The Crossover (24 page)

I didn’t answer. It was payback for what he witnessed on the videotape Monet made over 20 years ago. But, was he done? Or would he come back?

My only consolation was that he was locked up. I knew he couldn’t get to me while he was in jail. I couldn’t wait to escape on a plane to the UK.

“Kim, could you read the paper for me, the part that says he was arrested. He was arrested, right?”

I was looking for a sense of security. I needed to hear that he was behind bars.

“Sure, I’ve got it right here.”

An Evansville judge set bail for Marc Dawson at $9,000. He is charged with felony, aggravated assault and battery. His arraignment has been scheduled for July 8. Mr. Dawson’s bail was posted by...

Kim had to flip the page to see who posted his bail. I was beginning to panic all over again. Paranoia, fear and anger consumed me. I wanted to know who posted bail for this maniacal predator.

“Kim, does it say who posted his bail?”

“Yes, his wife did. Monet Dawson.”

L
ast night I had nightmare after nightmare. Marc leaping atop of the table and kicking a field goal with my face. Guilt was beginning to consume me day and night. I was mind-jacked and desperate for some respite.

Most of the time I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness because of the morphine drip. Around 11am I woke up and found a card on my lap. It was from Monet. I placed it on the night stand. I didn’t care what it said; there was no acceptable explanation for what she did. As much as I wanted to forgive her, I couldn’t. She made her choice and I had to make mine. She fooled me into thinking she was single and gave me hope. The trust was gone.

“Clay, you have a visitor. Are you up for entertaining?” Kim asked.

“Who is it?”

“Ms. Monet Dawson. If you’d rather not I can tell her to come back another time.”

“No. I mean… yeah. Send her in,” I said as I sat up in my bed.

Monet walked in behind Kim and she looked like she had been through hell. She had bags under her eyes and looked slightly unkempt. She looked like a broken woman compared to the Monet I’d known. My initial reaction was to comfort her but the closer she came the more I resented her. She kissed the unbandaged side of my face. I pulled away.

“Clay, it’s me Monet, baby. I am so sorry.”

I couldn’t look at her.

“Why did you lie to me?” I asked looking out towards the window.

“Lie? What lie?” Monet asked.

I faced her with contempt.

“I know you’re married. You should have just told me from the beginning.”

Monet closed the door and returned to my bedside. She was on defense.

“So who told you I was married?” she responded with a little too much attitude.

“It’s right here, in the paper,” I said as I handed her the paper-clipped article.

Monet immediately handed it back to me.

“So. I guess if it’s in the paper or on the internet that makes it a fact. That’s what Marc told police. I’ve been divorced two years now.”

The fact that she didn’t lie had little bearing on how I felt.

“Clay, I haven’t slept since Sunday and my daughter Michelle is missing. I don’t want to fight. I have none left.”

“Can you answer one question for me?” I asked holding up my right forefinger.

I didn’t wait for her response. I unloaded.

“Why did you post bail for Marc after what he did? I saw the tape, he tried to kill me,” I said angrily.

Monet began to weep by my side. I was unmoved.

“Clay, I had no choice. I had to. I was put in a tough spot.”

“Tough spot? I know about tough spots, look at me?” I said.

I opened my mouth to show her my missing tooth.

“Clay, I know this is bad, real bad but we can get past this if we want. Just tell me what you want from me, baby?”

I looked out the window and sighed. I knew exactly what I wanted.

“My things. Just get me my things, please. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“I know. Marc just went crazy. He lost his mind,” Monet replied.

“Monet, that’s not what I was talking about. We shouldn’t have happened. This is a nightmare and it’s time I woke up.”

“Huh?” Monet responded in confusion.

“We have to end this. This is too much to bear. If I stay with you, I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life in fear.”

Monet responded in desperation.

“Clay, but it’s not like that. We can fix this.”

I wasn’t done. I needed to put the last nail in the coffin.

“Monet, how could I ever trust you? If you cheated to be with me, how do I know you won’t cheat on me?”

There was a solemn silence that fell upon us. I was hurtful and mean-spirited. It affected Monet, her actions said it all. She stared at me intently. I could feel the love she had for me slip away. She was divorcing me in her heart and in her soul. I watched our love die.

She left.

“Clay, you have another visitor, it’s Sergeant Barnett. Should I send him in?” Kim asked.

“Of course,” I replied.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Thompson. I have a few papers I would like you to sign before they release you.”

The thought of being discharged made me extremely anxious. I knew Marc was out on bail and I was worried he would hunt me down and finish what he started. As long as I was in the hospital I felt safe.

“Sarge, what if Marc is waiting for me to be released? He must know where I am. Everyone else does,” I said as I pointed to the get well cards.

Sergeant Barnett reminded me of Kojak with his bald head and his east coast accent. I saw him as a buffer between Marc and me. I told him the whole story.

“Clay, there are few cuts as deep as infidelity. I’ve seen several double murder cases over this kinda thing. But you can’t undo what is already done. You need to forgive yourself and move on, pal.”

“I can’t forgive myself. I screwed up big time and even though I lie here in my hospital bed, I don’t feel my debt is paid.”

Barnett shifted responsibility to Marc.

“Well, Mr. Dawson broke the law. You can’t take the law into your own hands. There are consequences and a judge will decide his fate.”

Sergeant Barnett handed me documents to press charges. I handed them back.

“The thought of seeing Marc again is too much. I’m not pressing charges. I started this mess and I am sorry for it. But the sooner I get back to England the better. Have you ever had someone try to kill you?”

Barnett paused and reflected.

“I’ve been on the force over twenty years and I know what you are going through.”

Barnett pulled on his shirt collar and showed me where he had been shot in the neck.

“Clay, I’ve seen the shrink more times than I care to mention. But there are coping mechanisms that have helped me get through some terrible decisions. Decisions I’ve made with the best intentions.”

Barnett was empathetic and compassionate.

“Coping mechanisms? Like what?”

“Write it down, exactly what you’ve told me. Even if you don’t mail it, just say it on paper. Trust me, it will help alleviate some of the pent up guilt and consternation.”

Barnett placed his hand on my shoulder and gave me a pen.

We talked for a few more minutes but before he left I had one last request.

“Sergeant Barnett, can you drive me to the airport?”

He stopped in his tracks just outside the doorway.

“Just kidding.”

I wasn’t kidding. I was serious as hell. Every worry I’d ever had was insignificant compared to my extreme paranoia about losing my life.

Two days later I was signing my discharge papers at the front desk. I was nervous. My face looked like I did ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Every black guy over six feet scared the shit out of me. I subconsciously superimposed Marc’s face over theirs.

Kim greeted me at the desk as I was checking out.

“Kim, if you ever come to England, look me up. It would be nice to see a friendly face. Thanks for all you’ve done.”

“Clay, I just might take you up on that. Could I bring my boyfriend along?”

“Absolutely.”

“What about all those cards? You didn’t forget them did you?”

“No, I have them all, except one. The big red one,” I replied.

Kim gave me a sincere hug and I was kind of sad to say goodbye. I considered Kim a person I could be good friends with.

As I proceeded toward the elevator my paranoia was momentarily interrupted. I passed a cancer ward and I stopped for a second when I saw a woman that reminded me of Jo. She was bald and looked emaciated. My heart went out to her and I felt pity.

While standing outside her room an old cleaning lady with drab clothing walked by me and spoke in a foreign language. I thought it was Spanish.

“Deus succurro nos totus,”
the old lady whispered.

“Sorry,
no hablo español,”
I replied.

As she walked by I felt a chill that was most noticeable on the back of my neck. I dismissed it.

My paranoia returned as soon as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor. I was operating on survival instinct. I quickly scanned the faces in my immediate area. I frantically made my way outside looking for a cab to the airport. My heartbeat was thumping in my chest. I felt impending doom. I knew someone was watching me. I was right. Someone tapped me on my shoulder from behind. I gasped. I didn’t turn around.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Officer Barnett?” I responded, relieved.

“I’m officially off the clock; call me Jeremey. Need a lift?”

I started to settle down. I got into his Ford Mustang and we merged into traffic. I was so thankful for his kindness and concern. We didn’t talk much on the way to the airport, but he did have a question for me as he dropped me off at the departures terminal.

“Clay, you got that letter?”

Not only was Jeremey a compassionate person, he was astute and perceptive.

“Yeah, I got it. Can you mail it for me?”