Convicted (69 page)

I remember hearing voices and chaos coming from all directions. I couldn’t see them, and I really couldn’t hear their words. My attention volleyed between the flames and Catherine’s gun; however, other scenes filled my memories. Is this what happens when you face death? I’ve heard your entire life passes before your eyes. Maybe that was what was happening. I knew at that moment death was imminent.

Could that be the answer for the last two years? Was my break with reality—as the doctors call it—my self-imposed death? After what I did, it’d make sense. After all, I’ve learned actions have consequences.

In those few seconds—that took a lifetime—I remembered scenes of surrender and desperation. All the memories I’d successfully compartmentalized away instantaneously proclaimed their presence, only to fade into the gray smoke. With Nichol still in my arms, I took a step back and rubbed my burning eyes. Still there were other scenes playing out before me. They weren’t of oppression or vengeance—no, in those last seconds, I remembered true love and affection. I prayed those scenes would prevail; however, when I closed my eyes they too disappeared into the growing haze and mayhem.

I knew that I couldn’t fall down and surrender to the fire or Catherine’s gun. I’d surrendered too many times, yet I knew no matter what choice I made, our lives would never be the same. I just didn’t realize the magnitude of that realization.

For once, with not only my life at stake, but those of my daughter and husband, I chose to face the reality. With soot covering my face and those around me, I stood tall and saw the horror in Tony’s eyes. I couldn’t surrender—I couldn’t give into emotion, not yet. In my heart, I knew there were cards yet to see—the game wasn’t over—I knew the rules—and I wouldn’t disappoint.

Claire wiped the tears from her eyes. She hadn’t been aware that she was crying until the large droplets of moisture hit the ink on her paper, causing her words to bleed.

She looked at the clock. Meredith would be there in less than ten minutes. She should stop writing, yet the memories were too clear. Claire needed to finish the story—

Nichol’s cries cut through the cold water that fell from the ceiling. Tony was yelling—telling me to get her out of the house. If only I’d listened. Of all the times I’d obeyed him, ironically, this was when I chose to exert my independence.

I’ve asked myself why, and I’ve seen the answer in my nightmares. It was the look in Catherine’s eyes as she was saying Nichol’s name. That look haunts me to this day.

Everything happened so fast. Tony knocked the gun away from Catherine. He told me to pick it up, so I did. Catherine rushed toward me and, oh God—I can’t keep writing. If I write it—it’s real.

Closing the notebook, Claire placed it in a drawer, went to the bathroom, and washed her face. She didn’t want Meredith to find her in this state. When she returned to her quiet room, Claire looked around at all the new items: the colorful throw pillows, the new bedspread, and the pictures on her dresser. It broke her heart to see Nichol’s big brown eyes. They looked so much like her father’s.

Slowly, she walked to the dresser and opened the drawer. The end of their story was quite simple. It could be summed up by writing only a few more sentences—

As I retrieved the gun from the floor, Catherine stole Nichol from my grasp. When she did, Tony was there! He fought for our daughter. I saw the panic in his eyes when he noticed that I had the gun. I don’t think I meant to pull the trigger. I remember shaking. I don’t know if it was the cold water or fear, but when I heard Phil’s voice and felt pressure on my shoulders, I flinched, and I pulled the trigger.

Claire heard the sound of her door opening. Squaring her shoulders, she finished their story—

The sound was deafening. In that moment, I watched them all fall and knew, without a doubt, I’d shot the love of my life—I’d killed Anthony Rawlings.

Stoically, she placed the notebook back in the drawer. If Meredith noticed Claire’s red eyes, she didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, she did what she’d been doing since before Claire could remember, she chatted as Claire ate her dinner.

Later, when they stepped outside into the early evening, the air was still comfortably warm. Unfortunately, the nights were descending faster by a few minutes each passing day. The setting sun returned the cool crisp chill to the October breeze. Although this was only Courtney’s third visit since Meredith had brought them together, Claire constantly feared raising questions if they stayed out too late. She hated that the twilight dictated the length of their visits. It wasn’t like she wanted to lie to Emily or to anyone. She’d repeatedly asked Emily to allow more visitors. Emily always had a reason to deny her request—according to her sister the time was never right.

During Courtney’s first visit, she and Claire mostly hugged and cried. The emotion was too raw and intense to discuss Claire’s condition or the reason for her
break with reality
. On the second visit, they concentrated on Nichol. Courtney told stories, saying that she’d visited and been in contact with Claire’s daughter ever since Emily started caring for her. She reminded Claire, “How could Aunt Courtney stay away from Nichol Courtney?”

It wasn’t like Claire had forgot Nichol’s middle name or the person she and Tony wanted to honor—well, maybe she had momentarily forgotten—but hearing Courtney’s pride and seeing the adoration in her bright blue eyes, Claire knew that she and Tony were right to name Nichol after their good friend.

Claire believed this visit would be different. She knew what she wanted to discuss—what she needed to say—aloud. It had taken some time and reflection, but the therapists were right. The journaling helped take her along her own safe, personal journey.

The walk to and from the clearing, as well as the impending nightfall, only allowed Claire and Courtney thirty to forty minutes of together time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—
to Claire, that was a lot!

Claire couldn’t thank Meredith enough.

As they approached the small clearing, Claire fell into silent reflection. Her mind swirled; she worked desperately to control her thoughts, wanting to phrase them correctly, in a way her friends would understand. Perhaps Emily wasn’t ready to believe Claire was better—maybe the doctors and therapists weren’t convinced she was beyond relapse—but Claire wanted her friends to know—she’d come to terms with her past and was ready to move on to her future.

Once their greetings were said and the three ladies sat on the blanket that Courtney brought, Claire began her story, “I want to thank you both for believing in me.” Claire reached for Meredith’s hand. “So many years ago, when we pledged sisterhood, I don’t think either of us had any idea where it would take us. I know that I wouldn’t be here without your help.”

Meredith smiled.

Claire reached for Courtney. “I can’t imagine anyone else standing by me like you’ve done. Who would’ve thought, when Tony took me to your house so many years ago, we’d end up here? You’ve had many opportunities to walk away from me and all the drama, but you never have, thank you!”

Claire sat straighter. “Courtney, I told Meredith I wanted to see you to learn what happened at the estate. Recently, I’ve been writing things down and working them out. I don’t need you to tell me...I remember”—bravely, she fought the emotion and pushed it back down—“I know why there’re rules about Tony, mentioning his name, or acknowledging that he existed. The thing is”—she inhaled and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand—“I’m tired of people acting like I can’t handle the truth...I remember shooting him—I know—I know that I killed him.”

Courtney and Meredith looked at one another, their expressions ones of confusion and disbelief. When they started to speak, Claire spoke over them, “You don’t have to pretend. I remember the gun, the deafening sound as I pulled the trigger.” Claire stammered, “I—I remember him falling, Catherine falling, and Nichol—thank God she wasn’t hurt. I don’t think I could live with myself if I...” Her voice momentarily trailed away.

Regaining her composure, she said, “I was so happy to hear she was all right. I don’t understand where I was for so long, or how I got there. Maybe I
was
crazy? Sometimes I wonder if it’s craziness to deal with real life—day after day—or if it’s crazy to want to live in the good times”—she smiled through her tears—“I want the two of you to know that there were good times! The man I married—
the second time
”—she added. “We had something I’ll never forget. Emily and the doctors may think I should forget and move on, but I’ll never forget. The thing is—I’m ready to move on.”

Meredith interjected, “Claire, oh my God, if I thought that was what you thought—I’m so sorry.”

Courtney squeezed Claire’s hand. “Honey, Tony isn’t dead! You didn’t shoot him. You shot Catherine!”

Happiness erupted throughout her entire being, only to be immediately replaced by a heaviness that filled Claire’s chest—she fought the thoughts and memories. Suddenly, the numbers were back—counting dominated her thoughts—
three, four, five, six—
Pushing everything away, stopping the lineation of numbers, she asked, “If he’s alive, why hasn’t he been here? Doesn’t he want to see me? Is it Emily or is it
him
?”

Courtney reached out and grasped Claire’s shoulders. “No! He wants to see you. Claire, he’s in prison. He can’t get here.” Giving her a reassuring hug, Courtney softened her voice and added, “I saw him recently, he wants to see you very much—I promise.”

Prison—
Claire tried desperately to recall their conversations. She pushed forward, “Why? I thought the FBI was going to make him a deal...is it because of Simon—because Tony hired someone to sabotage his plane?”

This was all new territory for Meredith—she couldn’t answer Claire’s questions if she wanted; however, Courtney could. She knew what Claire needed to learn.

“No!” Courtney looked to Meredith. “I don’t know what to do. Can she handle this?”

Claire’s eyes sharpened, the days of treating her with kid-gloves were over, she replied, “Hello, I’m right here. Yes, I can handle this—I need to know. I need to know what happened.”

Courtney shrugged. “Tony was upset that Simon approached you in Chicago.”

Claire nodded.

“He was so upset that he contacted someone to arrange for an airplane malfunction.”

None of this was news. “He told me. That’s illegal.”

“It is.” Courtney continued, “However, that wasn’t how Simon died. Tony’s connection, the man who was supposed to arrange the malfunction, took his money, but he didn’t complete Tony’s request.”

Claire tried to reason. “But Simon’s plane crashed...”

“Simon’s plane crashed because Simon fell asleep. His body was so badly burned they had very little evidence. It was your friend Harry. He was the one who put it all together. Ask yourself, who benefited from Simon’s death?”

Claire contemplated and finally answered, “I don’t know—all I can think of is Amber, but she—”

Courtney interrupted, “Yes! The way I understand it, she was upset. Things had been rocky in their relationship and Simon was obsessed with you. He’d gone to see you on multiple occasions. Apparently, Amber wasn’t happy. She knew he’d planned to leave a great deal of money to her, and she hoped she could convince the board of directors to follow through on Simon’s lead and allow her to run the company—he also left her the majority of the stock in SiJo, so she arranged for an overdose of antihistamines prior to his flight. Actually, the amount she arranged for him to ingest wasn’t too much for most people, but apparently, Simon had sensitivity to that kind of medication. It caused him to fall asleep while flying the plane.”

Claire tried to follow. “Amber? No, that can’t be true.”

“It is,” Courtney replied. “When you contacted her from prison and told her your theories, she decided it was a great way to deflect any suspicion away from her. She told her brother, Harry—who happened to be Agent Harrison Baldwin—and the FBI became involved. There were lingering concerns about your grandfather’s death and some other cases which led to Anton Rawls. When Amber talked to the FBI, they saw it as the perfect storm. By utilizing Harry—having him get to know you, they assumed they’d learn more about Tony.”

Claire shut her eyes and tried to concentrate. Finally, she asked, “So, Tony
didn’t
kill Simon? Amber did?”

“That’s right, and last I heard, she’d been convicted and is still in prison.”

Meredith shook her head and mumbled, “This is unreal! You can’t make this shit up!”

Courtney’s blue eyes sent piercing stares toward Meredith. “Remember what I said!” Courtney’s voice no longer held the reassuring tone she’d used with Claire.

Meredith responded with a simple nod of her head.

After a moment of deliberation, Claire said, “Oh, my God—poor Harry. He had to build a case against his sister?”

“I don’t know much about him. I think I heard he retired from the FBI, but honestly, I don’t know.”

Claire sat silently and contemplated, she couldn’t even think about her grandfather. Her thoughts centered on her husband. Finally, she asked, “So why is Tony in prison?”

Courtney exhaled, “I hope to God I’m not telling you anything new. He confessed to everything.”

Wide eyed, Claire repeated, “
Everything
?”

“He admitted to hurting you, kidnapping you...” Courtney looked toward Meredith. “He admitted that everything in
her
book was true. He also admitted to having knowledge regarding other incidents—some people who went for a hike and never came back—and John’s legal issues.” Courtney squeezed Claire’s hand, “He admitted publicly to everything. He didn’t want it to be dragged out in a lengthy legal battle. He asked to do his time and pay for his sins.”

Claire sat silently for a minute and tried to comprehend this new information. After a moment, she asked, “The FBI, they knew most of this before we returned to the states. They said Tony would receive preferential treatment for his help with Catherine. Did he get it?”