Just Mercy: A Novel

ADVANCE PRAISE

“
Just Mercy
, the story of a grieving mother whose teenage daughter is brutally murdered, exquisitely portrays the complexity and difficulty of forgiveness and its power to take us to the inescapable truth that we are all connected. Bernadette Baker and her family will touch your heart and shake your soul so that, regardless of your position, you will never feel the same about the issue of the death penalty.
Just Mercy
is grounded in Dorothy Van Soest’s insight about the role of grief in the lives of both victims and offenders and the healing potential of restorative dialogue. This family drama is a must-read that teaches us about the true nature of justice and our very humanity.”

—Sr. Helen Prejean, C.S.J., Author of
Dead Man Walking

“
Just Mercy
is a moving, fast-paced read that artfully sweeps us up in the journey of forgiveness.”

—Leslie Neale, Director/Producer of acclaimed documentary films,
Road to Return
,
Juvies
, &
Unlikely Friends.

“A stunning achievement. From the first page to the last we are taken on a journey through surprising twists and turns, as a family shattered by the heinous murder of their youngest daughter, Veronica, struggles to come to terms with their shock and grief. When Bernadette, Veronica’s mother, goes to the prison to witness the execution of the woman who murdered her daughter, something quite unexpected occurs, launching her on a quest that will unearth life-altering truths about herself, her dead daughter, the remaining members of her family…and her own relationship to the killer. I won’t reveal the details that trigger this quest, nor the stunning truths she uncovers, for fear of spoiling the story for other readers. Suffice it to say that Bernadette’s unrelenting courage allows us, in the (relative) safety of our armchairs, to delve into human issues as far-reaching as love, grief, justice, forgiveness, vengefulness, and the intricacies of our own private worlds. Dorothy Van Soest is indeed a masterful storyteller. I eagerly await her next book.”

—Hal Zina Bennett, bestselling author of
Write From the Heart: Unleashing the Power of Our Creativity

“
Just Mercy
reads like a motion picture ... bringing home the horror of the death penalty and the complexities of how compassion arrives in unexpected ways. Raelynn Blackwell's story is the voice of so many on America's death row. Raelynn has come to accept responsibility for her actions, as does Bernadette Baker, leaving the reader on both sides of compassion.
Just Mercy
is ultimately a passionate, well-written book about our sense of humanity, and where crime and justice stand in the way.”

—Jarvis Jay Masters, Author of Finding Freedom:
Writings from Death Row and That Bird Has My Wings: The Autobiography of an Innocent Man on Death Row

“
Just Mercy
shares the compelling and intense journey of a family struggling with the horrors, trauma, and grief associated with the murder of a family member and the death penalty. It offers important insight into some of the additional harms a death sentence can inflict on a victim's family and the varied ways different family members process, grieve, and heal following the murder of a loved one.”

—Marcelle Clowes, Member Engagement Coordinator, Murder Victims' Families for Reconciliation (MVFR)

“Dorothy Van Soest has eloquently envisioned and deftly delivered a compelling tale that will tug you through grief, horror and hope as you witness instinct and ethics locking horns through a senseless tragedy and its legal outcome. The author touches on a range of timely topics with grace and clarity while centering on the question of ‘bad behavior’ and its appropriate punishment. In the end, it is love, compassion, and acceptance that prevail. In a word, just mercy.”

—Sarah W. Bartlett, co-editor,
HEAR ME, SEE ME: Incarcerated Women Write
and founding co-director of writing inside
VT
.

“
Just Mercy
takes us inside a family's struggle for justice, revealing the complexities and quandaries inherent in capital punishment. After reading the book, it is impossible not to feel compassion for everyone who is impacted by the death penalty system--condemned prisoners and murder victims' family members alike.”

—Jen Marlowe, author,
I Am Troy Davis

“In
Just Mercy,
victim Veronica Baker’s family is divided between those who support, oppose or are painfully ambivalent about capital punishment. Dorothy Van Soest’s gentle portrayal of their struggle in the face of cruel circumstances makes for a compelling read and the plot twist is up there with the best of them.”

—Dave Avolio, Board Member, Washington Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty

“
Just Mercy
asks a heart-wrenching question: how can a mother whose daughter has been murdered respond to and even feel some connection with the murderer, and what will it mean for her family if she does? This book captures in vivid and believable detail the aftermath of a murder and the ways that a family could be bitterly divided about the right thing to do, and in doing so, asks important questions about the meaning of the word justice. This book is a page-turner that makes you think, and that will stay with you long you after finish.”

—Irene Sheppard, author,
Restorativity
blog

Early in the narrative the story’s main character, Bernadette Baker, chastises a reporter in response to questions about her position on the death penalty, “Don’t go there; it’s complicated.” But Dorothy Van Soest does “go there” while still honoring the enormous complexity and soul-crushing grief compulsory in homicide and its aftermath. As individual family members struggle to find meaning in their beloved Veronica’s murder, the state’s response to that crime and ultimately what they understand about the killer, they are at times aligned and at times in utter opposition to one another and their communities further illustrating the complexities faced by survivors. What makes a family and how families undertake and define healing is explored in this candid, utterly suspenseful and captivating novel.”

—Marilyn Armour, Ph.D. LICSW, Professor and Director, Institute for Restorative Justice and Restorative Dialogue, The University of Texas at Austin

“
Just Mercy
faithfully captures the emotional complexities surrounding the death penalty – particularly the toll it takes on and among victims’ families – and confronts our notions of justice, punishment, and forgiveness. It presents a challenging, multi-faceted response to a question that can’t be answered in the abstract: What would you do if your family member were murdered?”

—Kristin Houlé, Executive Director, Texas Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty

“Dorothy Van Soest magnificently holds and embodies the value, in each of her characters, of how healing happens when opposing contradictory experiences are held together in a sacred space.
Just Mercy
is a fitting title for a relationship between unlikely advocates that manifests the principles of the victim offender dialogue process in a riveting family drama.”

—David Doerfler, founder and facilitator, Concentric Journeys

In this compelling story of forgiveness and redemption, Dorothy Van Soest brings the insight and experience of her distinguished career as a social worker and scholar to a story that reveals the complex nature of people’s relationships and the multiple dimensions of contemporary social issues. Her writing reflects both an understanding of the human heart and how place and circumstances shape a person’s life chances.
Just Mercy
is a powerful call for breaking down the barriers that separate us and for recognizing the value of every human being.”

—Michael Reisch, Ph.D., Daniel Thursz Distinguished Professor of Social Justice, University of Maryland

“An exciting and compelling look at how a family faces the ultimate punishment.
Just Mercy
will take you on a journey through the Texas criminal justice system that you will never forget.”

—Larry Fitzgerald, former Public Information Officer, Huntsville, Texas Department of Criminal Justice.

“A mother has no idea what will unfold as she seeks to understand how another human being could take the life of her daughter. Part mystery, part spiritual journey,
Just Mercy
shows the surprising ways that human lives intersect and the roles that compassion plays in coming to terms with tragedy and loss.”

—Jane Gilgun, Author, Professor, University of Minnesota

JUST MERCY

a novel

JUST MERCY

a novel

Dorothy Van Soest

Apprentice House

Baltimore, Maryland

Copyright © 2014 by Dorothy Van Soest

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission from the publisher (except by reviewers who may quote brief passages).

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

First Edition

Printed in the United States of America

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-62720-022-6
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-62720-023-3

Design by Cody Barber
Cover Photo Illustration by Cody Barber

Published by Apprentice House

Apprentice House
Loyola University Maryland
4501 N. Charles Street
Baltimore, MD 21210
410.617.5265 • 410.617.2198 (fax)
www.ApprenticeHouse.com
[email protected]

“We are one, after all, you and I, together we suffer, together exist and forever will recreate one another.”
— Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

ONE

May 3, 2001

Veronica stared at the back of the downtown #20 bus, knowing full well that if she’d left Natalie’s house even just a few seconds earlier she wouldn’t have missed it. No matter. It had been totally worth it. Standing at the bus stop, she dropped her backpack to the ground and unzipped the outside compartment, holding her long blonde hair out of her eyes with one hand while pulling out her cell phone with the other. Her mom answered on the third ring.

“Hey, Mom, I just missed the eight o’clock. Next one’s in half an hour.”

“Okay. I’ll reset my worry alarm to nine o’clock, then.”

“So funny. See you soon.”

Even though she laughed as if it was a joke, Veronica knew full well that at nine o’clock sharp, her mom would start worrying for real. She’d learned that the hard way two years ago, when she was fourteen, the first time she missed her curfew. It wasn’t like she was trying to sneak in late when she crept up the stairs on her tiptoes that night; she was just trying not to wake her folks. And she wouldn’t have if it weren’t for that squeaky step. When she’d reached the dark hallway at the top of the stairs, her mom had appeared out of nowhere, her fists gripping the hem of her cotton nightgown, her eyes flashing fear and anger.

“Thank God you’re okay! Don’t you
ever
scare me like that again!”

“Sorry, Mom. I thought you were sleeping.”

“Next time, call. Don’t
ever
forget that, young lady.” Then she turned on her heels, went into her bedroom, and closed the door.

“Hey, sis,” her brother Fin had said the next day, “don’t you know Mom doesn’t go off duty until she hears the last foot hit the squeak?”

“We all know that,” she said, “but this is the first time that old step turned against me.”

They’d both laughed then, unbothered by their mom’s controlling nature, understanding it for what it was: a sign of her love for them.

Their older sister, as usual, had a totally different reaction. “You weren’t grounded?” Annamaria had asked when she heard about what happened. “How come you get away with being late? I never did, that’s for sure.”

Later, when Veronica asked why she didn’t punish her that night, her mom said, “Disappointing me was punishment enough for you.”

So true. After that night, she’d never forgotten her mom’s number one rule: if you were going to be late, the first thing you did was call. Even times like now when there was nothing to worry about.

The night air was warm and sticky, and Veronica reached for the water bottle in the side pocket of her backpack. Taking a long drink, she leaned against the signpost, liking the way the metal pole felt cool on the bare spot of her back between her crop top and her hip huggers.

She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes after eight. Since it took the bus twenty minutes to get from the east side of Austin to the west side, she’d be home in plenty of time to finish her essay on homelessness for her political science class. Tomorrow, when she read it to the class, someone—most likely a guy—would probably snicker or call her a bleeding-heart liberal. She didn’t mind. It wouldn’t be the first time. And, besides, she loved watching her favorite teacher, Miss Malone, whenever that happened. Even in that mousy gray suit she always wore, she would somehow manage to make herself look real tall and imposing; then she would roll her eyes up over those black horn-rimmed glasses of hers and say, “Write a rebuttal, sir. I’m sure Miss Baker would welcome an
intelligent
debate.”

Debating was one of Veronica’s favorite things, and she always wished someone would accept the challenge. But no one ever did. She didn’t fault them, though. Writing didn’t come easy for everyone like it did for her. Nothing about school came easy for her friend Natalie, that’s for sure. It wasn’t fair that she had to work so hard just to get Cs. But it could be so frustrating sometimes. Like tonight, when Nat had struggled with one lousy algebra question for such a long time that Veronica offered to just give her the answer.

“No,” Nat had said, stomping her foot on the floor. “I have to do it myself.”

Veronica felt bad about getting impatient and suggesting a shortcut, but it had turned out all right in the end when Nat solved the problem on her own. “I did it! I did it! I did it!” she yelled, laughing and jumping up and down with her chest all puffed up like she’d reached the top of Mount Everest or something. It was totally worth missing the bus for that.

She looked at her watch again. Eight twenty. Might as well organize her backpack now so she wouldn’t have to do it in the morning. She sat down on the sidewalk and took everything out: from the main compartment came her math, science, and English books plus her all-purpose notebook divided into sections by subject; from the outside part came her inhaler, cell phone, pencil case, and post-it notepad, all of which she put back in; and from the side pocket came stuff to throw out. She rearranged the books to match her class schedule and slipped her notebook in behind them, then zipped up the backpack and left it lying on the ground. It didn’t take more than two strides of her long, slender legs to get to the trash can into which she dropped an empty apple juice bottle; a Snickers wrapper; a banana peel in a plastic baggie; and some crumpled papers, notes from friends passed to her in class.

By then it was eight thirty. She stepped off the curb and looked down the street. Where was that bus, anyway? It couldn’t be stuck in traffic; only two cars had passed while she waited. She reminded herself to call home again if it didn’t come in a few minutes and stepped backward and up onto the curb without looking behind her. She bumped into something and turned around to see a woman on the verge of falling into the gutter. She grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her up just in time.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. Are you okay?”

The woman swayed back and forth, staring into space through hollow eyes ringed with black. Stringy matted hair—it was too dirty to tell whether it was brown or blonde—clung to her cheeks. She probably looked older than she was, her body sunken inside ripped and filthy jeans that were falling off her hips and a faded blue tee shirt with holes in the front that looked like they came from cigarette burns. If Mom were here, she’d try to figure out how to clean the woman up and get her a change of clothes. That was Mom, Veronica thought with a smile, always trying to fix everyone—not the worst thing in the world.

The woman tilted forward, then tipped backward. Veronica reached out to steady her. She looked sick. She must be homeless.

“Do you want to sit down, ma’am?”

The woman turned and started to stagger off but tripped on the curb and almost fell again.

“Here, let me help you.”

“Don’t need no help.” The woman’s voice was hoarse, growl-like.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”

The woman glared for an instant before her eyes went blank again. Veronica watched her reach into the pocket of her jeans and pull something out. Something shiny. She heard a click. Then she saw it. Why did the woman have a knife? And where would a homeless woman get a switchblade, of all things? She had read about the rapes and assaults against the few women who lived alone on the streets of Austin. Of course. That explained it. The woman needed the knife for protection.

She kept her eyes on the switchblade dangling at the woman’s side, quivering in her hand as if it were a living thing. Click. Veronica jumped. The blade disappeared. Click. It shot out again and pointed at the ground. Click. Gone. Click. Click. Click. The knife opened, closed, opened.

“I think you should put that away,” she said in a careful, calm voice.

But instead the woman brought the knife up to within inches of her own face. She squinted at it as if trying to figure out what it was. Then she pressed the tip of the blade into her hand and studied the thin line of red oozing from her palm. With surprising precision, she pressed the sharp point of the blade into the tip of each of her fingers. One by one she brought her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting in and out, licking the blood.

Another staccato click and the blade disappeared. Click—open. Click—close.

Veronica’s breath was coming in ragged spurts now. Why hadn’t she put her inhaler in her pocket?

“You’re hurting yourself,” she gasped, holding out her open hand. “Here, give the knife to me.”

The woman raised her hand high in the air. The knife hovered over her head. Click. The blade shot up toward the night sky. Click. It was gone. She tucked in her chin and narrowed her eyes. Click. Her left eye twitched. Her lips sneered.

“Please, let me help you.” Veronica’s voice shook. Where was that bus, anyway? What could she do to calm the woman down until it got here?

“What makes you think I need help? Huh? Huh?”

At the feral look in the woman’s eyes, Veronica’s heart started hammering against her chest. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.” She raised her palms in front of her.

“Like you? Huh? Huh? Like you?”

When the woman took a step forward and pointed the knife at her, Veronica raised her hands again. She lifted her left foot up and in slow motion set it down behind her. Then she lifted her right foot and set it down, repeating each tiny step and going as slowly as possible in order to reach her backpack without setting the woman off. If only she could get to her cell phone. She needed her inhaler, bad.

Too late. With a terrifying howl, the woman charged at her. Veronica tried to push her away and felt the blade slash her fingers. She raised her hands to cover her face as the woman screamed and lunged at her again. Then the blade was everywhere, tearing into her arm, her shoulder, her face. It flashed over her as she fell to the ground. With each stab, she screamed and begged the woman to stop. The pain was excruciating until suddenly, gratefully, she felt nothing.