Freedom of Love (Letter From Home #2)(17)

“You? Why?”

“It’s my understanding that the counselor would like to work with both you and your sister—separately for now until the court order is lifted. From what little I can discern, I think that would be good for both of you.”

Nodding, I tried to hold back the hope, but it threatened to shine through nonetheless. Feeling Clarice’s fingers squeeze mine, I offered a slight smile. “Thank you. I would…well…thank you,” I stammered.

Lying in bed that night as my cellmates slept, I thought of the meeting with Rachel’s foster mom, sifting through everything she had said. I’ll be able to see Rachel when I get out. Even if it’s with a counselor present, that’d be fine. More than fine! Maybe, just maybe, things are looking up. Rolling over, I smiled. I’ll write Brody tomorrow.





Chapter 8




(August – Brody)


The scorching sun bore down on my back as I left the command center at the end of my shift. One rescue and two DOAs. Not the stats I wanted to have. Sighing heavily, I ducked into the MWR. A week had passed, but there had been no other emails from Molly. While that wasn’t unusual, I craved her words. Clicking on her last email, I read it over several times. Checking my other emails, I came across one from Corrlinks. Assuming it was spam, I almost deleted before reading it, but clicked it open instead.

It informed me that the Corrlinks internet provider now had a way for me to add money to a Corrlinks account to continue correspondence with anyone who had a Corrlinks email account. Recognizing that as the email provider Molly used, I remembered her saying that she did not always have internet access. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t responded. Smiling, I thought what a wonderful surprise I would be to send a little gift and clicked on the email to check about adding some money to her internet account.

The link took me to the website for Corrlinks, an internet service for persons who were incarcerated in federal prisons.

Incarcerated in federal prison.

Incarcerated. In. Federal. Prisons.

The words blurred in front of me as my heart pounded erratically. Molly? Incarcerated? No f*ckin’ way. My fingers automatically typed Molly Thurston into Google, and hit News.

An article popped up from the Charlottesville Gazette, about her arrest and subsequent conviction. Domestic fight. Stepfather killed. Convicted of involuntary manslaughter.

My heart pounded an erratic beat as I stared at the words on the screen, losing track of how much time I sat, numb to my core. She killed someone? My breath left my lungs in a whoosh as I leaned heavily back in my chair. What a f*ckin’ moron I’ve been! I’ve been communicating…hell, sharing my life…with a killer? News articles on prisoners having scammed money from pen-pals filled my mind. I fell for an inmate in a prison who’s probably out to rook me of all my money. Oh, hell, no!

Pulling up her last email, all my frustration and anger poured out in my words.

Molly,

I have just discovered that you do not work in a library as you stated, but instead are actually an inmate in a prison. To say I’m stunned at your duplicity would be an understatement. I assume I’m only one of many men you have contacted. If your intention was to eventually scam me out of my money or my time, then you can consider this avenue closed. There is no more reason to have any contact with me. I shall delete your messages and block you.

SGT Molina

Hitting send, I shoved my chair back, barely catching it as it tipped over, and stood quickly. I headed immediately to my tent and bent over my footlocker. Pulling out the books I had collected, I stacked them on my bed. I reached into the lid where I had taped her picture and ripped it off. I then took out the handwritten notes I had from her. Grabbing everything, I made my way back to the MWR.

Setting the books on the counter, I called out to the worker, “I’m done. Leaving these here.”

“Hey, I’ll let you know when we get in more!” he called from the back.

“Don’t bother!” I shouted in return. Seeing his head pop out from behind the wooden shelves looking at me in confusion, I said, “Don’t think I’ll be reading anytime soon.” With that, I walked out and stood over the nearest trash can. Ripping her letters and picture into several pieces, I tossed them into the garbage where they belonged.

Sucking in a deep breath, I stalked around the corner to the gym to pound out my anger.



“You want to talk about what’s got you so pissed?”

I looked up at Todd, standing in the doorway of the Dustoff command center. It was a slow day for once and I lay on the old sofa, having already double-checked the bird for supplies.

“Not particularly,” I said, my gaze shifting away from his hard stare.

“I figure it’s about the pretty librarian whose picture is no longer in your footlocker.”

“How the hell do you know what’s in my shit?”

“Cause I’ve got eyes, *,” he laughed. “I used to see her picture when you’d open it up and now it’s not there. Figured she sent you a Dear John Letter.”

“Be hard for her to do that since we were never together,” I bit back.

“You might have not been physically together,” he countered, “but you were mighty friendly.”

“Yeah, well, no more. I realized she wasn’t who she said she was and I don’t have time for a liar in my life. So I sent her a good riddance email. I’m better off now.”