Chapter Nineteen:
Alexandria and I made it to the car just before the downpour came. But we didn’t drive off right away. There was an end coming. An end between the two of us and our relationship. This day would be the last day we ever saw each other. The well of tomorrows had finally run dry. Alexandria knew it; I knew it. So, we sat unmoving in car, delaying this end as best we could. But there was no delusion within us that we were anything less than powerless to stop it. We talked. First we talked about Ty Covington’s story. Then we talked about Donna Winters’ death. After that we -----. Well, we’ll get to that later.
“What do you make of Covington’s story?,” she asked.
“Whether it’s true or not?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think?”
“We didn’t know him, he didn’t know us. We got onto him by accident. He got money from us, true. But that doesn’t necessitate lying. A guy like that isn’t going to do anything without being paid. He always wants compensation.”
“So, you think his story is true.”
“I think so, yes. What about you?”
“I agree. How else could he have described Gina and the two cars, if he wasn’t there?”
“His story, though, just knots everything up even more. There were no screams, no struggle, and most importantly of all, no gunshot.”
“If Gina was helping Winters make it look like a suicide, then who came by, took the gun, and fixed the scene as a homicide?”
“There aren’t many possibilities, are there?”
“Everyone in a position of authority was working for Winters, not against him.”
“That only leaves the children.”
“What about Gina?”
“Gina? Gina was helping Winters. We just went all over that.”
“What if she started out helping him, then backtracked to the parking lot and reset the scene to set him up.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Look what Winters did to you when you got in way. Gina came and went without any attempts to do her harm.”
“True. But what if Gina convinced Winters that I was the one who rigged the scene?”
“You couldn’t have. You didn’t know she was there. The only person to have contact with Donna in the days before she died was Gina.”
“Again, true. But Winters didn’t know that. And you can bet the mortgage that Gina never told Winters she had contact with Donna before she died. When Donna ran off, Winters could‘ve had it in his head that she ran right to me.”
“Did Gina tell him about the two of you? Or did he already know?
“I don’t know.”
“So, what do you think happened that night? Gina killed Donna and asked Winters for help? Or the other way around? Or they worked the murder together? Or ---.”
“No more ‘or’s’ please.”
“Are you just going to let the whole thing drop?”
“I’m going to make copies of everything I have and send it out to different authorities. It will up to them whether they go after Gina and Winters. I’m out of it.”
“Can you live with not knowing for sure?”
“I’m going to give it a shot.“
The rain was now hitting the car in a slow, syncopated style. Its rhythm, to my ears, sounded like a dirge playing just for me. All talk of the case was dead. A new subject was then born to take its place. A subject no less difficult to broach than the one we had just finished. But Alex was the one person I could talk to about it.
“About Donna.”
“What about her?”
“I want to explain -----.”
“You already told me about the two of you, remember?”
“Did I?”
“Yes. Now it’s my turn.”
Alexandria asked me to turn on the car’s heater. So, I did. The two of us waited in silence for the car to warm up. She spent the time tracing abstract figures on the fogged up window. Me, I just sat their daydreaming. A pastime for which I have a rare genius it would seem/ When the heat reached its intended setting, the two of us began to talk again. A different subject this time, a different mood.
“My mother,” she said, leaping right into the deep end of the conversation, “wants back into my life.”
“Your stepmother? You haven’t had anything to do with her since ------.”
“Since I turned eighteen, I know. No, it’s not her. It’s my birth mother. She’s tracked me down and wants to be a part of my life.”
“Your birth mother? Shit, is this what pushed you back into-----.”
“That and a couple of other things.”
“Am I one of those things?”
“Yes.”
“Should I leave it at that?”
“Should you? I don’t know. But do I want you to? Yes.”
I started up the engine, let it idle for a minute or so, then put the car in motion.
“Let’s get you back home,” I said.
“To your house?,” she answered, then embarrassingly realized her mistake.
“Is there anything else we need to cover before we -----.”
“Say goodbye? Yes, there is one thing. Good news, too, for a change.”
“Really? Good news? What is it?
“Starting Monday, I’m back in rehab.”
“That’s good Alex. I hope you can make it stick this time.”
“No more than I do.”
“You know, I just thought of something. I haven’t seen you smoking lately.”
“I’m trying to quit that too.”
“Both things at once? Is that a good idea?”
“No, but I’m going to try it. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll go back to smoking and try to quit that later. But nothing will make me go back to drinking. Nothing.”
I wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince more, me or herself. I hoped it was herself because whether I was convinced or not didn’t matter a damn. She was the one who needed convincing. The only one. Then, it came, the news I’d been dreading most of all. I tensed both hands on the steering wheel and clung to it as I were being pushed into the well of another abyss.
“There’s something else,” she said. “About my quitting the agency. It’s going to permanent, I’m afraid.”
“You told me before you were quitting.”
“I know. But I wasn’t sure then if it was temporary or not.”
“And now you’re sure.”
“Yes. You do understand, don’t you.”
“I think you were sure before.”
“We can still call each other or go out to dinner once in awhile, can’t we?”
Alexandria was desperately trying not to completely shut the door between us. A door with no knobs to turn, no hinges to pop, and no pins to pull. Once closed, this door would stay closed. Once closed, the temporary would become permanent. Alexandria didn’t want this to happen; I didn’t want this to happen. But the door was closing and there was no way to stop it. Alexandria, with the phrasing of her words, was attempting to ease a wedge between the door and the frame. A small, fragile wedge that would keep the door, and a possible future, open.
When we arrived at her house, she instantly went for the door and tried to jump out without looking back. But I selfishly grabbed a hold of her left arm and wouldn’t let go. It was a pathetic gesture. A fleetingly, pathetic gesture. I could only delay her leaving, I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t have the power. In the end, the gesture wouldn’t change a thing. But, at the time, it seemed beyond my abilities not to do it.
At first, Alexandria fought like a cornered wolverine to get away. But my hold on her was unbreakable, and once she resigned herself to this fact, her resistance ended quickly. Her head remained down as a protective means to avoid meeting my eyes. I pulled her to me and held her in my arms. There were no kisses. There were no words. I just held her, and she, in turn held me. Sometime later, maybe a minute, maybe an hour, we broke apart. I closed my eyes as the passenger door opened, I kept them closed as the door slammed shut. And when I opened my eyes back up again, Alexandria was gone. Gone forever from my life.
Later that same evening, a crazy idea came into my head. I wanted to build a funeral pyre. A homemade, makeshift pyre. A pyre for Donna. There was one appropriate place to hold this ancient sacred ceremony. Donna’s waterfront home. First, I’d wait until sunset. Then I’d gather up what I considered to be all of the necessary elements for the pyre. Then I’d drive down and pick the perfect place for the pyre, a place hidden from all prying eyes. There was such a place and I knew exactly what it was located. So, I waited, gathered, and then drove.
When I approached the chosen spot, I took great care not to be seen. I came to this place by taking a wide arcing western berth. It was about a half mile from the Winters’ house. The sun was completely down. Black and blue clouds had obliterated both moon and stars. I made one sweep of the house with my binoculars, checking the western face for lights. I saw nothing but darkness.
Convinced I was safe from prying eyes, I started gathering wood for my pyre. In time, a miniature pyre was formed. The pyre was then ceremoniously set on fire. When the fire had gained a strong foothold, I began putting items in one by one and watching them burn. I stood there for a time, completely drawn in and hypnotized by the immense, overwhelming power of fire. It could create. It could preserve. It could destroy.
I closed my eyes and stepped closer to the fire. The warmth of the flames brushed lightly against my face, hands, and clothes. I lowered my head slowly down and hoped against all logic and reason that this ceremonial act would somehow help end at least a small part of my suffering. This lasted for a minute or so, when I felt the barrel of a gun snugly against my spine.
“Who are you?,” the gun owner asked, “and the hell are you doing here?”
The voice was female and familiar. I recognized it immediately. It belonged to Adrienne Winters, Donna’s youngest daughter.
“The who is easy,” I said. “Neal Caterski. The why is a little more complicated.”
“Caterski, really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“Don’t move.”
I didn’t move. And when I say I didn’t move, I mean I didn’t move. Not a twitch, tic, or blink of an eye. Nothing. Hell, I even held my breath. Slowly, the gun eased away from my spine. Adrienne retreated three or four steps, then circled wide to my left. A few steps later and she was standing on the other side of the fire facing me.
“It is you,” she said.
“One last time before the stage curtains slam shut.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Purging the past. Or trying to anyway.”
“The part with my mother in it.”
“Some, or all of it.”
“You’re not sure?”
“No.”
“How likely are you to succeed?”
“The odds are against it.”
“But you had to try.”
“Wanton desperation.”
“I’m going back into the house now, Mr. Caterski.”
“Is there anyone else besides you in there.”
“Let’s see, my mother is dead, my brother is dead, my -----.”
“Your brother is dead? You’re certain?”
“They found him three days ago. Face down at the beach. Overdose, so they say. Guess who was the lucky person who had to identify him?”
“Who else? Hell, that’s not even the end of it. My father’s gone.”
“What? Gone?”
“Surprised? You shouldn’t be. You caused it.”
“And what about your mothers’ death? Did I cause that too? And your brothers’ death? Are you going to add that to my accomplishments?”
The lack of passion in my voice didn’t surprise me at all. The ability and the will to summon up emotion, even in short, mild doses just wasn’t there. My eyes, which had been fixed on the gun in Adrienne’s hand, returned to the fire burning between us.
“I need to ask you something before you go back inside,” I said.
“What?”
“Did you arrange things to make your mother’s death to look like a homicide?”
“Me? And what do you mean by arrange things?”
“Taking things from the car they found her in.”
“What things?”
“The gun that killed her. The gun that’s in your hand right now.”
We stood facing each other silently in the dark. Minutes passed by this way until Adrienne came over to stand next to me facing the same side of the fire. The silence continued a little longer. Then, as readied herself to return to the house alone, she spoke to me for the last time.
“Could I talk you into going inside with me for a little while?”
I said nothing.
“Forty five minutes, maybe an hour?”
I still said nothing.
“A half hour? Please Mr. Caterski. A half hour, no more. I swear.”
“No,” I finally replied. “I can’t. There‘s too many ghosts in there.
“You believe in ghosts?”
“Not the kind you mean.”
“What other kind is there?’
“The kind that live inside your head. You have them, I have them, just about everyone has them.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“You really want my advice?”
“Yes.”
“Check into a hotel. You’re going to be coming into a large amount of money soon. Take it and leave this place.”
“Where would I go?”
“You could try your grandmother.”
“My grandmother?”
“Your mother’s mother. You have had contact with her, haven’t you?”
“You know about that?”
“I knew she had contact with someone in the house. I figured it was you.”
There was a long pause.
“You figured right,” she finally said. “My grandmother and I have talked on occasion.”
“Then I suggest you go to her. If only for a little while. Maybe she can help decide what to do.”
“Maybe.”
“I shouldn’t have come here. I’ve just made everything worse.”
“Not for me.”
“No, for me Adrienne.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Caterski.”
I turned and started to walk away. But before I’d even taken a handful of steps, Adrienne stopped me with a question.
“Did my father really murder my mother?”
“Do you want an honest opinion or do you-----?”
“No soft soap please.”
“You already know the answer, don’t you. You heard something, saw something? How else could you have gone out and rearrange the scene the way you did. That was you, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then are you asking me just as a formality to confirm something you already know.”
“Yes.”
“Fair enough. The answer to your question is yes.”
“Thank you..”
“No problem.”
“Mr. Caterski, before you go I’d like to tell one more thing. Most of what was said about my mother was a lie.”
“Kid, most everything about this case was a lie.”
I then went home and very uncharacteristically drugged myself to sleep. It wouldn’t be the last time.