Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5)

by Shirley Hailstock

"All right, since this is court," Michael tried another tactic. "What is it you want to tell the court?"

  Frank actually looked like he wanted to address the invisible body. "That they're wrong."

  "Wrong about what?"

  "About separating my family. They have no right, no jurisdiction over taking what's mine."

  "Who has that right, Frank?"

  "I do."

  "What about Abby? Does she have the right to care for her children, to protect them from anyone who tries to harm them?"

  "She's their mother. Mothers protect their children."

  "From whom?"

  "From anyone, everyone who tries to hurt them."

  "Even their father?"

  Frank thought about that. "It wasn't my father!" Frank shouted. "My father would never hurt me."

  His voice changed. He sounded like a younger version of himself.

  "My father taught me everything. Not my brothers. They were wimps, sissies, but not me. I could kill the little deer, gut it, carve it up, and eat it." His face snarled as if the words were distasteful.

  Erika frowned at the picture he was drawing.

  "My father didn't have to make me do it. Not like he did my brothers. I was a good boy. I was a man. I did it."

  "Your mother, Frank, what did she do when she saw you were doing what your father did? Did she help you?"

  "No, she scolded me. She told me it wasn't good to hurt the animals. That if I didn't want to eat the Bambi deer I didn't have to."

  "But you were a man, Frank. You couldn't let your father see that you were afraid of the deer, that you wanted to pet the deer, not eat it."

  A coldblooded rage entered Frank's eyes. He was no longer a little boy. He'd turned into a soulless killer.

  "I lifted my rifle." Frank demonstrated with the gun. He clasped it in both hands, spread his legs and aimed it directly at Michael's heart. "She stood in the misty morning dew, dazed, unaware of my silent appearance. I closed one eye and lined her up." He cocked the trigger. "She waited. . .I held my breath. She lifted her head. . .I squeezed the trigger."

  "No, Frank!" Erika shouted, breaking the haze he'd worked himself into. She could see Michael had freed the rope from the chair, but his hands were still tied. "You don't have to do this. It's Abby. I didn't die, Frank. We can be together."

  Frank turned his head and looked at her.

  "We can be a family. We'll take the children and go wherever you want. We'll stay as long as you like. No one ever has to find us again."

  "Do you mean it, Abby?" He looked at Erika as if she offered him his most desirable wish.

  She nodded, her face wet with tears. Frank rushed to her, hugged her. "Abby," he said, pushing himself back. "What have you done to your hair? Where is that long, beautiful hair?" He combed his fingers through her nearly straight mane.

  "It fell out when I was sick, remember?" Erika had to think fast. "It will grow back. The doctor said it might take a few months, but it will be as long as it ever was. It’ll be the way you like it."

  "Yes," Frank said, more to himself than to her. "It will grow back."

  "Frank?" she began. "Can we go now? We can pick the children up from school and leave right away."

  "We'll need clothes," he reminded her pragmatically.

  "We have clothes in the car. We packed yesterday." Erika made her story up as she went along. As long as she kept Frank diverted, Michael could work on the bands restraining his hands.

  "Release my hands, Honey, and we'll go."

  Frank reached around her. She felt his hands on hers. The first knot slipped, then he stopped.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "Him." He turned back to Michael. "I'll never be free as long as he lives."

  "Why, Frank? He's just the man who helped us. We don't want to hurt anyone who helped us."

  "He didn't help us."

  The old Frank was back. The psychotic Frank. The Frank who remembered she was Erika and he was Michael. The man pointing the gun at Michael's heart.

  ***

  Oil and water had been Connie's first thoughts about the FBI agent assigned to this case. Yet she had to revise her opinion when she saw them mobilize outside the yellow-sided house on an East Brunswick cul-de-sac. They'd evacuated the neighbors without a single sound to tip off the inhabitants that anything was going on. The place was surrounded on all sides, and there was confirmation that Frank had gone inside separately with a man and a woman.

  Connie and Adrienne huddled behind an open car door directly across the street from the yellow house.

  "What do we do now?" Connie whispered to the agent.

  "We wait," he told her.

  She looked about the other houses. Men crouched on rooftops of neighboring residences. The street had been closed to traffic. There was only one way in or out.

  "Can we find out if anyone in there is alive?"

  He nodded and sent a signal to the agent in a van parked at the end of the opening that started the circle.

  "Put your earphones on."

  She plugged them into her ear.

  "Frank, that's not true." Erika St. James's voice came through the wire and into her ear. Connie breathed a sigh of relief that she was still alive. Now they just had to get them out of there.

  "Lawrence." Frank tested the name. "Michael Lawrence, my lawyer. A man who defamed my wife. Told the court lies, half truths, made my Abby cry." Frank assumed the position for a point blank hit.

  Erika saw Michael was still working with the ropes.

  "He didn't, Frank. You did." Her voice was strong, authoritative, challenging.

  This was their only chance. She needed to buy them some time for Michael to get free. If she could keep his attention on her, Michael could surprise him from behind.

  "You killed them. You killed them all. The children, Abby, the judge, the lawyer. It isn't their fault. It's yours."

  Connie glanced at the FBI agent. They both pressed a hand to their ear.

  "It's going down now," she said.

  He nodded. Another hand signal passed to the other cars. Men began closing in on the house.

  "Admit it, Frank. You're a scared little boy, and you're hiding it. The others aren't the wimps, are they, Frank? You're the wimp. You're the one who can't sleep at night because of the things you have to do during the day."

  "Stop it!" Frank shouted.

  "You're the one who can't tell your father that you don't want to kill Bambi. That you don't want to eat the deer meat. Your brothers, they told him, didn't they, Frank?"

  Frank whirled around. He pointed the gun randomly. "There he is." Frank aimed an shot. The explosion made Erika's heart stop, then beat as fast as an escaping bandit.

  "Now!" the FBI agent yelled. Men started running toward the house.

  "There." Frank shot again. "Die!" he shouted and sent a third shot into the lamp. "Die." A chip of wood jumped up and hit Erika on the side of the face.

  "Stop it, Frank!"

  Michael's hands came free just as Frank leveled the gun at him. Erika saw the flash of light in her mind, knowing she had to move now. Michael lunged for Frank, the shot rang out, and Erika charged, chair in tow, split seconds apart. Using her head, she tackled Frank, hitting him low in the stomach. The two of them crashed against the doorway. Erika heard the breaking of wood as they went down. The gun fell from his hand and landed on the carpet.

  She hung sprawled on top of Frank, unable to move, her legs free, her arms wrenched and painfully clasped behind the back of the chair. Then Connie appeared in front of her. Suddenly there were voices, commands being shouted. Someone calling for a medic. A blond man, obviously in charge, stepped in front of Connie and pulled her and the chair easily to a sitting position.

  "Untie her," he said with all the authority of an army commando.

  "Where's Michael?" Erika asked Connie. "Is he all right?"

  Connie didn't answer. Erika turned as far as she could. Michael lay on the floor. Blood stained the carpet
near him. Men in white blocked her view. "Is he all right?" she shouted.

  Her hands came free and she bolted from her position. Pushing people aside, she got to him.

  "Michael," she pleaded. "Please be all right. Michael, I need you. I love you, and I want to marry you. Michael!"

  She looked at the medic. Connie and Adrienne pulled her to her feet to let the medics work. It seemed like hours to Erika. She wasn’t sure she breathed at all. Finally they took him to the waiting ambulance.

  "He can't die, Connie," she cried. Connie pulled her into her arms and let her cry. "I love him. I told him I wouldn't marry him, but I will, Connie. He's got to be all right."

  "Come on," Connie said. "We'll follow the ambulance to the hospital.

  Erika started to move. Frank Mason stepped into her path. This time his hands were cuffed behind his back. Erika stared into his eyes. Raw hatred clear as glass assaulted her. She'd never hated anyone in her life, not even her mother, as much as she hated Frank Mason at this moment.

  "If he dies," she told him. "You'll have me to deal with me. And I'm no Abby."

  Chapter 20

  Erika sat in the back of the limousine as it cruised past the old building entrance of Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital. The press must know Michael was being released. They were camped out in full force. The driver didn’t slow as he passed the building and continued all the way to George Street before turning. With no one tailing them, the driver returned to the delivery entrance underground and evaded discovery. Erika’s heart sang at the prospect that Michael was coming home today. She had on a new dress, the house was festively attired, and she couldn't wait to have him all to herself.

  She thought of the day when Frank Mason's stray bullet had hit him in the chest. If his hands hadn't come loose at that moment and she hadn't lunged for Frank, Michael might well be dead. Putting her hand over her heart, she thanked all the forces in the universe things had worked out differently. The medics working on him had looked grave, and there had been so much blood.

  Since Michael had come through the surgery and they'd been told he'd recover completely, a steady stream of family and friends were there each time Erika came to visit. She also had to run a gauntlet of reporters and photographers hawking questions at her when she tried to enter or leave the medical facility. She and Michael hadn't been alone for the entire week he'd been a patient. She looked forward to having him home, alone. She didn't want any visitors. The two of them had so much to talk about, so much to explain.

  “Clear, ma’am,” the driver said. “I’ll be here when you come down.” He got out and came around to open her door.

  Erika got inside without being seen, but she had to switch elevators on the lobby level. The door opened and she moved toward the bank that would take her to the patient rooms. Looking down the long corridor, she could see through to the new section of the hospital. Huge windows connected the two buildings. Outside snow kissed the glass. Erika felt happy enough to go outside and let the small flakes caught on her tongue, the way she’d played as a child. It was going to be a beautiful Christmas.

  The bell dinged indicating the car was there. Michael's room was in the old section. Just as Erika was about to step inside, she stopped. Down the hall was a woman wearing a red coat. She looked familiar and Erika scrutinized her. She'd recognize her mother's walk even if a sandstorm obscured it. Erika cringed. She must be here to see Michael. But when Alva Redford reached the reception area she headed to the elevators on that side.

  It was possible to get from the new section to the old without walking through this hall. There was a walkway on several of the upper floors. She’s probably going use one of those, Erika told herself. But her mother walked with a purpose, as if she'd knew where she was going and had done it many times.

  Michael hadn't mentioned her coming to see him before. If this was her first time, why would she look as if she knew where she was going? On impulse Erika followed her. The new section was airy and light, not like the old hospital which was brick and mortar instead of glass and steel.

  She walked up the stairs, checking each floor to see if she could spot her mother. On three she saw Alva being shown into a room. Erika stepped into the carpeted hall and went to the desk.

  "My mother, Mrs. Redford, just went through that door," she told the nurse. “What is she here for?”

  “Your name?”

  “Erika St. James.”

  The nurse checked her computer for several moments then looked up at her. “May I see an I.D.?” She checked Erika’s driver’s license and smiled as she returned it. “You’re on the list.”

  Erika didn’t ask what list. She was sure the nurse was going to turn her away.

  "If you'll have a seat over there I'm sure the doctor will want to speak to you."

  Erika opened her mouth to speak but decided against it. She turned around and sat down, facing the door through which her mother had gone. Erika wanted to know what she was doing there.

  Ten minutes later a woman doctor came out and briefly stopped at the nurse's station. Erika saw the woman look at her, then back at the nurse. She came over. "Ms. Redford?" she said.

  "No," Erika hesitated. "My name is Erika St. James. My mother remarried."

  "Would you come with me?"

  Erika followed the woman. She was young, probably in her early thirties. She had clear brown eyes and skin a shade lighter than her eyes.

  "I'd hoped Alva would bring someone with her," she began when they were seated in her office. Erika looked at the degrees covering the wall behind Dr. Megan Bruce. "Until today she's always come alone."

  "She never said she needed—"

  "I know she wouldn't," the doctor said. "She's been that way for years. But things are changing now, and you'll have to help her."

  "I don't understand, Doctor. Exactly what is wrong with my mother?"

  The doctor went on the explain Alva's condition while Erika sat in wide-eyed horror. She left the doctor's office holding her stomach and feeling as if she needed to sit down. Dying? Her mother was dying. All those years when Erika had fought with her mother, Alva had had a condition that forced her mood swings. She couldn't control them, and wasn't responsible for them. The medication helped in the beginning, but Alva built up a tolerance to it over the years and her ability to control the moods grew shorter and shorter.

  Erika found a seat in a waiting room and sat down. She felt bereft, full of grief. She'd never expected to feel anything. Why did she? Was this why she'd tried time and again to get her mother to love her? Because all along she'd thought there was an explanation for why her mother acted the way she did? She could be lying to herself, setting herself up one more time for her mother to come in and stomp on her feelings.

  "Erika?"

  She looked up as the door opened. Alva Redford stood in the door. She looked unsure of herself, not the competent, always right actress Erika was used to seeing. Taking a seat opposite her daughter, her hands fidgeted for a moment.

  "I never expected to have to tell you. I didn't want anyone to know."

  "Not know, Mother? Not know that all these years you've been trying to control something that was a medical condition?

  “You let me think you hated me, that the two of us were like champagne and beer, incompatible, at opposite ends of the spectrum. When the truth would have been so much easier to understand."

  "I didn't want you to know."

  "Why?"

  Alva looked away from her. She checked the walls and the other seats in the room before she answered. "You've always been so strong, so sure of yourself. Even as a child you were decisive, knew what you wanted to do from the beginning and went after it no matter what anyone. . .what I said about it.” She amended her reason. “You frightened me."

  "Me?"

  "When your father was alive, he took care of me. Then he died, leaving us with so little money. I couldn't afford the medication, and my moods killed any love you might have had for me." />
  Tears gathered in Erika's eyes.

  "You were running from me that day you met Carlton. You ran fast and long and kept going until I couldn't see you anymore. I got in the car and came after you, but you disappeared. I found out you went to Carlton's."

  Erika nodded. "We had tea together."

  "When you went to live with Carlton, I signed the papers allowing him to be your guardian. It was to protect you from me. I loved you, Erika, and I couldn't go on hurting you."

  Hot tears scalded her cheeks.

  "Carlton set up the trust fund to pay for my medication. If he died, he didn't want you to find yourself in the same position you did when your father died. The money I borrowed from you is for a special operation."

  "Mother . . ." Her voice cracked.

  "I know I'm dying, Erika. . .but before I do I want us to forgive each other for the things we've done and said to each other. I love you. I've always loved you."

  Erika sobbed aloud. The floodgates opened and tears cascaded over her face.

  "Erika?" Alva Redford stood up and opened her arms. Erika let out a loud sob and rushed into them.

  They held each other for a long time, both crying.

  "Come on, Honey. Let's fix our makeup. My future son-in-law will be upset if he sees you looking like this."

  Erika laughed through her tears. Her mother loved her, had always loved her. She wouldn't think about the time they had left. It was good to know they did have some.

  ***

  Erika's eyes were bright and shining when she walked into Michael's room. She wore winter white pants with a navy blue jacket and black high-heeled boots. A Christmas tree pin with sparkling diamond lights adorned the lapel.

  Michael stood at the head of the bed wearing jeans and a light blue shirt. His left arm was folded in a blue and white sling. At the foot of the bed sat a small canvas bag she'd brought with his clothes and toiletries.

  "I'll be in class Tuesday night," he said into the phone. When he saw her he opened his good arm and she walked into his hug. "Don't worry, Malick. I'll be there." She kissed him on the mouth. "Good-bye." He hung up and pulled her closer. She kissed him, tenderly and sweetly. He wanted her so much. If the hospital door had a lock he'd consider claiming her here.