The office filled with smoke. It’d been a haze, but after Tony opened the door, waves of dense gray saturated the air, filling every void and compartment. As it consumed our history, I worried about our future. I worried about Nichol. I knew I needed to get her out of the fire, yet the aroma of burning wood and crackling of the flames also filled me with an unnatural comforting sense of déjà vu, one which momentarily, replaced the feeling of loss. I know it sounds unreal, but instead of seeing the fire before me—the one that threatened the lives of those I held the dearest—I, for a split second, remembered other fires. I remembered the Iowa state prison incinerator and couldn’t help wonder, if only I’d left the past in ashes, then would we all be safe today?
I remember hearing voices and chaos coming from all directions. I couldn’t see them, and I really couldn’t hear their words. My attention volleyed between the flames and Catherine’s gun; however, other scenes filled my memories. Is this what happens when you face death? I’ve heard your entire life passes before your eyes. Maybe that was what was happening. I knew at that moment death was imminent.
Could that be the answer for the last two years? Was my break with reality—as the doctors call it—my self-imposed death? After what I did, it’d make sense. After all, I’ve learned actions have consequences.
In those few seconds—that took a lifetime—I remembered scenes of surrender and desperation. All the memories I’d successfully compartmentalized away instantaneously proclaimed their presence, only to fade into the gray smoke. With Nichol still in my arms, I took a step back and rubbed my burning eyes. Still there were other scenes playing out before me. They weren’t of oppression or vengeance—no, in those last seconds, I remembered true love and affection. I prayed those scenes would prevail; however, when I closed my eyes they too disappeared into the growing haze and mayhem.
I knew that I couldn’t fall down and surrender to the fire or Catherine’s gun. I’d surrendered too many times, yet I knew no matter what choice I made, our lives would never be the same. I just didn’t realize the magnitude of that realization.
For once, with not only my life at stake, but those of my daughter and husband, I chose to face the reality. With soot covering my face and those around me, I stood tall and saw the horror in Tony’s eyes. I couldn’t surrender—I couldn’t give into emotion, not yet. In my heart, I knew there were cards yet to see—the game wasn’t over—I knew the rules—and I wouldn’t disappoint.
Claire wiped the tears from her eyes. She hadn’t been aware that she was crying until the large droplets of moisture hit the ink on her paper, causing her words to bleed.
She looked at the clock. Meredith would be there in less than ten minutes. She should stop writing, yet the memories were too clear. Claire needed to finish the story—
Nichol’s cries cut through the cold water that fell from the ceiling. Tony was yelling—telling me to get her out of the house. If only I’d listened. Of all the times I’d obeyed him, ironically, this was when I chose to exert my independence.
I’ve asked myself why, and I’ve seen the answer in my nightmares. It was the look in Catherine’s eyes as she was saying Nichol’s name. That look haunts me to this day.
Everything happened so fast. Tony knocked the gun away from Catherine. He told me to pick it up, so I did. Catherine rushed toward me and, oh God—I can’t keep writing. If I write it—it’s real.
Closing the notebook, Claire placed it in a drawer, went to the bathroom, and washed her face. She didn’t want Meredith to find her in this state. When she returned to her quiet room, Claire looked around at all the new items: the colorful throw pillows, the new bedspread, and the pictures on her dresser. It broke her heart to see Nichol’s big brown eyes. They looked so much like her father’s.
Slowly, she walked to the dresser and opened the drawer. The end of their story was quite simple. It could be summed up by writing only a few more sentences—
As I retrieved the gun from the floor, Catherine stole Nichol from my grasp. When she did, Tony was there! He fought for our daughter. I saw the panic in his eyes when he noticed that I had the gun. I don’t think I meant to pull the trigger. I remember shaking. I don’t know if it was the cold water or fear, but when I heard Phil’s voice and felt pressure on my shoulders, I flinched, and I pulled the trigger.
Claire heard the sound of her door opening. Squaring her shoulders, she finished their story—
The sound was deafening. In that moment, I watched them all fall and knew, without a doubt, I’d shot the love of my life—I’d killed Anthony Rawlings.
Stoically, she placed the notebook back in the drawer. If Meredith noticed Claire’s red eyes, she didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, she did what she’d been doing since before Claire could remember, she chatted as Claire ate her dinner.
Later, when they stepped outside into the early evening, the air was still comfortably warm. Unfortunately, the nights were descending faster by a few minutes each passing day. The setting sun returned the cool crisp chill to the October breeze. Although this was only Courtney’s third visit since Meredith had brought them together, Claire constantly feared raising questions if they stayed out too late. She hated that the twilight dictated the length of their visits. It wasn’t like she wanted to lie to Emily or to anyone. She’d repeatedly asked Emily to allow more visitors. Emily always had a reason to deny her request—according to her sister the time was never right.