Authors: Goldie Browning
“Excuse me. Are you Zan Fuller?”
“I’m Allen Fuller. Can I help you?” Allen put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“Yes, sir. My name’s Ryan Pittman. I have a message for Zan—from Emma.”
Zan recoiled.
“Is this some sort of cruel joke?” cried Allen.
“Please, I know this sounds crazy. But I swear, I’ve been in communication with Mrs. Fuller.” Ryan reached in his pocket, pulled out a diamond and sapphire ring and matching earrings, and handed them to Zan.
“Where did you get these?” Zan gasped.
“Emma told me where to find them at the Crescent Hotel,” he replied. “Look, can we go somewhere and sit down? I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
“Okay, Barbara. Tell Dad to look in the guestroom closet. Maybe it’s in there someplace.”
Zan tapped his foot and glanced at the
low battery
light on his cell phone. He’d never been more nervous than now, while he waited for his father to find Emma’s mother’s lockbox at his home in Texas. He wished Allen was with him, but he’d gone back to the courthouse to file a new appeal.
“He found it,” cried Barbara.
“Good. Let’s assume Emma’s message is the combination. We never knew what it was before, so we’ve never tried to open it.”
“Okay, son. Now what?” asked Jonathan. “It’s got both letters and numbers on the lock.”
“Try T-4-2-4-1-9.” Zan held his breath and waited.
“It worked! There’s a music box inside with a porcelain top. It’s a picture of a woman and a little girl in Victorian costume.”
Zan heard a tinkling, musical sound. “I can hear the music. Is there anything inside it?”
“No. Nothing.”
Zan’s heart sank. He’d expected to find something important, something that would help Emma.
“No, wait. Zan, you won’t believe what we found!” Zan had never heard his father so excited. “Barbara unscrewed the top of the music box and found some old black and white photographs inside.”
“Old Photographs? Of what?”
“Well, there’s a family picture of my grandparents taken with your Grandma Ivy when she was a baby, of all things. And there are some photos of a young couple, but I don’t know who they are. They look like some of those instant photo strips you get in a booth at a mall.”
Zan shook his head, confused. “How strange. I wonder who they are?”
“I don’t know, but wait. There’s writing on the back,” replied Jonathan. “It says
Tess and Tally July 4, 1983
. That’s weird. The man looks like a younger Senator Talmedge. Say, isn’t his wife named Tess?”
“Yes, it is. I still don’t know what the connection is, but I think Emma’s trying to tell us something important. I need you to scan those pictures into a computer and send them to Allen’s BlackBerry.”
“Send it to Allen’s what? Barbara, what does Zan want us to do?”
Barbara took the phone and Zan repeated his request. “I understand. Leave everything to me.”
“Bless you, Mom.” Zan smiled when he heard what Barbara said just before the battery died.
“Jonathan, did you hear what Zan called me? He called me Mom!”
Allen paced before the bench, nodded to the court reporter and smiled at the TV camera. “Your honor. If it may please the court, I hereby file a motion for his honor to recuse himself from this case on the grounds of conflict of interest.”
The judge scowled. “This had better be good. Proceed.”
“Thank you, your honor. I’d like to offer into evidence what I’ve marked as Exhibits A and B.”
Judge Covington frowned. “What’ve you got, Fuller? A voodoo doll? If you
dare
introduce any more video
evidence of Ouija boards or ghosts or time travel to 1938, I’ll hold you in contempt.” He leaned forward and smirked. “Today’s Halloween. I’m surprised you’re not in costume.”
Nobody laughed.
Allen ignored the remarks and continued. “Exhibit A is a photo strip of Senator Grayson Talmedge and his wife Tess, dated July 4, 1983. Exhibit B is a recording of Mrs. Talmedge’s sworn statement to me over the telephone less than an hour ago regarding these photos.”
“Objection,” cried Paul Murphy. “I haven’t received notice of this evidence.”
“Sustained. My patience is wearing thin, Mr. Fuller.”
“Sorry, your honor. But this evidence just came to light very recently. And this is an emergency hearing, since time is running out for my client.” Allen pulled out two transcripts and handed one to the defense attorney. “May I approach? I’ve taken the liberty to provide these transcripts for your convenience.”
Judge Covington grunted and took the transcript. He stared at the photos, then waved at Allen to continue. Allen pressed a button on a tape recorder.
“My name is Teresa Schmidt Talmedge. I’m sorry I can’t be there in person. However, my youngest daughter, Monica, is undergoing a heart transplant operation here in Memphis and my presence in court is impossible. I refer to Monica as my youngest daughter, because I am convinced that Emma Fuller is also my daughter and her father is Senator Talmedge. The reason their tissue match is so close is because they are sisters. ”
Gasps echoed throughout the courtroom.
“Please allow me to explain…I met Tally when I was a freshman in college and he was a senior. That was in 1983. We fell in love and I got pregnant. I never told him. I was afraid it would destroy his political career, so I kept silent.”
“I lied to my parents and told them I was going to Paris for a semester as an exchange student. But instead, I went to a private maternity home in Arkansas. While I was there, an old woman named Cordelia visited the home and gave me an antique music box. I’d never seen her before, but she said it belonged with my baby.”
“After my baby girl was born, I had a change of heart and I wanted to keep her. But an elderly nurse with a horribly disfigured face took her away….I’m sorry, but the memory’s just so horrible…I chased the nurse all over the building, all the way to the top floor, and she dangled my baby over the stairwell…she threatened to drop her if I didn’t sign over parental rights…so I did.”
“She took me into the office and made me sign the paperwork. I begged the young attorney who handled the adoption to allow the music box to go with the child to her new home and he agreed. When he wasn’t looking, I slipped the pictures of Tally and me inside the secret compartment, hoping she would find them someday.”
“A few years later, Tally and I got married. I was ashamed of what I’d done and, until now, I’ve never told anybody…not even my husband…” A long pause ensued. “But I never forgot about my daughter and several years ago I hired a private investigator to try to find her. He discovered that the maternity home had been shut down years earlier and those involved had been charged with illegal baby brokering. Papers had not been properly filed and most information has been permanently lost. But I did discover the name of the attorney who handled the paperwork…his name was J. R. Covington.”
Allen snapped off the tape recorder. The courtroom grew silent.
Judge Covington’s face turned red and his fingers gripped the edge of the bench. “Would you kindly explain what is being implied?”
“Yes, your honor. We are alleging that you were the young attorney who handled the illegal, coerced adoption of Tess Talmedge’s baby. That you would have been disbarred and sent to jail had your influential family not paid to have the charges dropped and your record expunged, and that until this matter is properly investigated, you should not have the power to decide the fate of Emma Fuller.”
Judge Covington’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any physical proof of these outrageous allegations?”
“Not yet, your honor. My investigator is working on it, but it will take some time. Therefore, my client hereby moves the court to issue an Order of Recusal in this case, and asks that our Motion for Injunction be reopened and transferred to a different judge for consideration on the merits of the case.”
Judge Covington’s eyes burned with rage before he spoke. “Counsel, your motion is hereby
denied
.” He bent forward in his chair and his lip curled in a sneer. “Although we are all highly entertained by Mrs. Talmedge’s
true confession
, it does not change the facts of the case. The assertion that I was the attorney who handled Mrs. Fuller’s adoption some twenty-eight years ago and that I was
ever
charged with any sort of crime is preposterous. Until you can come up with hard evidence to support your assertions, this matter will not be considered. The motion to recuse is dismissed in its entirety.” His eyes flashed as he pounded his gavel.
“But your honor!”
“Mr. Fuller, I’ve had just about enough of this case and your shenanigans.” He looked at his watch. “In approximately forty-five minutes there will be an end to this spectacle. And unless you can find some other judge in a higher court who’s willing to buy into this nonsense about Ouija boards and ghosts, the taxpayers of this state will finally receive some relief. I hereby order the execution,” he paused for effect. “…of the order to terminate Emma Fuller’s life support at twelve noon today. Good day. Court is adjourned.”
“Oh, my goodness,” cried Moonbeam. “It’s Jonathan and Barbara.”
Zan looked up from his haze of misery, too numb to speak. Emma’s hospital room was crowded, with the entire family, a permanently posted nurse, and an armed guard outside the door.
“How did you get here so fast?” asked Phoebe.
“We’ve got friends in Bentonville who own a private jet,” replied Barbara.
“Alexander, are you all right?” Jonathan asked. Zan noticed the love and concern in his voice. “You look terrible.”
“Allen just called. He’s exhausted all the appeals. There’s nothing more he can do.”
“I’m sorry, son. I’m sure Allen did his best.”
“It’s all my fault, Dad,” replied Zan. He put his head in his hands and rambled. “I should have fought harder…shouldn’t have let her sign those papers…it’s like the world’s gone crazy…all we wanted was a family of our own...” He groaned and stared at his father. “She’s the same age Mom was when we lost her...the same kind of headaches…”
“Zan, you can’t blame yourself. I tortured myself for years the way you’re doing now,” said Jonathan. “Your mother had an aneurism. You can’t compare her with what happened to Emma. I just wish we’d had the diagnostic tools we have now. Things might have turned out differently.”
“I’m not impressed with this hospital’s diagnostics,” sniffed Moonbeam. Chief Whitefeather stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders as she stared at a black oval object in her lap. “If they’re so smart, why can’t they tell Emma’s pregnant?”
“What’s that?” asked Zan.
“It’s right here, plain as day, in my scrying mirror.”
“Oh, I see it,” exclaimed Phoebe. “There I am with Emma, and we’re both holding babies!”
Everyone huddled around Moonbeam and stared at her mirror. Zan didn’t see anything except black glass. “How could she be pregnant? Dr. Ballew told us they’d already tested her.” He turned to the poker-faced nurse who stood at Emma’s bedside. “Did she have a pregnancy test?”
The nurse frowned and flipped through the chart. “Yes. She’s been tested three times. Each time came back negative.”
Moonbeam pulled an EPT test kit out of her purse. “Why don’t we see for ourselves?” She headed toward Emma’s catheter bag.
“I can’t let you do that.” The nurse planted herself between Moonbeam and Emma’s bed. “Guard!”
The security guard ran into the room, his hand poised over his gun. “I need everybody to step away from the patient.”
Chief Whitefeather reached inside his shirt, but Moonbeam stayed his hand and shook her head.
“She’s my wife,” gasped Zan. “We need to run a test.”
“I got orders. Nobody touches the patient, including the family.”
Zan’s heart hammered, his breathing grew ragged, and his thoughts raced. He had to leave. Had to get out of this room before he started breaking things—or killing people. He touched the hard lump in his jacket pocket. Could he really do it? His mind went numb at the thought. So instead, he fled, running faster and faster, ignoring the stares of the onlookers.