Motion to Suppress (17 page)

"Relax, my dear, you are safe, tell me what you are seeing, what makes you cry...."

" ’I’m taking her, Barbara. I’ll keep my daughter....’ "

"That’s it, go ahead and tell me, Michelle," said the doctor.

" ’You can’t have her! No matter what I’ve done! I won’t let you!’ but Daddy pulls me away, and I am screaming, pointing Mommy’s car key—’Don’t hurt her!’—Daddy and Mommy pull on me, smelling Daddy’s sweat, the alcohol....

" ’Daddy! Daddy!’ " A cry sadder than tears spilled out.
" ’Oh, Mommy, I can’t breathe.’ Mommy screams! And
Daddy ...!"

"And now you are forgetting again, the memory is growing dim, at the count of three you will be calm and peaceful again, One! Two! Three!"

Dr. Cervenka was talking to her, and she felt relaxed, a little sleepy....

"Nod your head if you can hear me. Good. Your eyes are still so heavy, and you are so deeply asleep, but you can hear me, and you want to answer my questions. Nod your head yes, good girl...."

She was nodding her head....

And the doctor said, "All right now, Michelle, you’re doing very well. Let’s talk about the night Anthony disappeared. Would you like to do that?"

Michelle’s head nodded slightly as she flowed through her memories to that night. There she was, bumping up into the driveway, snowflakes glimmering in the headlights.

"How do you feel when you see Anthony?"

"I’m hoping he’s asleep. But he’s been waiting up."

"Tell me, how do you feel?"

"I’m real worried. He’s mad about something. He wants to make love to me. Oh, and I’m angry, too, because he’s making me quit my therapy, but I don’t show it. I’ve been thinking about leaving him but I don’t say anything to get him going, I just want to ride the night out. He wants me to drink with him, and I do because it makes everything not so shitty. He’s smiling and he lets me see him. Erect. You know." She could hear her voice. She sounded dead.

"He grabs me. He rubs his cheek against me and it’s rough. I can smell him. Then he tries to pick me up, talking dirty. He’s really strong, but my right arm is still free. I’m scareder than usual, and I don’t know why. The way his arms are locked around me ... I feel so trapped. I just want to break free. One hand is out, so I wave it around and grab what it touches. I swing up and hit him in the head. He slumps and lets go of me, so I hop down and get him onto the couch. He’s bleeding and his eyes are closed. I’m shaking him, calling to him."

"How do you feel now?"

"I knew I would do something like this someday ... something evil. Like a bad fortune," Michelle said, her eyes still open, downcast. "Oh, I get it."

"What do you get?"

"Why there’s no escape for me. I—"

"Go ahead, Michelle."

"Hurt people.

"I go looking for the phone," she continued after a pause.

"Is he unconscious?"

"I don’t think so. I hear a noise. I run back."

"And then?"

"I’m in black now. Am I dead?"

"No, you are leaving that room. Listen. You are very safe, very calm." She heard the doctor speak. It pulled her away from the room. She was panting. Her eyes were closed again.

"You are relaxing deeply, deeply," Doctor Cervenka said, but it wasn’t true, her body was still and warm, but a terrible emotion was overwhelming her, traveling from her past to her present, filling her with pain. She couldn’t move or cry out, she was paralyzed by the awful feeling. This was the feeling that made her want to die.

The doctor didn’t know. "Good," he said. "If you feel comfortable and calm, you can tell me a little more about what happened after you came back into the living room."

Shame. She was so ashamed.

She started to cry. She was realizing how she had hurt Anthony. He had loved her.

He had been right about her. She was a slut. Years of shame and guilt oozed out of her.

"Tell me about it."

"I killed him," she said.

The doctor didn’t say anything. She could hear him turn the pages of his notebook. Finally he said, "Was Anthony waking up? Were you afraid?"

"No."

"What else do you want to tell me?" he said, very quietly.

"That’s it. That’s what happened," she said. Her eyes were open, her body was still, silent, sleeping. Self-hatred burned within her.

"What are you feeling now, Michelle?"

"Hate," she said.

"Then what happened?"

"Nothing. I went to bed."

He snapped his fingers. "Come back, Michelle."

"I don’t remember the session," Michelle said to Nina as they turned onto the Bay Bridge eastbound for Tahoe. "I never remembered my sessions with Dr. Greenspan either."

She didn’t know what to say with Nina so silent.

"Hypnosis still isn’t very well understood," Nina said. "The mind is tricky. Bruno is going to listen to the tape again and call me later."

"What I said on the tape, that stuff about Anthony? How I killed him? How can I believe that? Even now, in the car, I can’t remember hitting him the second time. Everywhere I look inside I can’t find that place where I believe I killed him, but that’s the way it came out, isn’t it? You probably think I’ve been lying to you or something. Believe me, Nina. I’ve never lied to you."

"You sure have confused the hell out of me." The lawyer put on her sunglasses as they merged onto the Berkeley freeway. Michelle had been shading her eyes to protect her big headache.

"But I do see now that somewhere way down deep I do remember my past, all of it. Something happened—but it makes no sense. I’ve never seen my parents fight. I’ve never seen my father drink. He’s Dad, not Daddy."

"Maybe he reformed and you grew up. I’m just a lawyer, Misty ... Michelle. I guess we should talk about your legal options."

Nina sounded so defeated.

They were embroiled in rush-hour gridlock on Interstate 80. In the BMW on the left a man was talking on the phone. Past him, Michelle could look across the sea of cars to the mudflats of the bay, decorated with whimsical contraptions made of driftwood.

"My head’s cracking open, Nina. I have to rest for a few minutes. "

When Michelle woke up her headache was gone. They were climbing the long hill east of Sacramento that marks the beginning of the Sierra. Sunset drew fiery stripes in the rearview mirrors. Nina probed a blue bag on the floor, unearthing some water and crackers. For a time neither woman spoke.

Finally Michelle was ready. "What do you think I should do?" she asked.

"I’ve been thinking about that. We have an offer from Collier Hallowell of voluntary manslaughter. Normally, you’d have to go to the women’s prison for several years. I think we should agree to the plea bargain and try to get you into a psychiatric facility instead. You can get some therapy there."

"Maybe if we keep investigating—"

"Oh, Michelle. Let’s not waste your money," Nina said. "Might as well hunt for grizzlies."

"I’m going to be locked up and tranked up and be known for the rest of my life as a murderer. Hearing that tape of my voice, saying I killed him ... I can’t believe my own mouth." She hit her hand against the side of her head. "I said it; I heard it, but I do not believe it."

Nina patted her hand.

"Time to move on to the next incarnation. I’ve wrecked this one," Michelle said, her voice trembling.

"It’s a few years, Michelle. You are very young. You can come out of this and start over, stronger."

"I’m done with living in cells, Nina."

Sometime later, Michelle told Nina she needed to get something at the store. Nina stopped at the Apple Hill turn-off, and along with the thing she needed, Michelle picked up a fifth of Jim Beam, not wanting the sweetness of her usual choice. Her mood had changed. She figured she could stay drunk for a month and never feel a thing. Nina recognized the shape of the bag when she got back in.

"Why don’t you skip it?"

"Why don’t you give me a fucking break?"

"You need to make arrangements to get back to Fresno, Michelle. You can’t stay at the Lucky Chip, not after what you told me."

"Think it was that cabdriver? Or a buddy he told about me? I must’ve struck him as a desperate woman. What did he think? He could just creep in and introduce himself?" She laughed a little. "Maybe he could’ve another time. Anyway, I scared him so bad he’s not coming back."

"Look, if you’re having a hard time going home, my sister-in-law, Andrea, runs a women’s shelter here in town. Maybe your father would go for that. I told her about you—"

"Warned her about me, huh?"

"It might be a ... refuge for you. Women and children with family problems stay there."

"I don’t think so."

Nina looked at Michelle. She said, "You don’t have to go there alone. I’ll take you over. It’s a room in a house just off Regan Beach. It’s private and safe. Andrea is a counselor who would like to help you."

"Okay," Michelle decided suddenly. "I’ll stay there for a few days at least. Here’s to muddy waters." She opened the bottle and took a long drink, which was a mistake because it stung going down. Here she was, doing to Nina the same kind of BS she used to do to the folks. What was strange about this bad behavior was that, even while she was doing it, she hated herself, and that made her want to do it more. She should have laid that one on Dr. Greenspan while she had the chance.

Nina pulled the Bronco over and said, "When you’re finished, I’ll put the bottle in the trunk and we can get going again. "

Michelle took another drink she didn’t want before she handed it over.

As they came around the turn to the Twin Bridges cliffs the moon was rising. On the left Nina could see a sketching of immense granite boulders, and below, to the right, a void. The road here pitched them back and forth like a pendulum.

Some time passed before they both became aware of a car following. It had lingered behind for a long time and now it moved closer to the rear bumper.

Nina, sticking close to the speed limit, still had to slow to make the curves on the otherwise empty road.

The car behind flicked its lights.

"Another damn fool with a death wish. Where does he think I can turn off? This isn’t San Francisco, Joe," she said. "Cool your jets." She slowed down.

The car dropped back a little, but Nina was uneasy. Maybe we should find a place to stop, she thought about saying. Before she could speak, the Bronco, rammed from behind, shot out of control. Her hand blew off the wheel with the shock of impact, in a bone-shaking rear-end collision that caromed them toward the cliff edge on the right.

Nina slammed her foot on the brake. The wheels froze, skidding along a black rubber trail.

She tried a quick correction, pumping gently on the pedal and steering into the swerve, wrestling to regain control, and praying out loud to every god she could remember. Well into a spin already, she hadn’t moved quickly enough. She heard Michelle’s cry as the Bronco leaped for the cliff, teetered there for a long moment, then fell forward into the sky.

They flipped into a long, silent somersault.

On the first big crash, upside down, Michelle jackknifed between the seats. Metal crunched. Nina shouted curses and imprecations between Michelle’s high shrieks.

After the first surprise of falling, and the first crunching slam, Nina recognized the middle of her own death. In that instant, she bowed to the power of her terrible fear.

In the air again, they flew upside down, no pain yet. Oh, God, please let there be no pain....

In another cracking bounce, metal squeezed and folded. They landed upside down again, the ceiling squashing to touch the tops of their heads.

No blood spurting. No terrible agony. Nina whispered, "Misty?" No answer.

The Bronco slid.

Sliding, bumping swiftly down the hill, the car traveled about forty feet until, to the blaring of a stuck horn, it slammed into a giant oak tree, movement halted, leaving the two women hanging sideways in their seat belts.

"Nobody move," Nina said. "Are you alive?" She had to shout above the horn’s blare.

"I’m here," Michelle said weakly. She started wriggling out from between the seats.

Nina began to talk then, jabbering about the sleazeball who tried to run them off the road, her last wishes for her son, her thoughts about heaven, reincarnation, and dying, blasts at Detroit cheapskates and the antilock brake option she didn’t have, her fear of fire, finally slowing down, exhausted, about two long minutes later. She felt around for Michelle’s hand, squeezing hard. Then they both talked, simultaneously and incoherently.

And in the middle of that bedlam of the horn and their voices, the Bronco gave a final shudder, unstuck itself, and skied down the mountain on Michelle’s door like a sled on a snowy hill. Down they slipped, screaming, past the shapes of trees, over low brush and rocky hillocks until a final thump stopped the horn and made Nina clamp down her teeth, drawing blood on the inside of her mouth. Nina opened her car door, climbing out, then sat on the back door and helped Michelle out of wreckage pocked like a fallen meteor.

They couldn’t make it up the steep slope with the Bronco wedged above them, so they climbed down to a narrow ledge, eyeing the continuation of the cliff, imagining the rest of the long fall. The Bronco angled above them against a pitiful little tree, about twenty feet tall, growing on the ledge. Who would have believed that precarious, skinny tree could grow so strong! Nina stood beside Michelle, holding her arms around herself. All of a sudden, the violence arrested, there was no sound at all.

They both looked up. They were a few hundred feet below the summit of a mountain where the road ran between even higher peaks. Nina looked through big eyes at Michelle with her finger to her lips, trembling violently.

Then the quiet cracked as the small tree gave way to the enormous weight of the Bronco.

They scrambled along the ledge like goats, but the Bronco was directly above them, and as it roared by, Misty’s skirt was caught by the broken side mirror.

Nina turned to her, grabbed her by her long Scandinavian hair as the girl fell, held on as she had never held anything, her back braced against the rock wall, her other arm locked around an outcropping. The arm that held Misty felt like it was dislocating, and she grunted with pain, but the Bronco was way below them now and she still held that hair, and Michelle hollered at her to let go, but her hand wouldn’t open right away.