I turn and run toward the front door. Moreno sees me and raises his gun. “Stop! Stop!”
I hear Thoms yell, “Hold your fire!” He blocks Moreno’s shot as I disappear inside the house.
I take the stairs two at a time until I reach the top. I’m out of breath when I arrive in the doorway of Natice’s bedroom. She sits on the floor. Tears streak her face, and in her hand is the loaded gun. She looks up at me, begging. “Please tell your parents how sorry I am.” She brings the gun to her temple.
“No!” I dive at Natice as the gun fires. The sound pierces my ears. I lie on the ground with the smell of burnt sulfur filling my nostrils.
The gun drops from Natice’s limp hand, and she falls into my arms sobbing. There is a hole in the wall inches from our heads.
Thoms appears in the doorway and looks at me, relieved. I am holding Natice in my arms as she cries.
I figured Natice called the cops, but I am wrong again. It was Mark. After sharing my ID with Lori, Cracker also showed it to Mark as proof of my identity. He said nothing, but when Lori took the keys to his Mustang and drove off with Cracker—a loaded gun in her hand—Mark could no longer keep quiet. He dialed 9-1-1. Apparently, Mark cried as he told the dispatcher Natice’s address and added that his sister, Lori Silva, was armed.
I am brought out of Natice’s house in handcuffs. My description matches that of the armed ATM robber as well as the perpetrator of several other crimes I committed. Natice is placed in a separate car, and we are driven to a police station.
My fingerprints are taken, and I am placed up against a wall for my mug shot photo. I am questioned by Thoms and another detective for hours. I decline an attorney and confess to every crime I committed, as well as those I witnessed Lori, Cracker, Ronnie, and Natice commit.
I also learn that Officer Rawlings, the bald cop with the tattooed arms, who I first saw in Thoms’s office and then later in the chop shop talking with Tray, has been working undercover for the Cantor narcotics division for over a year. The department has been trying to nail Vince on a major drug trafficking charge for a while.
They ask me all sorts of questions about Vince, most of which I cannot answer. Apparently, Rawlings, who has not been seen since our arrest, gave Thoms all sorts of information on what Lori and the girls were doing—Thoms’s way of keeping an eye on them. But what Thoms learns from me, and also Natice when questioned, is that all the information he had been given was bogus. Rawlings is a dirty cop with a huge gambling problem, and Vince paid him handsomely to pass along bad information.
By the time I’m done answering their questions, I’m exhausted. A cop escorts me to a small cell that holds only a cot and a toilet.
Ten minutes later, the door opens, and Thoms walks in. “Your parents are on their way. You’re facing some serious consequences.” He stares at me like a disappointed father.
I stare back, stone-faced and unfazed.
“What you did was stupid and reckless. Not to mention, you’re lucky to be alive.” He wags his head condescendingly then turns to leave the room.
“Hey, Thoms!”
He stops and looks back at me.
“You’re a real winner, you know that? What did you do, huh? Other than tell my mother to move on with her life. You were keeping a close eye on these girls? When? You’re a fuckin’ bully with a badge, who was absolutely useless. So if you’re gonna walk in here and say anything to me, say thank you.”
I hold his stare, wishing for a brief moment Lori would’ve pulled the trigger. When he walks out, I’m relieved.
Aside from the fear of what my incarceration will do to my parents, I don’t care. I have done what Thoms couldn’t. I have gotten the girls arrested for murdering my sister. I just never imagined I would become a criminal in the process.
When my parents get there, I am moved into a white-walled room that holds only a table, four steel chairs, and a large mirror. The door opens, and Detective Thoms appears. He stands to the side and allows my father and mother to enter the room. Then he closes the door, leaving us alone. My parents are silent for what feels like forever. Their expressions are a mixture of shock and relief—shock over what I have done, relief that I am alive.
My father sits down next to me, uncertain, I guess, what to even say. Finally he asks, “Alex… are you okay?”
I nod and start to cry.
He puts his arms around me. “Thank God you’re all right. Thank God.” He chokes back his own tears.
I look up and see my mother standing against the mirrored wall, her face streaming with tears. “Why?”
I hold her eyes and cry harder. The truth is, I did it for her. I needed her forgiveness. And out of guilt. Maybe she senses that.
“Oh God.” She walks over to the table, kneels down beside me, and hugs me tightly.
That little five-year-old girl returns with a vengeance, but only this time, she’s no longer lost or scared or abandoned.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for everything I said. I love you, Alex,” my mother says. “I love you.”
I haven’t heard those words from her in a very long time.
Chapter 54
The felony charges against me are armed robbery, grand theft auto, breaking and entering, and failure to report a crime—Tonya’s murder. Since I was not involved in her shooting, nor did I have any knowledge Lori was going to kill her, I am not charged with accessory to murder. Detective Thoms persuades the district attorney to ask for a lower bail. He states that I am not a flight risk. I am a former straight-A student, a former All-American Athlete. I have no prior arrests.
The district attorney and judge agree, and I’m released on a hundred thousand dollars bail. My parents put their house up as collateral for the bail bond, and after living in Cantor for three months, I finally go home to stay.
I eventually serve eight months of a five-year prison sentence in a low-security state prison in Connecticut. I visit Natice as soon as I get out. She is serving a fifteen-year sentence with the possibility of parole in a federal prison in upstate New York.
I sit in the visiting center, in jeans and a white T-shirt, amongst half a dozen white, black, and Latino families. A door opens, and Natice appears. She looks exactly the same, aside from the khaki jumpsuit. She smiles at the sight of me, and I stand to meet her. Before we can even get our arms around one another, we’re crying.
“Lookin’ sexy in that jumpsuit, Gentry.” I hold her tightly.
“Stop wanting me, Campbell.”
We burst into laughter, and at once it’s clear that we only have love for one another.
“How you doing?” I ask.
“I’m a’right,” Natice says with a nod.
We sit facing one another, and I can tell there’s something different about Natice, a lightness. “You sleeping okay?”
“Girl, the messed up thing is, I’ve never slept so good in my life.”
I nod. “I get it.”
“How was your time? You get a girlfriend?”
“Shit. I got three.” I smile. “Nah, but I made friends. Tiny, she was in for mail fraud or scamming insurance companies, and then there was Eloise, my favorite. She was in for cutting off her boyfriend’s nuts after she found him with a hooker.”
Natice cracks up. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope. But she’s innocent. Said his nuts fell on the blade.”
We double over laughing, holding our sides, and it feels good. Then Natice’s face changes, and she takes hold of my hand, wanting to say something. Before she can speak, I squeeze her hand. “It’s okay, Natice.”
She cries.
“I know if Jenny would’ve met you, she would’ve liked you.”
I leave with the promise to keep in touch through phone calls and letters. The first letter I receive from Natice, she tells me she scored an A on a recent criminal law exam.
She’s finishing her college degree in prison and says when she gets out, she wants to work with young adult victims of crimes. I write back that same day. That’s awesome. You’ll do a great job! And be a fantastic mentor. xo Alex.
Natice sometimes mentions Ronnie in her letters or in our phone conversations, but rarely, if ever, does she bring up Lori and Cracker, or anybody else from Cantor.
Cracker is currently serving two twenty-five-year sentences and one fifteen-year sentence for the murder of the clerk in the convenience store and various other offenses. She will be eighty-three years old by the time she is eligible for parole. Lori was convicted of first-degree murder and will spend the rest of her life in prison. Vince was shot and killed at his house while resisting arrest. He opened fire on police officers with a semiautomatic rifle. Tray and the rest of Vince’s crew were eventually prosecuted and are currently serving time in various federal prisons.
Rawlings, the dirty cop, however, was never arrested. A day after the papers made news of all of our arrests and what I had done, his girlfriend found him dead in his apartment from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.
Mark, per his plea deal with the district attorney’s office, moved out of Cantor and is living in Philadelphia. During his sister’s trial, he testified against her, admitting that Lori was not at home the night of Jenny’s shooting and that she was, in fact, part of the store robbery.
I palm the leather of a basketball and leap off the ground, hitting a three-point shot. My hair is tied back in a ponytail, and I’m wearing shorts and a tank top. I’m barely breaking a sweat, thanks to the unusually cool July night.
“Nice shot.” Dr. Evans collects the ball and bounces it back to me.
“Your turn, Dr. E.” I chuck the ball back to him. “Let’s see a layup.”
“All right.” He gives the ball a couple hard bounces then goes in strong, laying the ball off the backboard and scoring easily.
I clap hard and loud. “You still got it!”
He catches the ball and pretends to limp off, one hand cradling his back. “I’m getting old, Campbell.” He bounces the ball back to me.
“Nah, you’re a young buck.” I jump off the ground and hit another three pointer—this time, all net.
We play Horse for the next thirty minutes and then head over to Starbucks. Dr. Evans won’t let me pay for my drink, and we find a quiet table outside to catch up.
“So how are your mom and dad doing?” He takes a sip of his iced coffee.
“They’re good. Mom turned two years sober last week.”
He smiles. “That’s great. That’s a big deal.”
“Yeah, she’s super involved, goes to like five AA meetings a week.”
“Good for her.” Dr. Evans nods. “Oh, I saw Jay last week in Red Bank, at McCloons.”
“Yeah, he said he saw you. He’s working there for the summer.”
It’s been over a year since I was released from prison, and a lot has changed. The year I got out, I turned twenty and enrolled in The College of New Jersey—the same college Jay goes to. We started dating again soon after, and it’s been going great. Jay also went back to playing baseball and is the college team’s starting second baseman. I’m proud to say I walked on to the basketball program’s open tryouts and earned a starting spot. Jay and I are each other’s biggest cheerleaders. I also started going to grief classes. They definitely help, and I have since had the black diamond tattoo lasered off the back of my hand.
My parents visited me every week when I was in prison. My mother and I have a very close relationship now. I can’t remember the last time she criticized me. Most days, she tells me how beautiful I am, and I actually enjoy going to the movies and shopping with her. I’ve even discovered what a great sense of humor my mother has. My father and I continue to be best friends. The three of us often have dinner together and share stories about Jenny that are filled with love and laughter.
I see Dr. Evans strictly on a personal level now. He and his wife are expecting a baby in the fall. “Are you nervous to be a dad?”
“A little bit. Yes.”
“You’ll be a great dad. I’m not worried.”
“We’re pretty excited.”
We share a smile, and Dr. Evans takes another sip of his coffee then places it down on the table. “So what else is going on with you?”
“I go to camp in five weeks. For real.”
He shakes his head.
“Too soon?”
“Yes. Too soon.”
When Dr. Evans first learned what I had done in Cantor, it was as much of a shock to him as it had been for my parents and everyone else in Middletown who knew me. But what was different about Dr. Evans is that when he visited me in prison, he confessed that, on the day I had met him at Starbucks, he swore he saw a black diamond tattoo under my Band-Aid. He said he almost called his friend at the University of Delaware’s basketball camp to see if I had actually enrolled in the summer session. Something in his gut told him I was lying. He blamed himself for never having followed up. I understood the feeling.
We say goodbye and make a plan to meet up next week, this time with Jay. “Bye, Dr. E. Good job today.”
He laughs. “Good seeing you, Alex.” He gives me a hug and pats me warmly on the back. “Tell your parents I say hi.”
“I will.” I watch him walk off to his car. Then I slide behind the wheel of my dad’s Audi and head home.
I have finally forgiven myself for sending Jenny into that store. I have also forgiven Cracker and Lori for their part in that robbery. When I was in prison, I often thought about them. I thought about how they were raised and where they grew up, about how we don’t get to choose the parenting we receive or the environment we are raised in. If I had been given Cracker or Lori’s mother as my own and been raised as brutally as they were, would I have turned out differently? Or if they had been raised in a quiet suburban town with two loving parents, or even one, would they be spending the rest of their lives in prison? I don’t think they would, and I am grateful I am not.
I think back to what that woman in the grocery store said to me when I was fifteen years old. “No. It gets harder.” My life, for certain, has gotten harder. I will never be the same Alex I was before Jenny’s death. I carry inside me a sadness that will never go away. But I do my best to enjoy my life. I do my best to have fun, even with the sadness. I know Jenny would want that.
Jay talks about getting married and starting a family. I feel too young to get married. But one thing is for certain: if and when I do have children, I will name my first child after Jenny. Hopefully it will be a girl. “Love ya, mean it.”
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About the Author
Cheryl Guerriero was born and raised in Middletown, New Jersey, and she currently lives in Los Angeles, California. She began her writing career as a screenwriter. She wrote the screenplays for Ghost in the Ring, Hunting Season, and many more.
Cheryl wrote, directed, and produced the documentary short My Best Kept Secret. In 2004, Cheryl was invited to the Oprah Winfrey show to discuss the work.
When she’s not writing and reading, Cheryl likes to hike and play competitive dodgeball in leagues and tournaments all over Los Angeles.
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Girl on Point Page 26