The Truth (14 page)

I’m floating in
light. I hear someone talking, but I can’t see them. The voice sounds familiar—it’s a source of comfort. Only it sounds strangled, sad.

“Please, please, please don’t do this,” the voice begs. “Come back to me. I will make it all right. It has to be all right. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

I want to comfort the voice, but I’m so comfortable, floating on a cloud in a haze.

A loud thwack echoes through the bathroom. I feel heat on my face and a sharp pain. “Wake up!” Another slap hits the other side of my face hard with a deafening
boom
in my eardrum when he accidently catches my ear in this slap. It leaves my ears ringing like a gong.

I gasp for air and my eyes fly open just as freezing cold water pours down my face. I look into the only truly kind eyes I have ever known. The eyes belong to the only person who has ever really seen
me
. Only, this is the first time I have ever seen pure terror in the depths of these eyes. I can’t speak. I can’t move. I feel everything now. It’s all pain. No! No, no, no! What has he done?

He flips me over so I’m looking down at the bottom of the shower floor. At the same time, before I can protest, two fingers are jammed down my throat. I gurgle as everything in my stomach spews all over the shower floor.

“That’s it. Get it all out,” he says rubbing my back in gentle circles.

I catch my breath in between the heaves as they rack my body just in time to start all over again. The entire time, he rubs my back and pulls my hair out of my face. After a few rounds of this, he sits me on the clean spot of the floor and leans me against the wall.

I still can’t move. My body is so heavy. I watch him leave and return a moment later with stuff to clean the puke out of the shower.

My eyes are getting heavy again. It’s as if he is connected to my mind. Just as I think it, he looks over. “Don’t close your eyes! Stay with me.” He startles me, and I try my best to keep my eyes open, focusing on him.

He turns the bathtub on, filling it only half-way. When he returns to me, he pulls me up, placing my arms around his neck. He pulls my soaking wet dress over my head and drops it with a
plop
in a heap on the shower floor.

He places an arm behind my head and one behind my knees. He lifts me as if I weigh nothing and carries me to the tub. He holds me to his chest and bends down to place me in the tub so tenderly like I am a porcelain doll that will shatter if he moves wrong.

I’m trying to keep my eyes open for him, but they’re so heavy and the bath water feels so nice. He runs a hand down the side of my face gingerly. “Keep your eyes open. If you close your eyes, I’m taking you to the hospital. I know that isn’t what you want.”

“No,” is all I can manage, with a slight shake of my head. God, that hurts, my head feels like it’s in a vice.

He places an ice cold, wet cloth on my forehead. “I know it’s bad, Lys, I know it all seems fucking terrible. But I promise you it will get better. I promise you it will all be okay.”

For the first time, I notice tears cascading down Keith’s cheeks. He looks down, almost guiltily, as he bathes me. The noise of water being wrung out of the washcloth has always been a calming sound for me. I watch in a trance as he squirts more body wash on the cloth and then rubs it together to warm it. He takes such care as he runs it down my body but never once looking directly at me. After he’s done washing me, he dries my hair gently and redresses me in a t-shirt.

A while later I fall asleep in Keith’s arms in my bed. He holds me against his chest like a mother would hold a baby.

* * *

I wake up
to the smell of chamomile wafting close to my face. I open my eyes and stare at the lavender mug on the nightstand directly in front of my face. Little bits of memory from last night float into my brain. Keith. Where is Keith?

Looking around, only moving my eyes, afraid of how much it will hurt my head to actually sit up, I spot him in a chair in the corner. He looks haggard like he’s aged. He is in slacks and an open button down shirt—hair all disheveled. His sleeves are rolled up and his shirt is open revealing his undershirt. He has one leg propped up on his opposite knee. He looks so tense. His elbow is resting on his top leg, and his chin rests on his clenched fist as he looks out the window.

I don’t dare make a move. I just watch him. I’ve always thought Keith was attractive, but I’ve never really thought about it. He was always like family. He’s Liam’s best friend. Looking at him now, I can’t help but think how I could have missed how ruggedly sexy he is. Maybe when someone saves your life, you see them differently.

As if he can sense someone watching him, Keith turns his head in my direction. He doesn’t smile. Instead, his frown grows.

“Hi,” I chirp out in a rasp.

He just stares at me. I see every emotion cross his face—anger, worry, sadness. His features seem to settle on sorrow.

He finally speaks. “Lys, what were you thinking?”

“How did you—why did you come?”

“You drunk dialed me. Your voice scared me. I knew you were drunk, but the way you said goodbye—I had to come check on you. Thank God I listened to my gut.”

“Keith, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to have to deal with any of this.”

“Don’t, don’t apologize. I keep sitting here thinking I could have prevented it all in the first place.”

“Huh?” I look at him as if he has two heads. “You could have prevented it all? How?”

Keith hangs his head. “I should have told you in Vegas. I should have let you see.”

Now I sit up. I don’t care how much it hurts. “Keith, what about Vegas?”

“When we left one of the casinos, I saw Grant. He walked out of the front of your hotel arm in arm with a girl. I watched as he kissed her. I knew it would break your heart. I couldn’t let you see. I made up an excuse for us to turn around to go to a different casino.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

The anguish on his face is heartbreaking as I watch him struggle with this. “I wanted to tell you so many times, Alyssa. But after the fact, how could I tell you? You would have hated me, and for what? It wouldn’t have changed anything. You wouldn’t have believed me.”

He’s right. The messenger always gets shot. “Months later, I saw the girl again.” Keith grimaces. I can tell it’s painful for him to tell me this.

“It was the girl you were telling me about when we had drinks.”

He just nods. I let out a deep sigh.

“I knew it.”

“I dropped the case when they moved Grant to the number one suspect. I couldn’t ethically continue to investigate a case I had a personal interest in.”

“I wondered why you weren’t on the case when they arrested him.”

“I couldn’t have been the one to throw him in jail. Part of me would have been doing it just to get him out of the picture. There was a time I thought maybe you and me—” he trails off. “I’m partially responsible for her death. If I had said something in Vegas, maybe things would have turned out differently. Some days the guilt strangles me.”

“It seems everyone has a little piece in this tragedy.”

Keith runs both hands through his hair and gently tugs. I can tell this is all killing him. “What do you mean?”

Buckle up, it’s about to get even bumpier. 

“Keith, I have to tell you some things. I need you to listen to everything.”

“Okay.”

“No, I mean look at me and really listen to what I have to tell you.”

He sits up straight and squares his shoulders.

“First of all, this is not your fault. This all started with a lie. My lie…”

I recount all I know for Keith from the very beginning. He looks at me with sad eyes when I tell him of the infidelity. When I tell him about the miscarriage, he holds me and we cry together. Finally, I end up at the twist I never in a million years expected.

“Keith, Grant didn’t kill her. Whitney did.”

He stands up and paces, running his hands through his hair. “Whitney?” He rubs his hand anxiously over the back of his neck as I spill the rest of my truths to him.

“None of this is your fault, Keith. You didn’t start it and you couldn’t have prevented any of it. The guilt of all of this isn’t yours to carry, it’s mine.”

“Is that why you—last night?”

“Last night,” I gulp, “goes much—deeper than that.” I tell him everything. At no time as I disclose to Keith all of the atrocities do I feel judged. Talking it all out with him is like therapy. I can feel the tiniest bit of hope blooming as I put everything that has been slowly killing me out into the universe. I have carried it all for so long now. All I could see was the darkness. Keith makes the dark not so scary.

Keith stayed with
me for another day to make sure I was okay. I think he was afraid if he left, I would repeat the night before. I didn’t need him to babysit, I’d found hope. I didn’t want to die, but sometimes, the burdens of life becomes just too much for one set of shoulders to carry on their own. Sometimes, when things get too heavy, you just can’t see any other way out. There is always a way out. You just have to find the door.

During this time, the two of us went over what to do with our truth—what to do about Whitney. Grant was just sitting, rotting in prison. If we chose to do nothing, he would serve a life sentence for a murder he didn’t commit. Our other option was to put Whitney behind bars. Neither option felt right. Whitney murdered someone in cold blood. She deserved to go to prison, without a doubt. But, at the end of the day, Whitney had been like a sister to both of us for most of our lives. While she and I weren’t going to be having a slumber party and doing each other’s nails anytime soon, I still cared for her deep down. We were family. You don’t stop loving your family just because they hurt you.

On day two, Keith and I came up with a plan.

A few mornings later, I nervously sent Whit a message to put the plan into action.

Me: Can we meet at our coffee shop? I really need to talk.

Whit: Noon?

Me: Yeah, that’s good.

Whit: See you at noon.

Well, that was easy. Phase one of our plan is complete.

A few hours later, I am pacing in the foyer of the house, anxiously waiting to leave. I check through my bag one last time to make sure everything is in place. I go into my living room, sink into the couch and watch the clock until it’s time to go.

A few minutes before noon, I walk into the little bohemian coffee shop. I haven’t been here in years, but this is where it all began. I’ve missed it. It has some fresh paint, but otherwise, it looks exactly the same as it always did. The place is done in all neutral, earth tones and pictures made from dried hemp hang on the walls.

Whitney is waiting at our table by the window with two coffees when I get there. She looks skittish sitting there looking all around, like a frightened animal. I suppose committing a homicide can make a person a little paranoid.

She waves me over. “Hey.” Whit doesn’t stand up or even make eye contact. She brings her mouth down to her cup and tips it back to take a sip. She is acting shifty with her back to the wall so she can scan the room. Her hair looks greasy and her clothes are not the polished girl I know to be Whitney.

“Hi, thanks for meeting me.” I make my best attempt to cover up the unease I feel watching her demeanor. I want her to think this is as normal as any other time we have had coffee together. It isn’t, though. How could it be? But I want her to think it is. “Thanks for the coffee.” I smile at her and take a sip.

She visibly relaxes a bit and takes another sip of her coffee.

“So, how have you been? You hire a cleaning lady yet?”

“Ha, ha. No, I haven’t. I will this week though. I can’t take it anymore. So, did you ask me here because you wanted to insult my condo again?

“I think I could just use a friend. I feel so alone lately. I’m a prisoner in my own house most of the time. The media is always there like vultures just waiting for their prey to make a move.”

“So, what, we’re just like back to friends? Like nothing has happened?” she asks suspiciously.

“I don’t know.” I look down at the table. “You shattered me, Whit. I’m not going to lie or pretend things are fine. But I do miss you. We were like sisters most of our lives.” I look up at her and lock eyes, wanting to make sure she believes my words. “No matter what, I still care about you, I always will.” I need her to feel comfortable enough with me to admit everything all over again.

She buys it. It’s like I can see a little life coming back into her face. She must be so alone. That makes me sad for her, but not at the same time.

“I hope you know I did it all for you. You believe me, right?”

“I know you did. That’s one thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay, shoot.” Now she sounds more like the old Whitney.

“I know you killed her with an odd, but good intention, thinking it would somehow make me happy. I’m not sure why you thought it would make things easier for me, but I understand it’s why you killed her. Whitney, you still murdered Stephanie.” I pray the way I say this doesn’t tip off Whitney to my plan—at least not yet. I make sure to say
her
name so the recorder in my bag will be evidence enough to get Grant released.

“She didn’t deserve to have his baby, Lys. She was just some home wrecking slut.” True and yet ironic coming from her mouth.

“I know, God, do I know, Whit. But she didn’t deserve to die.”

“I don’t know what happened. I was so lost and she had hurt you so bad. I focused everything on fixing it.”

“I know you did, and in some warped way, it’s almost sweet you would go so far to repair our friendship. The thing is, though, Grant getting some tramp pregnant had nothing to do with our friendship, Whit. I was mad at you for sleeping with my husband. You should have let me fight that battle myself. You can’t go killing people because they’ve hurt someone you love.”

“What better reason is there to kill someone?”

“Okay, I’ll give you that. Regardless, you cannot kill people who piss you off. Bottom line here, Grant is sitting in prison right now. Prison! He’s serving a life sentence for a murder he didn’t have any part in. Can you try to wrap your head around that?”

“Don’t you think I know that? I tried to scrub all the evidence away. I threw the gun in the river. I didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to have strings attaching him to her. It’s not like I meant to frame him. I didn’t mean for him to land in prison. At least he can’t hurt you from jail anymore.”

“That’s very true, but we can’t just leave him in there, Whitney. You need to set the record straight.”

“No,” she is adamant and starts shaking her head.

“Whitney, I have a confession to make. I told Keith… about everything.”

“How could you do that?”

“I was in a bad way. I blamed myself when you told me the truth.” I need her to know I only did it because it was serious so I go with full disclosure. “Whit, I swallowed half a bottle of pills.” I don’t make eye contact as I tell her. I’m too ashamed to see the look on her face. “If it weren’t for Keith… he saved me. So, I told him everything. I owed him the truth.”

“Lys, no.”

“I know. It was just all too much. I realize now I need to make things right. I need to make sure Grant doesn’t sit in prison for the rest of his life for something he didn’t do. He’s a monster, he’s an asshole, but he’s not a murderer.”

“What do you want? You want me to go to prison in his place?”

“No, maybe you could plead insanity? Or… I don’t know.”

I reach into my bag and pull out a device. I flip it off. Next, I pull out the tape recorder and flip it off. Whitney watches in horror with her mouth agape.

“You traitor! What have you done?” Suddenly, she is back on high alert. Pushing her chair back, it scrapes against the floor and she puts her arms out against the wall behind her.

“Relax,” I say, motioning for her to calm down with my hands. “So, here is the deal. Keith and I love you like a sister. You might have lost your way. Hell, you might be straight up insane, but you were always family. You were the only family I ever really had. I don’t want to send you to jail. But I can’t leave Grant in prison, either. It isn’t right. You know it isn’t right and I know it isn’t right.”

She slowly nods, and I continue. “I have the proof I need to get Grant out of prison now. There are two problems with that. The first problem is it incriminates you. The second problem is if Grant were to be released right now, I would never get the divorce I want from him. I have a copy of this conversation.” I tap my bag containing the tape recorder. “And Keith, wherever he is, has a copy of this conversation. You know, just in case anything happens to me. After all, I’m meeting with a known killer. You can never be too careful.” I shrug.

“So what happens now?”

“Now you take all the money you can get your hands on and you move. You have nothing here anymore, anyway. You can start a life anywhere you want to. You can move to Italy and find a sexy Gondolier. You can move to Ireland and run a tavern. I don’t care where you go, but you can’t stay here. You have until my divorce is final to flee. After that, we will turn the evidence in so Grant can be freed.”

“You don’t think Grant will let you go just because you’re divorced, do you? He’ll make sure you are miserable.”

“Meh, he can try. But once you’ve lived through hell, there really isn’t anything anyone can do to hurt you. Besides, I’ve left the practice. I don’t plan to take anything from my marriage. I want nothing from him, so there is nothing he can take away. Actually, even just saying that is liberating. The only thing I should hear from Grant when he gets out is ‘thank you.’ If he has anything else to say, I’ll just send copies of some interesting financial things I found while I was snooping around his office.”

“Where will I go?”

“Anywhere you want, butterfly. Spread your wings and you can fly anywhere in the world you want.”

“I’m scared, Lys.”

“I know. You’re getting a do over, Whit. Take it. Think of it as an adventure. When you get to the end of your journey, I hope you find what you need.”