She Without Sin

by J. P. Barry

  “That’s fine, but I must warn, if this does gets out, I, and whomever is accused, will deny the hell out of it. As will our public relations teams. We all have reputations to protect, and families to maintain,” I cautioned.

  “Understood. The FBI isn’t interested in ruining families or lives over affairs. Have you received any phone calls, texts, emails demanding money? Any blackmail? Anything at all feel or appear off? Has your security crew noticed anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Nothing, but feel free to speak with security on your way out. Raul, my head of security, is currently on the clock. I’d touch base with him first, as he was working the evening Nick didn’t come home.”

  “Last question before I take off. Do you know who Paris Rosen or Shelly Rockland are?”

  “I don’t think so. Those names don’t ring a bell. Why?”

  “We found their information in Doctor Winters’ call log. He’d recently been in communication with them.”

  “No clue.” Curiosity peeked. Who were these women? Affairs? Lawyers? Professional contacts? Friends?

  “If you can think of anything else, please reach out. My team and I are staying at the North Shore Oaks Hotel,” Wilder said, standing, handing me a business card.

  “Is Mrs. Winters suspect?” Charles asked, still sitting.

  “Not at this moment. Her alibi checked out, but no stone can be left unturned, so the Bureau is going to ask if we can search the house and take anything we may deem of interest to our lab for testing. You can say no, but I will return with a court order. Dealer’s choice.”

  “Of course you can. If there’s something in this house that could lead you to Nick, by all means,” I said, without waiting for Charles’s input. I had nothing to hide. Maybe Charles thought otherwise, but there wasn’t a thing thought of that would incriminate me. I’d already admitted the worst–the affairs.

  “Thank you. I’ll let the agents know it’s a go. We’ll be in touch with Mr. Downey before we return, this way it’s a convenient time for all, and we can handle this discreetly without press involvement.” With that, he exited, leaving Charles, Liam, and myself.

  “Are you sure that’s a wise move?” Charles questioned.

  “Yeah,” I replied, shrugging. “It makes the most amount of sense since I didn’t do it. There’s nothing to conceal. Plus, if we do it this way, we can control it–no press, no tabloid stories, no public speculation. They’ll come in quietly, and leave the same way.”

  “I agree with Jill, but they’re going to snag everything, and who the hell can say when it’ll be returned? Give me your work laptop, and cell phone. Give them your personal electronics. You’re going to need something to communicate with the outside world, in case Nick calls,” Liam said.

  “Good idea,” I answered, turning attention to Nick’s filing cabinet. “Let’s comb through this as well while you’re here. Anything suspicious we shred or hide. Yes?”

  Liam nodded.

  “I didn’t hear any of that.” Charles turned away. “I’ll let you know when the Feds want to search the house. In the meantime, if anything pops up, call. Immediately.”

  “Will do.”

  “Do not speak with anyone, Jill. No press. No personal chats with friends, and especially with anyone from Nick’s family. Not even Beau. I’m aware of their perception of situations, and of you. Surely, they’ve been filled in on Nick’s disappearance. If not, they live under a damn rock. Whether they watched the presser, or staff has informed, it doesn’t matter. The Winters clan will be out in full force–pitchforks in hand, fully sharpened. The press, neighbors, friends, colleagues too. Anyone you’ve ever given a sideways glance— be on alert. Mouth shut. Also, don’t let what others say get under your skin. I highly advice you stay away from the television, social media, and newspapers. My team will be on the lookout, and if anything gets out of hand, we will handle it. Not you. Got it?” Charles warned.

  “Yes.”

  An hour later, after Charles left, and every drawer in Nick’s office thoroughly searched, Liam collected personal items, smuggling them out of the house. Alone, I found myself sitting in the family room, in silence. Phones had been shut off to avoid the temptation of answering. Playing with the television remote, I gave up and pressed the on button. How bad could it be?

  Chapter Nine

  Nick

  A handful of days passed since Sarah’s attempt at feeble seduction. The time had been spent walking on eggshells around everyone. Though Warren hadn’t said anything, he knew. Sarah told him what happened, and what I’d said about Jillian. Reading the tell-tale signs wasn’t difficult. This smirk of sorts wore boldly on her face giving the secret away. I didn’t stop conducting mental research, but went about obtaining information differently. A coyer style was utilized. Instead of striking up conversations with the others, I returned to silent observation from afar. No notes were taken because nothing in this house was private. Either a resident or Warren himself more than likely went through the notebooks given to each member of his sick family. Besides, his attention was already on me due to the slip. Risking doing anything else, adding to suspicions–too risky.

  “Brother Nicholas. We must speak. In private,” Warren spoke one evening during free hour, entering the den, closing the door, and sitting. I’d been in there alone for about a half hour pretending to read some Dollar Store book about planting seasons.

  “How can I help you?” I asked, cautiously, shutting the book, bracing for the shit storm ahead.

  Crap. Here it comes.

  “This may be difficult to hear, and please know everyone in this house–your brothers and sisters, are all here for you.” He paused, looking down and to the left. “Yesterday, Jillian was in an accident and killed. It was all over the news. Front page. I happened to see a copy at the market in town.”

  “What? Let me see it,” I demanded, in disbelief. No. No way anything like that happened. Not to Jillian. No. He had to be lying. She was one of the best drivers alive. Cautious, adhering to every rule in the Department of Motor Vehicle’s Handbook. After what happened to her parents, she always took being on the road seriously.

  “You know I do not bring the outside world into this house, Brother Nicholas. Newspapers, magazines, the internet, television–none of that garbage has any place in this home. I can say this much, a drunk driver blew through a red light crashing into the car. She was a passenger in the front seat. The driver has since been arrested. The person Jillian was with, is in the hospital, and should recover. It was quick and painless, Brother Nicholas, and now, she’s free.”

  “No. I don’t believe you. Prove it. Go back into town, and get the paper,” I said, standing, pacing the space. Everything around suddenly felt surreal. Like I was living in a dream.

  “As you wish. I’ll be back,” Warren spoke.

  Had I not returned to the seated position, my body would’ve collapsed. I couldn’t speak, think, perform any basic task. Limbs screamed to find strength, but none existed within. If even the tiniest amount of power was summoned, the rest of my form possessed the potential to barrel through Warren and the others. Surely town wasn’t too far, and even if it was, I’d run to Jillian, wherever she was. I’d find her. Whatever it took, it didn’t matter.

  “I had Brother Noah visit the market to locate a copy. It’s all here. I’m sorry,” Warren spoke, calmly, re-entering the room, handing me a piece of newspaper, exiting.

  There in black and white was a picture of Jillian, a shot of the wreckage, and an article explaining the horrific details. Best summed up—Jillian was in the front seat of a car, driven by an unidentified young male, heading west towards the City. The vehicle was slammed into by a drunk driver who ignore a red light in a heavily populated part of Queens. She died on impact. Thoughts like never experienced raced through my head at such a rapid rate I didn’t think I’d ever be able to keep up, never mind process. The most interesting musing? Warren did this. He killed my wife to make sure I’d stay in
line, so I’d forget about her. I couldn’t be one hundred percent certain he or that psychopath cousin of his was behind it, it was simply a gut feeling. Her passing was too convenient, timed too properly after the Sarah incident. An anger so dark, so black, so rooted in my soul bubbled, boiled, and was seconds away from spilling over. The pent-up rage required an immediate outlet. Without thinking, arms wildly swept across the contents of the small corner desk. A primal, guttural scream erupted. Eyes saw only red as the floor lamp, hung painting, even the recliner, were flung around the space. Beads of sweat formed, rolling down my face. Clothing stuck to my body. Shoulders heaved. Fists clenched. Breath heavy and hard. A heat so intense exploded from my core. Standing in the middle of the room, panting like a man who’d just run a three-minute mile, body finally relaxed. Legs gave up, buckling. The threadbare Persian rug cushioned the fall. Knees to my chest, my head dropped. What was left to fight for? Nothing. Warren may have orchestrated this, but it was my actions which caused it.

  Not true, a small, but strong voice whispered from within. Granted, I’d never been a vengeful person, but people change–this moment shifted the invisible line between right and wrong. Warren would pay for this. He’d pay dearly.

  * * * *

  Several days passed with Warren and his ‘flock’ keeping a sizable distance, before he took the lead, opening lines of communication. During that time, my being craved solitude, but the strange thing was, I’d never felt so alone before. This sense of isolation consumed, ate away at my insides until an epiphany struck. This was exactly what Warren wanted. He needed me to feel excluded so I’d require them, which caused me to wonder how many other times he’d done this to the others. When one feels like a man with nothing, you’re far easier to break, to shove back into line. The time spent by myself wasn’t wasted, though. A plan of action slowly came into creation. In order for him to fully trust me again, I’d have to show him I’d come around. That I accepted Jillian’s untimely fate. He’d have to see a shattered shell of a man before him. Once establishing this, getting into his and the other’s minds wouldn’t be too terribly difficult. With each passing day, opportunities to join in various household activities were taken advantage of, until finally the ice broke.

  “How are you doing, Brother Nicholas?” Warren asked when I was unaccompanied in the yard raking leaves. Based off the temperature, weather, shorter days, foliage colors, and nature of the work, autumn arrived. Being dates and days didn’t exist here, the month remained an unknown.

  “All right. And, yourself?” I asked, stopping, leaning on the rake.

  “It’s only natural to feel deep emotions after a tragic loss. We can discuss it if you’d like.” He kept a somewhat sizable distance showing caution, but tone and body language revealed a calm man. Part of him feared the dark side he’d witnessed in the den the night he dropped the bomb. Chances were, Warren never expect that kind of reaction, especially from a person like myself. Therapists were supposed to always remain level, and when their axis shifted, they were supposed to be skilled and trained enough to keep themselves in check. Such a stupid, common misconception. We were human beings with natural reactions to stimulation around, just like everybody else walking the Earth.

  “Thank you, but I’m okay. Really. The news, shocking to say the least, and though no one deserves to leave this world before their time, and I refuse to speak ill of the dead, time stops for no man. God always has a reason. Who am I to challenge Him? Who am I to resist His will?” I shrugged, conversing as matter-of-factly as possible.

  “Too true. Is there anything I, or we, can do to assist in any way?” He moved closer. Confidence I wouldn’t go all gorilla again, slowly returned.

  “I appreciate the offer, but no, thank you. I’m doing fine, Brother Warren. We must always be moving forward. I intend to do that.” My neck nodded more than a bobble head. Maintaining a megawatt smile–the worst part. Deep down I wanted to strangle this piece of crazy shit. Fingers craved the ability to wrap themselves tightly around his windpipe, watching their power force the life out of his lungs.

  “You have no idea how happy I am to hear your faith has been restored. At times it will waiver, but we must always believe in the greater good, the bigger picture.”

  Controlling fists to not slam into his smug, ruddy face was quite a feat.

  “Amen,” I replied, propping the gardening tool against the side of the house or else it would’ve been used as a weapon, and took a seat on a nearby deck chair. Warren followed. “I will say this much, the experience, the psychological process–though unique for everyone, was commanding, but yet expressive and profound in such a fashion much was learned.”

  “Oh? How so?” Warren postured in, elbows on knees, chin resting on top of folded hands.

  “You learn a lot about yourself, life, and God in those controlling, broken, beautiful moments. Now, some may see the loss of faith as awful, sinful, but I disagree. That shaky frame of time shows that He is truly there, always. His love can always be felt. His desire is for us to fall from grace so he can guide us back with a greater strength.” I silently prayed he was buying this epic line of bullshit. Yes, I’d always been a firm believer in things happening for a reason, and perhaps there was a divine force secretly at work behind the scenes, but in the end, we make the decisions based off knowledge of what option will provide the best outcome. If one sits waiting for a sign from above, there’s a tremendous chance they’ll be sitting, twiddling their thumbs for quite a while. However, at this current impasse, affirming Warren’s narrative was the only choice for survival.

  “Couldn’t agree more.” He nodded.

  “The entire happening made me think,” I continued, head turning away from his general direction, facing forward. This subtle move indicated the next string of crap coming from my mouth would come across as a musing, not a plan to take him down. Reclining in the chair, a deep inhale and even longer exhale happened. Shoulders dropped; body prepared to sell my lies to this sicko.

  “May I inquire what about?” Warren’s left eyebrow raised. Interest peaked.

  “Yes. Of course, you may. My brothers and sisters–all of us here, have been on my mind. I’m aware of how we all became a family–God’s will through your mind and heart, but if I hadn’t experienced the passing of my wife, the true cause of remarkable grief, the recent epiphany wouldn’t have happened.” I turned to face him directly. “Brother Warren, do you understand the weight off my shoulders? How much lighter I feel? How the world and all of God’s miracles in it are visible, bolder, and brighter? It’s as if fresh life has been pumped into my veins. I can breathe for the first time. So, I think to myself, what if I can do this for the others? The ones who haven’t felt this, because I know not everyone we love inside our home has experienced this beautiful gift from God.” Making sure my tone reflected the words of excitement wasn’t as difficult as expected. The spot-on acting impressed the hell out of me. I almost believed myself for a flash.

  “This is wonderful, Brother Nicholas. I’m thrilled beyond measure to hear you saying this. I, too, have noticed some days our brothers and sisters tend to have ‘moments’ where the past creeps back into the forefront of their minds. They forget they’re safe and loved now. Protected from the outside world which unfairly beat them down. How do you propose we help our family?” One didn’t have to examine his face closely to see the wheels turning inside his warped, psychotic brain.

  “I’m so glad you asked.” Beaming from ear to ear. Hook. Line. Sinker. “Grant me the right to help them. Allow me to use my gift and talent as a psychotherapist to guide them along the right path to see the light. I don’t believe God makes mistakes. I’ve always said, and felt that. He gave you a precious means of communicating with Him. This led you to me. My wife’s passing was the final piece of the puzzle. Self-awareness helped get me to this point. The knowledge acquired over the years from school, life, treating others in private practice all contributed to getting me to where I need to be, whi
ch is right here.”

  “I don’t know. To make them relive and dig up the past doesn’t sound like a good idea. It could lead to bad things. Having a momentary flashback is one thing, but actively extracting memories? I’m going to have to say no.” Warren pulled away. He was losing interest. It was time to turn up the charm, but in order to do that I had to play a low move. Something I didn’t want to do.

  “With all due respect, I disagree, and will explain why. First, if Sister Sarah was whole within herself, she wouldn’t have inquired if I found her attractive, or attempted to come on to me in the kitchen some weeks ago–which, might I add, is against house rules. When I declined the advances, she became upset. Her reaction to the rejection wasn’t what I’d consider balanced. Her need for validation is a by-product of a lingering past.” I paused, carefully examining expression and body language. He shifted in the chair. Stubby fingers scratched his head. “Also, Brother Noah doesn’t join in often, if ever. He tends to hang back, watching the others. He’s been asked by pretty much all of us at one time or another to participate in activities, but looks away, down, or hastily leaves the room. It is my professional opinion he is still wrestling with inner demons himself. Perhaps he doesn’t feel worthy of our love, time, or friendship. How sad is that? Aren’t we all entitled to those simple life pleasures? Don’t we all, as people with beating hearts and influential souls, crave and deserve to feel loved, wanted, and accepted? These are basic human rights. Please, Brother Warren, allow me to assist them. Let me share God’s light the same way you are.”

  After a few minutes of quiet reflection, he spoke. “Okay, but on one condition. I get to be present for these one on one, or group sessions.”

  “Can’t allow that, but what I can agree to is sharing everything with you privately behind closed doors, weekly. If you’re there, our family who sees you as our leader, which you are, a father figure of sort, may not speak as freely due to not wanting to upset, hurt, or let you down. The key to what I’d like to do is getting that weight off everyone’s backs. Allowing them to finally shed the pain of the past, in a safe, controlled environment,” I countered.