7
It had not been easy to secure a taxi.
Joan hadn’t wanted to hail one too close to the prison. She didn’t want anyone connecting her with the sirens that signaled Smith’s death. As a result, she walked over an hour through industrial and then suburban streets. She paused at a park drinking fountain to wash the blood off her hand, silently cursing whoever had designed the thing. Really, why must it require one hand to operate the stream while her other hand awkwardly scrubbed itself? Ridiculous.
She eventually reached a series of small, shabby shops and restaurants. Selecting a bar, she simply entered and ordered the bartender to call her a taxi.
Blinking in surprise, the bartender did exactly as she asked.
Once inside the vehicle, she sat in the back seat with her eyes closed. The taxi driver eyed her curiously from his rear-view mirror, but it was hardly the first time he’d been called in the middle of the afternoon to take someone home from the bar. Still, this one seemed familiar, somehow—where had he seen her before? He tried to make small talk, asking about her day, but she simply glared at him, saying nothing.
The driver quickly lapsed into silence.
He finally stopped in front of the requested address. Still silent, she paid him with cash, immediately turning her back on him as he drove away.
When she got to her front door, she hesitated.
Hesitation wasn’t her style. Joan focused, planned, and then took action. Hesitation was for the little people of the world—people like Vera—who second-guessed every thought, every move.
But, in this case… perhaps hesitation was necessary. She had no idea whether or not Shayne would still be in her home. He had promised to arrive at the courthouse this morning, ready to eliminate Jesper. What had he done when Jesper’s brawler never showed up? She had searched for him in the crowd as she left—a free woman—but it was so difficult to see through all of the reporters.
Joan had the uneasy feeling that Shayne hadn’t been there. The question was: what did that mean? Had he been willing to go through with her plan?
Was he still on her side?
Would he tell anyone about their agreement?
She shook her head. She had gotten this far. Now was not the time to dawdle.
She turned the key in the lock, confidently pushing open the door.
And froze.
It was… it was… abhorrent.
Her neat, orderly, clean home was a disgusting mess. The stench of abandoned food struck her nostrils as she pushed past discarded pizza boxes. Half-empty beer bottles lay scattered and spilled on every surface. The television blared, unwatched. Drug paraphernalia lay spread on the floor.
There were drugs in her home.
She heard a sound from the kitchen. Yanking her gaze away from the mess in her living room, she saw a young man—a stranger—shamble toward her.
“What the hell?” he yelped, stopping abruptly. “Who the fuck are you?” he yelled.
“Who am I?” Joan retorted, forcefully stepping through the debris, “who are you?” Surprisingly quick, she efficiently caught his arm, wrenching it behind his back, slamming him against the wall and using her own body to pin him there. “And why are you in my house?” she hissed into his ear.
“FUCK, lady! Your fucking house?” The man tried to wriggle out of Joan’s grasp, but she held firm. “You’re Auntie Joan? Fucking let go of me!” he shouted again. “Shayne lets me stay here!”
“Not any more,” she replied. Her wounded hand still holding his arm, she gripped the back of his neck with her right hand, propelling him toward the door. “Get out!” she screamed, pushing him through the threshold. “Get out! Get out!” Her body started to shake. Spit flew from her mouth as she screamed. “Get out!”
The man paused uncertainly for a brief second “My stuff…”
“NOW!” Joan roared.
He fled.
She slammed the door shut, leaning against it. She kept her eyes closed. She couldn’t look—not yet. It was too much. She tried to calm her breathing. She needed to maintain control.
Slowly, slowly, she opened her eyes and turned around to face the disarray. “My home…” she whispered pathetically. “My clean home…”
***
The police had departed.
Vera sat in the Governor’s chair, her head in her hands. The reality of all… all… this… was beginning to sink in. She had effectively covered up a murder (or suicide?) to save her own skin.
A flash of anger surged through her. Well, so be it, she thought. Yes, what she had done was wrong, but it had been necessary. It was for the… for the…
Oh God.
She had almost said it was for the greater good.
She shook her head, staring out toward the activities yard.
No. She was not becoming Joan Ferguson. No, no, no.
She looked up when she heard a knock at her door. Jake stood in the doorway, looking concerned. “Governor?” he asked.
A wash of warmth flooded her. “Jake,” she whispered, holding out her hand. “Oh, God, Jake…”
His eyebrows furrowed as he hurried toward her.
“Wait!” she said, moving away to close the blinds. Turning back to him, she raised her face, tears clearly threatening to pour down her cheeks. “I need you,” she whispered.
He stood before her, gathering her into his arms. As she snuggled in closer, he surreptitiously scanned the office, his gaze pausing to focus on the CCTV displays currently running on Vera’s monitor. “Shhh,” he whispered into Vera’s soft hair, gently kissing the top of her head as he watched the livefeed of Will Jackson walking determinedly down a corridor. “Shhh. What’s wrong, Vera?” He pulled back to look into her face. “You can tell me. What’s going on?”
And in that moment, Vera desperately wanted to tell him everything. Absolutely everything—about Joan, about what she and Will had done, about what was tucked in her desk drawer even now—but something stopped her.
“It’s Smith. You know she’s dead.”
He nodded.
“I have to take the prisoners out of lockdown. And then I have to… I have to…”
He ran his thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear. “And then you have to tell them that their friend and Top Dog has died.”
She sniffled. “And I have to report everything to Channing,” she added miserably. “I guess I should do that first. This may be the end of my job.”
Jake froze for a second. “No, no,” he said smoothly, his reassurance covering his momentary pause. “I’m sure that’s not the case. You’re a good governor, Vera. Channing’s not going to dump you over this.”
She sniffed again. “Thank you,” she murmured into his chest. “You’re so good to me.”
Staring again at the CCTV footage, he slowly rubbed her small back. “Say Vera,” he said after a minute, “what’s Will doing in the corridors?”
“What?” she asked, confused, turning in his arms.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not important,” he replied, now rubbing her shoulders. “I just happened to glance at your monitor, and saw him. I thought you said that he was to be put on leave?”
“Oh. Oh, that’s right,” Vera paused, thinking hard. “I did say that. Only…”
Jake focused his attention back on her. His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Only…?”
“Only that may not be the best path to take right now,” Vera stated, moving away from him. “I’m sorry, Jake. I know that I had just promoted you to Acting Deputy, but you can understand how I need all of the officers right now.”
Jake moved toward the window. He stared out, unseeing. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous, Vera?” he asked, turning back to her.
“Dangerous?”
Jake nodded. “The man obviously has a drug problem. How do you know that he wasn’t the one who gave Novak the hot shot?”
Vera shook her head. “He wasn’t the one,” she stated confidently.
Jack abruptly stood straighter. “You know who did it?”
“No…” Vera replied slowly, “but I know it wasn’t him.”
“Vera, sweet thing,” he cajoled, pulling her into him again. “You have such a good heart, but you can’t simply believe people like that. He failed the drug test. Will’s my friend, too, but he could be lying to you! That’s what drug addicts do!”
Vera pulled herself away. “Jake, I think I’m perfectly capable of knowing who and what to believe. Will Jackson failed the test, yes, and I will certainly put him on probation. But he’s not the one who injected Novak. And…”
“And?” Jake asked, his eyes narrowed.
“And I need him right now,” Vera replied stubbornly. She looked up into his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeated, standing on tiptoe to bring her face to his. “Please understand,” she added, kissing him.
“Of course I understand,” Jake responded, his fingers softly tracing her cheeks. “But you need to be careful, Vera. We don’t want you jeopardizing your position for him.”
“I know,” she whispered. “And thank you.” She smiled. “Really, thank you, Jake. You’re exactly who I need right now.”
He returned her smile, encircling her tiny body with his arms. His eyes drifted back to her computer monitor. “I’ll always be exactly what you need,” he informed her softly, once again kissing the top of her head, his gaze focused on Will.
She sniffled one last time. “I know you will,” she murmured happily. Stepping away to wipe her eyes, she turned back toward her desk. “Now: let me call Channing to report the situation. And then…”
“And then you’ll tell the women.”
She nodded unhappily, already reaching for the phone.