Wishing Well(85)

So instead of running up to the scene to discover what happened, instead of taking just one fucking second to gather myself together and think , I reacted to my fear and instinct by leaving through the back gate. Glancing at the police car where they’d taken Vincent, I turned and I ran.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


Faiville Prison, 2:07 pm



Silence.

Pure, aggravating, hypnotizing, agonizing, penetrating silence.

Vincent and Penelope both were caught in its thrall. Neither moving, neither blinking, both barely breathing as they absorbed the facts of a story that had destroyed so many lives. And hanging over the horror of the events like a lingering shroud that still hadn’t been swept aside to reveal the last bit of tragedy to be found, was the ticking clock counting down the hours to when the last act of injustice would occur.

Vincent was being put to death at six o’clock the following morning, and there wasn’t a damn thing either of them could do to stop it.

One would think the man with death hanging over him would be more lost than the woman who could walk away, but in testament to his fortitude, to his acceptance of fate, Vincent was the first to break the enduring silence when he closed his eyes, opened them and spoke.

“You took over your sister’s identity. At first I told myself I was crazy for even thinking it, but for a year now, I’ve wondered. I offered you the interview just so I could confirm one way or the other.”

Penelope’s tear-dappled gaze met his.

“How? Why?” he asked, confusion drawing lines across his forehead.

For those questions, she had a simple answer. “Fear.” Shaking her head at her own stupidity, thinking of all the mistakes, the ‘should haves’, she swiped the back of her hand across her face to chase away the tears that slid slowly down her cheeks.

“After running off, I didn’t know what to do. The last thing I wanted was to return to the hotel, and having nowhere else to go, I checked into a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city. What happened...it was all over the local news that night, so I sat glued to a television in my room with horrible reception and tried to see through what was being reported. I wanted the truth, but I was in too poor a state of mind to process any of it. I made irrational and horrible decisions in the weeks that followed.”

“We both did,” Vincent offered, his words intended to comfort when they only drove the weight of the tragedy deeper.

“We both did,” she agreed, her voice lacking conviction and strength. Sad laughter escaped her lips. “Perhaps it was your mistake that caused mine. I’ll blame this on you if you’ll let me.”

Shackles scraping across the table, Vincent reached for her. For the first time, Penelope reached back. Their fingers threaded together as he said, “You have my permission to blame me for whatever you want. But at least explain what blame I’m taking.”

Remembering back, Penelope breathed deeply, the pain, the fear, the confusion and hatred she’d felt coming back in crashing waves. “The news that night was nothing more than speculation. They interviewed a few of the guests who witnessed it and could only guess as to what caused the fight. The only thing the guests thought they knew for sure was that both you and Maurice had been the aggressors. It wasn’t until your arraignment that I started putting the pieces together. They televised it, you know?”

Nodding his head, he admitted, “I knew they would. Apparently the brutality of Barron’s death made for excellent television. People are such vultures.”

Enjoying the warmth of his hand, comforted by the contact, Penelope admitted, “When you claimed at the arraignment that you had lost control out of jealousy - that it was a crime of passion, or whatever - I knew better. You had no reason to be jealous. Maurice, on the other hand, he had reason. They hadn’t released the victim’s names as they were waiting to contact next of kin, and although I knew one had been Meadow, I wasn’t sure about the other. By the time they finally named the victims as Penelope Graham and Barron Billings, I’d already made my decision as to what I would do.”

“And why did you make that choice? Didn’t you question why Meadow was with Barron? Didn’t you want to talk to me, at least, knowing I hadn’t been the one to cause that fight?”

It’s insane what emotions will do to a person. For some, they’re able to think rationally. They’re able to calm down and decide on a course of action that helps improve a situation instead of making it worse. But Penelope, at that time, wasn’t able to make sense of anything. All she knew was that her entire family was gone, she only had a thousand dollars to her name, and she was once again unemployed and homeless. If only she would have stopped to think about another way to handle it.

“I was angry and scared. Heartbroken. I know they released you on bail, but the last thing I wanted to do was return to the hotel. It scared me to think that Maurice had killed both Barron and Meadow. He could have killed me. As for why my sister was with Barron...”

Penelope shrugged, releasing a breath before saying, “The guy was a jerk. I knew that much about him, but I didn’t consider him to be dangerous. I’d seen him in public since that incident in your office and he didn’t attack me. He let me go and he wasn’t violent. It didn’t occur to me that he’d tried to hurt Meadow. I thought maybe he was just harassing her like he did me. I thought that Maurice had seen them together and flipped out, and that you took the blame to protect him. I was right on that last part. You always protected him, even if keeping him in the basement was wrong.”