Set Free (18 page)

“Do you believe your daughter is still alive?”

“I do,” Jaspar announced without hesitation.

“Of course she is,” Jenn forcefully agreed, frowning at the other woman as if to say: why the hell are you asking?

“I do too.” Katie’s words, without a hint of insincerity, instantly diffused the mounting awkwardness. “Jaspar, I wonder if you would tell us a little about the part in your book where you describe spending time with Mikki, while you were still being held in the rectangle.”

A tremulous sigh escaped his lips. He nodded. But no words came out. Jaspar felt Jenn’s hand land on his. He felt warmth, reassurance and—worst of all—trust.

“Are you alright?” Katie asked, laying her own hand on his free one, a striking pose the cameras were quick to hone in on. Before the moment was over, a screen shot of the devastated author, the two most important women in his life comforting him, all three faces etched in shared grief, began causing a sensation on social media.

Jaspar nodded. Simultaneously, the two women released their holds as he leaned forward to reach for a glass of water. He took two careful sips. When he was done, he began.

“She was never the same, on the nights she came to me,” he recalled. “Sometimes she was exactly the girl I last saw. Grown up, a teenager, her hair carefully styled, her clothes perfect, wearing too much shiny lip gloss because we weren’t letting her use makeup yet. Other times she was only a little girl, with pigtails that never kept their curl, and ice cream stains on her dress. Sometimes she was a baby, impossibly little, helpless, couldn’t even talk yet. She would lay in my arms and gurgle and coo.”

“You’re talking about when you went to sleep every night, atop the pedestal? That’s where Mikki would visit you?”

“Yes,” Jaspar agreed, suddenly very aware of the audience on the other side of the question. “On the pedestal.”

“You talk a lot about the pedestal in the book. I have a vivid image of what it must have looked like.”

This time Jaspar didn’t need further urging. “It was in the middle of the rectangle,” he told her. “I don’t know why it was there. I suppose it might have been some kind of support column, when there was an actual roof. It became a habit. Every night I’d crawl on top of it, to be as close to the outside world as possible. It’s where I’d go to sleep. And every night, Mikki would…every night I’d
imagine
Mikki would visit me. Just like when she was a little girl. We’d curl up and I’d tell her a bedtime story.”

“Is that what happened, when she’d join you on top of the pedestal: you’d tell her a story?”

“Sometimes.”

“What else would you talk about?” Katie urged, wanting to go beyond what the book described.

“Sometimes we talked about everyday things. Sometimes we talked about what was happening…what had happened.”

“To you, or to her?”

The unexpected clatter of keys falling to the floor was immeasurably louder than it should have been, reverberating through the room with startling intensity. They’d somehow ended up back in Jaspar’s hands and now he’d dropped them. The jarring sound put everyone on edge, as if a bolt of lightning had cracked across their heads, highlighting the escalating tension in the room. No one bothered to pick them up.

“Both,” he responded, as if further explanation was unnecessary.

“Did you talk about the eerie similarity between what happened to her and what was happening to you?”

“Yes.”

“I know one of the most grueling parts about what happened to Mikki was not knowing how…how things turned out…not knowing what really happened to her.”

“Yes.”

“Incredibly, only months later you found yourself going through the same thing.” She pushed harder. “What was that like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you find that going through the same thing Mikki had was helpful in dealing with what happened to her?”

“Yes.”

Jenn gasped.

Jaspar did his best to ignore his wife’s reaction. “Of course it was helpful,” he hastily added, his manner showing signs of confusion. “Now I knew what she’d gone through. Now I could tell her not to worry, to not be scared.”

Katie eyed Peggy, stationed behind the nearest camera. The producer was taut as a wire, arms tightly crossed over her chest, teeth biting into her bottom lip, face bloodless. She knew where Katie’s questions were leading.

Katie pressed on. “When you and Mikki would talk at night, atop the pedestal, when she appeared to you as the little girl she was years before any of this happened, would you tell her about what was going to happen to her? About the kidnapping? You’d warn her?”

“Not warn her, just…try to explain…tell her not to be frightened. I, I suppose I was warning her in a way. I don’t know,” Jaspar said, sounding increasingly unsure of his words. “I just wanted to tell her how it would be. I wanted her to know that even though it would be really difficult at first, things would get better. That the people who took her would take care of her, and maybe…maybe even love her.”

“Like Asmae cared for you? Like Asmae loved you?”

Jaspar flared: “How do you know about that?”

Katie eye’s darted toward Jenn, on to Peggy, then back to Jaspar. Her words were gentle as she said, “You wrote about Asmae in the book, Jaspar.”

Jenn let out a strangled sound. She had to intervene. This interview needed to stop.

Surprisingly, Jaspar shook his head and chuckled. “Oh, God, you’re right. I didn’t know what I was saying there for a second. I’m sorry about that. Of course, Asmae.”

“Which isn’t her real name,” Katie said, visibly glad to see Jaspar recover his senses. It would make what was coming next easier. “It was a name you gave her.”

“No. It’s true she couldn’t speak English, and I couldn’t speak her language. But I did understand that much. She told me her name was Asmae.”

“But other than that, you couldn’t really communicate with one another, isn’t that true?”

“That’s true. Not with words. As you can imagine, like any writer, I love words. It’s how we tell our stories. How we reveal ourselves. But we—Asmae and I—found other ways to communicate.”

With an imperceptible nod from Peggy, the cameras panned out. A set worker rolled in a portable screen, setting it next to Jenn. The Wills stared at it, then at Katie. Instead of responding to the obvious question, Katie rotated in her seat to face the camera head on. “When we return, the woman who helped Jaspar Wills through his ordeal will join us, live from Marrakech, to tell us exactly what happened next.”

With another anticipated nod from Peggy, who looked as if she was about to shed her skin, the cameras zeroed in on Jaspar Wills, his face blanching to deathly white.

The moment the cameras went to black, Katie hopped off her chair and headed for Peggy, as if urgently needing to discuss something with the producer. But Jenn was too fast for her. Catching up, she grabbed Katie’s arm and swung her around.

“What the hell are you doing? Why didn’t you tell us about this?”

“Jenn, everything is going to be all right,” Katie responded, her voice cool and soothing, as if applying aloe to a festering burn. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but we didn’t know if it was really going to happen. We only received confirmation after we went to broadcast. Frankly, I’m as surprised as you are.”

Jenn stared, doubt painting her face.

“It’s going to be okay, Jenn. Really.”

Something new began to replace the doubt on Jenn’s face. Katie stepped back. Was it suspicion? Realization? All she knew for certain was that it was something potentially dangerous.

“I don’t believe you,” Jenn murmured, more to herself than Katie. “Why would you invite this woman to be on the show? To shame Jaspar? To embarrass me? You want to see what happens when I come face to face with the woman my husband slept with while he was kidnapped? What next? Are you going to trot Scott Walker out here?”

Not a bad idea, Katie thought to herself as she squared her body and braced, as if waiting for impact. Over her shoulder she could see Jaspar, still seated, eyes dazed, looking like a wax replica of himself. Cautiously she placed a hand on each of Jenn’s slender forearms, and fixed her with a serious gaze. “Jenn, I would never do that. I would never intentionally hurt you. You have to trust me on this. I know it may be uncomfortable, and it might even hurt a little, but this
needs
to happen. You have to believe me. It’s for the best.”

Jenn pulled back, attempting to break free of the intense connection. “What are you talking about? Why does this need to happen? You told us this interview would be simple and straight-forward. Us telling our story. Promotion for Jaspar’s book. That’s it. But you’re turning it into some kind of exposé.”

“You’re wrong. I’m simply telling the story. The
true
story.”

Jenn’s head moved slowly, side to side. “You were my friend. Our friend. But now I think…I think Jaspar was right. You’re just using us. You don’t want to help us. The only thing you want to help is your career.”

Katie looked stricken. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Jenn. Believe me, when this is over you’ll thank me. Please. Just take your seat and stick it out. It’ll be over sooner than you think.”

Peggy, watching the exchange from nearby, stepped between the two women and announced: “We’re back in less than a minute.”

Imploring the other woman, Katie said: “Jenn, don’t you think Jaspar would want the opportunity to reunite with the woman who saved his life? To say thank you?”

Jenn’s beautiful mouth curled into snarl. “As long as it’s on TV, sure, why not?”

“Oh crap,” Peggy groaned.

Katie and Jenn turned just in time to see Jaspar stumble as he lurched out of his seat.

Jenn dashed to her husband’s side as he unsteadily made his way off set. He didn’t get far, collapsing into the nearest chair, head in hands.

Alarmed, Jenn knelt next to him and cried: “Jaspar, what’s wrong, honey? What is it?”

“Thirty seconds, Katie,” Peggy anxiously announced, tapping her bare wrist where a watch should have been.

Quickly assessing the situation, Katie hissed instructions to Peggy: “We keep going. Confirm the live feed is cued. Reposition camera two on Jaspar. And for God's sake, make sure his mic is still functional.”

Peggy nodded and rushed off. Katie took her place just as the camera’s “on” indicator light beamed red.

Katie’s mellifluous voice filled the studio. After a brief recap of what had transpired so far in the broadcast, she flawlessly moved into new territory.  “While investigating in Marrakech, a mysterious man by the name of Tarek made himself known to me. He introduced himself as an agent for the people who owned the building where Jaspar Wills was first held captive.” Behind Katie, an illustrator’s rendering of Tarek-as-super-villain glowered at the viewing audience with malevolent eyes.

“Eventually, information provided by this man, Tarek, took me to the small Moroccan village of Asni, high in the Atlas Mountains,” Katie reported to viewers, doubtlessly breathless, as the special broadcast continued. Refraining from looking at anyone or anything but the eye of the camera, she chose her next words carefully. “Although we will likely never know exactly why, with hopes of having their demands met by the American government dashed, the kidnappers decided to move Wills out of Marrakech. It was here, near Asni, where acclaimed author, grieving father, and kidnap victim Jaspar Wills was taken. It is here where most of
Set Free
, Jaspar’s bestselling account of his ordeal, takes place. It is here where Jaspar first met a woman by the name of Asmae. A woman who, in his estimation, saved his life. She cleaned him, fed him, cared for him, and loved him…until the day she set him free.”

Undetectable to all but those watching the closest, Katie’s eyes flew off camera for a millisecond. Long enough to confirm that Jaspar and Jenn, although not returned to their seats next to her on set, were still in the studio, and that camera two had moved into position to capture their presence. Complexion wan and eyes devoid of life, Jaspar appeared to have fallen into some kind of stupor. Jenn was frantically whispering into his ear, anxiously attempting to figure out what was wrong with her husband and how she could help him. Katie took little pleasure in knowing that soon it would be Jenn who would need help. For she, and the rest of the world, were about to get the shock of their lives.

“In his new book,
Set Free
, Jaspar Wills shares with us the nightmare of being kidnapped while visiting a foreign country, mercilessly beaten, and nearly starved to death. He recounts the terrifying night when he was bound, gagged and blindfolded, then forcibly moved from the prison where he’d been held captive for several days.”

Katie recounted all of this, judiciously choosing each word and moderating her tone with great care. She knew that history would reveal what she was about to do as either cruel or compassionate. Her future depended on which. One wrong move and the audience would turn against her. No one would care that truth was on her side. In a situation like this, emotion reigned supreme, truth be damned.

“Jaspar,” she said, intentionally switching to his first name, “believed he was being taken to his death. Instead, he was moved from one prison to another. One he came to call ‘the rectangle.’ We now know he was transferred to a location near the small village of Asni, in the Atlas Mountains—a barren, rugged, remote place.

“Then, in heart wrenching detail, at times almost too difficult to read, Jaspar describes his late night conversations with the ghost of his daughter. With a father’s gentle hand, he attempted to guide his child toward what he knew to be her dark, dreadful, but ultimately inescapable future. He hoped to soften the blow of fate’s harsh reality. For some, this may be difficult—if not impossible—to understand. But for any father or mother out there tonight, any parent who’s been worried about a child, you’ll know exactly what Jaspar was trying to do.

“Before any of this happened, he was like any other parent. He lived with constant regret: for things he’d done, and things he’d failed to do. He worried about making mistakes in raising his child. Like any parent, he sometimes wished he could go back and do it again. Like any parent, he promised himself he’d try harder, do better in the future. But there was no future. For Jaspar, all the typical worries and regrets of a parent were multiplied by a million the day his daughter was taken from him.”

Katie’s eyes moved purposefully toward her guests. Having seemingly snapped out of his daze, Jaspar was staring at her, taking in every word, deep, blue eyes glistening. Lines that had permanently etched themselves into his face over the past, tragic-laden months had somehow dissolved. He appeared nearly beatific.

Jenn, however, was frowning heavily. Obviously, she was not nearly as taken with the soliloquy. Katie didn’t care. Right now, it was all about her and Jaspar. And she knew Peggy was enough of a pro to catch the silent communion on camera, for all the world to see.

Suddenly, the portable monitor, set next to where Jaspar and Jenn had been seated, came alive. Everyone watched in fascination as an umber-skinned woman with a thin, wizened face and large, brown eyes materialized, staring out of the screen as if from the bottom of a deep well.

“Kwella,” Katie greeted the virtual newcomer. “It’s Kate Edwards. I’m happy to see you again. Can you hear me alright?”

“I can hear.” The elderly woman spoke in rutted but comprehensible English.

“I know it’s very early in the morning there, so I want to thank you for agreeing to speak with us today.”

“I work always. No problem for me.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Katie shot a curious glance Jaspar’s way. His eyes were glued to the woman’s face, looking as if his life depended on remaining perfectly still. Jenn was once again vigorously whispering something into her husband’s ear, but his attention was lost to her. Katie suppressed a wholly inappropriate grin, as she imagined how discomfort and confusion were likely exploding in Jenn’s brain as she wondered if this nearly toothless woman, more than twice her age, could possibly be Jaspar’s Moroccan lover. Just as quickly, she realized that if she was thinking it, so was the TV audience. That, most definitely, was not the tone she wanted to set.

“This woman is not Asmae,” Katie promptly announced. Looking first to Peggy for encouragement, then at Jaspar, she decided to take a risk and try for engagement: “Isn’t that right, Jaspar?”

Katie counted off the seconds. More than five and she would switch tack.

At four-and-a-half: “No,” he uttered. “It isn’t.”

“But you and Kwella do know one another, isn’t that
correct?”

Hearing her name, Kwella said loudly: “What is it you say?”

Katie felt frightened and excited at the same time. Her cheeks reddened as she realized that one false move in her delicate maneuvering of this increasingly complex and fragile interview would cause it to collapse…in front of millions. The sensation was nothing short of thrilling.

“Kwella,” she addressed her new guest, “I’m talking with Jaspar Wills. He’s here with me, in Boston.”

“I’m happy to hear.”

Making a snap decision, Katie asked the screen: “Kwella, can you tell us how you and Jaspar first met?”

“Ohhhhh, dear, well it was a bad, bad time. Very sad time. For him and for me too. It was very sad to see him that way.”

“What do you mean by that?” She hoped the woman told the story just as she’d told it to her the day they sat together over tea in her home in Asni.

“The man was very skinny. With many pains and, how do you say it…woundings...from beatings. And hungry. So hungry. And mostly sad. Sad like death.”

This wasn’t quite what she wanted. “How did this happen? Where did you meet Jaspar?”

“My house. He found my house.”

“He came to your house in Asni?”

“Yes. He came to my door. There he was.”

“When was this, Kwella? When did you first meet Jaspar?”

“Ohhhh, a very long time now. Long, long time when he found me. Then he stay with me for long, long time more.”

Katie let the words sink in. She knew most viewers would not yet have begun to comprehend the implications of what Kwella was telling them. Their minds wouldn’t let them go there. They couldn’t believe it. They wouldn’t want to believe it.

She turned to Jaspar, wordlessly agog as he continued to stare at Kwella’s kindly face.
He
had to be the one to do it, Katie knew.
He
had to hammer it home. “Jaspar, would you tell us about when you first met Kwella? Was it before or after your time with Asmae in the rectangle?”

“Katie, this is over,” Jenn abruptly announced, anger seething through her teeth, her right hand rubbing a hole in Jaspar’s back. “I th—”

“Jenn,” Katie countered, admirably holding back her irritation at the interruption. “I think we should give Jaspar a chance to answer the question.”

“No, he needs—”

“Jenn, it’s okay,” Jaspar declared, suddenly come back to life. Tortured eyes moved from wife to interrogator. His voice barely more than a croaked whisper, he said: “Just say it.”

Katie held the gaze with all her might. With lips quivering, she returned the challenge: “Say what, Jaspar?”

And then he did it. He spoke the words Katie had been waiting to hear since the interview began. “There is no Asmae.”