Behind His Eyes - Convicted: The Missing Years

by Aleatha Romig

  Tony’s counseling had progressed beyond insignificant discussions about Tony’s adaptation to Yankton. His therapist wasn’t a doctor but a counselor named Jim. At first, Tony wasn’t sure what to think about Jim other than he wasn’t very talkative for a therapist. Tony had always imagined that therapy was where the therapist told the patient what his or her problems were and what to do about them. He knew his problems: he was stuck in a prison while his wife was in a mental facility and their daughter was living with his brother- and sister-in-law whom he hated. Of course, it took Tony weeks to divulge even that much. He had a personal rule about sharing private information. Speaking to Jim about Tony’s private life, outside of Yankton, seemed like a violation of his own rule.

  Speaking about prison life, however, was acceptable. That was how they started each session. But they’d been at this now for months and the mundane was getting to be that and more.

  “Anthony, how are things going?” Jim asked. Tony liked that Jim referred to him solely by his name. The correctional officers as well as any announcements or call outs always included the inmate’s name and number. It didn’t take long for Tony to tire of hearing Rawlings, Number 01657-3452.

  He shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

  Jim waited. When Tony didn’t offer any more he went on, “Why? What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I could handle it better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I hate it—every minute.” He stood and paced to the window and back. It was the only place where he could freely get up and move while with a member of the prison staff. That realization struck him. “Like this! I can’t even fuck’n do this.”

  “What?” Jim asked. “What are you doing that you can’t do?”

  “Just move, walk, pace, whatever. I’ve been trying these last few months, but I don’t think I can make it another forty-four months. Damn, that sounds like forever.” He collapsed into the chair before Jim’s desk.

  “Why?”

  Color came to Tony’s cheeks as red threatened his vision. “You know, that drives me crazy.”

  “What?”

  “That! If you’re going to ask me questions for three hours a week, be more specific.”

  “Give me an example,” Jim said.

  Did he need to tell the therapist how to do his own job? “Instead of why or what, ask why I don’t think I can make it or what drives me crazy—use complete sentences.”

  “Is that something you always do?”

  Tony thought for a minute. “I think I do. I know I used to. Hell, I don’t even know what I do anymore.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “I feel like after only three months, I’m losing who I am. Just Saturday, my assistant was here to fill me in on things happening back at my work. I am totally out of the loop.”

  “Have you always been in the loop?”

  “Up until a year ago, yes.”

  Jim put down his pencil. “What happened a year ago?”

  “Surely you have my records, Jim. Surely you know my history. I mean, haven’t you done your homework?”

  “If I did, what would I know?”

  Tony stood again and walked toward the window. “I hate this. I’m not the person I’m forced to be in here. I can’t stand it.”

  “You weren’t saying this Friday. What changed?”

  Tony remembered Patricia’s visit. She wasn’t allowed to bring papers or her phone or anything back for the visit, so everything she said, she had to remember. She was telling him about some recent fluctuations in the stocks, and about a few changes on the administrative level of a recently acquired subsidiary, but instead of listening and following what she was saying, as he would have in the past, he was watching the inmate at the table next to them with his wife and two kids.

  “Do you think kids should be allowed to visit here?” Tony asked.

  Jim leaned back and took a deep breath. “I think that children can be a motivating factor for people to want to better themselves. Therefore, seeing that child is a reminder of why a person is trying to follow the rules and be a better person.”

  Tony contemplated his answer. “But for the kids,” he asked, “won’t it mess them up to be visiting their father in a prison?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “Anthony, are you used to getting your questions answered when you ask them?”

  “Yes. I accept no less.”

  “Does the Anthony who lives outside of this prison get what he expects?”

  “I-I…” he was about to say I do, but the reality of his life since he returned from paradise came crashing down. “I used to.”

  “How does it make you feel to not get what you expect?”

  “It disappoints me. I don’t like to be disappointed.”

  “We always talk about Yankton. You brought up a year ago… were you disappointed a year ago?”

  Tony remembered a year ago. It was last September when Claire left, when his world fell apart. “Yes,” he replied quieter.

  “Was it something or someone who disappointed you?”

  “I think I’m going to request a change in job. I mean, there are jobs in the business office. I have a lot to offer in an office.”

  Jim didn’t argue Tony’s change of subject. “What would you do? Clerical work?”

  “Hell, no. I could do much more than that. I already have seen how poorly the supplies are managed by working in the warehouse. I think I could help them utilize…” Tony went on to describe his plan for supply logistics.

  “Don’t you think that any of the other inmates could do the same?”

  “I’m sure they could, but they haven’t.”

  “Why do you think that is?” Jim asked.

  Tony thought about that. “I would assume that most people don’t believe the prison truly wants to accentuate our abilities.”

  “Do you think that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I want to find a reason to get up every day. I used to hate to sleep, like I was missing something. Now I would kill to get a good night’s sleep.”

  Jim grinned. “As a rule of thumb, in a prison anger-management session, saying you’d kill isn’t a good idea.”

  The tips of Tony’s lips perked upward. “Yes, I didn’t give that much thought. Perhaps it’s my lack of sleep?”

  “Between now and your next session, I have something I want you to do.”

  Jim had never asked Tony to do anything other than arrive on time. “What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I want you to think about who or what disappointed you a year ago, and I want you to decide if you’re going to trust me with that information. If you decide you’re not going to trust me, I want to know why. Can you do that?”

  He didn’t want to do that. Tony didn’t want to think about a year ago. He didn’t want to remember how great he thought he and Claire had it at the estate, how she’d accepted his ring, how he thought she was safe. He didn’t want to remember the crushing sadness at her disappearance or that it was Catherine who turned their world upside down. Not only did Tony not want to share that with Jim, he didn’t want to share it with himself.

  When he didn’t answer, Jim asked again, “Anthony, can you do what I asked?”

  Was failure an option? “I’ll try.”

  “My Life as It Didn’t Appear, Chapter 6…

  Actions have consequences. It was a phrase I heard over and over. There were negative consequences and positive consequences. Everything I did or said was evaluated: by Anthony, and by me. I found myself walking on egg-shells at every turn. It began the moment I woke, and ended after I finally fell asleep. I didn’t want to fail: I couldn’t fail. I learned very quickly that failure had consequences.

  The physical punishments didn’t continue with any kind of regularity after the first few weeks. They weren’t necessary. Though I was being treated in many way
s, like a small child, I wasn’t. I was a college-educated adult who’d been placed in an extreme maze of operant conditioning. Something as simple as a look from Anthony’s dark eyes could still my words. The slight grasp of his fingers, lifting my chin would bring me to submission. I didn’t need or want to feel the slap of his hand. I learned the rules and strove to obey.

  It was the fear of re-igniting his anger that continually weighed on me. There were days and weeks when his gaze remained light. Despite my circumstances, it was almost pleasurable living as I did during those times. I was still a prisoner, but one in a huge home with people to take care of my every need. And then, without the luxury of a warning rumble, the darkness would return.”

  “Stop there,” Jim said.

  Truly, Tony wanted to stop before he ever started. Working desperately to rein in the red, Tony placed the book on Jim’s desk and walked toward the window. The damn view only reminded him that he was just like the other men he saw walking from place to place. He was wearing the same khaki clothes and living the same hell.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jim implored.

  “I’m thinking that I can’t wait to wear another color.”

  “Really, after what you just read, that’s what you’re thinking?”

  “Really,” Tony answered stoically.

  “Then think about what you just read.”

  Tony clenched his jaw, holding back the red that had just started to fade. “Are you trying to get me to explode? Is that your goal? Because I’m pretty sure you picked that fuck’n passage for a reason. Why don’t you tell me what that was?”

  “What made the darkness that Claire describes return?”

  “I have no idea. She didn’t give me a time frame. It said days or weeks. When the hell was that, exactly?”

  “Well, we can assume it was early in her captivity. She said she was still a prisoner. She hasn’t mentioned leaving the house. When did she do that?”

  “Read the damn book. It will probably tell you.”

  “Anthony, how does this book make you feel?”

  “You want to know? Fine, I’m so pissed I can hardly see straight. I’m pissed that it happened, and I’m pissed that she gave the fuck’n interview. This is private information. No one else needs to know any of this shit. Besides, it was a long time ago. Things change.”

  “When did they change?”

  “Everything was different after she got out of prison. It was all different. The penalty was over. I could finally admit… Fuck!” Tony collapsed in the chair. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “During those times of light, how did you feel about Claire?”

  “I didn’t. Not in the beginning. I didn’t feel anything for her… she just was there. She had a job to do.”

  “Does that even make sense?”

  Tony shrugged.

  “Explain it to me,” Jim said.

  “I can’t. It just is.”

  “We need to work on this. Think about it, until our next meeting.”

  “Think about what?”

  “You watched your wife for years before you ever introduced yourself. You’re telling me that when you first risked everything by kidnapping and keeping her held hostage in your home, that she meant nothing to you?”

  “No—yes. You’re messing up my words. She’s always meant something to me. I love her.”

  “Did you then?”

  “Now, I think I did. But then, I didn’t think so.”

  “Would you do to her again what you did to her in 2010?” Jim asked.

  Tony replied immediately, “No. I told you that. Everything was different.”

  “Because?”

  “Everything was different because I couldn’t do that to someone I love.”

  “But you did.”

  “I didn’t know that I loved her.”

  Jim looked at the clock. “Our time is up. Think about this. Think about how you felt. Was that darkness she describes anger or control—or perhaps loss of control? Did you punish Claire when a business deal went south or was it because of something she did or said? Remember, you’ve told me how much you enjoyed her smart mouth during your second marriage. Yet during your first, you’ve admitted that you wouldn’t have tolerated it. Could the reason that you lashed out be that you didn’t want to admit your own feelings? Could it have been your way of keeping her as your possession and not becoming emotionally invested?”

  Tony didn’t want to think about it.

  Facts do not speak for themselves. They speak for or against competing theories.

  —Thomas Sowell

  The rising sun cast a warm glow from behind the blinds as Harry slipped from the condominium. He needed time to think, and lying in bed next to Liz as soft breaths infiltrated the predawn silence wasn’t the place. His mind swirled with answers to questions he didn’t want to ask. Pieces of the puzzle lay blatantly before him, yet he struggled not to connect them. He couldn’t. He needed more evidence, something concrete. Then again, he didn’t want it.

  The last five years had been some of the best and worst of his life. He’d made decisions, some good and some bad. Unfortunately, as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and walked toward the cafés in Palo Alto, Harry couldn’t decide which ones were good and which were bad.

  Warm coffee had a way of clearing his mind. He thought about going to his sister’s condominium each morning and sharing a cup. At first it may not have been sharing: it was his way of avoiding grocery shopping. Truly though, it was more than that. It was also a time to reconnect. He and Amber hadn’t been overly close as children, yet when he moved to San Francisco after his divorce, they slowly worked their way into one another’s lives. Warm memories intermingled with sad as Harry thought about Simon. Their friendship was instantaneous. He was probably the reason Harry and Amber had become close. There was something about Simon that pulled people in and made them feel comfortable. Whether it was sports, work, or recreation, they had hit it off.

  Harry and Amber had a shared past, but siblings or not, forging a friendship as adults was not always easy. That’s especially true if one or the other harbors childhood feelings and insecurities. Harry needed to be sure that the feelings he had as a young boy—watching Amber receive the love and attention of two parents—weren’t playing a role in his current conflict. In all actuality, he thought they’d made it past that. Besides, his vision was much clearer as an adult. He now saw that it wasn’t her fault. She was just the lucky one to be born to two parents. The man who’d left Harry’s mother was the culprit. Harry couldn’t even blame his stepfather. No, those issues weren’t even worth considering.

  Amber was the lucky one. She always had been. Imagine at her age being the CEO of a growing Fortune 500 company. With the exception of losing Simon, everything has always worked in her favor. Now that she had Keaton in her life, she was no longer lonely. She truly had it all.

  Moving into Amber’s building after Simon’s death was Harry’s first unselfish brotherly act. Though he and Liz had to give up the little house they rented in San Mateo not far from the beach, it was worth it. Amber was devastated. She poured her heart and soul into SiJo. Having Harry and Liz right down the hall gave her a reason to come home. It was in those early weeks after Simon’s death that Harry and Amber began their morning routine. It was during that time, as an adult, that Harry got to know—really know—his sister. They talked, listened, laughed, and even cried. They’d both lost someone dear. Though Harry mourned Simon, too, he knew his loss of friend wasn’t the same as her loss of a lifemate. Nevertheless, he could relate. Ilona and Jillian weren’t dead, but he’d let them go. For all practical purposes, it was the same. Despite the fact that his had been voluntary, Harry understood loss—there was a time in his life that he’d thought that he and Ilona would be together forever. It was during those early mornings, over steaming cups of coffee, that brother and sister created a connection that surpassed blood ties.
r />   Then Claire happened. Their routine changed participants, but didn’t go away. Sometimes Amber would join them, but she often claimed work responsibilities. During those mornings in Amber’s kitchen, Harry learned more about his assignment—Claire—than he ever could have as the occasionally visiting brother. He wondered sometimes if Amber wouldn’t have developed a deeper kinship with Claire if she’d been with her more. Amber always privately blamed her attitude on the connection to Anthony Rawlings. After all, Claire claimed that Anthony could have known about Simon’s death. While originally Amber wanted to know more about that, she never fully trusted Claire. Of course, she played the caring-friend role well.

  Thoughts of Claire twisted his stomach. Emily took him to see her again when he went to Iowa for Rawlings’ plea hearing. The facility where the Vandersols had moved her was a hell of a lot better than the one where Harry had first seen her. However, it was her condition that blew him away. When he’d seen her in Geneva, she was so strong and determined. He remembered her telling him off and telling him to leave her suite. Though he had only heard her message before the case was given to Agent Jackson, even then she sounded strong. Harry couldn’t fathom what had occurred to cause her current status. If it was, as Emily claimed, due to past traumatic brain injury, Harry believed he was also responsible. Yes, Rawlings beat her, but Harry had been the one to introduce her to Patrick Chester. Though the Vandersols never mentioned that, Harry felt responsible.

  He wished there was anything he could do to relieve her suffering. Perhaps that was his motivation for pushing SAC Williams to step in, to go to the powers that be and persuade the FBI to come forward about both Claire and Anthony’s agreement. Apparently, there was reluctance due to the Rawlings coming back to the United States before they were supposed to do so, violating the stipulation of the agreement. Agent Jackson contacted Agent Baldwin who explained that the reason the couple traveled was fear for the Vandersols’ safety. Jackson wasn’t impressed. In his words, if Rawlings had done as he was ordered and stayed out of contact with people from his past, he wouldn’t have known about the threat to the Vandersols. Sometimes, Harry wished he could tell John and Emily the truth about his job and what he truly knows. Do they realize all that Claire and Anthony risked to save them?