Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  Just before I needed to send in my first tuition check for Melladon.

  The factory job paid the mortgage but only with Mom getting a job at a local craft store.

  Our entire world had flipped.

  Harvey Fucking Rett.

  As I stare down at his mug shot, his hair disheveled, his eyes glossed over with a sort of darkness that no therapy could cure, my eyes open wide.

  Because Harvey Rett is up for parole.

  He’s up for parole tomorrow.

  I fold the clippings back up and scramble up onto my bed, reaching for my phone.

  My hand is shaking as I tap on my dad’s number.

  “Hey, kid,” he says after the phone rings a few times. I clear my throat, my voice shaky.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say.

  “What’s goin’ on? You ready for lunch tomorrow?”

  I swallow the lump that’s growing in my throat and try clearing it for the millionth time.

  “Yeah, um, about that…”

  “Yes?”

  “I...I…” My voice trails off. It feels like I can’t get any air in. My lungs feel like they’re frozen, unable to expand. My heart is racing. In all my life, I have very rarely disappointed my parents. And lately, it feels like I’ve been doing it a lot. And right now is about to be no different. “I can’t go, Dad.”

  Now, he clears his throat.

  “And why is that?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut as I clutch onto my phone.

  “Because, Dad. I have to go to Titers.”

  There’s a pause on the other end.

  “Titers...Correctional Facility?”

  I swallow again and nod to myself as if he can see me.

  “Yes.”

  “For what?”

  “Harvey Rett,” I whisper, and there’s silence again. “Harvey Rett’s parole hearing is tomorrow.”

  I hear Dad clear his throat again.

  “I see,” he finally says, and I feel my stomach drop.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry. But I have to be there for this,” I say. I pause for a moment. “I have to be there for him.”

  30

  Wyatt

  I’m a pretty confident guy. I’ve done well in my career—until recently, that is. I’m told I’m pretty good looking, although I try not to let that get to my head. Sure, we all have our insecurities, but overall, I’m pretty self-assured.

  But park me in a small room at the correctional facility a few feet from my sister’s murderer, and that all goes to shit.

  They haven’t brought him in yet. I’m sitting between my parents, my knee bouncing up and down, up and down. Mom’s squeezing my hand so tight that her rings are making indentations on my fingers.

  My dad hasn’t said a word; he’s just staring blankly ahead at the door where they’re going to drag that motherfucker through in just a moment’s time. A few people have gathered behind us, including Rett’s lawyer, some of my aunts and uncles, and some family friends, all coming to support us. It’s crazy, though, how you can be surrounded by people, but in times like this, feel so damn alone.

  I hear a sniffle, and I look next to me. Mom’s lip is quivering. I squeeze her hand back.

  “He’s not going to get it, Ma,” I whisper. “Don’t worry.”

  She nods and pats my knee.

  He won’t get it. He can’t.

  I look down at the folded up piece of paper in my hand. I will be speaking today, essentially begging for Rett to stay where he is until he rots away into nothing. I still find it so sickening that he wakes up every day, breathing in and out, while my sister has been dead for five years. I jotted down a few notes of things I don’t want to forget to point out to the judge. I’m looking down at the paper shaking between my fingers when I hear a door open.

  My heart stops.

  I swallow. I lift my eyes to the door as a guard walks in. I hear the clanking of chains as the guard leads Rett into the room. He looks around but avoids landing his eyes on us. I know he feels us. But he won’t look. He’s got his scraggly gray hair tied up in a low ponytail. His eyes look black, like endless pits that only see evil. He’s wearing a suit today, as if taking him out of his orange jumpsuit makes him look like any less of a criminal.

  My chest tightens as he’s led to a seat at the front of the room.

  A man stands at the front of the room and calls it to order, but suddenly, all I can hear is the blood rushing through my body. I’m trying to focus, but I’m just seeing red. I picture my hands around his neck, squeezing, squeezing, just like he did to my Willa. I picture myself holding on for dear life until his is completely gone.

  “I’d like to call up Mr. Wyatt Mills,” the man says. “Brother of Willa Mills.” My parents each squeeze one of my hands, and I stand slowly, my legs like gelatin beneath me.

  I slowly slide out of the aisle and walk to the front of the room. I stand before the panel in front of me, and my eyes move slowly to Rett. He won’t look me in the eye, and it’s making me even more mad.

  I feel my fists balling at my sides. I’m struggling to take in a deep breath. My head is pounding, and I can’t focus my eyes on anything.

  If this doesn’t work, if the judge doesn’t truly hear me, Harvey Rett could walk free. Doing what he’s done, killing who he’s killed, and this bastard could still walk out of the prison.

  I grab hold of a podium that’s next to me to steady myself.

  I’m looking around for a lifeline, anything to bring me back down to earth.

  And then I see her.

  Maryn Porter. The girl I broke. The girl I put back together. The girl who gave me everything I was missing. Our eyes meet, and she nods, giving me the push I need to go on. I’m still shaky, but she won’t take her eyes from mine. And that’s all I need.

  31

  Maryn

  I can see him breaking, barely holding it together. I can see him shaking where he stands. I’m not used to this. But when our eyes meet, I feel him take a breath. I can’t say it to him out loud, but I’m telling him that, no matter what happens, it’s going to be alright. He will get through this. We will get through this. Because I’m not sure about the rest, but I know that we have to be a “we.”

  He’s about to begin when the side door to the room opens again. All eyes turn to the door, and my breath whizzes from my lungs when I lay eyes on my father.

  He doesn’t say anything. He walks down the aisle and slides onto the chair next to me in the back row. He reaches a hand down and squeezes mine, never taking his eyes from the front of the room. And then I see him nod to Wyatt.

  Telling him with his eyes that he will get through this.

  That we will all get through this.

  That Willa’s death won’t be in vain.

  I can’t believe my father is here. But it’s exactly what Wyatt and I both need.

  Finally, Wyatt speaks.

  “I’m here today to testify on behalf of my sister, Willa,” he says. His voice is shaky at first. He clears his throat and goes on. “She would have been twenty-one years old today. But she didn’t make it to her sixteenth birthday because of the man in front of you today.”

  There’s this heaviness that comes over the room as everyone around us is listening, hanging on Wyatt’s every word.

  “She and I were on a quick trip to the grocery store a little over five years ago. She went inside and never made it back out to my car because this man,” he says, pointing a finger directly at Harvey Rett, “decided to take her.”

  Harvey’s eyes are wide, but he still won’t look at Wyatt. He won’t give him that satisfaction.

  “Over the course of a few months, detectives with the Tilden Police Force used DNA evidence and a partial license plate to find Mr. Rett, who was, at the time of apprehension, stalking another teenage girl.”

  My throat feels dry. It’s been so long since I’ve heard all the nitty-gritty details of what happened to Willa. When it was finally revealed what actually did happen, I
tended to avoid the news stories. Some of it, I didn’t want to know.

  I’m really glad my dad is here, in this moment, letting me physically and emotionally lean on him.

  “My sister was found thirty miles away, in Meinhart, three months after she went missing. After an autopsy, it was determined she died from strangulation.”

  Wyatt pauses for a moment then lifts his eyes to Harvey Rett.

  “Harvey Rett killed my sister with his bare hands. After further examination, it was determined that my sister—” he says, pausing to put his hand to his mouth.

  Oh, no. This is the hard part. I remember reading the first few lines of the news reports and then clicking out of the article.

  Wyatt collects himself. I hear Mrs. Mills stifling a cry as Mr. Mills stares on.

  “It was determined that my sister was also sexaully assaulted.”

  A small gasp goes up in the room. Wyatt’s green eyes are wide, full of hate.

  I can’t stand seeing him this way.

  “Harvey Rett took it upon himself that night to take what wasn’t his. He decided to prey on an innocent young girl three days before Christmas. He took away her innocence; he killed her without remorse; and then he got right back out into the streets to look for another young woman to prey on. Harvey Rett is a danger to our society, to our daughters, and to the walls of the justice system, if you choose to release him.”

  The people on the panel all stare at Wyatt, wide-eyed. Man, my man has a way with words.

  “If you release him, you’re putting your community in danger. You’re setting another family up to sit and wait for months, wondering if they will ever see their daughter, their sister, their friend again. If you release him, he will kill again. And when he does, that blood will be on your hands. Thank you.”

  Wyatt straightens out his tie then walks calmly back over to his family. His mother hugs him, and his father rubs his back. He turns back to look at us. He smiles at me and nods slowly at my father. A few more people step up to speak, most pressing the panel not to even consider parole. Rett has one character witness, an aunt who looks to be pushing ninety, but it almost seems like a struggle for her to say anything nice about him.

  Finally, the proceedings end. The room is dismissed, and a decision will be made within twenty-four hours. I let out a long breath. My dad looks over to me and nods.

  “Let’s have some faith,” he says quietly. I pause to see if there’s a chance I can talk to Wyatt, but he and his parents are being ushered out, surrounded by the friends who came to support them. As the room begins to clear, Dad and I follow the crowd out the doors.

  When we get outside, we’re quiet for a moment, walking silently toward the parking lot.

  “Dad, I—” I start to say, but he starts to speak, too.

  “Kid, I need to say something,” he says. We stop walking and turn toward each other. “You were right. About this. About all of it. Holding onto that hate wasn’t doing any good for any of us. And in the grand scheme of things, they still lost a child. Wyatt lost a sister. Houses, jobs…we can get those back. But Willa can’t be replaced.”

  I swallow back tears and nod.

  “He’s a really good guy, Dad,” I say with a shy smile. Dad smiles back at me.

  “He has to be if you like him,” he says, nudging my shoulder. “Well, if you like him, I’d like to meet him—officially,” he adds coyly. I smile and nod. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.

  I swallow, thinking about the possibility of Wyatt and me working out. Our families meeting. Going to dinner with my dad. Him and Tucker bonding over sports.

  It seemed so out of reach before.

  But now that it’s not going to make my family implode, I want it more than ever.

  “I’ll try and set that up,” I say with a smile. If it’s not too late. If I haven’t lost him.

  We walk a few more steps, and then I hear his voice.

  “Maryn?” he asks, his voice like glass. Dad and I both stop and turn slowly. My heart thuds in my chest. It’s crazy what he can do to me.

  “Wyatt,” I say.

  “You’re here,” he says, his voice hushed. He keeps his eyes trained on me for a moment then turns to my dad. “Mr. Porter. It was so nice of—” he starts to say but is cut off when my dad reaches out and pulls him in for a hug.

  “I’m so sorry, Wyatt,” I hear him say, and my heart swells. “I’m so sorry for everything your family went through.”

  Wyatt wraps his arms around my dad tight, and they hold each other for a moment.

  “Mr. Porter, I’m sorry too,” Wyatt tells him. They pull apart, but Dad keeps his hands on Wyatt’s shoulders.

  “This will all work out how it should, son,” Dad says. “Keep the faith.”

  Wyatt nods. Dad turns to me.

  “Well, kid, I need to get back to the factory. You’ll keep me updated?” he asks. I nod.

  “Thanks for coming, Dad,” I say. He kisses my forehead, shakes Wyatt’s hand one more time, then heads to his car.

  Wyatt and I walk in silence for a few seconds. Just as we make it to the curb, we hear a voice behind us.

  “Wyatt!”

  It’s Mrs. Mills with Mr. Mills trailing behind her.

  “Wyatt!” she cries again.

  “Ma? What is it?” he asks. She reaches us and grabs his arms.

  “Honey, he’s not getting parole,” Mrs. Mills says.

  “He’s…he’s not? How do you know?”

  “Eduardo. He just heard from the panel. The judge really took your testimony to heart and said that Rett is a danger to the public. He’s going right back in.”

  Mr. Mills comes closer and slaps a hand on Wyatt’s back.

  “Good job, boy,” he says.

  I can see the relief settling in on Wyatt almost instantly. I can see his pain. I can see his hope. I can see it all, swirling around above his shoulders now, taking its deadening weight with it.

  He hugs both of them.

  “Thank God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away.

  Mrs. Mills lays eyes on me and clears her throat. Wyatt realizes that I’m still standing next to him and does the same.

  “Oh, Ma, Pops,” he says, putting his hand on the small of my back and nudging me forward, “this is Maryn Porter.”

  There’s an awkward silence for a beat, and then Mr. Mills, who is a handsome, darker version of Wyatt, steps closer to me. He wraps his big arms around me and pulls me in for a long hug.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you, sweetie,” he says. Mrs. Mills takes me in her arms next.

  “Yes, we’ve heard about you,” she says with a sweet smile. I blush and smile.

  “Thank you both. It’s so nice to meet you,” I say. We make plans to have dinner with them next week, and then we say our goodbyes.

  Wyatt and I walk, hand in hand, weightless together. Since we first met—or, re-met—there have been all these obstacles, all these walls between us, ready to crush whatever possibility there was of “us.” But now, they are all gone. There’s nothing between us except for the sheer chemistry, attraction, and mutual adoration.

  There’s nothing between us now except for the understanding that we can take it all, whatever it may be, together, hand in hand, just as we are right now.

  “I still can’t believe you’re here,” Wyatt says, looking down at me. I swallow.

  “How could I not be?” I ask. “There was no way I was leaving you to do this alone.” He smiles at me.

  “So, uh, it doesn’t sound like your dad hates my guts anymore,” he says, his tone more playful now.

  “Nope,” I say with a smile. “Doesn’t sound like it.” He takes a step closer to me. There’s a cool fall breeze, and it blows my hair all over the place. He lifts his finger to push a piece off my face.

  “And you?” he asks with a smile.

  “Nope, I don’t hate you either,” I say. “Actually, I kind of love you.”He laughs, and the sound is music to my ears. I tak
e his hands. “Wyatt, he’s gonna stay put. I know it.”

  I can see the worry in his eyes, the fear behind them. The sadness. But he smiles and nods anyway. He takes my hand.

  “I kind of love you, too,” he says before he kisses it. “So, what now? I’d say we could go to lunch, but I’m a little tight on cash. I don’t know if you heard, but I recently quit my job.”

  I laugh and pull him in close to me as we start walking.

  “Well, I don’t know if you heard, but I recently got a promotion. So it’s my treat,” I say, kissing the back of his hand.

  32

  One Year Later - Wyatt

  “Hi, everyone,” I say at the front of the big room. “Thank you all for being here today. I know some of you come from far and wide, so it really means a lot.”

  It’s been a year since I helped keep Harvey Rett behind bars. It’s been a year since I resigned from Caldell and really started throwing myself into my foundation work. It’s been a year since Maryn was there for me. It’s been a year since I made her mine. So as far as years go, this one’s been pretty great.

  I’m standing in front of the support group I run, which is actually made up of most of the board members of the Willa Foundation.

  There are a few families from around the country that we’ve grown really close to who have all lost a family member to kidnapping or murder. Every meeting, we gain a few more members, and it’s harrowing to see the numbers grow.

  The mission of our foundation is two-fold. One, we aim to provide support to the family members of the missing person. We can lend an ear, a shoulder, unlike anyone else can. And two, we work with local and national police departments and raise money for rewards, billboard ads, and other avenues to help bring missing people home. In the case that someone’s family member has been found deceased, we use raised funds to pay for funerals and legal fees, which is my least favorite part.

  But after Willa died, our family went through so much. Emotionally, yes, but also financially, worrying about things that the family of a murdered girl shouldn’t have to worry about.