Beautiful Disaster

by Laura Spinella

  “Shut up, Roxanne.” Lord, he’d forgotten how she could make his head pound. He raked a hand through his hair and turned back toward the window.

  “Look, I just came by to give you fair warning. You’re alive because of me, and don’t think that hasn’t kept me up nights. After saving your life twice, let’s say I feel responsible. The secrets you keep, they’re dark and ugly, of that I’m sure. No one lives like you unless they’ve got something to hide or they’re plain crazy. You’re many things, Flynn, but you’re not crazy.”

  “Your point being?” Flynn only glanced at her, but was listening harder. She was scheming something.

  “I’ve looked at your chart. You keep improving like this and before you know it the freebies will be over; they’re going to cut you loose.” She shrugged. “Feral animal species always tend to heal faster. I assume Mia didn’t tell you—I’ve sent your DNA to the state crime lab for analysis.”

  “You did what?”

  “Don’t give me that incredulous look, like your fingerprints wouldn’t flunk a background check and your photo’s not part of the FBI’s best-of collection. Besides, comatose patients are very generous with their saliva. I’m expecting those results within days. When my theory turns into hard evidence, more than one law-enforcement agency is going to want to chat with you about some dead college girls.” He said nothing, his expression only a tad more concerned. “Here’s your chance to save a nice girl further misery, plus save your own sorry behind. Before the DNA comes back, before the cops show up—leave. You did it before and she got over it. If you end up going to jail, this will only persist. It will force her to keep a twenty-to-life vigil for whatever you’ve done. For God’s sake, if you get the death penalty she’ll spend the rest of your life writing letters to the governor. Don’t do that to her.”

  “What the hell are you babbling about?” Mia didn’t wait last time . . . because Mia didn’t know . . . didn’t know . . . didn’t know I spent the last twelve years in prison! Flynn’s head whipped around, meeting his own shocked reflection in the glass, the bolt of truth hitting him hard. I left her the letter, but she didn’t answer it, not a word. She did exactly what I told her to do if she didn’t want to wait. Roxanne droned on in his ear, but Flynn wasn’t listening anymore. Mia didn’t know, but how? It was like wet glue; the pieces wouldn’t stick. Pieces were missing. Roxanne kept a venomous buzz going, interrupting, infecting his train of thought with tidbits of Michael and Mia’s happy, well-to-do life. He couldn’t concentrate.

  “Fine, that’s the way you want to play it. We’ll see what her husband has to say about that. Michael isn’t easily intimidated. Mia loves him.”

  Flynn’s entire being swung around in the chair, wanting to take a dive right at her. He winced as his bruised body followed through. “Mia loves me,” he said through gritted teeth. He surprised even himself with the ferociousness of the words.

  “Ha! You keep telling yourself that. Why isn’t she here? She’s a little obsessed, caught up in the past maybe. But does she love you? She’s smarter than that. Do you really think that stupid spell is still holding?”

  “She called, said there was something she had to take care of . . .”

  “But she didn’t say what, did she? Would you like to know what that something was?” The predatory gleam grew brighter. “She’s gone off with her husband on a romantic getaway. Yes, she spent a fair amount of time holding your pathetic hand, but you’re on the mend. In the end”—she shrugged—“things turned out just as they should. Michael was such an obvious choice. Really, you should have been at the wedding. Big wedding,” she said explosively, emphasizing with her hands. “Mia was the most beautiful bride . . .”

  Flynn’s head snapped to the side as if someone had slapped him, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight. He could see the picture and feel that sickening punch to the gut. She was married. This was no vision; it was real. He was holding the picture. Mia was wearing her hair up; he didn’t like it. She looked beautiful anyway . . . but she didn’t look all that happy. Those doll’s eyes—they didn’t sparkle. Roxanne, she was in the damn picture too. Pieces were coming together, shooting in at random angles from the corners of a fractured memory. He had wanted to throw the picture across the room, holding it so tight he cracked the glass. He laid it down. On the desk was a newspaper clipping; Mia was pictured with a silver-haired man. He hesitated, reading the story, breathing in calm. There was a swell of pride that stretched all the way back to Athens. She’d followed her dream, found the path for those extraordinary ideas. He’d spent years wondering. He put it aside, kept searching. An address book in the desk drawer. “Wells,” he blurted out. Flynn turned back toward Roxanne, who was yapping away about Mia and her husband.

  “What did you say?”

  “Mia’s last name, it’s Wells.”

  “How do you know? You must have heard it from one of the nurses.”

  Flynn turned away again. He could feel it; he was so close. With his eyes closed and Roxanne buzzing in his ear, Flynn tried to find that quiet place in his mind, the one that held the other pieces. The address book. He had been searching for Mia’s address . . . at Roxanne’s house, while she was at work. He had paged through, all the way to the W’s until he found it: Mia and Michael Wells, Willow Creek Court, Silver Spring, Maryland. For an instant he almost gave up. Maybe it was time to let go. She had found someone else. Too many years had passed. How many ways did she need to say it? She didn’t want him. Everything pointed to a beautiful life. Who the hell was he to drop in on it? He put the address book away. There was something else there, at the bottom of the drawer. The corner of a familiar lavender envelope. His fingertips grazed against it, nudging it from underneath some papers. He uttered a rash of swear words at the sight of his own handwriting, at seeing Mia’s name on the front. Twelve years and finally it all made sense.

  Mia had never come because she didn’t know. He slumped back into the chair, the last piece snapping into place. Roxanne managed to get to the letter first. She took it, kept it from her. Mia thinks I walked out, vanished, exactly like she always feared I would. Control, it had been about control from the moment Flynn and Mia met and Roxanne finally had her say. He had been absolutely livid when he left her house, the letter in his pocket, on a mad tear to the hospital with every intention of confronting Roxanne.

  “Are you listening to me?” she sniped, their blue eyes meeting in one fixated steely glare of hatred. “Do yourself and Mia a favor and take off while you still can.”

  She was a brilliant, beautiful, manipulative thief who took away any chance the two of them had. Vengeance or making this right, Flynn had to decide which one he wanted. He choked back a laugh. Was it really even a question? Suddenly, he was thinking and talking as fast as he could. “Jesus, Roxanne, but you are awfully anxious to get rid of me. But then again, you do have a point.” He paused; it had to be everything she wanted to hear. He had no chance of convincing her of anything else, the truth in particular. “Hell, you’re right. As much as I want Mia, I don’t want to be hanging around here when those DNA results come back.”

  As if finding a winning lottery ticket, Roxanne gasped loudly. “Oh my God, you did do it! I knew you killed those girls! I was right!”

  “Yeah, like I’d confess to you. Speculation, circumstantial evidence, I can deal with that. DNA,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “now that might be an issue. But you know, Roxanne, I’m not the only one with a secret. You have something of mine and I want it back. Considering my situation, I’m comfortable adding breaking and entering to my resume. I was on my way here from your house when I had the accident. But you already know that, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know any such thing.”

  “I think you do. The nurses told me the only thing they found on me was this cross,” Flynn said, looping a finger around the chain. “But there was something else. Something tucked inside my pocket. You were my ER doc, calling the shots. When you saw me, I’m sure you t
old them to hand over everything they found.” He leaned forward, hissing out the question. “Where’s the letter, Roxanne?”

  “I threw it out,” she offered without a modicum of guilt. “What does it matter? It only confirmed every suspicion I ever had about you. Escaped convict to serial killer—I haven’t been wrong about you from the first second I saw you. I passed you that morning, Flynn, as you were heading out of town. An unfortunate turn of events for you, I left all my organic chemistry notes at the apartment. I couldn’t very well prepare for a final without them, and I couldn’t spend half the day driving. I had a family obligation that afternoon—in Atlanta.” He tried to interrupt, but could only manage an incredulous stare. “I was back in Athens before the sun came up that morning. When I saw the letter I figured it was fate, destiny, my prerogative—call it whatever you like. You’re damn right I took it. Do you really think I was going to let her read it? Buy into the garbage you were peddling?” She looked him over as if he were still in need of an exorcism. “I wasn’t about to let her throw her life away while you rehabilitated yourself. Tell me, Flynn, do you know of any prison romances with a happily-ever-after ending?”

  “Goddamn you. Who the hell do you think you are? The letter was for Mia. It was up to Mia to decide.”

  “She would have never made a clear decision, the right decision. The way she feels—felt about you . . . I’ve seen what that can do to a person, and I wasn’t going to let it happen to her. Let her think the open road called you back or you got bored, the cops were breathing down your neck or you found someone else. Pick one,” she said, spitting the words at him. “The reason you left didn’t matter, the truth included. You were gone and you weren’t coming back. My way was better. I understand your frustration, though. What a wasted spark of nobility, turning yourself in like that.” Her head cocked to the side, looking him over. “Did you think time served would be absolution, make you good enough for her?” He turned away and she sharply recalled his attention. “Look at me! It didn’t turn out so bad. Think about it. She’s married to a man who’s never been strip-searched or considered orange a staple color in his wardrobe.” Roxanne rose to her feet, her posture as rigid and narrow as her conclusions. “The better man won, Flynn. And now, with what you’ve practically just confessed, you tell me how what I did was so wrong.”

  He struggled to get out of the chair, helplessly falling back into it. Then Flynn thought better of it. Playing right into her hands might be worth the gamble. He needed that letter. It was the only proof he had that he didn’t walk out on her—that he did it so they could have a future. He kept chipping away, steadily baiting her. “Another good point, Roxanne. She would have followed me anywhere, done anything I asked. You know Mia could never keep her hands off me,” he said, shooting her a smug stare. “Sympathy, sex, and six hot meals a week. It was a package sabbatical for the criminally insane.”

  “Do you hear yourself, you twisted bastard? So finishing that first prison sentence was what, throwing yourself on your sword?”

  “I like to think that if I had Mia, there was a chance I could turn myself around. And, well, I was concerned about how long I could hold out. Damn, there was an entire campus full of girls at my fingertips,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as if it were an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. “Prison was the only way I could think of to keep my hands clean, so to speak. I mean, that’s a tough thrill to replace.” He froze, looking hard at her. “You know that feeling, Roxanne, the power. I’m sure you do.” She blinked, taking a step back. His voice dropped into an eerie cadence, the one he saved for court-martials and murder confessions. “That moment when somebody’s life hangs in the balance and you control it. You decide their fate—whether or not they go on. It’s up to you if they ever see the people they love again. You control it all, their next breath—or not,” he said, shrugging. “Believe me, Roxanne, I know the high.”

  “You are out of your mind,” she said, dismissing him as she fiddled with some papers. Then, looking boldly at him, “Letting you rot away in that prison was the best thing I ever did for Mia.”

  “I’m sure you think so.”

  “Did you really think I’d let her waste years waiting for every other Sunday, maybe an occasional conjugal visit? Knowing you were locked up, I have to say, I’ve slept fairly well ever since.”

  “And these days, how are you sleeping, Roxanne?” He nodded at the lack of reply. “That’s what I thought. So, do you still want me gone? Would it help get you through the night, or will you be dropping a dime to local law enforcement, offering up your grand illusions?”

  “Grand illusions that will be crystal clear when that DNA gets back. No, as much as I’d like to see you back in prison, Mia comes first. I’ve done my best to see to her happiness; I won’t quit now. I want you gone. You’d be front-page news for years. I won’t put her or Michael through that humiliation. I’ll keep protecting her. She’s suffered enough because of you.”

  And you. “Good,” he said, nodding. “Tell you what. In appreciation of your, um, discretion, I’ll go. She’ll think I vanished, just like last time. But I want something first. I want my letter back.”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “Why? What do you want with it? Keeping a scrapbook?”

  “Nah, let’s just say I don’t like the idea of you holding on to any evidence of me. If I’m going, that letter goes with me. Game over. Part of coming back here was just to see what kind of trouble I could stir up. Hell, maybe if she left him she’d get to take a little of that well-to-do lifestyle with her. I’m thinking I’d only have to rehabilitate myself as far as a La-Z-Boy and a six-pack. Shit, knowing Mia, she’d be happy to put my 1-900 numbers on speed dial for me.” He stopped as Roxanne’s jaw grazed against the floor. Maybe it was one visual too many. “Listen, if I learned anything from that last little go-round in prison, saving my own ass comes first. Prison isn’t worth any woman, not even Mia.”

  “I was so right. Men like you are all the same.” She pursed her lips, looking past his head. “Naturally though, it was the sweet girl you went for. Easy prey, right, Flynn?” Roxanne folded her arms. “I told you, I threw the letter out. Besides, why would I give it back?”

  “Because you’d do anything to keep Mia from finding out that you took it. She’d never forgive you. That makes me, and what I know, a pretty damning threat. And that letter still exists, I’m sure of it. You kept it all these years as a souvenir that you were right, that I was never good enough for her. Every time you looked at it, you patted yourself on the back. You thought, hell, she has that great guy, that life, thanks to you. Am I right?” With each accusation Roxanne’s chin tipped higher, her haughtiness serving as ample cover for any wrong she’d done. Flynn turned his attention out the window, thinking aloud. “Besides, what would she have if she waited for me? A box of old letters, a guy with nothing but a criminal record, and free Sundays.” His breath caught, the thought hanging over him like an eclipse. It wasn’t part of a ploy to outwit Roxanne. It was the truth.

  “And that’s the best-case scenario,” she said softly. “She has a real life, Flynn. She also has a man who wants nothing but her happiness—no dark past, no questions about the future. Michael was the only choice.”

  “Right,” he said, a weathered sigh churning from his gut.

  “So if I give you the letter, you’ll go?” He wasn’t looking at her anymore, taking in the empty view of the hospital window. “Flynn?”

  “Yeah, sure, Roxanne. By week’s end.”

  She walked to the door, contemplating the deal with every click of her heels. “Fine, we have an agreement. We can burn it together. And then we’re done.” He looked back as she pivoted sharply, flicking her arctic eyes over him. “Understand something: Had anything you felt for Mia been genuine, if that DNA didn’t prove you were viler than I always knew . . . if college girls had kept on dying after you turned yourself in, while you were in prison, I might have given you the benefit of the doubt. And, wel
l, this might even have been a different conversation.”

  “Why? Do you really think any of that would change what you see?” She didn’t reply, leaving with what she’d come for: the satisfaction of being right. It left him alone in a room filled with nothing but opposing truths.

  Chapter 28

  They drove east. And without a hint or map, Mia knew where they were headed. She said nothing as they approached the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, connecting busy metropolitan life to the simple shores of Kent Island. It held the allure of his third marriage proposal, when Mia had agreed, unable to deny the promise of a fresh future. Driving through the village of Stevensville and onto the rural roads that hugged marshy wetland, it felt more like a Sunday outing than the backdrop for life-altering decisions. She assumed that was the idea. Michael had kept the flow of conversation neutral, Mia answering with “Yes, September is always the prettiest month here.” And “No, the air-conditioning’s not too cold.” She pulled in a low breath as they arrived at Love Point. The Bay’s Bed was a waterfront inn, a romantic place filled with charm and memories.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said, pulling off his sunglasses. “I mean, I didn’t book a room or anything. I just thought we could have lunch, take in the view.” She didn’t object, nodding. “If nothing else, it’s a different perspective from the last month—or the last twenty-four hours, depending on which one of us you are.”

  But Michael was craftier than that. Mia saw the rocky point from where he made what he insisted would be his last proposal. That if she didn’t agree to marry Michael and make him the happiest man in the world, he’d chuck it all. In a grand, Michael-like gesture, he said he’d buy a sailboat and spend the rest of his life drifting from port to port. Hindsight considered, Mia guessed the coast of Spain didn’t sound like a bad plan at this point. But he kept the moment in focus, negotiating with the waitress for the seaside table with the best view, even as she insisted that it was already reserved. Naturally, he prevailed, holding Mia’s chair as she breathed in salt air and memories.