Chapter 5 - JULIAN ASKED TO SEE ME FROM PRISON
I had not seen Julian in three years.
Not in person.
Not since court.
His lawyers sent documents.
Prison administration sent victim-notification letters.
Once, a handwritten apology arrived.
I returned it unopened.
Not because I needed him never to speak.
Because I was not ready to become the audience for his remorse.
Then Detective Morris walked into my kitchen at 6:30 the morning after Rachel’s photograph arrived and said:
“Julian Mercer wants to talk to you.”
I laughed.
“No.”
“He says it concerns Rourke.”
“Still no.”
Hayes sat near the window.
“He contacted the district attorney first.”
I looked at him.
“That is different.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“Rourke will kill Rachel if he thinks the phone can put him away.”
My stomach tightened.
“That is obvious.”
“He says he knows where Rourke used to take people.”
Silence.
“Where?”
“He won't tell law enforcement without speaking to you.”
I became angry immediately.
“Then let him sit there.”
Morris nodded.
“That was my reaction.”
“Good.”
“Then he said the location is something only you can identify.”
That changed things.
“What does that mean?”
“He said Frank Sterling knew it.”
Dad again.
Everything led back to Dad.
I closed my eyes.
“Fine.”
Mia stayed with Sarah.
I drove to the correctional facility with Morris.
Hayes stayed behind because retired men apparently still had to obey some rules.
The prison smelled like every institutional building designed to remove humanity through paint color.
Beige.
Gray.
Metal.
I waited in a secure interview room.
No glass divider.
Julian entered wearing state-issued clothes.
He looked older.
Thinner.
No expensive watch.
No perfect hair.
His scars were internal.
Mine were not.
He stopped when he saw my face.
Not the scars.
Me.
“Elena.”
I felt nothing for one second.
Then too much.
Wedding.
Kitchen.
Hospital.
Court.
Everything.
I sat.
“You have ten minutes.”
He nodded.
Sat opposite.
His hands remained on the table.
Visible.
“Rachel Miller is alive.”
“So I saw.”
His expression changed.
“You got a photograph.”
“Yes.”
“Then Rourke has her.”
“Probably.”
“Not probably.”
Julian looked toward Morris.
“He does.”
“Where?”
Julian looked at me.
“Do you remember Red Pine Lodge?”
I frowned.
“No.”
“Your father did.”
Something moved.
Red Pine.
Insurance.
I remembered Dad mentioning a burned resort once.
“Outside Sturbridge?”
“Yes.”
“Closed?”
“For years.”
Julian nodded.
“Mason owns the land through another company.”
My pulse climbed.
“What does Rachel have to do with it?”
“Rourke used a maintenance building there.”
“For?”
Julian looked ashamed.
“People who wouldn't pay.”
The room became cold.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“While we were married?”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
The old rage arrived.
“You knew he took people somewhere to threaten them.”
“Yes.”
“And you still borrowed from him.”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever take you there?”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“Once.”
Good.
Fear.
Real.
“What happened?”
“He put a gun on the table.”
Morris leaned forward.
“Was it used?”
“No.”
“What did he want?”
“Payment.”
Julian looked at me.
“And the house.”
There it was.
My father’s house.
Again.
“He knew about it?”
“From me.”
The truth hurt less than it would have years ago.
Maybe because I expected nothing now.
“I told him Frank left you property.”
“You told a private lender about my inheritance.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I thought I could persuade you.”
“Then what?”
“He said if you refused, I needed to create pressure.”
My skin went cold.
Morris went still.
“Pressure how?”
Julian looked at me.
“I swear he did not tell me to burn you.”
I almost laughed.
“That is a remarkably low bar.”
“I know.”
“Then what did he say?”
“He said accidents change people’s priorities.”
The room went completely silent.
Morris’s pen stopped.
I stared at Julian.
“You never told police.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it would make what I did look planned.”
“It was planned enough.”
“Yes.”
I felt the old pain in my shoulder.
Phantom.
Memory.
Julian continued.
“My mother and I talked.”
“I pushed you.”
“Rourke did not make me.”
“Good.”
“At least you learned one sentence.”
He closed his eyes.
“I was afraid of him.”
“So you hurt me instead.”
“Yes.”
No excuse.
That mattered slightly.
Not enough.
“Why Rachel?”
“She had the phone.”
“You knew?”
“After my arrest.”
“How?”
“Rourke sent me a message through someone.”
“What message?”
“That loose ends disappear.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Of course.”
Julian flinched.
“I was in jail.”
“You had attorneys.”
“Police.”
“You could have warned them.”
“I know.”
“Why didn't you?”
He looked at me.
“Because I thought if I gave them Rourke, he would give them more about me.”
There.
Still selfish then.
He nodded as if he heard it himself.
“I was still protecting myself.”
“Yes.”
“When did that change?”
Julian looked toward the small barred window.
“After sentencing.”
“That is vague.”
“My cellmate had a daughter.”
I almost laughed.
“Prison redemption through fatherhood?”
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“He talked about missing her.”
“Every day.”
“School.”
“Hair.”
“Her first job.”
“I hated him for it.”
“Why?”
“Because he had something I had destroyed without appreciating.”
He looked at my scars.
“I don't deserve your sympathy.”
“You don't have it.”
“Good.”
He almost smiled.
Then:
“I wrote the apology.”
“I returned it.”
“I know.”
He looked down.
“I was angry for two days.”
“Of course.”
“Then I realized the apology was still about making myself feel better.”
That was almost insight.
“What do you want now?”
“Nothing.”
I stared.
He corrected.
“I want Rachel found.”
“Why?”
“Because I helped make Rourke dangerous.”
“And because Mia?”
His face changed.
“You met her.”
“Yes.”
“She's nine.”
“Yes.”
Julian swallowed.
“I saw her once at the restaurant.”
“When she was a baby.”
“Rachel brought her to work.”
He looked away.
“I remember complaining.”
“About?”
“A baby crying.”
Of course.
Julian had spent years seeing other people’s vulnerability as noise.
He continued:
“Rachel took her outside.”
“I remember telling her she needed childcare if she wanted to be professional.”
My jaw tightened.
He laughed bitterly.
“I have a lot of memories like that now.”
“Good.”
He looked at me.
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean.”
Silence.
“Red Pine Lodge.”
I said.
“Where exactly?”
Julian described a service road behind the burned main building.
Maintenance shed near an old water tower.
No cell signal.
One entrance.
One rear window.
Morris immediately sent the information.
Before we left, Julian said:
“Elena.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Did you keep the house?”
The question surprised me.
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“Good.”
I felt something like anger.
“Do not make my survival part of your redemption.”
He flinched.
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
“I’m just glad you didn't let me take it.”
I stared.
Then:
“You couldn't.”
A faint smile.
“Frank made sure.”
“Yes.”
“He hated me.”
“He understood you.”
That hurt him.
Good.
I turned.
“Elena.”
I stopped again.
“I'm sorry.”
I looked back.
“No.”
His face fell.
I continued:
“You are sorry.”
“I believe that.”
His eyes lifted.
“But I am not going to stand here and tell you it changes what happened.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“I have eight more years to practice.”
I left.
Two hours later, police reached Red Pine Lodge.
The maintenance shed was empty.
But not unused.
Blankets.
Plastic water bottles.
A chair bolted to the floor.
Blood.
Recent.
Rachel had been there.
And on the wall, written in black marker:
FRANK'S GIRL HAS THE PHONE.
My stomach dropped.
May you like
Rourke no longer believed Rachel was the only problem.
He had decided I was one too.
Related Stories
