Albatross (12 page)

As calmly as she could, Samantha methodically pulled together all of her belongings, which didn’t include much. A change into “civilian clothes,” an inspection of the room to make sure nothing was left, and then she had to get her knife back. With a plastic shopping bag in hand, Samantha pulled the knife out of the dead body on the bed and wrapped it in another bag. The bed was now drenched with blood that pooled everywhere. Samantha then rifled through the body’s pockets for any wallets, making sure not to touch the blood. There was a billfold of cash. Maybe about five hundred dollars in tens and twenties. In addition to this cash, there was an envelope containing about two thousand dollars. There was also a wallet with the identification of someone else—a chambermaid. There were also magnetic keys for the hotel. Finally, she found a white substance in a plastic bag. Samantha was not a drug user, but she knew what cocaine looked like.

Samantha made some more decisions. She would leave the cocaine, wallet, billfold, and keys but take all the money. Samantha also took the dead woman’s cell phone.

Samantha knew her prints were all over the room and that it would only be a couple of hours before this mess was discovered. With the air conditioner on high and the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door, that might give her the twelve hours she needed to disappear. Because she had no police record, there were no prints for law enforcement to compare her prints to.

The room and the rental car were under an alias, so Samantha’s identity would be difficult to trace back to her. Fortunately, juvenile records were sealed and not available to law enforcement databases.

As she closed the door and started to walk toward the stairwell, her phone rang again. She answered in her working voice, “This is Danielle.”

Even through all she had gone through in the last hour, she was able to turn on her working voice and feign interest. It was her date, who explained he would be much later than he had anticipated. It was not difficult to fake disappointment but tell him that she would not be available until next week. “Maybe next time,” she said. She offered him a lower rate for the inconvenience. While disappointed, she could tell that the fee reduction seemed to make him happy.
Why can’t I worry about getting a real date? Having a real life? Meeting a real person who cares about me? Why do I have to kill? Why do they make me do it?
Samantha wondered. She already knew the answer.
That’s just not my life.

As the phone call ended, Samantha felt the warmth of the air on her skin. It was a beautiful night to vanish. Samantha’s plan was to call David once she was on an express bus out of the state. Maybe tomorrow. He must have been heading home to his wife. But how could she call him? She knew that if he had done what she had told him, the cell phone would be gone by now. She was not about to call his office either. She did not care much for the office manager, Michele, and she was positive Michele did not like her. If she left a message, she was sure Michele would misplace it. No, she would simply leave and vanish, Samantha decided. She was going to miss him. Was it bad that less than two hours ago she had killed someone so she could live and still want to make some kind of contact with a person who was kind? At that point, Samantha also decided she would make an effort to see her foster-care sister, Becky. Samantha knew her sister genuinely loved her the same way Samantha had always hoped David care for her.

The bus depot smelled of old sweat and fast food. There was an express bus heading west. She decided to take that bus first and then head north. After a month, she would head back to the Northeast, where she had some connections and could easily reestablish another identity. Once she was well out of the area, she would dispose of the knife, clothes, and the intruder’s cell after she deleted all its information. The SIM card would be thrown out in a different place.

Fortunately, the wait for the bus was only twenty minutes and would run the whole night. With a croissant in her hand and a cup of black coffee in the other, a wave of fatigue came over her. It was about an hour into her bus ride when she felt like she was falling asleep. There was still the pain from the assault, and only now did she feel the bruising on her wrists. Her mind trailed off. Samantha felt sleep was coming on, but she didn’t want to fall asleep until she was more than an two hours into her trip. She loved sleep, but letting go of control was difficult for her. Samantha was trying to push her violent attack out of her mind and think of her sister. In her sleepy state though, her memories of both merged as she recalled her cousin.

Becky was three years older than her, and she seemed to like Samantha from the moment she arrived. Samantha remembered feeling special for the first time in a long time. It seemed to Samantha that Becky could read her like a book. Samantha was only ten years old when she had arrived, and Becky seemed to be much older than thirteen years old. Even then, Samantha could easily see that Becky took care of her parents too. She was always cooking, cleaning, and repairing things while their parents worked any shifts they could at the plant. Samantha always wondered how Becky could take the time to help her with her school and why Becky actually liked to include her with her and older friends. Getting out was rare though, because Becky had a lot to do, Samantha knew. Samantha also knew that Becky made Tony watch out for her too. But he didn’t seem to like her very much. Samantha often wondered why. Samantha’s head dropped as she dozed, but she forced herself awake. She looked outside at the darkness and saw her reflection in the window. Her thoughts felt dark as she remembered Becky and Tony’s cousin. He was four years older than her and had a knack for showing up when Samantha was alone, typically at night, usually around bedtime in the beginning. But then it seemed he would show up at any time no one was around. The sexual abuse started like it had at other homes; accidental touching or “playing doctor,” or she would hear “Let me teach you about the facts of life.”
Always some dumb excuse. All lies,
Samantha thought. And then came the threats—if she told anyone, she would be hurt. After years of abuse, Samantha couldn’t take it anymore. She loved Becky, but the fear was too much. Every time she told someone before at the other foster homes, they made her leave. “I don’t want to leave Becky. I like it here,” she would say to herself so she could keep the secret longer. That’s why she never told anyone. When she did tell Becky, her sister was pissed.
But not at me? It’s not my fault,
Samantha finally believed. After, Samantha noticed that Becky watched out for her more. Tony got in a fight with the cousin shortly after Becky had told Tony why she had wanted him to watch out for Samantha. There were times that Becky would get home late from band practice while her parents picked up overtime.
Her foster parents never were around,
Samantha thought. One of those times, the cousin showed up out of nowhere. As hard as Samantha tried, she couldn’t recall how she’d found a knife and killed him. She remembered his warm breath, his hands all over her, her pushing and running into the kitchen, and then she felt something warm on her hands and her feet slipping on the floor until she landed hard on her buttocks.
And those dead, lifeless eyes
, Samantha remembered as if it had just happened yesterday.
It happened two hours ago,
Samantha reminded herself.
It just happened to someone else.

Samantha could still see Becky just standing above her with a towel and her sister’s bathrobe. She heard water running in the bath.
Why did he make me do it?
Samantha could still hear herself saying those words all those years ago. “You had to,” Becky said in an even tone. Her voice wasn’t warm; nor was it judgmental. Almost flat. The warm red water seemed to ebb and flow while Samantha watched Becky going in and out of the bathroom to the kitchen. Samantha heard another voice outside of the bathroom. It was Tony’s. “Fuck, Becky! You really want to do this?” was all she could hear. It seemed as if it took forever, but she finally was cleaned up. Samantha was frightened to go through the kitchen to get to her bedroom, but he was gone.
Everything looks normal. Like nothing happened,
Samantha thought.

Samantha slept in Becky’s bed for weeks after that. She hated sleep, but it felt all right with Becky beside her. After several days, Samantha felt bad for her sister. Becky seemed tired and drawn. She was home more and reading. She cleaned the house but seemed to focus on cleaning the floors and folding laundry very carefully. Samantha also noticed she was eating everything in the house. Becky never did that before. Samantha offered to tell the truth and go to jail.

Becky looked at her as she closed her book and sat up on her bed, holding Samantha firmly by the shoulders:
“No, Pumpkin. You didn’t do anything wrong. He did. When you fuck with kids, you’d better be prepared to get fucked back.”
That was the last time they ever spoke of it. That was the last time Samantha remembered Becky being thin. For Samantha, compartmentalizing feelings and keeping secrets was as easy as breathing.
Not everyone is like me
, Samantha thought. The secret had to be hard for Becky to keep, and you didn’t need a therapist to tell her that Becky managed her stress with food.

Samantha noticed she was now two hours into her trip. While it was an arbitrary time limit, Samantha felt as if she could sleep now. It had taken years for Samantha to like going to sleep. After years of vigilance and needing to be in control while maintaining her “self-protection mode,” sleep was the only place she could actually rest. It was the only time she could be free from the world, a place where pain could not reach her. Preparing for sleep and falling asleep were difficult for her, but once she let go, once she was asleep, it was the only time she felt safe. As she drifted into unconsciousness and lightness began to fill her head, she still held onto one cogent thought right before she surrendered to sleep.
I wonder how David is doing,
she thought.

Chapter 8

Andersen was looking at
Coleridge and trying to determine if he believed what Coleridge was saying when he was startled by Jefferies knocking on the door and entering the interrogation room. Coleridge had just wrapped up his statements about how his former patient had left his office abruptly and he was now being interviewed by federal officers. Andersen got up to meet Jefferies halfway, and much to his surprise, the man he knew as Coleridge did not move at all. Even with his back toward the door and not on his own turf, Coleridge seemed pretty comfortable in the hot seat. Maybe Coleridge was used to dealing with these situations. Jefferies was a young officer just back from four years of military service and just out of the police academy. He tended to be obnoxiously upbeat and positive most of the time. By the way he was looking at Coleridge, Jefferies seemed disturbed. Jefferies handed Andersen a note; it was more a fax than a brief note. Jefferies waited until Andersen gave him a nod indicating that Andersen understood the meaning of the note. Jefferies turned and left as quietly as he had come in. Jefferies’s discomfort was obvious as Andersen read the paper yet again.

Andersen stood reading the document for a full two minutes and then folded the paper. He took a moment, but then he walked toward his chair and considered how he would share the information. Once at his chair, he remained standing with the folded piece of paper in his hand and slowly sat down. Andersen felt tired. Rather than pulling his chair closer to the desk, Andersen remained in his seat with his arms folded. Throughout this nearly silent interaction, Coleridge remained still, his hands on his lap and legs crossed. Andersen waited for a response. Coleridge eventually complied by saying something.

“Lieutenant? I noticed your breathing has changed rates and depth. It sounds slower and deeper as if you need more air. I can sense you are not sitting at the table and taking notes but rather sitting away from the desk. It sounded like you had a piece of paper, a note about something. You must have found something out that is very surprising or at least unexpected. And it concerns me,” Coleridge speculated.

“Why do you think it’s about you? Maybe it’s about my brother who is in the hospital?” Andersen lied.

“No. The person who brought it to you said nothing, and you remained silent. It was as if you didn’t want me to hear. And since I am in the room, I assume it’s about me,” Coleridge concluded.

Much to Andersen’s surprise, Coleridge added on more observation.

“The aftershave the young man wore clashes with his shaving cream.”

If Coleridge could see Andersen, he would have been offended at how Andersen was staring at him and sizing him up.

“So how long have you been blind?” Andersen asked.

“Three years, ten months, and two weeks,” Coleridge answered blankly. Coleridge began to turn his head slowly, cocking his head as if to listen.

“That would be about right,” Andersen calculated.

Coleridge returned his focus squarely on Andersen. “So … the note is about me in particular? I am guessing you just found out that I am dead,” Caulfield said with little to no affect that Andersen could discern.

Andersen read out loud the neatly written note that was about four years old: “David and Jennifer Caulfield were victims of a car explosion and fire. The consuming fire was possibly ignited by a fuel leak in their car touched off by some sort of spark. Due to the intensity of the flames, visual and dental identification was not possible. Identification of the bodies were through surviving personal affects near the blaze: watch, bracelet, and general size and weight—”

Coleridge interrupted in a very low tone, “And a smart phone.”

“What?” Andersen queried. That was one of the items mentioned.

Only someone there would have known that. Caulfield and Coleridge are the same person … except Caulfield is supposed to be dead,
Andersen concluded.

“My smart phone was in or near the wreckage as well. They were able to identify Jenny by some of her jewelry. My body, however, was never ‘completely’ identified,” Coleridge summed up.