Miscarriage Of Justice

by Bruce A. Borders

  When he’d finished, he printed the short document, sealing the fabricated article in an envelope. Once more, he affixed the artistic address that had become his trademark signature. Before sealing the envelope, Ethan decided to try his hand at creating his own photos. Opening a photo-editing program, he designed a simple picture of a tombstone, adding Mariana’s name and date of birth. Then, for the final touch of realism, he inserted the date of her supposed death, a week into the future. Chuckling to himself, he printed the picture and stuffed it into the envelope.

  Ethan was an impetuous creature by nature. He often abandoned the more rational approach of thinking through his actions and planning every move in favor of the spontaneous, impromptu method. In this case however, things were different. He’d had ample time to consider what he was doing and he took immense pleasure in implementing his assault. So far, things had gone according to schedule. Timing was crucial, in games, in war, and in all areas of the broad spectrum of life. So, he was quite surprised when he found himself yielding to the whimsical idea of driving to Cedar Springs right then, instead of waiting until the next morning.

  The notion had struck out of the blue, and mulling it over for a moment, he could think of no logical reason to wait; other than the extemporary, spur-of-the-moment idea didn’t follow his pre-designed plan of attack. Then, realizing he’d have a chance to make a quick drive by Mariana’s house with virtually no chance of being spotted, the night run was underway.

  “But no more deviations from the plan,” he admonished himself, unlocking the car door. “That’s how things go wrong and the way stupid criminals get caught.”

  Driving along the highway toward Cedar Springs, he wondered if he too had become just another stupid criminal. “Maybe this is what happens to all of them,” he mused. “They start with everything well thought out, well planned, but along the way they get anxious, or bored.” Or, it could simply be they were just impatient and wanted to speed things up. Was that the case with him, he wondered? Was he too impatient? No, he finally decided. If anything, he was too focused, too rigid, and too involved. He’d planned everything so carefully, but what if he were missing the obvious? “Maybe that is how criminals are caught,” he mused.

  As the lights of the city came into view, he slowed to below the speed limit, remembering the city police, not having any real crime to solve, used to sit at the edge of town in anticipation of unsuspecting motorists who were in too much of a hurry, particularly in the wee hours of the morning. He didn’t need to be the subject of a traffic stop, even for a minor offense. He could just imagine how that would play out, considering who the D.A. was.

  Cruising through town, Ethan first dropped off his mail and then turned the car toward Mariana’s house. 1542 East Griffen Road. Having lived the better part of his life in Cedar Springs, he knew the area well. Rather than drive directly to the house, he traveled the back roads to the semi-rural neighborhood.

  He met no cars as he made his way up the narrow winding road. That, he decided, was a good thing to know—for future reference. Coming to a stop sign, Ethan turned left onto Griffen Road. Mariana’s place, he estimated, should be less than a mile on the right. A few more houses than he remembered dotted the sides of the county road, but for the most part the area was still sparsely populated. Another good thing to know.

  A single light burned at each of the nine homes he passed; the normal outside security light. Nothing unique or strange about that and he wouldn’t have paid much attention to it, but for the stark contrast of Mariana’s brightly illuminated property. The lights could be seen over a half-mile away, even before rounding the last corner. Chuckling, Ethan knew it had to be the D.A.’s house. The chuckling turned to full laughter as he slowly cruised past her drive. “A little scared of the dark are we?”

  All the bright lights were a good sign. It meant his work was paying off.

  Noting the layout of the house, garage, and a couple of small sheds, he studied the grounds. The grass was well maintained, the roses neatly trimmed and manicured, and the flowerbeds were perfect, not a single weed. The house too, was obviously well taken care of. The light blue paint with just the right lavender accent on the window, said a woman lived there. Nothing, not even a single landscaping rock, was out of place.

  The lights were intended as a deterrent and may have been so to a normal individual. Ethan was not normal. At first glance, it appeared no one could get close to the house without being spotted. And yet, there were vulnerabilities. He was pleased to see the large rosebushes surrounding the house. Several magnificent elm trees cast their dark ominous shadow, almost obscuring the radiant glow emitted by the numerous floodlights. Ethan shook his head. For a District Attorney she wasn’t too smart. Eliminating possible hiding places for potential intruders would have been at the top of his list. He was willing to bet there was an alarm and probably surveillance cameras, yet he easily identified several places an intruder could conceal himself.

  Making another mental note of the useful information, Ethan continued on, resisting the urge to pull into the drive. “Don’t want to frighten her unnecessarily,” he quipped. “She hasn’t received her obituary yet.”

  In an unusually upbeat and lighthearted mood, Ethan returned home. Stepping from the elevator on the top floor just as morning was breaking, he methodically unlocked the door and, feeling the effects of staying up all night, collapsed onto the bed. Outside, the town was coming to life. Tires screeched, horns blared, and sirens wailed as people started their day. The noise drifted up to his hotel room, but already asleep, Ethan didn’t hear a thing.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mariana’s usual Saturday routine of opening a week’s worth of mail had been abandoned with the continual arrival of the easily identifiable packages bearing her name and address in Ethan’s flowing handwriting. Sorting mail had now become a daily ritual. She found herself looking forward to each of the packages, almost eagerly. The rest of the mail, she still piled up on the desk.

  The discovery of these letters had been accidental. Strictly by chance, when the first of the mailings had come two weeks before, the package from Ethan had ended up on top as she carried the mail to the house. The fancy cursive writing had caught her eye and instantly captured her curiosity. The package seemed to be begging to be opened and Mariana complied, tearing off the end of the envelope, spilling the small clippings on the kitchen table. Her natural curiosity had turned to perplexity, as one by one, she read the articles with her name highlighted by a yellow marker. Why would anyone, even Ethan, bother sending her all these stories? It made no sense. If he were trying to harass or intimidate her, this certainly wasn’t the way to go about it. Yet, she spent most of the day thinking about it.

  Two days later, the next envelope arrived. Mariana spotted it immediately and opened it just as fast. The strange fascination she had already developed for the small manila envelopes with the calligraphy-styled address was baffling, but for some reason she felt increasingly compelled to see what Ethan had sent. Finding the extensive case history, a catalog of her life and her whole career as the D.A., only added more confusion to her already bewildered mind. What was the man up to?

  “He needs to get a life,” she grumbled, thinking of all the time it would’ve taken to search out this much information about her. It was an eerie feeling to know he was so obsessed with her. Not only in the matter of the letters, but also the phone calls, which kept coming daily.

  Abruptly then, Mariana dismissed the thought. Although it was all very creepy, the letters didn’t really present much of a threat. Neither did the phone calls. As long as Ethan’s retaliation was limited to mailing articles with her name in them and calling, frustrating though it may be, he was harmless. Peculiar and twisted, and aggravating no doubt, but harmless. The guy, who was admittedly innocent, must have emerged from prison slightly demented. Mariana couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

  “Only time will tell,” she philosophically concluded.

/>   The next Wednesday, the package holding the detailed account of Ethan’s case was delivered. Reading the short history made her cringe, not with fear, but with guilt. Just a little. She quickly recovered. The trial may have been hard on him, but callous though it may be, she had benefited immensely from it. She had no regrets. Sure, it wasn’t fair, she thought, but nothing in life is. “You gotta make the most of what comes your way,” she said. Someone had told her that long ago, though she couldn’t recall just who.

  By the time the fourth package had been opened, the amusement had worn off, replaced by a growing uneasiness. Instinct, and experience, told her the man’s behavior was unhealthy, not only for Ethan, but more to the point, for her! Due to the circumstances though, she wasn’t in a position to do much about it. With grim certainty, she knew not a word of this could ever be breathed to anyone, not even to her best friend, Jessi. Yet, an increasing awareness in the back of her mind told her she would have to do something—and soon!

  Then came the articles on the ill effects of prison life. For some inexplicable reason, Mariana dutifully read each of them. At last, she began to get a glimpse of Ethan’s motive and gain a little insight into his rationale; to see the grief and misery he’d gone through. The realization came with no remorse for having caused the situation, just a better understanding of the man’s way of thinking, which she vainly tried to analyze.

  But that still didn’t answer the scores of questions on her mind. What was Ethan after? Revenge? Did he want to punish her? Would he go that far? Was it money? Was the idea to make her pay for his suffering? Was any of this on his mind? Or did he simply want to demonstrate what she’d put him through in some sorry attempt to make her feel bad?

  Good luck on that. Mariana tossed her head with a cavalier arrogance. One steadfast rule of attorneys, particularly prosecuting attorneys, was to never allow guilt or remorse to settle in. Never feel bad for the bad guy. “Although,” she mused. “Ethan isn’t really the bad guy.” At least he hadn’t been, until recently. Still, that didn’t answer the burning questions as to what his motives might be.

  Digging out the previous packages she’d received, Mariana began to re-examine them, noting the underlying theme. The subject matter seemed to be slowly progressing towards something, leading to a significant and salient point no doubt, but what?

  The vague uncertainty weighed heavily on her consciousness. What previously had been only a mild concern regarding Ethan and his proclivity for tormenting her had escalated to the beginning whispers of paranoia. No matter where she went, the gas station, grocery store and even in court, she found herself constantly looking over her shoulder, watching for suspicious behavior from anyone she encountered and always wondering if she were being followed. The whispers had grown, becoming more prominent until she had become a walking manifestation of paranoia. She was fearful, but it was a healthy fear she told herself. A wary and cautious fear. The kind of fear that prevents reckless behavior and keeps a person alive!

  And the phone calls continued. Not only every morning, but now also every evening, though never at the same time as the day before. As always, Ethan never said a word. Mariana knew it would have been smarter to just not answer, but she couldn’t help herself. Part of the responsibility of a District Attorney was to be available when needed. In the past, she’d tried to use the answering machine to screen her calls, but inevitably, she picked up too late. After a couple of weeks of calling colleagues back, and offering a litany of lame excuses, they had let her know they were not impressed. So, she answered the phone every time it rang. Usually, the eerie silence told her immediately if the caller was Ethan, and though part of her desperately wanted to talk to him, to ask her own questions and hear his answers, she’d recently taken to simply hanging up. As the days and weeks wore on, she found it harder to relax even for a moment.

  Sleep was also becoming a rare commodity. The few hours she did manage to get, after forcing herself to the brink of exhaustion, were not exactly restful. It wasn’t merely a fear of Ethan that kept her awake, but the sheer agony of knowing that at any time the man could render her position as the D.A., and quite possibly her whole life, utterly meaningless. The central theme in the articles he’d sent on life in prison could become very real to her if he started talking.

  She’d maintained her earlier fear was a healthy fear; clearly, it was becoming something more. Now, she was a little worried. Worried that the phone calls and packages arriving through the mail would escalate to something worse. Violently worse perhaps. Still, she was determined not to let the man’s antics affect her behavior. And yet, it already had.

  Lately, the edgy concern was also beginning to affect her job. It had been just insignificant things at first, and then branched out to more crucial areas. She was finding it increasingly difficult to stay focused in court, and two days ago, she’d completely spaced out an important meeting—with a judge of all people! Then, the very next morning, she’d forgotten the name of the defendant, while court was in session; something she’d never done in all of her career!

  On Friday, Ethan’s next installment came in the mail. Mariana was looking forward to a weekend of resting up, in hopes of clearing her mind. Arriving home from work, she was sort of expecting another of Ethan’s packages and seeing it in the mailbox didn’t surprise her. “What has he sent this time?” she mumbled, walking into the house. Slicing open the envelope, she was slightly taken aback by the article on top bearing the bold headline of the death of some District Attorney.

  Wrinkling her brow, she shook her head with a puzzled frown, “What is this? I don’t even know this guy!”

  Flipping through the clippings, she saw they were all the same—a dozen chilling accounts of the death of a D.A. Was Ethan trying to send her a message? The implication seemed to be this is what he had in mind for her. That was rather obvious. But did he really? Or was that merely what he wanted her to think? Was he, as she’d previously supposed, just trying to scare her? On the other hand, this could be a very real threat; the first indications of a sick mind of a man who had visions of her soon demise. Mariana shrugged, the questions were numerous, but she always came back to the single most important one. If Ethan really wanted her dead, why go to all the trouble of sending the packages? Why not just kill her?

  Under any other circumstances, she would’ve had the person responsible for sending the packages and making the harassing phone calls in jail so fast they wouldn’t have known what had hit them. But her hands were tied. Though Ethan so far hadn’t acted on, or even made an actual threat, the mere fact he was terrorizing her, especially since she was the District Attorney, made what he was doing illegal. That was enough to have him arrested. Any judge would certainly agree with her, given the man’s history. She could have him locked away, back in prison, inside of a week.

  But she couldn’t risk the possibility of Ethan spilling his guts and having a judge take him seriously. If there was even the slightest hint of plausibility to his story, she knew any judge would doubtlessly order an investigation. She would never be able to withstand a serious probe into the details of the case. If Ethan had those pictures, as he claimed, it would be all over for her.

  True, even if Ethan convinced a judge to look into his case, he’d more than likely wind up back in prison himself, but the downside was, she’d be right there beside him, figuratively speaking anyway. And a prison is the last place a successful D.A. wants to be. Even supposing she’d had no hand in sending any of her fellow inmates there, which was highly unlikely, that would be a small consolation and insignificant detail to the convicts, of that she was profoundly certain. No love was lost by the inmates on any member of the court. She didn’t want to think about the outcome of such a situation. So, while normally none of this would have been a problem, the situation was far from normal.

  Mariana spent the entire weekend trying to figure out a viable solution to her predicament, with no luck. This nonsense with Ethan was maddening. The knowledg
e that this was precisely his intent only added to her frustration.

  By Monday morning, she was feeling no better and was no closer to coming up with a solution. For the first time in sixteen years, she called in sick, canceling her entire schedule. She offered Miss Gooten no explanation other than she didn’t feel well.

  When the mail arrived, at ten o’clock that morning, Mariana met the postman at the road. True to Ethan’s well-established pattern of a package arriving every other day, a new envelope with the familiar handwritten address emblazoned across the front was in the bundle of mail the mailman handed to her. Though she desperately wanted to see what was inside, for the first time, she was leery and uncertain about opening one of Ethan’s packages.

  Making a beeline for door, Mariana hurried to the den, sitting down at her desk. Ripping open the long envelope, in shock she read the headline. The news account of her own death, fabricated though it may be, was eerily surreal and downright bizarre. But the picture of her gravestone, with the date of her death was even more disturbing. Just looking at it created a dark and morbid fear. Mariana felt a sudden cold chill and shivered. Then she shuddered at the thought of it all. This wasn’t the best way to start off her day.

  Now, finally she knew where Ethan was heading with all this. From the very first set of articles, which had only casually mentioned her, each new package had grown increasingly ominous and vicious with their implied overtones, moving closer, becoming more personal, until at last, there was a very real threat. Suddenly, she knew undeniably the genuine peril she was in. It was all clear now. Ethan definitely wanted to kill her. And though she’d finished the security renovations, that was of little comfort. With the way things were, she still felt defenseless, all alone in a secluded house with virtually nothing and no one around to offer protection.