My sister found me. The irony is not lost. She screamed for my mom, who was in the kitchen, alone, drinking Chardonnay from a large glass. Mom rushed me to the hospital though she shouldn’t have been driving, and the folks in the Emergency Room stitched me up, cooing softly all the while. The things I remember from that night are so strange. The pain of the blade; the cries of my mother, the gentle voice of the nurse; the flat, sharp eyes of the psychiatric resident, his no-nonsense, dispassionate shrug when I screamed.
Without a second chance to pack my things, I was admitted to the psychiatric ward. The hospital was informed of my upcoming incarceration, and my delicate condition, and it was determined I would serve my term there in University Hospital instead since I was already on site. There were people my age, and the intake nurse knew the judge well and put in a word for herself as a guardian of sorts.
I remember so little about those first few days.
The sting of the needle injecting me with liquid calm.
The roommate.
But the rest... I remember it all.
And I know all the letters by heart.
Especially the last one.
I hadn’t heard from her in a long while. V always got quiet and disappeared; it was just her MO. Then she’d pop back up.
I didn’t encourage her to stay in touch. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be friends anymore. She just reminded me of the worst time of my life, a time I wanted to forget, to bury. I didn’t want my sordid past affecting my life anymore.
But when she wrote me that last time, I had to help.
She was so disturbed. Depressed and unhappy and desperate to be free from this world. She wanted Mindy to have a chance at life, though. She wanted Mindy and Zack to be happy. I tried to help her. Truly.
I suggested she check back into University Hospital STAT. She refused. “I will never go back there. Never. But you can help me. You can help me go, and make sure the baby is all right until Zack comes back.”
It took some convincing, but I agreed to help.
Who could walk away from their child? No one in their right mind, certainly.
She didn’t deserve Mindy. I did.
87
July 2000
Dear Liesel,
I need to talk to you. I’m having a really rough time. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Or, I do, but I don’t understand. This is supposed to be the happiest time of my life, but it’s like I’m sinking, drowning in a deep lake of black. No matter what I do, I can’t get my head above the water, and I’m gulping down mouthfuls of hate and sorrow. I don’t know how to handle this. I am so tired of the blackness, of the sadness, of the horror of pretending to be a happy wife, a happy mother-to-be. I just want it all over. I’m alone. I am so tired. I need the baby out of me. I can’t take being pregnant another minute. I can’t take any of it. I don’t want this. I don’t want this life. Getting pregnant was such a mistake.
And Zack... I can’t stop thinking that there is always a chance he’ll ship off and never come back, that something awful will happen to him. He’s already been shot once. He says he’s going to resign his commission, but he’s an intelligencer through and through. I bet he won’t be able to. And if he dies, then I’ll be alone with a baby.
The medicines don’t work. The doctors care, but all the talk and compassion in the world can’t change me. It is my genetic makeup, not my fault. I stopped taking the meds when I found out I was pregnant, and I’ve been sinking deeper and deeper. I’ve tried using them the past few weeks, but it’s too late. They’ve never worked right anyway. They’re pointless.
The baby kicks inside me, letting me know she doesn’t care whether I live or die, just so long as she can be born.
She should have that privilege. Me, I just want to get her out of me. I want to move on, at last.
Please, can you call me? I need your help.
Love,
V
88
VAIL HEALTH HOSPITAL
It is embarrassing to Lauren, being handcuffed to the gurney like she is a common criminal. The sting of the lidocaine injection makes her flinch, but she sits, stoically silent, as the ER doctor cleans and stitches her arm. Thirty-five stitches on top and bottom from the fucking dog bite, more from where she’d fallen, catching her shoulder on the counter when the dog attacked. She hadn’t even felt the blow; she was completely focused on Mindy’s forlorn, frightened face.
She didn’t mean to point the gun at Mindy.
God, she really didn’t.
In a life defined by impetuous moments and accidental actions, this will haunt her forever. The gun was meant for her, and her alone.
Thirty-five new stitches, to go along with the forty she’d received when she was a girl. She’d told everyone in her life her scar was from a car accident, from her arm plunging through the windshield. Looking at it now, under the glare of the hospital lights, the thin, pale line, straight as an arrow from wrist to elbow, the edges only slightly raised, she is thrown back in time again.
The knife, running through her flesh like butter, the skin parting, the moment of emptiness before the cut fills with blood, the light, airy feeling of her blood pressure dropping, the happiness that she isn’t going to be humiliated any further. The inky darkness, full of peace. The ride to the ER, the siren, the lights. The wrenching horror when she wakes, bandaged. The long walk to the ward.
Vivian.
All roads lead to Vivian. All memories, all love, all hate, rise from the specter of their combined past. Why can’t the bitch stay dead?
Two Vail police officers stand watch over her; their CBI fellow is in front of the door talking animatedly to the Nashville cops. Jasper has joined the group outside in the hall; she can hear his voice demanding to see her. At least Jasper won’t desert her. Jasper will never desert her.
The silent doctor gives her a pill to swallow—“For the pain”—and she takes it gladly. Even with the lidocaine numbing her tender, torn flesh, the dog bite itself hurts like hell. Deep in her body, her soul hurts worse.
When she finishes gulping down the tiny cup of water, she says, “I need to speak to the police. Let them in, please.”
The doctor looks at her in surprise. “You’re sure? Most people in your situation would rather me run interference.”
“I want them, now.”
“Okay.”
He flings back the privacy curtain and disappears into the hallway. The group comes in immediately, clearly curious as to why she’s asking to see them.
“Who will be in charge of prosecuting me?” Lauren asks.
“You have the right to an attorney,” the ski bum starts to say, but she cuts him off.
“I am waiving my rights. There are witnesses. I need to talk to the person in charge.”
“Then that’s me. But I ain’t talking to you without giving you a Miranda warning.”
Jasper immediately goes red with fear and fury. “Lauren, shut your mouth right now. You can’t talk to them until the lawyers—”
“I am going to talk to them. You can stay, or you can go, but I’m going to talk to the police now. I waive my rights.”
“Lauren, the drugs they’ve given you are messing with your mind. I will represent you...”
She shakes her head slightly and smiles sadly. “No, you won’t. I have to do this, Jasper. Please.” And to the cop standing at the foot of the gurney—“Sir, mister... I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Special Agent Stockton. CBI.”
“Agent Stockton, I would like to confess to the murder of Vivian Armstrong.”
Jasper starts to shout. “Do not say another word, Lauren. Not a word. I want it on the record my wife has been given painkillers, that extenuating circumstances exist, she hasn’t been Mirandized, that this confession is illegitimate—”
“That sounded pretty legitimate to me, sir. Please, step back, or I’ll have someone do it for you,” Stockton says.
Jasper’s mouth opens and closes a few times, but Lauren catches his eye and nods. She knows what she’s doing. She’s always known what she’s doing.
“Honey, it’s okay. I’ve been holding on to these secrets for too long. It’s time. I need to come clean. I can’t carry this with me anymore.”
“Lauren, please, don’t—” His voice cracks.
Stockton steps between Jasper and Lauren. “What about your sister, Juliet Ryder? Do you admit trying to kill her?”
Trying? She’s not dead? Shit. Shit!
She shuts her eyes for a moment, mind whirling. What difference does it make at this point? “Yes. I tried to kill my sister.”