by Theo Baxter
"Detective, if you don't mind my asking, why are you doing all of this, asking me all these questions about her?"
I had my theories, but I really wanted to hear a straight answer from the detective. I could sense that everything depended on that.
"I'm not completely convinced, unlike some of my colleagues," she was quick to add, "that you are the killer, Mr. Andros."
Wow, I thought. Of course, I suspected something like that, but thinking something might be the case and actually having proof were two different things. Naturally, now, all her questions, request to share my story with her, and curiosity about Melissa all made sense.
Although I was grateful that I had at least one person in my corner who believed there was a chance I was innocent, I was still stunned, to say the least. And I didn't know how to respond to that.
Thank you. Thank you for thinking I'm not capable of cold-blooded murder.
"Why do you think someone else is the killer, Detective?"
She looked only slightly uncomfortable before answering, so I could guess where this was going. And I was right.
"Well, with your illness and extreme weakness these seizures cause, I believe that makes you an unlikely killer."
To her, it was as simple as that. Maybe it was.
Also, she didn't say I didn't do it. She said it was unlikely. There was a distinction there, and I really appreciated her candor. Nevertheless, I would take what I could since it wasn't like people were lining up to help me. Despite everything, I didn't want to be a killer. No matter what my father did and how he mistreated me all my life, I didn't want to have something like that on my conscience, regardless of my remembering the deed or not.
"And since you were unconscious," she continued, unaware of my musing, "during the actual killing, that makes you an easy mark."
"An easy mark?" I repeated.
"To be framed, of course."
That did make sense. Yet who would be so diabolical as to think of something like that? Wait for me to have a seizure then get rid of my father? I had an inkling the detective suspected Melissa.
It is always the wife, I joked.
It was true I detested the woman, but to be perfectly frank, my father had a lot of enemies. I was sure with some digging and some money, most could discover his son had medical issues that could be used as an advantage.
Was it truly possible someone used me as a scapegoat? Possibly.
It was good that I was a psychologist and not a police officer because something like that would never occur to me. I was there. I was found with blood on my hands. Plus, I had no memory of my evening or morning, so case closed, I was guilty.
As it turned out, that might not be the case.
"So, let me get this straight. Your theory is that someone used my seizure, committed a crime, then dragged me to my father's room to make it appear as though I did it?" I had to make sure I was hearing it right. Despite the logic, it sounded like something from an Agatha Christie book.
"Yes, that is my theory."
"Could that someone be Melissa?"
"Did she know about your seizures?"
"Of course. We talked about my illness all the time."
And now I found that strange. At the time, I simply believed she wanted to know out of concern, because she cared. Now, I had my own suspicions.
"Then yes," the detective replied simply. "She is a suspect as much as you are."
"She wasn't in the room, though."
"To the best of your knowledge."
That was true, I had been unconscious, so she could have been there and only pretended to come in after I woke. Shortly after, the detective left, leaving me with a bunch of questions and few answers.
After my arrest while I was all alone in my jail cell, I had been completely convinced I’d killed my father. Now, after speaking with Detective Michaels, I wasn't too sure. She was right, there was one more person inside that house who could have done it. More to the point, Melissa had reasons to want him dead as well. He did threaten to kick her out, and I didn't know what happened between them after I went to my room.
Perhaps he did throw her out but then she decided to come back, have her revenge, and kill him, using my episode as a happy coincidence. It was a stretch, but it could have happened like that.
If there were a chance, no matter how small, that she did it, I wanted to discover the truth. If she was my father's killer, I wanted her to pay for it. I wasn't wishing that out of my love for my father, I had none, but out of hate toward her. If she killed him for his money, I would be damned first if I let her enjoy it.
At some point in the day, the DA showed up to have a chat with me. The doctors didn't want to discharge me from the hospital just yet, so all the interviews had to be conducted in my room.
I did the usual song and dance routine with the district attorney, Greg Norton. "Would you like your lawyer present during this interview?" he asked dutifully, and I declined.
I knew that at some point, I would have to hire one. Not today.
DA Norton asked me pretty much the same questions about what happened during that night as Detective Michaels did, although he didn't linger on Melissa. He took a lot of notes.
During his next visitation, he did offer me a plea deal just like Detective Michaels said he would. Before speaking with the detective, I would have certainly said yes since I wanted to be done with this madness. Since everything changed after that conversation, I wasn't so sure anymore. I didn't know what I should do. Try to fight or take the deal?
"Can I think about it some more?" I asked eventually.
"Of course. The deal is on the table until the trial starts. Then it's all in the jury's hands." That sounded ominous, which I suspected was the point.
At the same time, he didn't look too surprised that I requested more time. Nevertheless, I was sure he was simply doing his job and nothing else. As he left, I felt like I hadn't made a mistake by not accepting the deal right on the spot.
I realized I couldn't do that with a clear conscience. Not when I was full of doubts. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't sure anymore that I did it. After everything Detective Michaels said, the more I thought about it, the more I believed Melissa did it.
And not only because I wanted to blame someone else other than me. Over time, I started remembering all the small details I missed, bizarre behaviors like Melissa questioning me about my meds or how startled she looked when I found her in my room that one time. What was she really doing there? Since I knew she wasn't there to see me, there had to be some other reason.
All those unanswered questions made me want to know how much the detective discovered about my stepmother during her investigation.
Those pieces of information would determine my actions moving forward. Of course, if she wanted to share them with me in the first place.
I hoped like hell she would since my life depended on knowing the truth about myself and Melissa.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I hired a lawyer, and a true shark at that, by the name of Naveen Branson, from the Knight, Branson, and Clark law firm. Yes, I hired a named partner to defend me in my murder trial.
Since I didn't know anything about the top players in the city, I simply started Googling and after watching a few videos, I decided I wanted Mr. Branson to defend me. I liked the way he spoke of his clients, with respect, no matter who they were, since he accepted to work pro bono as well. Above all, he honestly believed we were all innocent until proven guilty.
I wasn't surprised he knew of my father and agreed to come to meet me when I called.
"My condolences for your loss, Mr. Andros," he said upon arriving.
I was stunned because I realized he was the only one who’d said that. I'd lost my father, and yet since all assumed that I’d killed him, no one offered their condolences, which I found fascinating in a macabre way.
"Thank you," I replied, although it felt strange for me to do that.
"What can I do fo
r you, Mr. Andros?"
"I want to hire you. You've probably heard what happened to me."
"Yes, I watch the news."
I cringed inwardly. I could only imagine what they said about me. Don't think about it.
"I think I need you." After hearing my story, he accepted my case.
"First of all, I want to tell you I don't know whether I killed my father or not." I told the absolute truth. I figured since he was my lawyer, he deserved that.
"Mr. Andros, you deserve the best legal defense regardless of that, because it is up to the district attorney to prove without a shadow of a doubt that you did commit the crime."
I simply nodded in return, not really knowing how to reply to that.
"Are these seizures of yours a diagnosed medical condition?"
"Of course. I was eight when they discovered I’d inherited the disease from my grandmother."
He simply nodded, writing something down. "I presume you would like to get out of here."
"Yes." I was still at the hospital, but the doctor told me they were ready to release me. I said as much.
"Good."
Thanks to him, I was out on bail, which I appreciated greatly. I didn't want to get used to prison life in any form. Besides, it would be much easier for me to prove my innocence if I were out and free.
Of course, after the initial interview, I had a long, hard conversation with Mr. Branson where I told him pretty much everything about everyone important in my life. We mostly focused on the events on the day of my father's murder and a few days prior to that, but I needed to provide a lot of context to some circumstances and to some relationships.
"Your father was abusive to you all your life?"
All his life, as it turns out. "Yes, toward my mother as well."
"Where is she?"
"She died when I was young."
"Your father remarried?"
"Only recently."
That was how my story of Melissa started. I could see his wheels turning as I spoke of her, looking for an angle. And I was proven right, especially after I mentioned how Detective Michaels was suspicious of her as well.
"With your permission, I would like to assign a private investigator who works for our firm to look into Melissa Andros's life."
"Of course." I was most curious to see what he would discover.
It went without saying that I knew I’d made the right decision hiring him. The retainer was insanely high, but Mr. Branson and his legal team were worth every cent. Luckily, I could manage to pay them.
All of my father's assets were frozen at the moment. I was the sole beneficiary, but if I ended up in jail, Melissa would get everything instead, and that was something I could not allow, no matter what. That gold digger could not get my father's money.
There was an unseen benefit in this story. Since my father died, all of my mother's assets were finally released to me. That was something that should have been mine from the start. My father, the bastard that he was, wanted to use that as yet another way of controlling me, so he'd kept it. My mother's inheritance was nowhere near my father's, but it would be enough for me to pay for my legal defense.
My mother found a way to save me, after all.
What pained me the most in this nightmare was the fact that I lost my job again. Who would want to be taught by a murderer, anyway? I was sure some would be thrilled by that, yet I wasn't about to entertain such ideas. I had bigger issues at the moment.
My lawyer booked me a hotel room to stay in. At first, I rebelled, wanting to return to the mansion, and he explained how that would be a bad idea, especially since Melissa was there. That irked me to no end. After some thought, I relented. I need to trust that this man knows best.
After I settled in a comfortable room, I was finally able to see Dr. Blake. She accepted to come to my hotel room, fully informed about what happened to me, and then she did something shocking. Dr. Blake hugged me.
She always knew what I needed the most.
"How are you holding up?" she asked without joking, without teasing. That was yet another indicator that I was in a pool of shit.
"I don't know," I replied honestly.
"Seizures?"
"They're finally under control. I got new meds in the hospital. Mine were confiscated by the police."
I sat on the couch as she took the chair. That felt like old times.
"So, do you think I did it?" I asked without preamble.
"Of course not," she replied without a thought.
I wished I shared her conviction, though I appreciated her belief in me.
"I still can't believe what is happening." And that was God's honest truth. It took one action, one discovery of truth, to cause such a domino effect that changed my life.
"Tell me everything."
We talked for what felt like hours. "It all turned to shit in one afternoon."
"Do you have any idea how your father learned about the affair?"
I shook my head. "At first, I thought Melissa did that, but she looked genuinely freaked."
The only other explanation was that my father saw or heard something he shouldn't have and went to investigate on his own. It was pretty tense between Melissa and me. A blind person could pick up on that.
"I feared something like that could happen, and honestly, it's no wonder you had a seizure."
I agreed reluctantly, to a point. "It was weird, I was seizing all the time in those last couple of days."
"Stress is a mighty trigger."
I guess. "I wish I could remember something. I hate this," I said while smacking myself on the head.
"Please, Dean, try to calm down. We really don't need you having another seizure."
That was a good point. At the same time . . . "How can I?" I argued. "My whole life is on the line and I can't even know for sure if I killed my father."
"What's your gut telling you?" Dr. Blake surprised me by saying.
I thought about it, taking a few deep breaths. "That I'm innocent," I replied in a much calmer manner.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. I banished that.
"There you go," Dr. Blake replied in the same manner.
"I can never know for sure."
"Have faith that the detectives will do their job."
"Yeah, right, they already think they got their man, me. Detective Michaels is the only one who thinks differently." I couldn't really rely on them. "I wish there were something more to be done."
"We can try hypnosis," she offered.
I gave her the look. "That won't work."
"Have you tried it?"
Naturally, I gave it a go.
This is ridiculous, I thought to myself as I lay comfortably on the couch. I banished all negative thoughts since this wouldn't work if I were resisting. You need to know the truth, I reminded myself as though I could ever forget.
Dr. Blake started talking to me in a calm, soothing manner. First, we focused on my breathing. Then, slowly, she walked me down my memory lane to the day of my father's murder.
"Where are you now?"
"In the living room. I just hit Dad and he fell on the floor. He looks small, fragile from this position."
"How do you feel?"
"Amazing."
"I think it's time for you to move on to your room."
"I'm leaving." After a small pause, I added, "My bedroom is smashed."
"What do you see?"
"That miserable bastard broke the only framed picture I had of my mother."
"What are you doing now?"
"Moving junk from my bed so I can lie down. My seizure is coming."
"Go a bit further, what do you see?" she guided.
"Nothing, it's all black."
"Go back."
"It's still dark."
After a few more failed attempts, Dr. Blake pulled me back.
"I'm sorry it didn't work," I said, disappointed. I could sense there was something there, on the edges, yet I couldn't reach it no m
atter how hard I tried.
"Don't let this discourage you. We'll find another way."
Once again, I thanked the universe for sending me this woman. I would be completely lost, helpless, not to mention crazy, without her help and support.
And then I remembered something. "Dr. Blake, my lawyer asked if he could meet you. He has some questions."
"Sure. When?"
"The sooner, the better."
"I'm free now," she replied with a small shrug.
"Let me check." After one quick phone call, Mr. Branson was on his way here to meet my therapist.
About half an hour later, my super expensive shark of a lawyer appeared at the door looking fresh as ever, clean-shaven, in a pristine looking suit as though it wasn't the middle of the night.
I wondered how he managed that.
For a while, they talked about me as though I weren’t there. Naturally, I didn't take offense. More to the point, I offered to leave for them to have some privacy, but they both waved it off. So, I stayed and listened.
It surprised me greatly when they both expressed disbelief in the idea that I would become that violent during my seizure. Mr. Branson based his opinion on the fact that he spoke to all my doctors and Dr. Blake had firsthand knowledge since I seized up in her office one time.
"If I am to speculate, I would say he is definitely being framed. Someone used his illness to set him up." Dr. Blake was adamant.
My lawyer agreed.
Reluctantly, I reminded her of how my episodes did tend to get violent.
"Dean." She looked at me like I was the biggest idiot on the planet. "That is true, but if you look at your history, you will find how all those violent outbursts you exhibited were self-harming. You walked into moving traffic, for crying out loud!"
She did have a point.
"What's the chance of him changing behavior?" Mr. Branson asked her.
Dr. Blake thought about it before replying. "After all this time and having in mind that he's experienced seizures since eight years old, I would say small, very small."
Although I dared not to hope, I found I already was. Well, crap. There was real hope inside me that I didn't do it and that these people around me would prove my innocence.