Conviction (18 page)

Miss Battes says that she has reiterated this fact for both the local police and the FBI, despite continued questioning leaning toward Hays being the perpetrator. “It’s as though they aren’t even looking for other suspects.”

In lieu of this new information, local human rights groups have begun protesting by way of petitions in order to have charges against Hays reinvestigated.

“We have insurmountable evidence against Hays, including his confession,” State Trooper Aaron Chilton says.

Miss Battes, however, is skeptical. “I’m sorry that I can’t give everyone the answers they want. Above all, I’m sorry that he (Hays) may lose his life because of a case of mistaken identity.”

When asked for comment, local FBI declined.

To watch the entire interview, click HERE.

I barricaded myself into my room for the first three days or so, tripped up by the gag order now placed on me and the hospital. So the reporters didn’t bother to come back, retreating instead to other tragedies. I was lost in a world of imagination, stuck with visions of a perfect nose being kicked in, my favorite arms being broken and punches being thrown for no reason.

The horrifying fact of the matter was that it was my fault, because even if Charlie hadn’t turned himself in to protect me, my failing to make him feel confident about our relationship increased his jealousy. I thought of all the ways I could have talked him through the Adam situation, how much more time I could have devoted to making him feel better about us. If I had only told him about my plan to introduce him to Dad and Robbie…if I had only used a different name to lie to Melinda…

What if his envy went so far as to make him want to prove himself?

I didn’t think that scenario was likely, but I felt guilty just the same, guilty that Charlie’s love for me had made him do something as stupid as threaten Adam. What was the sentence for threatening a federal agent? Would it even matter with all the other charges? Why would Charlie antagonize a gang when he was so drastically outnumbered? I knew he wasn’t racist. He got along well enough with anyone who could tell a good joke or play cards…the only thing that kept coming back to me was that he wanted to get into a fight, that he wanted to hurt someone.

Just as frustrating was that there was no real way of knowing whether or not my intrusion did any good or not, I still had not had any contact with Elise nor would I have any opportunities with my communications being monitored 24 hours a day.

The people who ran Dad’s country club were nice enough to give me a summer job, though like Dad, the manager couldn’t understand why I would want to work in the kitchen instead of waitressing. For less money and more work, it seemed like a silly request. When asked, I told Dad that I wanted to get better acquainted with the Spanish language and he seemed to find this acceptable. The manager seemed disappointed at first, but maybe he realized I was no longer capable of smiling, and that the shallow bags under my eyes would only deter customers instead of invite.

For me, working in the back was a most welcome distraction. Other than the vulgar jokes, there was little to remind me of the boys and still less to remind me of Charlie. I was well-liked within a matter of days for my quietness and work-ethic, always taking out the trash before it overflowed, and being the first volunteer to clean the bathrooms at closing.

The fact was that I very much liked bussing. I liked watching the flies buzz around the picked over cucumber-sandwiches that already too-skinny women hadn’t touched. There was a certain validation in watching my fingernails break as I scrubbed floors and garbage cans. In the evenings, I relished in the hurt that came with tripping over vacuum cords and wet floors. And though they were often spotless, I would occasionally mop them again, in the hopes of an aching shoulder.

Menial labor gave me tangible pain that I could focus on. I thrived on stubbed toes and fingers caught in doors. And if I was really having a good day, there would be a splash of grease from the deep fryer, a knick from knife washing.

At night, when the sleep wouldn’t come willingly and the guilt came crashing down, I’d rely on the broken skin on my hands. I never moisturized anymore, and washing dishes for hours on end with harsh chemicals would crack the ends of my fingertips, making them bleed softly on the pillowcase beside me. Often, I’d watch the little dots as they collected. Sometimes I’d even make patterns of the constellations, but the stars reminded me of the first time my lips touched Charlie’s, and I’d have to stop.

On days I wasn’t working I’d take Robbie’s car to Beth Israel and walk around the entire building over and over, trying to pick out which room was Charlie’s, whether he was kept in the basement somehow like a dungeon. I’d spend hours there, seeing the occasional family come and go through the emergency room, paramedics tidying their ambulances, doctors taking smoke breaks; I tried to imagine that they knew Charlie somehow, had interacted with him just moments before even, but as the days passed, it became more difficult to daydream even that.

Desperate, I even tried calling the number from the whiteboard again, only to find it disconnected. When I wasn’t working or at Beth Israel trying to find information and being turned away, I was on hold with the local FBI office, trying to walk a fine line between a caring citizen and curious advocate, doing my best not to sound desperate, or threaten All I ever heard though was the gossip. Rumors varied that Charlie was in a coma, being held in Guantanamo Bay, that scientists were experimenting on him to better understand sociopathic behavior, that he was already dead.

The nights, however, were all the same.

They consisted of a standard over-the-counter sleeping remedy, but because I used them every night, within a month I was doubling the dose and eventually transferred to the “extra strength” before changing to a different brand altogether.

I hid them in my hollowed out ethics textbook.

Sometimes though, it felt better to lay there, pretend that I too, was comatose. Why should I get to have a life if Charlie wasn’t allowed to have one? Even if he did live, recovered completely, he’d most likely spend his life in solitary confinement for his own protection, a cruelty I couldn’t even begin to imagine. If that was how he was supposed to spend the rest of his days, then why shouldn’t I have any better? Charlie had opened up my entire world, made me feel things I had only read about in books. And despite any issues we may have had, I loved him so entirely that living the rest of my life without him seemed impossible.

As I shut down, I told myself that it was what Charlie was going through, that he was sucked into the nothingne
ss and feeling sweet oblivion.

Chapter 14

Two Saturdays before THE END, Dad caught me on my way out of the house.

“Hey, Addie!”

I cringed, I had almost been safe.

When I turned I saw him shaking his phone excitedly, eager, it seemed, to get my attention.

“Your brother is on the phone!” he yelled. “It’s Robbie!”

As if I had another brother.

I slowly walked back up the front yard, stopping to pull a weed. I had only talked to Robbie once since the summer started and though it was only for a few seconds, his first question after “What’s up?” was “What in the hell in wrong with you?” followed by a comment asking about my dog being shot. Dad was easier to conceal things from, but Robbie was a different breed altogether. He didn’t shy from the nitty-gritty of life (including feminine issues), and had no trouble going up to someone and speaking his mind plainly.

Still, I had to admit, it was nice to see Dad smiling so hard.

“H-hello?”

“Hey, beautiful!”

Wind whipped at me from another world away, someone whistled, catcalled.

“It’s just my sister, perverts!” he called.

“Addie?”

I listened to the weather on the other side of the world. I wondered what the desert would be like, how it would feel to be in a place where nothing could grow.

“Addie?”

“I’m here.”

“Did the Old Man tell you I got leave coming up?”

“Uh no, he didn’t mention it.”

“Yeah, I thought we could have a late birthday-slash-4th of July celebration while I’m there.”

“Yeah, sure. Uh—listen, Robbie, I have to go, work and stuff.”

“Right on.”

I handed the phone back to Dad and hurried over to the car, hoping to be clear before Dad even realized I was gone, but he must have hung up just as I said good-bye to Robbie, because he was on my heels a second later.

“Isn’t that great news?”

“Yep.”

“Addie, you’re not going to that hospital again, are you?”

I nodded.

He sighed. “Listen, I was all about supporting you on this thing, and I think it’s sweet that you want to stick up for this guy or whatever, but this is getting weird.”

“I know its cliché for teenagers to say this, Dad…” I sighed and scratched at a mosquito bite./ “But you don’t understand.”

“With your Mom, it was different. We loved her, but this—it’s kind of obsessive, isn’t it?”

Loved. As in past tense. I knew Dad didn’t mean to, but he had offended me deeply. We all still loved Mom and always would, just like I would love Charlie even if he wasn’t with me anymore.

“I’m sorry that’s how you see it, Dad. I-I need to see this through, no matter what it takes.”

He nodded. “Well, I called ahead and looked into moving our timeslot at the shore-house. We’re going to go at the end of the month instead of in August.”

“Why?”

“I—I think you should get away for awhile.”

I despaired at the thought of Charlie without me, even though we were already apart. Standing outside the building where he may or may not have been did make me feel better than I wanted to admit. But how could I explain that to Dad without sounding completely insane?

“Yeah, I think I need to be the grown-up and make a decision here.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m too worried about you not to.”

“I won’t go.”

“It’s only for a couple of days, and you will go, and you will try to have a decent time.” His expression softened when he looked at mine, not defiant but despairing. “Then you can come back and fret all you want.”

When I stayed silent he quickly changed the subject. “Hey, look on the bright side: with all the hours you’re working, you’ll be able to afford a car of your own before the summer is over.”

I looked at Robbie’s car then back at Dad.

“Yeah, sure.”

I got in and pulled away. I didn’t bother to try and smile. A car? Cars were for the living. I was easily spending fifteen hours a week at the hospital alone. The fact of the matter was that in my mind, the future did not exist. It was a concept that I had memorized once but never really learned. I’d often overhear people at the club discussing their futures as if it was something expansive, enjoyable even. Yet the black parasites allowed me to be disassociated from it so that phrases like, “going to” and “will be” were muted. There was only the present, a ceaseless stream of moments that would continue until the nothingness decided it would have me permanently.

I hoped that it would be sooner rather than later, because parasites had swallowed me up and I didn’t want to be free. Still, my practicality came through and I knew that though I hadn’t bothered to register for the fall semester, the people in my life would still expect me to eventually do something with myself.

Nine days before THE END Robbie came home.

I’ll confess, it was nice, more than nice, to have Dad distracted from my infinite doom. He set to work buying Robbie’s favorite foods, stuffing the pantries and refrigerator with beef jerky and gummy worms; he rented video games, and even left me alone to clean the house. I overheard him bragging about his son over the phone, and for the first time in weeks, I was nearly glad about something. The disappointment that had been my homecoming could be corrected with Robbie.

Yes, it was more than nice to have a distraction.

After the standard hugs and ‘good-to-see yous,’ Dad made Robbie regale him with tales of the front line. Nevertheless, as good as it was to see Dad smile, I retreated to the kitchen to fix dinner as soon as I could. I didn’t feel worthy of hearing about Robbie’s adventures or learning about all his friends and near-misses, instead I did what I always did, I set myself to work. Robbie seemed like a good excuse as any to try my lame culinary skills again. The best part about the mission was my clean up. I thought that maybe if I could cook a huge meal, then I’d have some hefty clean up duty afterwards, which would take time away from my thoughts of Charlie. And it wasn’t completely illogical that if I was cleaning up after dinner I could also rearrange the pantry, the pots and pans, wax the floor, clean the refrigerator…I made a mental list for myself of things that could possibly take up my time. It was either that or letting the images take over every time Robbie made a gesture with his hands and shouted,
kaboom
!

I cooked ravioli (from scratch), a tortellini and pesto soup, fried zucchini, and baked a cheesecake for dessert. All of this reminded me of Elise and through the hurt, I cut vegetables and let memories of her and I haggling at the farmer’s market take over for just an instant before Polo came to mind. He was a guy who liked the basic things in life, but I thought he might have liked my elaborate cooking attempt.

My stomach churned with the knowledge that I might never see any of them again; even Elise was looking unlikely at this point. At least I knew they had gotten away safely somewhere. The empty safe and Tyler’s absent diaper bag gave me the reassurance that they were somewhere far away.

Throughout dinner I chewed mechanically. I counted every chomp, the slice of butter knives, the sips of wine. I did it to stay focused, to keep from being sick, and most of all to keep from crying.

“What’s with you?” Robbie asked suddenly. “You’ve barely eaten anything.”

“I have so. You’re just too concerned with yourself to pay any attention.” I stuffed a bite of ravioli in my mouth as if to prove my point, but Robbie smiled his Robbie smile and Dad rolled his eyes.

Charlie was right.

I did hate lying.

“Well,
sorry
! What have you been up to lately?”

I shrugged.

“That’s what I thought.” Robbie continued the rest of the conversation with Dad hanging on his every word. I stared at the clock on the wall. Time suddenly seemed so intimidating. The mere idea of living days, nights, months, and years trying to pretend to be happy, or even just functioning was unbearably painful.

Charlie had said that some things were worse than death.

I thought the blackness was one of them and vaguely wondered if death might make it better.

“I better get started on the dishes—” I stood up but Dad pushed me back down.

“Hey, you cooked; I think I can handle the dishes.”

“But—”

“I’ll help,” Robbie offered.

“No.” Dad’s voice had the same firmness of our childhood. “You’re on vacation.” He stared me down. “Both of you.”

So that was it. I wouldn’t even have cleaning as a distraction.

Robbie found me later at the end of the driveway, waiting for cars and overeager motorcyclists to drive by and whip the hair in my face. It was almost like feeling something, but not quite, which is why I had deemed it a safe activity.

“Hey, hey.”

I didn’t say anything, though I knew I probably should. Was I supposed to stress how great it was to see him? To have him back even for a little while? In thinking about it, I had the most sudden urge to make him understand how important he was, that he absolutely had to remain safe. Between the two of us, his life was the only one that had any real hope of turning out. Yet like Dad, I couldn’t say these things to him. I couldn’t even begin to sort them out in my head.

“Is this pavement taken?”

I patted the spot beside me.

“The Old Man is like super stoked about the beach this year, isn’t he?”

I nodded.

“School good?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t seem too stoked about it.”

I shrugged.

“Okay.” He sighed, rolled his eyes, and leaned back so that his upper half was in the grass but his feet still on the concrete. “What’s your deal?”

I shook my head. “Deal? No deal.”

He laughed. “Bull. My little sister would have made several comments about how many times I said ‘stoked’ by now.  But you’re not my little sister, you’re like—”

“Dead.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled. “Never mind.”

He leaned back and ripped up pieces from the turf, flicking them in between his fingers and occasionally bringing them to his nose. I tried to imagine not seeing grass for months at a time. I wondered if I’d miss the green, or if after awhile I’d forget it all together.

“You’re still bummed about getting dumped?”

I startled. “Dumped? Who said I got dumped?”

“‘Cause you haven’t mentioned that guy in months and Dad said you’ve been like, real mopey around here.” He shrugged. “Two and two together…”

I smiled. “And here everyone thinks I’m the smart one.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you did get dumped?”

I suppose I had. Charlie had left me for the nothingness—or a version thereof—abandoned me when he promised never to leave again.

“Not exactly.” I shrugged.

“Either you did or you didn’t—you know what, it doesn’t even matter. Give me this guy’s name and address so I can go beat the piss out of him.”

If only that were possible. I almost wanted to laugh. One of my greatest fears the last year was Robbie and Charlie colliding, but I thought if I saw it now I’d weep with glee.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘beat the sense into him.’”

“Meh.” He threw a blade of grass at me. “Heartbreak’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

“Don’t say that.”

“What?” He shrugged. “It is.”

“No.” I shut my eyes against the setting sun, the remainder of the heat leaving for the cool of the summer night. “Ain’t,” I corrected. “Don’t say that.” I hoped my voice was firm enough to relay that point, but without looking at Robbie, it was hard to tell. “Ever again.”

I could hear his pause. Like Dad, he was trying to figure out what he had triggered that abrupt change in emotion. Like Dad, he had no idea.

“Listen, little sister.” He stood and shook the dirt from his pants. “Don’t worry about it. There’s plenty of fish in the sea, right?”

I kept my eyes shut, firm against what he was saying. I knew for me there would never be another. Was knowing that the worst part, or was living with it for the rest of my life?

“Robbie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think there are worse things than death?”

He didn’t flinch the way I thought he might, but instead rolled his eyes. “Is this about the torture? Because my unit has never done anything—”

“Never mind, Robbie.” I tried to smile. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Listen.” He sighed. “Normally I wouldn’t say this to a chick—especially my sister—but maybe you need to like, ‘get back up on the horse?’

I shut my eyes tightly and shook my head. “Please stop talking.”

“What about that FBI dude?” Robbie gave me a gentle shove at the shoulder. “Dad says he’s pretty sweet on you.”