Terminated (26 page)

Fifteen years earlier

B
lood poured out at a steady stream around the
knife blade. Gwen was transfixed by it. She felt the blade move inside her with every breath. She wanted to rip the knife out, but she kept a grip on her fear. The knife was a plug. If she yanked it out, she’d bleed to death. The knife was killing her, but at the same time, it was keeping her alive.

She spotted the phone on the dining table. She was a 911 call away from surviving this nightmare.

She tried to stand, but the knife in her stomach had robbed her of her ability to walk. She rolled onto her side to avoid impaling herself any further. She clawed at the mangy carpet and dug her heels in for traction. She slid forward, screaming, as the blade shifted in her stomach. She wanted to hold the knife in place when she moved, but she needed both hands to drag her useless body across the floor. Tears poured down her face as she bit back the pain.

Progress was slow. The carpet clung on to her like hundreds of tiny hooks, snagging her torn clothes. Twenty feet seemed an impossible distance. Her progress was counted in inches, not feet. She’d die here in this trailer all because she couldn’t drag her sorry ass twenty feet to a lifeline. It was
funny and infuriating. She channeled her fury and pulled herself along. The table came closer and closer into view.

“Thank you, God,” she said when she reached the table. She yanked on the phone cord and jerked the phone onto the floor. She didn’t bother with the handset. She just punched in 911. She picked up the phone expecting to hear the sweetest voice she’d ever heard and heard nothing. Parker’s phone wasn’t connected. The bastard didn’t keep up with his bill.

“Son of a bitch,” she screamed and tossed the useless phone away.

Not only had she wasted precious minutes and spilled more blood she couldn’t afford to lose, she was now twenty feet farther away from the door.

Her only hope was to stop a passing car. If twenty feet seemed like a transcontinental journey, dragging herself the hundred or so feet to the roadside was a voyage around the world.

She couldn’t give up.

She turned around and dragged her way back to the door. She stared out at the quiet roadway. Not a single car cut a hole in the night. She could haul herself out to the side of the road and it was possible no one would drive by until it was too late. It was cruel and incredible.

She couldn’t put her fate in luck’s hands. She had to bring people to her. She just needed something to do it. A grease-stained stove with a squat propane tank underneath sat across from her. Parker didn’t look like a guy who cooked much, and she realized that might just be enough to save her.

She pulled herself over to the stove and hauled herself onto her knees. The simple task forced a scream from her. She clung on to the stove and twisted all the knobs. The hiss of gas pouring from the burners had never sounded better, and the sickly stink of propane never smelled sweeter.

Parker’s pilot light must have been broken
because a gas lighter sat on top of the stove. Gwen grabbed it with the last of her strength and fell back. She hit the floor hard on her back and didn’t move for a minute. The knife rang a note through her body like a tuning fork.

Propane was filling the trailer. She rolled onto her side and hauled herself to the door. She pulled her body through the door and down the step, then leaned through the doorway and ignited the lighter. She touched the naked flame to the carpet and the walls and anything else that would burn. The cheap materials ignited. It didn’t take long for flames to spread. She dropped the lighter and dragged her limp body across the dirt and gravel toward the road. She ignored the sharp gravel cutting her palms and feet. She put the knife sticking out of her stomach out of her mind. These things couldn’t slow her down if she was to survive. She had to get to the road and away from the trailer.

“Come on, Gwen,” she snarled. “Keep going. Don’t give up. You’re nearly there.”

She ignored the fiery crackling coming from the trailer behind her and focused on the road ahead lit by the moon.

A car sped by. It didn’t see her. She was too far from the road, and the fire had yet to grow beyond a glow from within. It was heartbreaking to see the car speed into the night, but it didn’t matter. There’d be others. She truly believed that. She had to.

She was less than ten yards from the roadside when the flames ignited the propane. The resulting explosion wasn’t spectacular, but it made its presence felt. It blew the trailer’s windows and door out, and the concussive boom carried across the flat fields. Gwen felt it wash over her. Anyone within a mile radius would have heard it, and with their inquisitiveness piqued, they would see orange flames climbing into the night’s sky.

Gwen turned back to watch the blaze. Her work was done. She rolled onto her back and waited for someone to find her.

The present

Gwen drove to San Quentin aware that she held
all the power. She could liberate or bury Parker. She might have made a bargain with him, but she could go back on it. If Parker balked, he had nothing on her. It was nice to have the power over someone, but it wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed. It reminded her too much of the power Tarbell had over her, and in no way did she want to be anything like him. But she knew that in order to stop him, she’d have to act like him. She’d spent hours next to Paul’s comatose body thinking about this moment and its consequences. Yes, this one act would change her forever, but it had to be done. Tarbell had ruined her. She had two options, succumb or overcome. Given Paul’s condition, she knew which one she had to choose. Surrender wasn’t an option. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair. Paul would need a lot of care and attention, and Kirsten had her whole life ahead of her. When it came to Parker, Gwen had the power. And she was going to use it.

She parked in the visitors’ lot and checked in at the security gate. Jerry Naylor wasn’t there waiting for her, but she received the VIP treatment. A corrections officer walked her to the room where the parole hearing would be taking place. On the way, the officer chatted about the weather and whether Gwen had any weekend plans. Gwen didn’t get the feeling that the officer was trying to plaster over the obvious difficulty of the situation, just that she was eager to chat about something that had nothing to do with life in a prison.

The officer told Gwen to wait outside the meeting room while she went in search of Naylor. He emerged from the meeting room with a polite smile and a sidekick. He introduced the sidekick as an assistant DA who’d be speaking on behalf of Yolo County.

“I’m glad you came today,” he said, shaking Gwen’s hand. “I know this isn’t easy, but it’s for the best.”

Naylor’s sincerity irritated Gwen. There was no falseness about his remarks, but he was the guardian of a faulted system. Justice didn’t count. The legal system was about
bartering—getting the best possible deal for society instead of the right one. She knew how bitter her thoughts were, but it was hard to be forgiving, all things considered.

Naylor ran through the day’s events. The parole board would hear from Parker, examine his prison history, and discuss his parole plans. Then they would hear objections and ask Gwen her feelings about Parker’s potential release. Proceedings would start at the top of the hour.

“Can I get you coffee or anything?” Naylor asked. “It’s pretty good, considering this is a prison.”

Gwen shook her head.

When the time came, he guided her into the room and to a seat, as if she didn’t know how to do these things herself. The room was set up like a boardroom with a single table where all parties sat. She, Naylor, and his assistant DA sat across from the two-person parole board. Parker’s lawyer sat alongside Naylor. A tape recorder sat on the table to record every word uttered.

When everyone was comfortable, a corrections officer led Parker in. He was in his prison blues and uncuffed. He shook hands with his lawyer and took a seat. The officer sat behind Parker. The inmate made eye contact with the parole board, Naylor, and Gwen, albeit briefly. Gwen wondered if his choice to avoid eye contact with her was a nice piece of acting or a fear that he might give away their agreement. Either way, it proved that he was the right man for the job.

The chairman for the parole board kicked things off. After calling the proceedings to order, he, along with his partner, quizzed Parker. They discussed his crime and his feelings about what he’d done. Gwen tensed as she heard the dispassionate way they discussed the crimes committed upon her. It was a relief when they turned to Parker’s prison history and his plans if released. The inevitable questions came. Was he sorry? Would he be a rehabilitated member of society if released? The questions sounded trite and childish. She paraphrased in her
head.
So, Mr. Bad Man, are you sorry for attempting to rape and kill this woman?
Parker didn’t seem to mind and jumped through all the hoops. It was his opportunity to show contrition and win the hearts of the parole board.

Parker sat up in his seat. “I wish I could say my crime that put me here was a one-time event, but it wasn’t. I wasn’t a good person. I used threats and violence to get my way and it put me here. Fifteen years is a long time to live with the errors I’ve made. I can’t undo what I’ve done, but if I’m paroled, I won’t be falling into my old ways. I want to do something new with my life. Prison has taught me what’s important, and forcing my will on people isn’t it. I have some goals and ambitions I want to achieve, and I hope you decide to give me the chance to do that.

“I’m glad Mrs. Farris is here today.” Parker turned to face Gwen. “I know ‘sorry’ doesn’t come anywhere near to making up for what I did to you, but I am truly sorry. I’m not after your forgiveness, because I don’t deserve it, but please accept my apology.”

Parker’s gaze was intense and unflinching. Gwen didn’t flinch either. She examined his stare for some hidden reference to their pact but saw nothing. Parker was not a novice when it came to lying and crime. He knew better than to share some private message with his eyes or his voice that could be noticed by others. Parker waited for her acceptance of his apology, but he turned away when she said nothing.

The chairman turned to Naylor’s assistant DA for comment. He made an impassioned appeal to keep Parker incarcerated. His crime had been heinous and, despite his rehabilitation, the fifteen years served paled against the crimes he’d been convicted of. Gwen’s stomach ached, and she shut out the man’s statement.

When the assistant DA was finished, the chairman turned to Gwen. She was glad to be sitting. She wasn’t sure she could have stood up without fainting. She interlaced her fingers to make a tight fist. To them, she must look like a frightened woman coming face-to-face with the man who’d left her to die. Only Parker knew different.

From the corner of her
eye, she felt the heat of Naylor’s gaze willing her to stick it to Parker. At the same time, she felt Parker’s cool gaze on her, still wondering if she was going to be true to her word. A similar question passed through her mind. Then she thought of Paul, still lying in a hospital bed in a coma while Tarbell circled, waiting to pick off Kirsten, then her. She needed someone like Parker to do what Private Security International and the legal system wouldn’t do.

“How do you feel about Mr. Parker receiving parole?” the chairman asked.

This was it. This was where she could be true to herself or give in to her needs. It was time to decide.

“I won’t lie,” she said. “I had hoped this day would never come. I don’t think it’s right or fair that Desmond Parker be released for his crimes against me.”

She felt Naylor’s approval radiate toward her. She felt nothing from Parker’s end of the table.

“Don’t you believe in rehabilitation?” the cochair asked.

“Don’t you believe in the protection of victims?”

It was a gunshot-fast remark that shook the chairman’s composure. She guessed she’d just painted herself as a hostile personality and her remark probably played in Parker’s favor and not Naylor’s.

“So, you would be upset if Mr. Parker was granted parole?”

“No.”

Naylor gasped. Gwen didn’t look at him.

“No?” the chairman said.

“Ten years ago, to know that Desmond Parker would be released would have done more than upset me. The man shoved a knife in my stomach and left me for dead. I had to drag myself forty yards across grass and dirt to the side of the road with a knife in my stomach. It’s something you don’t forgive in a hurry.”

It was a remark that silenced the chairman again.

“That was ten years ago,” Gwen said. “Ten years ago, I couldn’t see this day. Physically, I was
healing. Mentally, I was struggling. Today, it’s not like that. I have a wonderful husband. He’s truly a kind and gentle man. We have a child together who’ll be going to kindergarten next year. I worked hard in my career and it has taken off. All in all, my life is good.”

Gwen was talking about a time before Tarbell. Her life was in tatters now. It had all crumbled in a matter of weeks. Still, she could remember that life and imagine returning to it once more. Was she optimistic or delusional? She didn’t think so. Parker had come close to robbing her of everything she held dear, but he’d failed and she’d moved on. She could and would do the same thing again.

“Ten years ago, I saw no life ahead of me, but one found me. Desmond Parker deserved to be punished for what he did, and he has been punished, both by the legal system and by his own guilt. I can’t say I’ll be ecstatic if Mr. Parker is granted parole, but I won’t be upset. He is a man who tried to kill me and failed. He’s a part of my past, not my present or my future. I love my life and my family. Desmond Parker has nothing to do with it. He has his life, and I have mine.”

“So you wouldn’t be upset if you encountered Mr. Parker in the course of your daily life?” the chairman asked.

“He’d be just another face in the crowd. Don’t get me wrong, I have no desire to be friends. I just want to continue with my life as I’m sure Mr. Parker wishes to continue with his. His parole isn’t my decision. It’s yours. It’s your conscience you have to live with. Not mine.”