The Consequences Series Box Set

by Aleatha Romig

  Harry stood motionless with the phone to his ear. The voice was asking if he wanted to save or erase. What a dumb question. He wanted to save! Save the message. Save Claire. Save her child, and save Rawli—Harry wasn’t ready to go that far; nevertheless, he had heard the desperation in Claire’s voice. How could he have been researching this for over a year and not realize Nathaniel had a second wife?

  “Agent Baldwin?”

  Harry’s blue eyes focused on the world around him. He saw the man in the dark suit and heard him say his name. “Yes, I’m Agent Baldwin.”

  “Please follow me, sir.”

  Harry didn’t question as he followed the driver and sat in the back seat of a large black SUV. While they pulled away from the curb, Harry considered his other missed calls and hit the VOICEMAIL icon, once again.

  Message two: “Baldwin, Anthony Rawlings. I intend to fully cooperate with the FBI. I know that picture was bullshit, but I’m calling. I don’t intend to make my whereabouts known until my child is born, or after. I will. I can’t now. If… if Claire ever meant more to you than a damn assignment then just let us have this. We’ll call back.”

  When the line disconnected, Harry let out the breath he’d been holding. How the hell did Anthony Rawlings believe he, Harrison Baldwin, had that kind of power? Yeah, right? Like Harry could suddenly say, “Hey, let’s leave Anthony Rawlings and Claire Nichols alone before their big day, for the birth of their child.”

  As the large SUV neared the San Francisco field office, Harry pulled up his third voice message. “Agent Baldwin, our car will be late; please be advised.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.

  —Martin Luther King, Jr.

  Wheeling Claire’s dinner down the long, quiet corridor, Meredith contemplated Ms. Bali’s concerns and directives: Ms. Nichols underwent tests earlier in the day. Due to an unforeseen glitch, additional sedation was required. As Ms. Bali uttered the word glitch, the hairs on the back of Meredith’s neck prickled. The supervisor once said that she’d read Meredith’s book. Could she possibly understand the significance of that word? Fighting to remain stoic, Meredith continued listening. Ms. Bali explained that the tests were scheduled for the entire morning and the additional sedation resulted in prolonged hours of unresponsiveness. Ms. Nichols hadn’t eaten all day. Actually, she’d just recently awakened. Her sister had been here most of the afternoon and had only recently left, waiting until Claire was fully awake. The staff who assisted with daily showers and hygiene, should be just about done. Mrs. Vandersol wasn’t happy with the day’s mishaps, including an entire day without nutrition. Ms. Bali couldn’t emphasize enough—Claire must eat! She also praised Meredith’s past interactions and offered her confidence in Meredith’s ability to accomplish their goal.

  With each step toward Claire’s room, Meredith questioned that ability. She assumed that, with Claire’s new uncooperative state and today’s excessive use of sedation, tonight’s dinner could go less than smooth. Taking a deep breath, Meredith knocked respectfully and slowly opened Claire’s door. It wasn’t as though she expected a greeting.

  Claire was alone. The people who helped her bathe and dress were gone; however, she wasn’t sitting in her normal seat by the window. She was pacing near her bed. Despite Meredith’s knock and greeting, Claire didn’t turn or acknowledge her entrance.

  Something about Claire looked different: determined, purposeful. Meredith saw the straightness of her posture and clenching of her jaw. Each time she changed direction on her invisible track—back and forth—Meredith saw an intensity in her eyes. Meredith hadn’t seen that look for a long time; however, she had seen it before. It was the expression Claire wore during the hours recalling difficult times in her and Anthony’s relationship. Even then, when she’d repeat a particularly bad time, Meredith remembered Claire’s expression. It was as if she were seeing the scene before her, which wasn’t visible to anyone else. That was the exact expression Meredith saw now. Years ago, Meredith assumed it to be Claire’s internal debate. She’d agreed to share her story, knew it was accurate, but she felt conflicted, especially later in their interview process as her and Mr. Rawlings’ relationship began its reconciliation.

  During those interviews, Meredith waited patiently and allowed Claire the necessary time to sort her thoughts. When she did, Claire would recall the scenarios with eloquence. On some occasions Meredith had to remind herself to type rather than simply listening. Later, when she’d review Claire’s dictation, rarely was there need to change or modify. Everything was obviously well deliberated. Watching her now, Meredith wondered what she was thinking.

  Meredith placed Claire’s food on her table and called to her, “Claire, it’s me, Meredith. I brought your dinner.” Not surprising, neither Claire’s stance nor pace wavered. If anything, her internal debate intensified. Claire’s step quickened.

  Walking slowly toward her friend, Meredith spoke again, “Claire, can you hear me? You haven’t eaten all day. Aren’t you hungry?” The pacing continued.

  As Meredith reached for Claire’s arm, Claire pulled away and momentarily glared. Instinctively, Meredith stepped back to apologize; however, as she did, she realized: Claire had just acknowledged her presence. It wasn’t verbal, but she deliberately pulled away and looked right at her!

  Meredith wasn’t sure where the words came from. She didn’t want to hurt her friend; nonetheless, after eight to nine weeks of interaction—or no interaction—Meredith chose to break another rule. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” No response. “I’ve seen you like this before. I know you’re thinking about Ant…” She started to say Anthony, but remembered Claire referred to him as Tony. During the book interviews, she recalled how that familiar title was a gift, a positive consequence he bestowed upon her while she was still his captive. “…I mean, Tony. Claire, it’s all right. You can think about him. Why shouldn’t you think about Tony?”

  Each time Meredith uttered his name, Claire’s pace slowed. By the fourth or fifth time, her neck, shoulders, and jaw relaxed. Finally, Meredith tried one more plea, “Claire, Tony would want you to eat. He loved you very much. You don’t want…” She stuttered, wondering if she should say what she was thinking. Swallowing her hesitation, Meredith continued. “…You don’t want to disappoint him, do you?”

  Claire didn’t speak; however, stepping around Meredith, she walked to the table with the food and sat. When she didn’t feed herself, Meredith went to the table, sat opposite her, and lifted the lid on Claire’s plate. “Well, it looks like you have salmon. That’s one of your favorites, isn’t it?” Her eyes didn’t register, and the earlier intensity was gone, but each time Meredith lifted the fork, Claire obediently opened her mouth and ate. The exercise continued slowly: food, food, and then drink. By the time Claire finished, her plate was mostly empty. She didn’t stand and move to the window as she usually did. Instead, her head dropped, and she looked down with her hands demurely resting on her lap, compliant and obedient.

  Meredith praised Claire for her cooperation; nevertheless, it wasn’t until she whispered, “I know Tony would be proud of you. Thank you for helping me,” that Claire raised her chin and looked toward the still light sky.

  August 10, 2016

  …Claire didn’t speak, but she acknowledged… she cooperated! I want to tell someone what happened today, but if I do, they’ll probably fire me. I mean—I’m not supposed to mention Anthony’s name or have as much knowledge about Claire as I do.

  I can’t believe how she responded! She ate! Ms. Bali said she hadn’t eaten all day. That wasn’t all. When she looked out at the sky, I asked her if she wanted to go outside. For the last two weeks, she hasn’t wanted to do anything—but sit in that damn chair. When I asked if she wanted to go outside, she walked toward the door! I don’t think that’s ever happened. Usually, she’ll stand, but wait for someone to lead her to the door. I barely had time to call a
nd request permission to take her out.

  I know what did it. It was the mention of Tony’s name. Emily will never listen to me, but she’s wrong to keep the truth from Claire. How can Claire deal with everything if she isn’t allowed to face it? I wonder how much she remembers. I mean, I don’t know what happened for sure, just the information I read and saw on the news. There was the information released from the trial, but despite it being such a high profile case, the courtroom was closed to the public, and very little information was made available. I’ve tapped every resource I know. Everything is sealed. I guess it goes with the money. That can keep everything quiet.

  That’s why I started this, to learn what happened, but now I wish I knew so that I could help her face it. Emily probably knows. I’m sure she does. She and her husband were at the courthouse every day of testimony. I remember seeing images of them coming and going from the courtroom on the news. Who else was there? What about Claire’s friend, Courtney? I don’t know if she’ll talk to me. If I contact her and she calls Emily, then I’m screwed.

  I guess this needs more thought. Maybe I should just wait and see if this behavior continues or if it ends as fast as it began. I’m not scheduled again for two days. I sure hope the progress we made today isn’t lost in that amount of time.

  Oh! Did I mention when we went outside, Claire lifted her face up to the sun and closed her eyes? I think we need to find her sunglasses. She’s never needed them before. She never raised her face or opened her eyes enough. I know I have an extra pair somewhere. I need to remember to take them in Friday! I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to get back to Everwood!

  For an accomplished attorney, who at one time specialized in courtroom tactics, John Vandersol’s voice revealed more emotion than he intended. “Dr. Brown, I’m directing this inquiry to you, because after three hours of trying, I’ve been unable to reach Dr. Fairfield!” “I understand you’re no longer in charge of Claire’s care, but my wife and I want answers.” “So are you saying you weren’t briefed on yesterday’s mishaps?” “I see.” “Yes, I’m well aware of confidentiality regulations. I’m also confident you’re well aware that Emily and I are Claire’s documented next of kin and as such are named under her HIPPA clause to be privy to any pertinent information.” “Yes, Emily was with Claire until she woke yesterday, which I’ll add wasn’t until after 3:00 PM.” “I understand.” “I hope I’m being perfectly clear, if I don’t hear from Dr. Fairfield by noon, then my wife and I will be at Everwood by 1:00 PM. When we arrive, make no mistake, we will put an end to this new protocol. It seems that…”

  Emily sat wide-eyed, listening to John’s side of the conversation while nursing her third cup of coffee. Though she tried to decipher what Dr. Brown was saying on the other end, she wouldn’t know for sure until John hung up the phone. It had been a long night. Neither of them had slept much. When Emily got home, the nanny, Becca, was still there. Usually, her day was done after dinner. Luckily, they had a few trusted people they could call at the last minute if there were evening emergencies. Having help was especially nice on occasions like yesterday, when calls came demanding Emily’s immediate attention at Everwood. Last night, instead of taking the risk of the children overhearing their conversation, she and John left the house so that she could fill him in on the problems at Everwood. With each word, each description, John’s anger grew. Ever since the new protocol began, Claire’s response has been negative instead of positive, add to that the recent sedation incident, and Emily was ready to call it quits.

  Yesterday, the nurse tried to explain—too much sedation would reduce the necessary brain activity keeping Claire from her visions, hallucinations, whatever they wanted to call them; nevertheless, it was obvious, too little resulted in a traumatic episode for Claire and for Emily. It was almost 4:00 PM before she left Everwood, and Claire still hadn’t eaten. Emily refocused on John’s words.

  His tone was more inquisitive. “…do you have any more specifics?” “Has this aide worked with Claire in the past?”

  Emily tapped his arm and raised her eyebrows in question. When he didn’t respond, Emily whispered, “Does she know if Claire ate anything yesterday?”

  John nodded as he continued, “All right, thank you, Dr. Brown, but we still need to hear from Dr. Fairfield. I have questions about yesterday’s DTI, questions which apparently only he can answer.” “I will, thank you.” “Goodbye.”

  Emily sat her coffee cup down, as sleep deprivation overtook her tone. “Why didn’t you ask her about eating?”

  For the first time since he came home last night, John smiled. “I didn’t ask, because she volunteered. Claire not only ate last night—compliantly, she went outside. According to the aide who works with her…” John’s eyes widened. “…Claire wanted to go outside.”

  “Really?” Sarcasm prevailed. “And how did this aide know that? Did she say that Claire spoke?”

  Shrugging his shoulders, John replied, “I didn’t ask. I’m just happy she ate and moved from that chair where she always sits. Maybe you should be too?”

  Emily stood to leave John’s home office. “You know that if I believed them, I would be, but come on, she was incoherent all day. Couldn’t sit much less stand for hours after the last dose of sedative. Now they want me to believe she ate and wanted to go outside. Fine. I’ll play their game; however, if she’s not greeting me with a Hi, Em today, I’ll know they’re lying to pacify us.”

  As she reached the doorway, Emily turned around. “Are you going into Rawlings today?”

  “No, I’m waiting for Dr. Fairfield’s call. If it doesn’t come, then you and I are going to Everwood. Be sure Becca isn’t planning on going home anytime soon.”

  “Thanks, John. I know things have been difficult at work since Patricia left.”

  Shifting in his chair, John replied, “It was at first. Her knowledge was invaluable; however, the new assistant is catching on fast.”

  “You never told me, why was she let go?”

  Smiling, he said, “You know the old saying? I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. And well, I like having you around.” Smiling wider, he added, “Most of the time.”

  Emily shook her head. “Yes, sorry. Sometimes I forget that Rawlings Industries is as top secret as the government.”

  “Even more so…” she heard John say as she walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Strength does not come from winning. Your struggles develop your strengths. When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength.

  —Arnold Schwarzenegger

  Harry’s head throbbed, his face ached, and breathing was more comfortable with shallow breaths. Pushing through the dark veil of unconsciousness, he tried to make sense of his condition. Momentarily, the memories wouldn’t come. There were sounds that Harry didn’t recognize as he tried to focus on his surroundings. Through blurred vision, he realized he was in a hospital room, and for some reason, his left eye refused to open. An IV ran from his left arm to someplace behind him. Looking beyond his bed, Harry saw SAC Williams in a chair near the window. Fighting to find his voice, Harry whispered, “What happened?”

  As if propelled by an electric shock, Williams was instantly at Harry’s bedside. “Baldwin, nice of you to finally join the party.”

  Harry winced as he reached for the controls to raise the bed, so Williams pushed the button for him. As the bed began to move, Harry held his breath: the pain in his side was excruciating.

  “Hey, son,” Williams said. “You have a few broken ribs. You might want to take it easy for a while.”

  At that moment, Harry’s last memories returned with a vengeance. Suddenly, the pain was forgotten. Panic flooded his system, causing his heart to accelerate and his voice to come too loud. “Jillian! SAC? Jillian, someone needs to make sure she’s all right.”

  SAC placed his hand on Harry’s arm. “She is, son. Your daughter and ex-wife have been moved to a safe house.”

&n
bsp; Relief replaced the panic as the pain from his ribs came back. Exhaling, Harry winced and said, “Good, but I bet Ilona’s pissed!”

  “Her daughter is safe, but you’re right, Ilona isn’t happy about the situation, but she understands the threat. We need to know what happened.”

  Before he could respond, SAC William’s phone rang. He held up a finger and walked toward the window to talk.

  Harry closed his eyes, laid his head against his pillow, and remembered the whole terrible episode. Behind his closed lids, he saw the driver of the SUV, the one who picked him up at the airport. When he’d first entered the dark vehicle, Harry hadn’t paid the man much attention. He was a driver: the FBI had plenty. It wasn’t until he’d saved Claire’s message and was listening to Rawlings’ that he began to notice the driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, periodically watching him; then Harry heard the voicemail from the bureau. Before he asked the driver why they were no longer headed toward the field office, Harry casually removed his gun from his holster.

  “Give that to me.” The man’s voice held the slightest of a Lebanese accent. Harry couldn’t remember if he hadn’t noticed the accent before, or if the man hadn’t spoken until that moment.

  Harry pointed the gun to the side of the driver’s head and calmly commanded, “Pull the car over, asshole.”