Rochelle floundered in and out of consciousness a couple of days, and then she began coming out of it. Because of her severely swollen lip, it was too painful to attempt to eat, so they gave her juices and soup through straws.
The physician sent a psychiatrist to her, but she refused to acknowledge his presence, turning her head away when he tried to speak with her. The police attempted to question her, but she stared into space without blinking an eye, and they soon gave up the effort, until such time she might be more responsive.
Although Michael was at the hospital several times daily, Mabel was the first one allowed by Rochelle's doctor to visit her. Not knowing what to expect, Mabel was sadly upset when informed by the doctor of Rochelle's mental state. According to him, Rochelle hadn't spoken a word to anyone in the four days since her arrival.
She was still weak, unable to get out of bed on her own, but the doctor said she was mending nicely except for her mental condition.
Mabel expected a silent, unresponsive Rochelle when she entered her room. She was pleasantly surprised, however, when she neared Rochelle's bed, and Rochelle lifted her pale hand to Mabel in quiet supplication, an imploring look in her dull green eyes.
“I thought no one was coming to see me,” she whispered, struggling with her words through swollen lips, only one side of her mouth able to move, and each word bringing a grimace of pain.
“The doctor wouldn't let anyone see you, Sweetpea. He thought it best that you have some time alone before you received visitors. If I had known you wanted me here, I would have been here every day.
“Is Michael all right?” Rochelle asked, trying not to move her lips too much because of the pain.
“He's fine, but he's worried sick about you. He wants to see you.”
“Not like this. I don't want him to see me like this. Where is Tobias?”
“They're holding him at the morgue until you're well enough to decide—well—to make decisions about him.”
“He had no family that I know of. At least he never mentioned any.”
“You don't have to do anything just now except get well.”
Mabel wanted to comfort her, but felt completely helpless. Rochelle was a pitifully scarred replica of what she had previously been. Her face was black, blue, and puffy with broken skin on her lip, nose, cheeks and forehead. It would take weeks before her face was back to normal, if ever.
“I guess it's up to me to make arrangements. I hoped I would never have to go back to Miami again. Now, there is no other place to go. I can't stay here. I will never be able to hold my head up and live in Windy Point again.”
“That isn't true, honey. You have friends here. Many people have come to the hospital to inquire about you.”
“I need to talk to an attorney. Maybe you can recommend someone. I have to find out what will be involved before I can carry Tobias back to Miami. I also need to know when the doctor will release me.” Her words and syllables were broken, and the deadening effects of the medication soon carried her under again.
She reached out and grasped Mabel's hand before giving in to the enshrouding darkness of drug-induced sleep.
Rochelle remained in the hospital another six days before the doctor released her. The swelling in her face went down some, but most of her face was blue and purple with bruises. Her swollen eye was still puffy, and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she hated what she saw. Her face was a pitifully deformed replica of what it had been. Everyone assured her it would heal as good as new and she wouldn't find a single trace of the damage Tobias inflicted.
She silently disagreed vehemently, knowing the mental and emotional scars would be with her for the remainder of her life. She had experienced such horrible abuse over the past years from Tobias she wasn't sure she would ever get over this last horror.
She finally consented to letting the police question her.
Attorney Shearborne, referred by Mabel, was present. When she began telling her story, reliving that last span of time before she shot Tobias, it was nearly more than she could deal with.
The police absolved her of wrong, calling it justifiable homicide. It was a relief knowing the police wouldn't be carting her off to jail, but the sentence she served on herself would be the harshest of all. It made no difference that she kept reminding herself that Tobias would have killed her. The fact remained that she took a human life, and she could not shake it or the guilt from her thoughts.
There were times her mind was so intent upon what she had done, she would find her finger curving, as if on the gun trigger, and squeezing, the event lived again-and-again like a movie reel that never ran out of film.
She called Bentley Harrison soon after her release from the hospital, asking him to set up arrangements in Miami for a funeral home to receive Tobias's body. He showed no surprise when she told him that Tobias was dead. Tobias was big news, and newspapers across the country carried the story of his death, it hitting all the Miami papers.
Rochelle learned the Miami police was also in touch with the investigative team in Windy Point. Bentley informed her that while many arrests were made of people attached to Tobias, they no longer had the option of receiving a deal by turning state's evidence against Tobias. Now, the authorities would charge them with crimes committed and they would eventually go to trial. All those charged froze up, refusing to mention Tobias's name at all as soon as they received word of his death, fearing they would incriminate themselves. Even to have been associated with him insured a worst fate than might otherwise be expected. Their attention turned now to saving their own hides. Without witnesses, the state had nothing on Tobias, and his estate was in tact and safe from confiscation by the authorities over suspected drug involvement. Rochelle was now a doubly rich young woman.
MABEL TOOK ALL ROCHELLE'S clothes and personal items from the Matheson house. Rochelle came to stay with Mabel while handling flight arrangements for her and Tobias's body.
Michael attempted several times to see Rochelle, but she still refused. She resolved herself to the idea that she and Michael were finished, and seeing him again would only stir up old hurts and wounds she wanted to forget. Mabel begged her to see him before she left for Miami, but no amount of pleading would change her mind.
“He loves you, Sweetpea, and he's going out of his mind because you won't see him. If you knew how much he is hurting you wouldn't be so stubborn.”
“He'll hurt much less without me to complicate his life.” She spoke like a robot, her feelings dormant while she moved through the haze of trying to move forward.
“Honey, don't you feel anything at all for Michael? I thought you loved him. I was sure you loved him.”
“I'll always love him, Mabel, but I need time to try and get my head together.”
“Rochelle,” Mabel said, rarely using Rochelle's Christian name,
“if you leave here without putting things right between you and Michael, you'll be making the biggest mistake of your life.”
She gave Mabel a cold stare. “No, the biggest mistake was marrying Tobias. My second biggest mistake was getting involved with Michael when circumstances forbade it. I can't undo that, but I can make sure he won't have to suffer anymore because of me.”
“Thank God that he can at least put his mind to rest over his father and Tina's murder. The lab report came back on the gun discovered at the house. It contained Wayne's fingerprints all over it, as did the diary, which definitely ties him to the murders. The police have not discovered his whereabouts yet, but they have put out an APB on him, and an arrest is imminent. Michael won't say much about it, but I can tell he is extremely relieved to have that shadow no longer hanging over his head. What he went through when his father and stepmother were murdered was a traumatic experience.
He knows a little of what you are going through now.”
“What was in the diary?”
“It belonged to Tina Matheson. Wayne must have made the hole beneath the tile so she could keep her diary there. After he shot and killed them, he feared the police might catch him with the gun on his person, so he stuffed it in the hole with the diary, never realizing Tina had recorded every sordid detail of their affair in it. I think he had intentions of eventually coming back and retrieving the gun but for whatever reason, he never got around to it. Since no one was living in the house immediately after the deaths of the Mathesons, I suppose Wayne thought the gun would be safely concealed.”
“I'm glad for Michael,” she said, too numb to show much enthusiasm.
Rochelle's flight schedule was for the following morning, and there was one final thing she must do. Driving to the bank, she prayed Michael would not be there, that she would not have to suffer that last indignity of having to face him.
Shame was like a disease she carried around with her, and looking straight into the eyes of anyone other than Mabel, made it extremely difficult to hold her head up with any degree of dignity.
The fact that her face was still a grievously discolored and damaged fruit, made Rochelle even more intimidated at having to see people.
Their stares unnerved her, causing her to feel like a bauble on display.
All eyes alighted upon her slender, expensively dressed figure the minute she stepped through the door of the bank. She was wearing a dark blue two-piece suit, the jacket with long sleeves and pearly blue buttons. She carried a small black patent leather handbag and wore matching pumps. Even with her bruised face, she portrayed a vision of attractive femininity and a regal-like grace that could still draw respect edged with envy. With her long wavy, curling mane of auburn-gold hair, she was an arresting sight, everything about her perfect, all except her slowly healing face.
With Michael's help, soon after she had settled in the Matheson house, he helped her invest a major portion of her money. Now, it grew with interest in large enough quantities she could live comfortably off just the interest. However, there was no need to since she had kept a goodly sum of liquid assets in her savings and checking accounts, as well as ready cash in her safety deposit box along with her diamond rings. Now, not expecting to be back in Windy Point anytime soon, maybe never, she was forced to go to the bank one last time to empty the safety deposit box. The checking and savings account could remain open so she could write checks as needed.
Going to the nearest teller where the vaulted safety deposit boxes were, she requested admittance, and the teller showed her into a small room after retrieving her box. She picked up her diamond rings and stared at them. She recalled when Tobias bought them. It was on the same day they were married. He stopped by the jewelry store and told her to pick what she liked. Like a little kid who chooses the “biggest piece” of candy, her attention drew to the biggest diamonds, and the ones giving off the brightest sparkle. She never saw the price, but when the clerk raised both brows over rounded eyes and grinned, Rochelle could nearly imagine him busy counting his money from the sale.
The teller assisting Rochelle went back to her window and picked up the phone. “Mr. Matheson, I thought you'd like to know Mrs. Chandler is in the safety deposit vault.” She set the phone back on its hook.
Rochelle shook her head with a shudder and reminded herself she had to stop dwelling on memories. “Concentrate on what you have to do, Rochelle,” she whispered to herself, and started emptying the money from the safety deposit box and putting it in her handy old duffle bag.
Intent upon what she was doing, the door behind her opened without a sound. Rochelle stayed at her task several seconds before awareness of a presence gained her startled attention. Turning about, she saw him standing there, his proud face composed, reflecting none of the stormy emotions her presence evoked—only a deep, inexplicable regret.
“No, Michael,” she whispered, turning her face away from him to hide her shame and the deformity of her abused face.
“Chelle…” his voice caught in his throat and he seemed unable to continue. Instead of words, he put his hands on her arms and lifted her from the chair, turning her to face him.
Ashamed of her damaged face, instead of looking at him, her head bent down and she stared at the floor, the bruised side of her face turned away from him. “Please go, Michael. I can't stand to have you witness my shame.”
“I love you, Chelle. I love you, and I have been a fool not to let you know how much. I made a terrible mistake when I let my feelings wreck what we had together. I should have mended the breach immediately, but I was too damn proud and stubborn. But I want you to know now how terribly sorry I am that I caused you—caused us both—so much pain.”
She shook her head, unable to speak, the untapped tears of earlier now bursting forth like a fountain.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, tilting her chin upward.
“Please don't make this any harder than it already is, Michael,” she cried pitifully, her knees weakening and playing havoc with her upright posture as she grasped the table behind her for support.
Michael's arms went around her. They were strong, loving, and protective arms. It was a moment of intense release as she gave in to the pleasantness his closeness afforded. She leaned against his chest.
“Honey, I don't want to make it harder for you. I want to make it easier. Let me help you get through this?”
Rochelle appraised the words of his deep, sensual voice. How easy it would be to let Michael handle everything for her. The temptation held strong appeal. Yet, wasn't that what she had been forced to do with Tobias all those years? He had handled everything, handled her whole life, ruling and dictating until she had no life.
“I have to do this on my own,” she replied to Michael's offer, her voice stronger now, and more determined. Bentley Harrison will handle things in Miami.” Dabbing at the tears with the handkerchief Michael gave her, she regained control, but her hands trembled violently.
“What will you do when you've done all you need to do there?”
“I don't know. Maybe travel some, try to find myself again.”
Glancing up at the deeply etched lines of strain and fatigue on his face, a new flood of tears gushed forth as it occurred to her how much she would miss him.
“Michael…” she began, but bit back the rest of her words. What purpose was there in telling him how much she loved him, how much she would miss him?
He seemed to know what she had started to say. “Say it, Chelle.
Don't leave me hanging like this.”
Reaching up she touched his cheek, his square chin already darkened by the growing stubble and the lateness of the day.
“Michael, you were—always will be—the most precious thing in my life, but too many things has happened now, and we can never go back to where we were. It's too late for me, but it's not for you.”
“Chelle, you're going through hell right now. You have no idea what you want. I know you love me, and I love you. I won't let you destroy what we have.”
“I'm sorry, Michael. It's over. Let it go.”
Staring deeply into her green eyes, he searched her face before declaring, “I'm not letting you out of my life that easily.”
“Please, Michael, just go. I need to be alone.”
Gingerly, he touched his lips to hers, and then studied her face a moment. “Until we meet again...”
Turning, he marched out the door, closing it behind him without looking back.