Before I Sleep (39 page)

“Jamie?” she said finally. She heard him sob. “Jamie,” she said gently, “you know what you need to do. You know how to show your brother you love him as much as he loves you. You know how to save Johnnie right now. Will you talk to the police?”

“I… I…”

Suddenly there was a loud bang, as if the phone receiver hit something. There were voices, some of them raised in the background, and the sounds of a scuffle, “Jamie?” Carey called his name. “Jamie?” Oh, God, what had happened? Had he run?

But then she heard the rattle of the receiver again, and moments later a familiar voice saying, “This is Detective Seamus Rourke of the St. Petersburg Police Department, Ms. Justice. We have apprehended James Otis. Thank you for your assistance.” Then with a click, he was gone.

Carey didn't even blink. She hit die governor's line and put him on the air. “Governor Howell, you're on the air now. You heard the live feed we were sending you?”

“Uh… yes. Yes, I did, Ms. Justice.” His voice, at first sounding shocked, rapidly strengthened. “It was … interesting, to say the least.”

“You'll stay the execution of John William Otis then?”

“I can't do that.”

“Oh for God's sake,” said Ted Sanders, jumping in on his microphone. “Let's not be asinine about this, Governor! You just heard a man confess to the killings for which John Otis was convicted. Don't tell me—and don't tell our quarter million listeners—that you're going to let this execution go through!”

“I need more than this to pardon a man. All I have is some verbal claims made on the telephone.”

“Then don't pardon him,” Carey said sharply. “But at least
stay
the execution until we have a signed confession. Don't kill an innocent man because the
paperwork
won't be there on time!”

There was a pause. “Well, of course I'll stay the execution. I couldn't do anything less under the circumstances. You'll have to excuse me now, because I need to make the call to Raiford Prison.”

Carey glanced at the clock. It was now eleven twenty-seven. God, had she been on the phone with Otis that long? “Thank you, Governor,” she said. “Thank you very much.”

The phones were all lit up now, and messages from Marge filled her screen. She looked at them, then took her headphones off and rose from her chair. “It's
your
show now, Ted.”

Bill caught her outside in the hallway. “You can't leave! Everyone is going to want to talk to you. My God, what a program! But you can't leave.”

She looked him dead in the eye. “I'm leaving. My show was over a half hour ago. And you know what, Bill? I'm not sure I'll be back tomorrow.”

“Carey…” He called after her, but she just kept walking.

She couldn't say why, but she didn't feel jubilant. She felt… ill. And all she wanted was to get out and never come back.

Epilogue

T
wo days later, Seamus and Carey drove up to Starke, and were waiting outside Raiford Prison when John William Otis emerged into the free sunlight for the first time since the death of his foster parents.

There was no fanfare, no press of reporters to plague him. At his request, the prison had not revealed the time of his release.

He stood blinking, as if the light was brighter outside, somehow. Or as if he didn't quite know what to do. The prison had given him a bus ticket back to Tampa, and would have transported him to the terminal, but when Carey had called the prison and offered to come get him and take him home, he had jumped at the chance. For him it was just that many minutes sooner that he would be free of the last physical reminders of the nightmare.

When Carey approached him, he smiled and offered his hand, shaking hers with surprising strength for a man so small. He remembered Seamus from the investigation after the murder, and from the courtroom, and he looked uneasily at the much larger man.

But Seamus pumped his hand warmly. “I'm glad it all worked out.”

John turned and looked back at the prison. “Did it?” he asked.

Seamus and Carey exchanged uncertain looks. But then John squared his shoulders and gave them both shy smiles. “Thanks for coming for me. Thanks for …” His voice trailed away, and Carey had the distinct impression he didn't know how to thank them for saving him at the expense of his brother.

“I'm sorry about Jamie,” she said.

John nodded. He looked down at his toes. When he spoke, his voice was infinitely sad. “Jamie doesn't know how to love,” he said. “He never had a chance to learn.”

“He could have learned from you.”

John's face somehow seemed to crumple in on itself, as if the pain was almost too much to bear. “Maybe he did,” he said quietly. “Maybe he did.”

There was another silence, and they stood in a frozen tableau, as if none of them were sure what to do next.

“Well, we'd better go,” Seamus eventually said. “I'd like to get back before dark.”

John nodded, and they started moving toward the parking lot.

“We got you a plane ticket, John,” Seamus continued. “It's open-ended. You can use it whenever you want.”

“Where to?” John asked.

“Boston. We figured you'd like to go up there and see the autumn colors in a couple of weeks.”

“And then you can see the snow. Real snow,” Carey added.

He nodded and paused to look back once more at the prison. There was a haunting, wistful tone in his voice.

“I just wish Jamie could go with me.”

“Are you feeling the way I'm feeling?” Seamus asked Carey that night as they strolled beside the water at St. Pete Beach. Ahead of them rose the exotic spires of the Don Cesar Hotel. Beneath their feet, damp sand resisted, then gave way. The gulf was quiet tonight, gentle waves rolling in with a lullaby rhythm. They held hands, their fingers clinging.

“How do you feel?” Carey asked.

“Letdown. Sad. I don't know. I thought I'd feel on top of the world, but I don't.”

“It was sort of a Pyrrhic victory. John isn't jubilant either.”

“I can understand what he feels. It's his brother, after all. But I can't understand what I feel. It's as if I didn't save anyone at all.” Seamus kicked up a shower of sand, expressing his frustration.

“Maybe that's what's wrong with the death penalty.”

“Maybe.”

They walked until they reached the hotel, then turned around and started back.

He squeezed her hand. “Are you going back to radio?”

“I don't know. It seems so pointless right now. But I don't have to decide yet.” Bill had given her two weeks off rather than lose her. Time to think, he'd called it. She planned to use every minute of it.

“Well, if you don't go back, I'm going to miss hearing your voice every night.”

Her heart squeezed, whether because he apparently felt they weren't going to see each other again, or because she had never guessed he listened to her show, she couldn't say. “You listen to me?”

“Every night, unless I'm working.” He gave a quiet laugh. “I was like a starving man in need of food. I needed to hear your voice. It didn't matter what you said, just that I could hear you.”

She caught her breath, and some of the sorrow she'd been feeling seemed to be lifting from her shoulders. The night sky suddenly held more stars than she could ever remember seeing, and the water looked as if it were strewn with diamonds. “Really?”

“Really.” He gave another laugh, this one almost embarrassed. “I told you the other day that I love you.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him, hardly aware that the warm water lapped over her feet, ruining her shoes. “I remember. Your timing sucked, Rourke.”

“I know. It usually does.” He rocked back on his heels and looked up at the heavens as if seeking guidance. “The truth is, Carey Stover, in all these years I never stopped loving you. Sometimes I almost hated you for that, but I never once stopped loving you.”

“Then where the hell have you been?”

He looked down at her, and in the starlight she could see his almost-rueful expression. “A gentleman hopes that a lady will not respond that way to the declaration of his deepest feelings.”

“Cut out the malarkey. I'm not Gil. Talk to
me,
Seamus.”

“I'm trying. You're not being very helpful.”

“So try again, and I'll shut up.”

“That'll work. Okay. So where have I been? I've been hiding from my feelings because I felt so guilty for the way you made me feel. I had some stupid notion that I had no right to be happy.”

“And now?”

“Well, you could say I realized just how idiotic I'm being. I mean, when the universe is kind enough to shower you with the best gifts life has to offer, only a jerk would turn them away. Which I did. And I was. A jerk, I mean.”

Carey nodded.

“You don't have to agree with me.”

“I didn't say a word.”

He felt the stupidest smile stretching his cheeks, as he realized she was enjoying this. She was enjoying watching him squirm. His heart took an upward leap. “Then, the universe gave me a second chance with you. It dragged me kicking and screaming back into your proximity.”

“I didn't hear any screaming.”

“That's because you couldn't read my mind the night you called about the death warrant. Trust me, I was screaming. Silently.”

“You hid it well.”

“Thank you.” He took a little bow. “Anyway, all of this is leading up to the fact that I've never stopped loving you, and after the last few weeks I love you more than ever. I've put away my demons, for better or worse, and I want to know—do we have a chance?”

She looked away, pursing her lips, and he felt his hopes plummet. She wouldn't have to think about it if she felt the same way he did.

“A chance for what?” she asked.

“A chance for me to strangle you if you keep doing this to me! You know very well what I mean. Can we try to build our relationship again? Can we make another stab at it? You know. The marriage thing. The kid thing. The minivan, picket-fence, diapers thing.”

She tilted her head back and looked up at him. And there was no more playfulness about her. Her heart seemed to have climbed into her throat. “You want that… with me? After… after what you've been through? Seamus, are you sure?”

He nodded. “I'm sure. I can't hide forever, Carey. If you want anything in life, you have to take risks. I'm ready to take this one again.”

Her heart squeezed, and she felt tears tremble on her lashes. He had more guts than she did. “But we made a hash of it last time, Seamus.”

“I know. Look. I made mistakes. You made mistakes. A lot of it was just bad timing. I was running from grief. You were hiding from shattered illusions. I didn't appreciate you, until you were gone.” He paused for a moment, watching the waves. “I wanted a lifeline, not a partner.”

“Maybe I did, too. But I remember all the fights, all the anger, all the ways we grated on each other's nerves. I want to love you, Seamus. I
do
love you. But I don't want to hurt that way again. I don't want to hurt you again that way.”

“History is not destiny,” he said. “Otis proved that. The world did everything it could to break him, and what did he do? Write poetry. Love his brother. He was stronger than the bad staff that happened to him. And so are you. I think I am, too.”

He reached over to take her hand. “For all these years, you've been the light at the end of the tunnel. Now we're at the end of the tunnel. Don't take away the light. I love you, Carey.”

Something inside her felt as if she had tumbled over a precipice, but instead of falling into the pit below, she took wing and soared toward the stars. She reached for him, and felt his arms close around her, the safe haven she had always sought. She blinked away tears. “So this minivan, picket-fence, diapers thing. You're serious about this?”

“The past is past, Carey. I have to look to the future. And when I look at the future, all I see is you. Will you marry me?”

“Can I have a big wedding with all the trimmings?”

He laughed, lifting her off her feet and swinging her in circles. “We can get married on the moon if you want.”

“Well, in that case, yes. I've always wanted a fancy wedding …” But the teasing tone of her voice faded away, and as he set her on her feet, she gripped his upper arms, looked straight into his eyes, and said, “Forever, Seamus.”

He nodded. “Forever.”

She leaned into his embrace and closed her eyes, feeling his warm solidity, hearing the timeless beat of the waves.

And hearing the timeless words of the Frost poem John Otis had kept on his cell wall.

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Suddenly, the words didn't sound wearying and sad to her. They were a promise. And she was going to cherish every one of those miles with Seamus.

Dear Reader,

I sincerely hope you enjoyed Before I Sleep.

I never thought to find myself setting so many books in Florida. Florida, after all, didn't spring immediately to my mind as a place full of romance and danger. I was inclined to prefer the American West as a setting, especially since many years of living out that way had given me a fond appreciation for the Western State of Mind.

But for the last five years, I've lived in Florida, on the Gulf Coast. At first I hated the place. It's crowded, it's tacky, it has no identifiable culture … or so I thought. Whatever beauties had once made this a paradise had been thoroughly paved over. And come tourist season, we become an increasingly irritated sea of humanity that can't even run into the store for a loaf of bread without standing on an endless checkout line.

But after five years here, I understand why Travis McGee had a houseboat in Biscayne Bay, and why Carl Hiaasen regularly entertains us with so many wonderful, incredible hijinks.

Amid the tropical foliage (little of it native), and under the blinding subtropical sun, Florida plays out the salad bowl that is the United States better than almost any other place. The clash of cultures creates a noisy, vibrant garishness that is particularly Florida. We seem to attract almost as many Serial killers as we do blue-haired ladies, and every kind of wackiness that this country gives rise to is visible here. We even have cattle ranches and cowboys.