Moments In Time: The Complete Novella Collection (13 page)

I didn’t only spend the night, but also most
of the next morning, and I helped out where I could.

In the evening, it was hard to convince
myself to return to my apartment. But I couldn’t stay at Oasis
indefinitely, and I needed to pack.

Before I could change my mind, I said
goodbye to my friends—both residents and staff—with a promise to
drop by in the morning to help out with breakfast.

Still smiling, I opened the door and a
sudden flash blinded me. I shut my eyes instinctually. When I
opened them again, more flashes burst from every side, so I
squinted and raised my hands to my face. A few heartbeats later, I
realized what was happening.

Reporters and news vans dotted the front
yard, and they were taking pictures and shouting questions I could
not make out over the commotion.

Nauseated and reeling, I stepped back into
the building and closed and bolted the door. I turned to find
Lynnette, Melisa, and a few residents staring at me with their
mouths open.

Some of the residents had their faces glued
to the window, observing the chaos outside.

“How did they know you were here?” one of
the volunteers asked.

“I don’t know.” All I did know was that I
was trapped. They wouldn’t leave until I talked to them. But what
could I say? I wouldn’t want to drag Nick’s reputation through the
mud any more than I already had. The best thing for me to do was
keep my mouth shut. But for how long? How long would I allow people
to think of me as something I wasn’t?

***

Fifteen minutes later, I was pacing the
cafeteria, barely able to breathe. My whole body warned me
something major was about to happen. “What do I do?” I said for the
tenth time.

“I think it’s time you stood up for
yourself. Tell the press what really happened. You don’t want
anyone to think you got away with murder,” Lynnette said
gently.

“But I’m not in prison.” My voice rose.
“Shouldn’t that tell people I must be innocent?” I wiped the tears
from my eyes with the back of my hand.

“You have no idea how many criminals walk
these streets. Many innocent people are in jail while the guilty
walk free,” said one of the residents.

“Carlene, you’re like a daughter to me, so I
won’t lie to you,” Lynnette said. “I honestly think this is the key
you need to move on. The sooner you face the world and set the
record straight, the sooner you can continue living your life.”

I nodded, but thinking about all the
reporters camped outside made me shiver. I hugged myself. “Maybe
you’re right.” And maybe this was my last chance to reveal the
truth to Nick—even from a distance.

I was guilty in the sense that I had pulled
the trigger, but I was innocent at heart. He had to understand
that.

“You don’t need to say much,” Melisa said,
patting my hand. “Just that you’re innocent. You have nothing to be
ashamed of.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek, then pulled Lynnette
aside and asked to borrow her cell phone.

While attempting to gather my courage, I
peered out the window, and to my surprise, I saw that some
residents had gone outside and were talking to the reporters.
Lynnette said they were trying to defend me, but I didn’t believe
that was all it was. Of course some just wanted to bask in the
spotlight. They wouldn’t be able to help me, anyway. Only I had the
power to do that. With every passing minute, my determination to
set the record straight strengthened.

I shrugged on my coat, grabbed my purse, and
stepped out the door.

The reporters mobbed me like a pack of
wolves and bombarded me with questions. There were at least twelve
or fifteen of them.

“Miss Adams, was the man you killed really
Nick Johnson’s brother?” a man wearing huge glasses asked.

“Why aren’t you in prison?” a woman to my
right chipped in.

“The police looked into the case and
gathered enough evidence to prove my innocence,” I said, wondering
if anyone heard me at all. I glanced at the Oasis windows to see
Melisa on the phone and Lynnette giving me a thumbs-up. I swallowed
and continued, my voice firm and controlled. “I’m not in prison,
because I’m not guilty of murder.”

“How can you prove your innocence if your
alibi can’t exonerate you because he is dead? You killed your
boyfriend’s brother, the man you apparently loved. You did pull the
trigger, didn’t you?”

The same words Nick had used before he’d
disappeared from my life. They stabbed the same raw spot in my
heart.

Stand up for yourself, Carlene
, I
told myself as fear gnawed at my confidence, but I had to get them
off my back once and for all. I lifted my head high, squared my
shoulders, and reached for one of the microphones being shoved at
me. I gazed into the throng of people, no longer caring about the
flashing lights. I had been so hesitant about telling Nick the
whole story because I didn’t want to taint the few memories he had
of his brother in the short time they had known each other. But
what other option did I have? Nick had to know.

Tightening my grasp on the microphone stem,
I cleared my throat. “I did love Chris,” I started, and an
unexpected hush fell over the crowd, “and would never have wanted
to harm him in any way. But he was not well. He suffered from a
manic-depressive disorder.” I swallowed hard. “The day he died was
the day he’d planned to die.” I paused, gathering my courage. “He
wanted to commit suicide…to shoot himself.” I squeezed my eyes shut
in an attempt to shut out the images of that day, but they played
behind my eyelids like a devastating movie.

Chris had been especially depressed on the
Saturday two weeks before his death. He’d tossed and turned the
night before, and when we went out for lunch, he’d only managed a
mouthful of spaghetti carbonara—his favorite dish.

“What’s wrong? Not hungry?”

“Not really,” he said.

I pushed my green salad aside. “Talk to me.”
My stomach twisted like it always did when he was hurting. I wanted
to reach down deep into his soul and fix whatever had been
broken.

“I dreamt of her.”

I leaned forward and placed a hand on top of
his. I knew who he was talking about, knew what was coming. We had
the same conversation at least once a month when he fell into his
dark place.

“The last time I had this dream was on my
fifteenth birthday, when my father came home drunk. I’d wished so
much for that day to be different. I wanted him to see that I was
there, that I needed him.”

“To see that you were hurting, too,” I
added. This was how it always went, him pouring out his heart and
me helping him empty it. Only for it to be filled again a few weeks
later.

He nodded and ran a hand over his head. He
always wore a buzz cut that made him look striking and a tiny bit
dangerous. The short hair electrified his bright eyes even
more.

“Did you take your meds?” I asked
cautiously.

His eyes darkened. “I’m tired of taking that
shit. I want to feel normal.”

“But, Chris—”

“Marianne, don’t push. I’m fine. I’ll get
over it.”

Yes, he would. Until it started all over
again.

In an attempt to raise Chris’s spirits, I
used up a lot of my savings and surprised him with a helicopter
ride I’d managed to get on a discount. His kind of thing. I’d been
saving up for it for a couple of months, and the surprise had been
meant for his birthday, in a couple of weeks. I was well aware
that, as usual, he’d be depressed afterward, but I wanted him to be
happy, even for a moment.

And he was.

Until the weekend after we landed.

I’d woken up early to go look for something
to eat. I hated to start the day without breakfast. But apart from
a bottle of water, our fridge was empty.

“Chris,” I called out, “I’m going out to get
breakfast. I’ll be right back.”

When I returned to the apartment, the place
was eerily cold. I shivered despite the warm weather.

I placed the eggs and milk in the fridge and
went to the bedroom. Everything looked the way it had when I’d
left—the crumpled sheets, the TV on mute, the half-closed curtains.
But Chris lay in bed, staring at me. His eyes were darker than
they’d ever been, but his face seemed relaxed; a tiny smile tipped
his lips.

“Hey, babe,” he said. “You’re back
already?”

“Yes. Why do you seem so weird? Are you
okay?” I stepped forward. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t put
my finger on it.

“Don’t,” he said firmly. “Don’t come
near.”

My stomach dropped. “Chris, what’s going
on?”

“I’ve come up with an idea. A way out of
this shit misery. I’m leaving.”

I frowned. “What do you mean? Where are you
going?”

A large grin spread across his face. “Where
nothing can touch me.”

I inched forward. “What are you saying,
Chris?”

“I love you, babe, but you can be so naïve
sometimes. I’m talking about death.”

“Chris, you’re not thinking of...” The words
stuck in my throat.

He nodded and grabbed the bottle of water
from the nightstand—the same one that had been in the fridge before
I left.

A wave of panic slammed into me, and I
rushed to the bed. “You didn’t take pills, did you?”

“Stop!” Chris warned, and I flinched. “Don’t
come near.”

I’d managed to reach the edge of the bed, so
I sank down on it, at his feet. “Chris, don’t talk like that.”

“It’s over, babe. I’m done with life.”

His words sent an involuntary shiver racing
through me. “Chris, don’t,” I pleaded.

“Don’t worry. I know I’ve been a burden
to you. You won’t say it, but you don’t need to. You deserve so
much better.”

“No.” I smothered a sob as I clutched his
feet under the covers. “You’re the only man I want. I don’t need
anyone else. You’re the love of my life, and it hurts me to hear
you say those things. I can’t live without—”

Before I could finish, he reached out and
pulled me up to him and under the covers. “I’ve never loved anybody
as much as I love you.” He kissed me hard on the lips. The warm
palms of his hands swept over my body as he undressed me, and I
melted under his touch.

In a flurry, we ripped each other’s clothes
off. He dug his fingers into my hair and kissed my lips, my neck,
and my face. “You’re all I ever want. I want you forever,” he
whispered in between kisses. “My heart belongs to you.”

“Then don’t leave me,” I said, grabbing his
arms. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

He flipped me onto my back, and I wrapped my
legs around his strong waist. “I never will, I promise. I never
will.” He pressed his lips firmly on mine as he parted my thighs
and sank himself into me. He let out a deep groan. “Gosh, I love
fucking you. I can’t get enough of you.” With his eyes closed and
his lips parted, he grabbed my butt and eased himself deeper.

With my eyes tightly shut, I moaned and
gyrated and swayed from side to side, allowing him to go deeper
inside me. He felt amazing. We had always had incredible chemistry;
we had sex every chance we got and almost anyplace we were alone.
The more we made love, the hornier we got for each other.

As he slid in and out of me, harder, deeper,
slower, then faster, my whole body quivered, and I neared the brink
of ecstasy.

His heart was pounding loudly against my
chest, and a ball of excitement rolled inside of me.

Chris halted his thrusting and kissed me
hard on the mouth, then he moved the kiss to my earlobe, nibbling
it gently as his fingers squeezed each of my nipples.

“Don’t…stop,” I begged, choking on my
words.

“I won’t.” His breath was fire on my skin.
“I never will. You’re so sexy.” Raising himself, he grabbed hold of
my thighs. “Look at me,” he said.

I opened my eyes and gazed into his. Our
gazes were firmly locked as he started moving again, picking up
pace with each thrust. His broad shoulders contracted and heaved as
we melted smoothly into each other, and the heat built until our
orgasms arrived at the same time, leaving us wrapped around each
other, drenched in sweat, heaving. We fell asleep, naked, in each
other’s arms.

I thought it was over, that our lovemaking
had erased any remnant thoughts of suicide in Chris’s mind.

But when I woke up two or three hours later,
I was alone in bed. I walked to the bathroom, where I found him
gazing into the mirror with the barrel of a pistol at his head, his
eyes wild and face pallid as if he were ill.

“Chris.” My heart leapt to my throat, and I
screamed as I lunged for him.

I tried to wrestle the gun from his hand.
“Leave me alone,” Chris said through clenched teeth, tightening his
grasp on the weapon. “Let me go.”

“No, I can’t.” Fear wrapped itself around my
neck and squeezed tight. “Chris, please.” My hands were sleek with
sweat and tears as I clutched at his fingers, forcing them to open
as I pushed the gun lower and away from his head.

“You can’t stop me,” Chris said, his voice
firm and determined, and then suddenly his grip on the gun loosened
and mine tightened.

As I yanked the gun away from him, he fell
forward as if he’d lost his balance and collapsed on top of me.

A gunshot rang out from the gun in my hand,
and black silence descended upon the room.

The police found the suicide note under his
pillow. His last letter to me.

Babe, I’m done with this damn world, but
I’ll never leave you. My heart is yours FOREVER. See you on the
other side. Goodbye.

***

“I didn’t want Chris to die.” I cried openly
now, my tears dripping onto the microphone. “I killed him trying to
save him.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the
sound of distant cars.

Then the reporter with glasses spoke. “Miss
Adams, do you think Nick Johnson will ever forgive you? Even if you
pulled the trigger by mistake, your hands are still stained with
his brother’s blood.”