"Miss Connor, your mother is here," the nurse announced as she entered the
room.
It had been a week since the incident. I had been placed in the isolation ward, a relatively miniscule portion of the hospital meant to house patients with tuberculosis or other infectious diseases. Here I could be guarded more easily since the ward was located far from daily traffic and other inpatient areas. It was also less conspicuous to have five or six federal agents outside my room here than anywhere else in the hospital. Over the past week, Donovan had continuously increased guard around my room, never telling me exactly why. But despite the heavy observation, I had spoken to my mother everyday by telephone, constantly trying to convince her that I was fine and would be home soon.
Unfortunately the opposite was true. I had undergone extensive cosmetic surgery to cover the lashes across my back and to replace the lost teeth with implants. Even after a week, I was still in agony. My shoulder was healing well, but my arm was bandaged to my side to prevent movement. My face was still bruised and cut although the swelling had gone down. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw a monster. I was thoroughly convinced that I was murderer and deserved my torment. That was why my mother had not visited sooner. I had been told that they could arrange to have her escorted to the hospital two days after I had arrived, but I could not let her see me in the state I was in. So Donovan, according to my request, had told her that she could not visit me for security reasons. It was the only way I could keep her from coming. I could not have handled having to console her and myself at the same time. I knew it would be impossible for her to fathom what had happened to me and too hard on her emotions to see me in such pain. Fortunately now she could not see the bruises that covered my torso and legs underneath the blanket and hospital gown.
But throughout all the insanity and pain, Frank had been there. He ran the entire show from my bedside, holding my hand when the pain got so bad I could hardly breath. When I awoke in the middle of the night, he was there to comfort me, letting me know what was going on without actually telling me anything. When I argued with the nurses about whether or not I should be resting, he was there to negotiate a compromise. The only time he left me was to check in with his team or go into the field for God only knows what purpose. It had been Frank that had made all of the arrangements for my mother, getting her a home nurse to help out while she recovered from a severe case of bronchitis. It was Frank who had found a mysterious way to pay for all the hospital bills and made up the cover story to tell my mother about the incident. He had explained to her that I had been in a car accident while driving to work the day Carter to the school hostage. I know now that he had also arranged for the appropriate legal documents to be processed as part of my cover should Carter come back for me.
It was Frank who led my mother into my hospital room, gently guiding her by the arm through the doorway. I watched her face as she studied me. She was still weak from her illness, looking far older than fifty- six, and I could tell already that seeing her only daughter battered beyond recognition and lying in a hospital bed was wearing on her.
"Mrs. Connor, would you like something to drink?" Frank asked softly as he guided my mother to a chair.
"No thank you, I'm fine," she replied, not taking her concerned gaze off of me. "And please, call me Rebbecca. I think I'm still young enough to warrant using my first name." She looked away from me long enough to smile at Frank.
Frank returned the gesture saying, "Very well, Rebbecca. I'll just be outside the door if you need me." He looked up at me, caught my gaze for a moment, nodded his head, and then, almost reluctantly, walked out of the room. I stared after him for a few minutes; not realizing my mother had watched the exchange.
"He's a very handsome man," my mother finally said, breaking my thoughts and my stare.
"What?" I said, staring at her in surprise for a moment before collecting myself. "Yes, I suppose he is."
"And very kind, too."
"Yes, he is."
"And very willing to lie for you."
The comment threw me off guard. I looked at her and then down at the blanket over my legs. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not stupid Katherine. I know you weren't in any car wreck. You were in that school, weren't you? You don't have to protect me, I'm a grown woman, your mother. I'm the one that is supposed to protect you. What did they do to you?"
"Mom, I don't want to talk about that right now. I am too tired to think about all of that. I just want to sit here and talk about normal stuff like the weather. Please, I just want a few more minutes of a normal life. I have a feeling that after this, everything's going to change for us. I don't want to think about it right now."
"Alright, sweetheart," she said, laying her hand atop mine. "We'll talk about something else. But promise me someday you'll tell me."
I smiled weakly. "Someday," I promised, not knowing if I really believed I would.
We talked away the morning and afternoon. Gossiping about how long lost aunts, uncles, and cousins came out of the woodwork after the story about the school hit the news. We talked about how nice the nurses had been to me and made fun of the suits standing outside my door without letting them hear us. We even talked about the weather. It was about five o'clock that evening when Frank walked in and announced that it was time for my mother to leave, saying she couldn't stay the night because of security. I could tell my mother was silently wondering why I needed so much protection, I was even curious by that point as well. But she made no argument and began to say her good-byes as he walked out again, saying he'd wait to escort her to the car. Again, she caught my stare as I watched him leave.
"You like him," she said quietly.
"Of course," I replied, trying to cover my true feelings. "He saved my life, I think I'm obligated to like him," I smiled at her, trying to brush it off as a joke.
"Katherine, it has nothing to do with his saving your life. You two have become quite attached. I bet he feels the same way for you."
"Mom, nothing's going on. He doesn't feel anything for me. He's just doing his job," I argued, secretly hoping I was wrong.
"He's doing more than his job. None of those other agents have offered to sit in vigil for you."
"It's not a vigil. I'm a victim and a witness. With that guy Carter on the loose, I could be in danger."
"Well, that may be true, sweetie, but Mr. Donovan doesn't appear to be just your average federal employee."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean he's obviously someone of importance. You can tell by the way the other agents treat him. Someone in his position doesn't do the guard watch himself; he gets someone else to do it. He's taken on more than just his job for a reason."
"Yes, he has. Carter did this because of him. He feels it's his responsibility."
"Maybe. Maybe that's just an excuse now. Whatever his reasons, I can tell there's something else there. Something about you," she said, putting on her coat. Then she patted leg and smiled, "Whatever happens, don't let your heart control your head, but don't ignore your feelings either. Just let nature take its course cautiously." Then she turned and walked out the door.
I spent the next few hours alone, pondering my mother's words, hoping secretly that she was right. It had never really occurred to me that Frank Donovan might have feelings for me as I admittedly, had for him. I kept trying to tell myself that I was just infatuated with the man who had saved my life – my protector. But there was something in the silence between us that made me feel that we said more with our hearts than our minds could ever comprehend. I was still contemplating this when I heard Franks voice in the hallway, conferring with one of the other agents. He stepped into the room a few minutes later, looking down at an open file folder in his hand, frowning. He looked up and smiled.
"How's our favorite patient tonight?"
"Alive," I answered half-heartedly. "I guess that ought to be worth something."
"It's worth everything, Kate. Not many people could have done what you did in that school. If you hadn't cleared that tunnel for us, it may have taken up to a day for us to get in without endangering the hostages. More people would have died that didn't have to. I don't know one agent that would have been willing to do what you did for those students."
"What if I didn't do it for the students?"
"What do you mean?"
"What if I only did it for me? I mean deep down I was only thinking about saving myself. So what if what I did saved them? I left them, I didn't stay with them and fight, I ran away."
"Kate, you were singled out by Carter. There was absolutely no way you could have made it back up into the building and gotten those kids out. It took two hours for my teams to take the building after you got us in; you wouldn't have stood a chance against all of those men. Instead of helping those hostages, you would have only martyred yourself. Is that what you wish you'd have done? Gotten killed, lead to more deaths or allowed Carter to torture you more? No matter what you were thinking of when you escaped, you did the right thing, make no question about it."
I stared down at the blanket, afraid to look at him, afraid to admit that he might be right. More afraid of the idea that killing those men could possibly be considered the right thing to do. I wanted desperately to change the subject. I looked over at the folder in his hand and motioned to it with a nod.
"Carter?"
He looked down at it and nodded. "It looks like he's disappeared. But I know him, there are loose ends to be tied up, he'll resurface eventually. In the mean time, we need to talk about you and your mother. Carter may come back to look for you. Of all the witnesses, your testimony would be the most damaging."
"I don't understand. He claimed responsibility. A hundred people saw him. How could my testimony be any more or less damaging?"
"He tortured you. You escaped regardless of the risk to your life. Your testimony would paint a very twisted and evil picture of Carter to any courtroom. Even a federal court would be persuaded by such a story. With your testimony, we could make sure he received the maximum sentence."
"Are you saying that even if they did catch him, he could get off clean?"
"No, not exactly. We just need that one clincher that would ensure his sentence. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to, but I guarantee that Carter won't care, he'll come back for you regardless."
"So no matter what I do, Carter will still want me dead."
"Yes. But we can protect you."
"Protect me? How? For how long?"
"Indefinitely, if you testify."
"So you're saying that the only way I'll get the protection I need is if I testify in court. If I don't, I'm on my own."
"Kate, I know it sounds harsh…"
"Harsh!" I exclaimed, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "I think that's an understatement, don't you?"
"Kate, the federal government isn't going to waste resources on someone that doesn't offer them anything in return. It's just the way it is. To get what you need you have to give something in return." He spoke so calmly and so matter-of-fact that I was even more enraged. I knew he was trying to help but my fear was blinding me and all I could think of was the world I was bringing my mother into and the sacrifices that were about to be made just so we could survive.
"I don't know if I can do this," I said aloud, shaking my head.
"Of course you can. I know it'll be hard, but you won't have to be in the room with Carter at any time. Most of your testimony will be done through video and voice recording."
"That's not what I mean. I don't think I can live the way you're about to ask me to live."
"How's that?" he asked, staring at me in concern with his head tilted and one eyebrow raised inquisitively.
"Like I'm the fugitive. To go into hiding and live surrounded with men with guns, reporting to God only knows who. Carter took me hostage, he tortured me! He's the one that should be punished. I'm the victim here. Why do I have to give up my life? Why do I have to make the sacrifices?"
"Kate, I'm not going to lie to you. You will be the one to make those sacrifices. You will have to live like a prisoner. But chances are, if we catch Carter, it won't be long."
"And if you don't catch him? How long will the government protect me then? A few months? Years? When does my use run out?"
"I'll protect you as long as you're threatened."
"No, you said I'm only as good as my testimony. What's the statute of limitations on torture, huh?"
"He's wanted for murder as well, there's no limit. Besides, I said I would protect you. Government or no, you will be safe, Kate. I promise you that," he said, placing a hand on my tear-stained cheek as he caught my eye, and held my gaze for a moment.
My breath caught in my in my chest. No response came from me. All I could do was watch him watch me. Our locked eyes were awoken by the ring from his cell phone. Frank looked down at the lit panel on the phone, frowned, and nodding a pardon, stepped out of the room.
I laid my head back on the pillow, finally catching my breath, my mind exploding with emotions. I was in no way prepared for what was happening. I had not even grasped the idea that I had escaped from Carter in the first place. I had been sitting in wait over the course of the week, waiting to wake up from this dream. Waiting to wake up into the nightmare that was the darkness and damnation of the broiler room. But I did not wake up. It was not a dream. Although I had escaped from Carter once, I was still running. Frank had made it subtly obvious that Carter had a score to settle with the only person that had escaped his torment. He had had a plan for Frank and it had not included my intervention. Regardless of the danger I may have to face because I beat Carter at his own game, I was now placed in an even more complicated situation.
You can never imagine what it actually feels like to be told that you are about to lose every resemblance of a normal life. I was being forced to give up the life that I had created, just to survive. But not just that, I was bringing my family along for the ride. It is one thing to assume such a massive change by yourself, but to add to it the responsibility of another life was a different matter. How could I tell my mother that not only was her life in danger because I refused to be murdered, but in order to live she would have to give up every comfort she knew? I do not know if Frank ever really understood what he was asking me to do or is it had occurred to him, a person that moved around a lot and rarely made real friends, what a cataclysmic event this would be in my life.
But for everything he was asking me to do to save my life, he was asking something even more frightening with the mere touch of my cheek. Frank Donovan was asking me to care for him. It was a request that need not have been made. For no matter what he felt for me, I already cared deeply for Frank. It was these feelings that scared me the most. It would make my life infinitely more complex, and later on more dangerous, to be with Frank, but it would also make both of out lives more fulfilled.
I remained hospitalized for one more week, seeing both Frank and my mother daily. In that time, Frank had taken it upon himself to explain the situation as it was to my mother and tell her exactly what would have to happen to ensure our safety. Exactly what happened was that Frank had us moved into a safe house outside Chicago that, although it lacked some of the finer amenities like a working kitchen, had the best bullet-proof glass, security system, and round-the-clock live surveillance team money could buy. We would live off of the state, and massive amounts of take-out, until Carter was apprehended. Everyone talked like it would be a matter of days, but one look into Frank's eyes told me that something else was being planned. The secrecy and guilt I saw in his expression said to me that the impending danger ahead had less to do with Carter's plans than it did with the plans being made outside my hospital room.
But nevertheless, I trusted Frank instinctively and knew that he would not allow anything to happen to neither my mother nor myself if he could help it.
The letter ended abruptly. I turned every page over trying to figure out where the rest of the story was written. My first realization was that it was not written anywhere, my mother had inexplicably stopped almost in mid-thought. My second realization was that it was not a story at all. It was true. It was the story of my mother's life, and apparently, my father's as well.
I folded the pages back together and tucked them back into the envelope. I looked up at the still water ahead of me, realizing that the sun was beginning to set and that unless I made my way back to the house soon, I would find myself stumbling along the shoreline in the dark of the country night. I walked the path back to the farmhouse slowly and deliberately, not wanting to go back at all. Part of me did not want to face my mother for her lies and secrets and the other part did not because of how angry I had been when I had left her earlier.
I entered the house quietly, shutting the door behind me as silently as possible. All of the lights were on, but I could not hear the stirring of a single soul within the house itself. I stepped towards the staircase, making it only a few steps past the entrance to the study when I was alerted that I was not alone.
"Michael Connor," Clarissa commanded, "Come here please." I turned to see her sitting on the window bench of the bay window across the room. I looked up towards the second story cautiously.
"You needn't worry about Karen and the baby," she continued as though reading my mind. "I put the baby down an hour ago and poor Karen cried herself to sleep, as sick with worry as she was. How could you even conceive of storming out of here the way you did without a single word to your family?"
"I was upset. Mom said some things I wasn't prepared for. I had to be alone," I tried to explain, knowing she would not allow me any excuses. And she would have been right – there were no proper excuses.
"I know exactly what she said and why you were upset, but you can't treat your wife and child like that. Besides, they have a right to know what's going on."
"Oh, you mean like I had a right to know? No one ever thought it would be in my best interest to let me in on all of this!"
Clarissa threw her finger to her lips. "Now you keep your voice down. Your mother did what she thought was right for you."
"That may well be Clarissa, but Jesus! Forty-two years! My entire life has been one big lie! It's like everything I've known never existed."
"Never existed," she exclaimed, standing up and coming towards me in a hushed rage. "The love your mother and father gave you, the safe and happy home, the successful and fulfilling life you lead, those never existed? Listen to me, you may not have known the exact facts of your life, but I can assure you, it happened. Every laugh, every smile, every tear happened. They happened because that woman upstairs saw to it that they did. She made sure you had everything you ever needed and more. And most of the time at the expense of her own needs and desires. So don't you stand there like a spoiled child and claim that you've somehow been jilted in your life because your mother spared you the strange and frightening details of her life. She's been through hell in her time and you have no right to sit in judgement of a woman who has not only saved lives but created a damn fine good one for you as well."
I stared at her for a moment, partly from the shock of hearing her talk to me like a child and the other part from realizing that she was right. I was acting like spoiled child. I never imagined how hard it must have been for my mother to live a life as her own. There was something else I had not thought of yet. I had not thought of Frank Donovan as my father. Clarissa words brought home that idea hard.
"Clarissa," I began cautiously, too tired to argue, "I just need to know the truth. Can't you see that? Yes, I know Karen needs to know as well, but how can I expect her to be understanding when I can'' explain what's wrong? I didn't mean to worry anyone. I just needed a little time. And now I need to talk to my mother. Is she up?"
"She's awake. She's been waiting for you. She should be resting, but as usual, you're the only thing she's worried about right now. You'd better go up," she said, waving her hand towards the stairs as she turned and walked back into the study.
"Clarissa, thank you for everything you've done for her."
I saw the back of her head move as she nodded her acceptance and then I turned and made my way up the stairs to my mother's room.
The bedside table lamp and the desk lamp were on but their light was dim and the room almost seemed to glow, as if lit by candles. My mother was sitting in the white wicker rocking chair in the far corner of the room, turned towards the window, watching the moon reflect in the water below. Her auburn hair, though faded with time, had still to see a gray hair, and was pulled back and held at the base of her head with a pair of oriental sticks that appeared to be made of jade. The amber glow of the room made her look less pale but I could still see the longing in her eyes. Her hands were lying on her lap, gently draped across her black silk robe with its ornate red and green designs. Her long slender fingers, that I had once watched dance across the keys of the antique baby grand piano downstairs, were now thin and drawn, the wrinkles along her knuckles and near her wrists the only real signs of her true age.
"I suppose you've come for the rest of the letter," she spoke suddenly; the lack of emotion startled me. "It's on the desk. It was too much to fit in the envelope and I forgot. Dying people do that. You're free to take it and run again."
"Kit…Mom, I don't want to read the rest of the letter."
"What do you mean?" she looked at me inquisitively.
"I want you to tell me. I won't run away again, I swear. I need to hear you say it. Please."
She quickly shifted her gaze down to her hands and then back to the window.
"Mom, please. You want me to know and I want to hear it now."
"Don't ask me to do this, Michael," my mother pleaded weakly. "The letter was hard enough. I don't know if I have the strength to relive it again."
"You want to tell me, so tell me. It can't hurt any worse than trying to keep it all a secret. What happened when you got out of the hospital? When you got to the safe house?" I asked as I sat down on the ledge of the window she was looking out of.
She did not say anything for a while. She only stared ahead, shaking her head softly, trying to brush away my request. I looked away for a moment, contemplating whether I should give up and read the rest of the letter or not. As I was about to retrieve the letter, I heard her begin to speak.
"We knew Carter may try and get to me. But we never thought he may have already done it."
It had been a week since the incident. I had been placed in the isolation ward, a relatively miniscule portion of the hospital meant to house patients with tuberculosis or other infectious diseases. Here I could be guarded more easily since the ward was located far from daily traffic and other inpatient areas. It was also less conspicuous to have five or six federal agents outside my room here than anywhere else in the hospital. Over the past week, Donovan had continuously increased guard around my room, never telling me exactly why. But despite the heavy observation, I had spoken to my mother everyday by telephone, constantly trying to convince her that I was fine and would be home soon.
Unfortunately the opposite was true. I had undergone extensive cosmetic surgery to cover the lashes across my back and to replace the lost teeth with implants. Even after a week, I was still in agony. My shoulder was healing well, but my arm was bandaged to my side to prevent movement. My face was still bruised and cut although the swelling had gone down. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw a monster. I was thoroughly convinced that I was murderer and deserved my torment. That was why my mother had not visited sooner. I had been told that they could arrange to have her escorted to the hospital two days after I had arrived, but I could not let her see me in the state I was in. So Donovan, according to my request, had told her that she could not visit me for security reasons. It was the only way I could keep her from coming. I could not have handled having to console her and myself at the same time. I knew it would be impossible for her to fathom what had happened to me and too hard on her emotions to see me in such pain. Fortunately now she could not see the bruises that covered my torso and legs underneath the blanket and hospital gown.
But throughout all the insanity and pain, Frank had been there. He ran the entire show from my bedside, holding my hand when the pain got so bad I could hardly breath. When I awoke in the middle of the night, he was there to comfort me, letting me know what was going on without actually telling me anything. When I argued with the nurses about whether or not I should be resting, he was there to negotiate a compromise. The only time he left me was to check in with his team or go into the field for God only knows what purpose. It had been Frank that had made all of the arrangements for my mother, getting her a home nurse to help out while she recovered from a severe case of bronchitis. It was Frank who had found a mysterious way to pay for all the hospital bills and made up the cover story to tell my mother about the incident. He had explained to her that I had been in a car accident while driving to work the day Carter to the school hostage. I know now that he had also arranged for the appropriate legal documents to be processed as part of my cover should Carter come back for me.
It was Frank who led my mother into my hospital room, gently guiding her by the arm through the doorway. I watched her face as she studied me. She was still weak from her illness, looking far older than fifty- six, and I could tell already that seeing her only daughter battered beyond recognition and lying in a hospital bed was wearing on her.
"Mrs. Connor, would you like something to drink?" Frank asked softly as he guided my mother to a chair.
"No thank you, I'm fine," she replied, not taking her concerned gaze off of me. "And please, call me Rebbecca. I think I'm still young enough to warrant using my first name." She looked away from me long enough to smile at Frank.
Frank returned the gesture saying, "Very well, Rebbecca. I'll just be outside the door if you need me." He looked up at me, caught my gaze for a moment, nodded his head, and then, almost reluctantly, walked out of the room. I stared after him for a few minutes; not realizing my mother had watched the exchange.
"He's a very handsome man," my mother finally said, breaking my thoughts and my stare.
"What?" I said, staring at her in surprise for a moment before collecting myself. "Yes, I suppose he is."
"And very kind, too."
"Yes, he is."
"And very willing to lie for you."
The comment threw me off guard. I looked at her and then down at the blanket over my legs. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not stupid Katherine. I know you weren't in any car wreck. You were in that school, weren't you? You don't have to protect me, I'm a grown woman, your mother. I'm the one that is supposed to protect you. What did they do to you?"
"Mom, I don't want to talk about that right now. I am too tired to think about all of that. I just want to sit here and talk about normal stuff like the weather. Please, I just want a few more minutes of a normal life. I have a feeling that after this, everything's going to change for us. I don't want to think about it right now."
"Alright, sweetheart," she said, laying her hand atop mine. "We'll talk about something else. But promise me someday you'll tell me."
I smiled weakly. "Someday," I promised, not knowing if I really believed I would.
We talked away the morning and afternoon. Gossiping about how long lost aunts, uncles, and cousins came out of the woodwork after the story about the school hit the news. We talked about how nice the nurses had been to me and made fun of the suits standing outside my door without letting them hear us. We even talked about the weather. It was about five o'clock that evening when Frank walked in and announced that it was time for my mother to leave, saying she couldn't stay the night because of security. I could tell my mother was silently wondering why I needed so much protection, I was even curious by that point as well. But she made no argument and began to say her good-byes as he walked out again, saying he'd wait to escort her to the car. Again, she caught my stare as I watched him leave.
"You like him," she said quietly.
"Of course," I replied, trying to cover my true feelings. "He saved my life, I think I'm obligated to like him," I smiled at her, trying to brush it off as a joke.
"Katherine, it has nothing to do with his saving your life. You two have become quite attached. I bet he feels the same way for you."
"Mom, nothing's going on. He doesn't feel anything for me. He's just doing his job," I argued, secretly hoping I was wrong.
"He's doing more than his job. None of those other agents have offered to sit in vigil for you."
"It's not a vigil. I'm a victim and a witness. With that guy Carter on the loose, I could be in danger."
"Well, that may be true, sweetie, but Mr. Donovan doesn't appear to be just your average federal employee."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean he's obviously someone of importance. You can tell by the way the other agents treat him. Someone in his position doesn't do the guard watch himself; he gets someone else to do it. He's taken on more than just his job for a reason."
"Yes, he has. Carter did this because of him. He feels it's his responsibility."
"Maybe. Maybe that's just an excuse now. Whatever his reasons, I can tell there's something else there. Something about you," she said, putting on her coat. Then she patted leg and smiled, "Whatever happens, don't let your heart control your head, but don't ignore your feelings either. Just let nature take its course cautiously." Then she turned and walked out the door.
I spent the next few hours alone, pondering my mother's words, hoping secretly that she was right. It had never really occurred to me that Frank Donovan might have feelings for me as I admittedly, had for him. I kept trying to tell myself that I was just infatuated with the man who had saved my life – my protector. But there was something in the silence between us that made me feel that we said more with our hearts than our minds could ever comprehend. I was still contemplating this when I heard Franks voice in the hallway, conferring with one of the other agents. He stepped into the room a few minutes later, looking down at an open file folder in his hand, frowning. He looked up and smiled.
"How's our favorite patient tonight?"
"Alive," I answered half-heartedly. "I guess that ought to be worth something."
"It's worth everything, Kate. Not many people could have done what you did in that school. If you hadn't cleared that tunnel for us, it may have taken up to a day for us to get in without endangering the hostages. More people would have died that didn't have to. I don't know one agent that would have been willing to do what you did for those students."
"What if I didn't do it for the students?"
"What do you mean?"
"What if I only did it for me? I mean deep down I was only thinking about saving myself. So what if what I did saved them? I left them, I didn't stay with them and fight, I ran away."
"Kate, you were singled out by Carter. There was absolutely no way you could have made it back up into the building and gotten those kids out. It took two hours for my teams to take the building after you got us in; you wouldn't have stood a chance against all of those men. Instead of helping those hostages, you would have only martyred yourself. Is that what you wish you'd have done? Gotten killed, lead to more deaths or allowed Carter to torture you more? No matter what you were thinking of when you escaped, you did the right thing, make no question about it."
I stared down at the blanket, afraid to look at him, afraid to admit that he might be right. More afraid of the idea that killing those men could possibly be considered the right thing to do. I wanted desperately to change the subject. I looked over at the folder in his hand and motioned to it with a nod.
"Carter?"
He looked down at it and nodded. "It looks like he's disappeared. But I know him, there are loose ends to be tied up, he'll resurface eventually. In the mean time, we need to talk about you and your mother. Carter may come back to look for you. Of all the witnesses, your testimony would be the most damaging."
"I don't understand. He claimed responsibility. A hundred people saw him. How could my testimony be any more or less damaging?"
"He tortured you. You escaped regardless of the risk to your life. Your testimony would paint a very twisted and evil picture of Carter to any courtroom. Even a federal court would be persuaded by such a story. With your testimony, we could make sure he received the maximum sentence."
"Are you saying that even if they did catch him, he could get off clean?"
"No, not exactly. We just need that one clincher that would ensure his sentence. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to, but I guarantee that Carter won't care, he'll come back for you regardless."
"So no matter what I do, Carter will still want me dead."
"Yes. But we can protect you."
"Protect me? How? For how long?"
"Indefinitely, if you testify."
"So you're saying that the only way I'll get the protection I need is if I testify in court. If I don't, I'm on my own."
"Kate, I know it sounds harsh…"
"Harsh!" I exclaimed, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "I think that's an understatement, don't you?"
"Kate, the federal government isn't going to waste resources on someone that doesn't offer them anything in return. It's just the way it is. To get what you need you have to give something in return." He spoke so calmly and so matter-of-fact that I was even more enraged. I knew he was trying to help but my fear was blinding me and all I could think of was the world I was bringing my mother into and the sacrifices that were about to be made just so we could survive.
"I don't know if I can do this," I said aloud, shaking my head.
"Of course you can. I know it'll be hard, but you won't have to be in the room with Carter at any time. Most of your testimony will be done through video and voice recording."
"That's not what I mean. I don't think I can live the way you're about to ask me to live."
"How's that?" he asked, staring at me in concern with his head tilted and one eyebrow raised inquisitively.
"Like I'm the fugitive. To go into hiding and live surrounded with men with guns, reporting to God only knows who. Carter took me hostage, he tortured me! He's the one that should be punished. I'm the victim here. Why do I have to give up my life? Why do I have to make the sacrifices?"
"Kate, I'm not going to lie to you. You will be the one to make those sacrifices. You will have to live like a prisoner. But chances are, if we catch Carter, it won't be long."
"And if you don't catch him? How long will the government protect me then? A few months? Years? When does my use run out?"
"I'll protect you as long as you're threatened."
"No, you said I'm only as good as my testimony. What's the statute of limitations on torture, huh?"
"He's wanted for murder as well, there's no limit. Besides, I said I would protect you. Government or no, you will be safe, Kate. I promise you that," he said, placing a hand on my tear-stained cheek as he caught my eye, and held my gaze for a moment.
My breath caught in my in my chest. No response came from me. All I could do was watch him watch me. Our locked eyes were awoken by the ring from his cell phone. Frank looked down at the lit panel on the phone, frowned, and nodding a pardon, stepped out of the room.
I laid my head back on the pillow, finally catching my breath, my mind exploding with emotions. I was in no way prepared for what was happening. I had not even grasped the idea that I had escaped from Carter in the first place. I had been sitting in wait over the course of the week, waiting to wake up from this dream. Waiting to wake up into the nightmare that was the darkness and damnation of the broiler room. But I did not wake up. It was not a dream. Although I had escaped from Carter once, I was still running. Frank had made it subtly obvious that Carter had a score to settle with the only person that had escaped his torment. He had had a plan for Frank and it had not included my intervention. Regardless of the danger I may have to face because I beat Carter at his own game, I was now placed in an even more complicated situation.
You can never imagine what it actually feels like to be told that you are about to lose every resemblance of a normal life. I was being forced to give up the life that I had created, just to survive. But not just that, I was bringing my family along for the ride. It is one thing to assume such a massive change by yourself, but to add to it the responsibility of another life was a different matter. How could I tell my mother that not only was her life in danger because I refused to be murdered, but in order to live she would have to give up every comfort she knew? I do not know if Frank ever really understood what he was asking me to do or is it had occurred to him, a person that moved around a lot and rarely made real friends, what a cataclysmic event this would be in my life.
But for everything he was asking me to do to save my life, he was asking something even more frightening with the mere touch of my cheek. Frank Donovan was asking me to care for him. It was a request that need not have been made. For no matter what he felt for me, I already cared deeply for Frank. It was these feelings that scared me the most. It would make my life infinitely more complex, and later on more dangerous, to be with Frank, but it would also make both of out lives more fulfilled.
I remained hospitalized for one more week, seeing both Frank and my mother daily. In that time, Frank had taken it upon himself to explain the situation as it was to my mother and tell her exactly what would have to happen to ensure our safety. Exactly what happened was that Frank had us moved into a safe house outside Chicago that, although it lacked some of the finer amenities like a working kitchen, had the best bullet-proof glass, security system, and round-the-clock live surveillance team money could buy. We would live off of the state, and massive amounts of take-out, until Carter was apprehended. Everyone talked like it would be a matter of days, but one look into Frank's eyes told me that something else was being planned. The secrecy and guilt I saw in his expression said to me that the impending danger ahead had less to do with Carter's plans than it did with the plans being made outside my hospital room.
But nevertheless, I trusted Frank instinctively and knew that he would not allow anything to happen to neither my mother nor myself if he could help it.
The letter ended abruptly. I turned every page over trying to figure out where the rest of the story was written. My first realization was that it was not written anywhere, my mother had inexplicably stopped almost in mid-thought. My second realization was that it was not a story at all. It was true. It was the story of my mother's life, and apparently, my father's as well.
I folded the pages back together and tucked them back into the envelope. I looked up at the still water ahead of me, realizing that the sun was beginning to set and that unless I made my way back to the house soon, I would find myself stumbling along the shoreline in the dark of the country night. I walked the path back to the farmhouse slowly and deliberately, not wanting to go back at all. Part of me did not want to face my mother for her lies and secrets and the other part did not because of how angry I had been when I had left her earlier.
I entered the house quietly, shutting the door behind me as silently as possible. All of the lights were on, but I could not hear the stirring of a single soul within the house itself. I stepped towards the staircase, making it only a few steps past the entrance to the study when I was alerted that I was not alone.
"Michael Connor," Clarissa commanded, "Come here please." I turned to see her sitting on the window bench of the bay window across the room. I looked up towards the second story cautiously.
"You needn't worry about Karen and the baby," she continued as though reading my mind. "I put the baby down an hour ago and poor Karen cried herself to sleep, as sick with worry as she was. How could you even conceive of storming out of here the way you did without a single word to your family?"
"I was upset. Mom said some things I wasn't prepared for. I had to be alone," I tried to explain, knowing she would not allow me any excuses. And she would have been right – there were no proper excuses.
"I know exactly what she said and why you were upset, but you can't treat your wife and child like that. Besides, they have a right to know what's going on."
"Oh, you mean like I had a right to know? No one ever thought it would be in my best interest to let me in on all of this!"
Clarissa threw her finger to her lips. "Now you keep your voice down. Your mother did what she thought was right for you."
"That may well be Clarissa, but Jesus! Forty-two years! My entire life has been one big lie! It's like everything I've known never existed."
"Never existed," she exclaimed, standing up and coming towards me in a hushed rage. "The love your mother and father gave you, the safe and happy home, the successful and fulfilling life you lead, those never existed? Listen to me, you may not have known the exact facts of your life, but I can assure you, it happened. Every laugh, every smile, every tear happened. They happened because that woman upstairs saw to it that they did. She made sure you had everything you ever needed and more. And most of the time at the expense of her own needs and desires. So don't you stand there like a spoiled child and claim that you've somehow been jilted in your life because your mother spared you the strange and frightening details of her life. She's been through hell in her time and you have no right to sit in judgement of a woman who has not only saved lives but created a damn fine good one for you as well."
I stared at her for a moment, partly from the shock of hearing her talk to me like a child and the other part from realizing that she was right. I was acting like spoiled child. I never imagined how hard it must have been for my mother to live a life as her own. There was something else I had not thought of yet. I had not thought of Frank Donovan as my father. Clarissa words brought home that idea hard.
"Clarissa," I began cautiously, too tired to argue, "I just need to know the truth. Can't you see that? Yes, I know Karen needs to know as well, but how can I expect her to be understanding when I can'' explain what's wrong? I didn't mean to worry anyone. I just needed a little time. And now I need to talk to my mother. Is she up?"
"She's awake. She's been waiting for you. She should be resting, but as usual, you're the only thing she's worried about right now. You'd better go up," she said, waving her hand towards the stairs as she turned and walked back into the study.
"Clarissa, thank you for everything you've done for her."
I saw the back of her head move as she nodded her acceptance and then I turned and made my way up the stairs to my mother's room.
The bedside table lamp and the desk lamp were on but their light was dim and the room almost seemed to glow, as if lit by candles. My mother was sitting in the white wicker rocking chair in the far corner of the room, turned towards the window, watching the moon reflect in the water below. Her auburn hair, though faded with time, had still to see a gray hair, and was pulled back and held at the base of her head with a pair of oriental sticks that appeared to be made of jade. The amber glow of the room made her look less pale but I could still see the longing in her eyes. Her hands were lying on her lap, gently draped across her black silk robe with its ornate red and green designs. Her long slender fingers, that I had once watched dance across the keys of the antique baby grand piano downstairs, were now thin and drawn, the wrinkles along her knuckles and near her wrists the only real signs of her true age.
"I suppose you've come for the rest of the letter," she spoke suddenly; the lack of emotion startled me. "It's on the desk. It was too much to fit in the envelope and I forgot. Dying people do that. You're free to take it and run again."
"Kit…Mom, I don't want to read the rest of the letter."
"What do you mean?" she looked at me inquisitively.
"I want you to tell me. I won't run away again, I swear. I need to hear you say it. Please."
She quickly shifted her gaze down to her hands and then back to the window.
"Mom, please. You want me to know and I want to hear it now."
"Don't ask me to do this, Michael," my mother pleaded weakly. "The letter was hard enough. I don't know if I have the strength to relive it again."
"You want to tell me, so tell me. It can't hurt any worse than trying to keep it all a secret. What happened when you got out of the hospital? When you got to the safe house?" I asked as I sat down on the ledge of the window she was looking out of.
She did not say anything for a while. She only stared ahead, shaking her head softly, trying to brush away my request. I looked away for a moment, contemplating whether I should give up and read the rest of the letter or not. As I was about to retrieve the letter, I heard her begin to speak.
"We knew Carter may try and get to me. But we never thought he may have already done it."