’ve had enough. No one is taking this away from our daughter!
Her mind focused like never before, making each step toward the grand doors more determined.
To Claire’s surprise, when she depressed the lever and pushed forward, the doors opened without hesitation. Loo
king around the empty foyer, she heard voices coming from the corridor of Tony’s office. As she walked quietly down the hallway, the voices grew in volume. She wasn’t ready to confront the entire staff, so when she heard footsteps coming her direction, she opened the door to Tony’s office and slid inside. Immediately, the smell of smoke filled her senses. Even the room appeared to be dimming with a gray haze.
This wasn’t right—this house was a fortress. She had difficulty comprehending that there could possibly be a fire, but the undeniable burning in her lungs confirmed her fear. Claire’s mind spun between the need to get Nichol out and the desire to assure Tony’s safety. “Oh, my God, where’s your daddy?” she said aloud.
“Good afternoon, Claire.”
The coolness of Catherine’s voice rendered Claire motionless. She hadn’t had time to see anything except the room where they stood, and hadn’t realized Catherine was in the attached bathroom.
“Catherine, where’s Tony? What’s happening? Is there a fire?”
Claire’s feet stayed planted to the lush carpet, as Catherine approached. Catherine’s gray eyes darkened with intensity while the distance between them lessened. She was no longer looking at Claire—her eyes were focused on the baby in her arms. Her hand reached out as she said, “So this is it—the Rawls—Nichols baby.”
Instinctively, Claire pulled Nichol away. “Don’t you dare touch her!”
“Her?! You have a daughter—Anton has a daughter, and you’ve been together, all this time”—Catherine’s gaze locked on Claire’s—“Haven’t you? You two have been together!”
Claire’s eyes blazed, displaying her lack of fear. Never had she felt such hatred. Yes, years ago she hated Tony—that was different, stemming from the anxiety of his actions. This was deep and visceral—a loathing for someone who’d been trusted and loved—to learn that person had lied—forever. Had anything she’d ever said been real?
Not only had Catherine lied, but she’d tried to harm both Claire and Tony. She’d sentenced them both to a life alone—a life without the love of the one person who completed their world. She’d sentenced them to her reality.
“Yes! Yes, we’ve been together. Our daughter is a Rawlings—we’re a family. Something we would’ve, at one time, shared with you! Instead, you gave it all up, for some sick, old vendetta!”
Catherine laughed and turned away. The smoke continued to thicken. “Share with me! Oh, so that I could clean up after you and soothe your hurt feelings when Anton upset you—so that I could be ordered out of a room—by you!” As her volume increased, Nichol began to cry.
Claire tried to soothe her daughter as Catherine’s tirade continued, “You don’t belong here. I sent you away! You—a Nichols—don’t get to have what I couldn’t. I won’t allow Nathaniel’s home to be run by a Nichols! If my daughter didn’t get to live within these walls, then neither will yours.”
“How can you be so sick? She’s an innocent child!” Claire’s yelling spurred Nichol’s cries to become louder.
“Innocent! No one is innocent. Your grandfather’s actions killed the only man who ever loved—”
The door burst open and more smoke flooded the room. Tony’s eyes met Claire’s as his booming voice stopped Catherine’s words. Claire heard and saw his terror, “My God, Claire! Why are you here? Get out, the house is on fire!”
Instead of fear, Claire felt relief. “Oh, you’re safe—I was so afraid.”
The commotion outside the office became louder with voices and footsteps. Nichol’s cries resumed as cold water came raining down from the ceiling. When Claire turned back toward Catherine, she saw the gun. It wasn’t big; nevertheless, it was pointed directly at her and Nichol. Tony saw it too.
They say time slows down during life threatening events. Supposedly, your entire life flashes before your eyes. Claire wasn’t seeing her entire life, only the part that mattered, only the part that included Tony and Nichol. Voices spoke and chaos erupted on all sides, but Claire didn’t notice. Her attention was monopolized by the threat in Catherine’s hand, as well as the growing fire crackling and smoldering around them—consuming their home.
Tony’s voice rang above the chaos, penetrating the smoke and sprinkler induced rain. “Get out, get Nichol out!”
As Claire moved to obey, she saw Catherine’s expression change before her eyes. Emerging from the woman who’d consoled her over the years was the sadistic smile from her nightmare, yet this time, it was real, and she was repeating their daughter’s name, “Nichol?” Turning the gun toward Tony, she asked incredulously, “Nichol? You named a Rawls—Nichol?”
He didn’t answer; instead, he hit the gun free of her hand. In the commotion, it fell near Claire’s feet. She heard his command, “Claire, get the gun!”
Her wet hands searched for the weapon, and water blurred her vision. Bending down, she didn’t see Catherine rush forward until she was right there. Claire expected a fight for the gun; instead, Catherine grabbed Nichol from her arms. The next few seconds melted together in a space and time haze. Tony fought for their daughter as Claire secured the gun in her grip.
Phil’s voice yelled above the fray of Tony’s loud accusations. Nichol cried and Catherine...
Claire didn’t intend to pull the trigger. She was trying to hold the gun steady, but when Phil seized her shoulders, her finger depressed the small lever. The deafening bang drowned out the commotion, removing all other sounds. Through the smoke and water, Claire watched in horror as the three people before her fell to the ground.
Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not a twin.
—Barbara Kingsolver
The autumn sun warmed the days, and the darkness cooled the nights. Claire’s knuckles blanched as the death-grip on her pen refused to subside. She knew Meredith would arrive soon with her evening meal, and they had plans to go out onto the grounds. Courtney was visiting again; nevertheless, Claire’s present confidants and their support couldn’t take away her past—no longer could the consequences of Claire’s truth be denied.
Dr. Brown had told Claire to write—just write. No other directives had been given, nor restrictions. Once Claire was confident that her writings were safe from the eyes of others, the good and bad memories of her past came to life on each page. Painstakingly, she filled notebook after notebook. With her heartbeat echoing in her ears, Claire’s hand seemed to take on a life of its own. This reflective therapy had been effective. She now knew why her mind had shut down. She understood why she had lost touch with reality. After enduring so much—so many highs—so many lows—she couldn’t take anymore.
Perhaps it was the knowledge that Nichol was alive and well or the hope that one day she’d be allowed to hold, care for, and love her daughter. No matter the reason, Claire knew before all else, she needed to face the truth of her conviction...She continued to write—
The office filled with smoke. It’d been a haze, but after Tony opened the door, waves of dense gray saturated the air, filling every void and compartment. As it consumed our history, I worried about our future. I worried about Nichol. I knew I needed to get her out of the fire, yet the aroma of burning wood and crackling of the flames also filled me with an unnatural comforting sense of déjà vu, one which momentarily, replaced the feeling of loss. I know it sounds unreal, but instead of seeing the fire before me—the one that threatened the lives of those I held the dearest—I, for a split second, remembered other fires. I remembered the Iowa state prison incinerator and couldn’t help wonder, if only I’d left the past in ashes, then would we all be safe today?
I remember hearing voices and chaos coming from all directions. I couldn’t see them, and I really couldn’t hear their words. My attention volleyed between the flames and Catherine’s gun; however, other scenes filled my memories. Is this what happens when you face death? I’ve heard your entire life passes before your eyes. Maybe that was what was happening. I knew at that moment death was imminent.
Could that be the answer fo
r the last two years? Was my break with reality—as the doctors call it—my self-imposed death? After what I did, it’d make sense. After all, I’ve learned actions have consequences.
In those few seconds—that took a lifetime—I remembered scenes of surrender and desperation. All the memories I’d successfully compartmentalized away instantaneously proclaimed their presence, only to fade into the gray smoke. With Nichol still in my arms, I took a step back and rubbed my burning eyes. Still there were other scenes playing out before me. They weren’t of oppression or vengeance—no, in those last seconds, I remembered true love and affection. I prayed those scenes would prevail; however, when I closed my eyes they too disappeared into the growing haze and mayhem.
I knew that I couldn’t fall down and surrender to the fire or Catherine’s gun. I’d surrendered too many times, yet I knew no matter what choice I made, our lives would never be the same. I just didn’t realize the magnitude of that realization.
For once, with not only my life at stake, but those of my daughter and husband, I chose to face the reality. With soot covering my face and those around me, I stood tall and saw the horror in Tony’s eyes. I couldn’t surrender—I couldn’t give into emotion, not yet. In my heart, I knew there were cards yet to see—the game wasn’t over—I knew the rules—and I wouldn’t disappoint.
Claire wiped the tears from her eyes. She hadn’t been aware that she was crying until the large droplets of moisture hit the ink on her paper, causing her words to bleed.
She looked at the clock. Meredith would be there in less than ten minutes. She should stop writing, yet the memories were too clear. Claire needed to finish the story—
Convicted (Consequences) Page 47