Truth-Stained Lies (20 page)

O
utside, Holly and Juliet got out of the car. “What is Cathy doing?” Juliet cried. “That was a gunshot!”

Holly ran back to her taxi and pulled her .22 revolver out of her glove box as she heard distant sirens. Running back to Juliet, she brandished the gun.

“What are you doing with that?”

“I carry it for protection. I’m going in.”

“No!” Juliet said. “Wait here for the police. I mean it, Holly!”

“Sorry, Sis.” She took off toward the door the others had gone in. “Tell the police where we are.”

“Holly!”

Holly pushed through the heavy door and found Michael standing at the door to the stairwell. She heard Warren’s voice on the other side of the door, then Cathy …

Michael saw her. “Give me the gun,” he said.

Holly hesitated. “But you can’t!” she whispered. “You’ll go to jail.”

“He’s got Cathy!” He jerked the gun out of Holly’s hand, pulled out the chamber. “Holly, it’s not loaded!”

“Really?” she said. “I haven’t used it since I practiced at the shooting range. I forgot to put more bullets in.”

He closed the chamber and looked through the narrow panel of glass to see what Warren was doing. Maybe he could use the gun to scare him. It was better than nothing.

“Get up!” Warren said, pulling Cathy up by her hair. “Pick the kid up. Now!”

Cathy kept gasping for breath, but she stumbled for her nephew. Was he alive?
Oh God
,
please!

She went the few steps up to the landing, grabbed Jackson. He was burning with fever, but she could see his chest rising and falling with wheezing breath.

He was still alive! “Jackson,” she managed to rasp out. “Honey, are you okay?”

He seemed unconscious, his eyes sunken, and vomit and diarrhea crusted on his hospital gown.

“Warren, please … just let me take him to the hospital. He’s dying!”

“Go up the stairs to the fourth floor and open the door,” Warren said through his teeth.

She hesitated.

“Do it!” he shouted, and she feared the gun would go off. Adrenaline propelled her as she hurried up four flights, opened the door, and stumbled out into the hall, holding Jackson close.

Warren prodded them to his door, shoved his key card in, and threw it open. “Go in!” he said.

Cathy went into the small hotel room, and Warren locked the door behind them. He hurried across the floor and looked out the balcony window.

“Warren, there’s no way out. Your best bet is not to hurt Jackson, to just cut your losses and give it up. Maybe they can’t prove you killed Annalee. But there are witnesses if you kill Jackson.”

“I’m not going to prison!” he bit out.

“You can still get away. Run, now. Just go before the police get here!”

“I can’t get out of this without a hostage,” he said.

“Fine. I’ll be your hostage. Just let Jackson go. We can leave him in the hallway. They can get him into an ambulance, take him to the hospital. With me you could get out of the country. I could help you. We could pretend to be newlyweds on our honeymoon.”

For a moment, she thought Warren might be considering it. Then his head jerked toward the sound of sirens.

M
ichael reached the fourth floor, but they had already gone into Warren’s room. His mind raced. He could kick the door in, but Warren could kill both Cathy and Jackson before he could get to them. And with an unloaded gun, Michael could only bluff.

He looked up the hall, saw a maid peering out of a room with terrified eyes. He took off toward that room, moved the woman aside, and went in.

“You cannot come into here,” the woman shouted. “I call manager!”

Michael ignored her and went to the balcony door, threw it open. He heard Holly behind him. “Michael, what are you doing?”

“Going to their balcony,” he said, stepping over the railing to the balcony next door.

The sound of sirens rose over the hum of the air conditioners.
Wind whipped up, blowing Holly’s pink hair into her face. “Holly, when the police get up here, tell them where I am.”

“I’m coming with you,” she said, stepping over the rail herself.

“Holly, so help me … Go back! I need for you to tell the police.”

She finally acquiesced and went back into the hotel room. Michael stepped over two more balconies, the unloaded gun in his hand.

He reached Warren’s balcony. The curtains were closed. Michael heard Cathy’s voice inside, Warren shouting back at her. He sounded panicked. Surely he heard the sirens. Would he kill Cathy and Jackson now and try to run for it?

Michael prayed that fear would keep him from doing further harm.

I
nside the room, Cathy tried to take care of Jackson. He was weak and limp, and his hospital gown was filthy. She pulled it off of him, then headed for the bathroom to get a washcloth.

“Stay there,” Warren said. “Don’t move out of my sight.” She threw up her chin and kept walking. “You know what, Warren? Just shoot me. I’m going to get a wet washcloth to clean up my nephew. If you want to kill me for it and bring the entire Panama City police department down on your head, you go ahead.”

She went into the bathroom, snatched a hand towel off the towel bar, and turned the faucet on. Rage pulsed through her. For him to take Jackson out of the hospital like this, leave him limp and sick, wrapped in his own vomit … It was cruel. But everything about this was cruel. Poisoning Jackson with E. coli was cruel. Murdering his own sister …

She squeezed out the towel, shut off the faucet. She saw herself in the mirror. Her neck was red where Warren had tried to strangle her, and a red splotch marked where he’d hit her.

He stood in the bathroom doorway behind her, watching her in the mirror.

He didn’t shoot her. Instead, he let her stalk back to their nephew. “Come here, honey,” she said, lifting Jackson’s head, though he was still not conscious. She wiped his face, his chest, scrubbing him down the best she could. If he would just wake up, she could make him drink. He was probably drastically dehydrated.

“Warren, he’s on fire with fever. He’s dying. He’s your nephew … your own blood!”

But she knew blood relations didn’t matter to Warren. She didn’t wait for an answer. She wrapped the boy in one of the clean bed sheets, lifted him, marveling at how light the five-year-old was in her arms.

“What are you doing?” Warren asked, clutching the gun.

“I’m putting him outside,” she said, daring him to stop her. Her heart pounded with uncommon courage as she carried Jackson to the door.

Suddenly, he fired. She jumped and screamed, almost dropping Jackson. Warren stood with the gun smoking, and his thumb cocked it again. “Back away from the door, Cathy,” he said. “I’m not playing.”

She drew in a long breath. “Warren, you can do just as much with me as a hostage as you can with him. Probably more, and you know it. I’m not going to raise red flags like a sick boy in a hospital gown would. We can go wherever you want and you can get on a plane or get a car —”

The room phone rang. Warren looked at it but didn’t
answer. Then they heard a bull-horned voice from the hallway. “Warren, this is Detective Max Hogan of the Panama City Police Department. Leave your hostages and come out with your hands over your head.”

“Max Hogan,” he said bitterly. “Of course. That’s perfect. Another one of your dead boyfriend’s brothers.”

Cathy had the sense he was feeling powerless … that it might lead to his killing them both. “Warren, it’s not too late,” she said. “We could leave Jackson on the bed. We could go out the back, over the balcony. I’ll go with you. They won’t shoot you if I’m with you.”

Warren’s eyes shifted from the front door to the back.

“We can climb down … It’s only four flights.”

“And then what? I can’t get to my car.”

“I have a car here,” she said. “We could get to it, and I could drive us to the airport.”

She held her breath as he seemed to weigh his options. Sweat glistened on his face and wet his armpits in huge rings. The phone kept ringing, and in the hall, Max made another plea.

“Warren, let the hostages go. You don’t need a child’s death on your head. Pick up the phone so we can talk.”

Finally, Warren made a decision.

“Okay, we’ll do it. Leave Jackson on the bed.”

I
t got quiet inside the hotel room. Michael stood on the outside of the sliding glass door. Warren had surely heard the sirens. If Michael were Warren, he would try to come out this back way.

Then he heard a clicking sound, heard the door unlocking, sliding back. He mashed himself against the bricks, raised the gun.

Warren opened the door, his arm around Cathy’s neck, the gun against her head. Slowly, the two of them stepped out.

Suddenly Michael was on him, knocking both Warren and Cathy to the balcony floor. Warren dropped the gun, reached for it, almost grabbing it.

Cathy rolled out of the way as Michael cocked Holly’s pistol and rammed the barrel into Warren’s temple.

Warren froze. Cathy grabbed the loaded gun. She got to
her feet, chambered around, and pointed it at Warren’s face. “I’d freeze if I were you, you rodent slime, because I have every reason to kill you!”

The front door crashed open and police filled the room. SWAT team members appeared on the roof across the parking lot and in balconies above them and below them.

Cathy backed away and stepped over the railing to the next balcony to give them a wide berth. But suddenly Warren flipped Michael over, got on top of him, wrestled Holly’s gun out of his hand. Michael managed to get on top again, this time pulling Warren to his feet, butting his mouth with his head, knocking him back against the rail. Warren aimed the gun up at Michael’s chin … pulled the trigger.

It only clicked.

Cursing, Warren threw it over the rail, then flipped Michael around, bending him backward over the rail. Stationed on the roof across the parking lot and behind cars on the ground, the police couldn’t fire; the men were too close together.

“Michael!” Cathy screamed. Taking careful aim, she fired at Warren’s leg.

The bullet grazed his calf. He screamed out and disengaged from Michael, clutching his wound.

Michael slid to the side, giving the police and Cathy a clear shot. Suddenly, Warren stepped up on the rail … and leapt.

SWAT team members beneath them held their fire as Warren hit the ground.

C
athy went back over the balcony rail and threw herself into Michael’s arms. Her body trembled as she clung to him.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did he hurt you? Did I hurt you?”

She ignored the question and touched a gash on his face. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s over.”

They didn’t let go as they watched the activity below. Neither seemed able to move. Cathy had no desire to stand on her own, so she allowed Michael’s embrace to hold her up.

They watched as the SWAT team surrounded Warren with rifles. He moved an arm, tried to turn himself over.

The fall from the fourth floor hadn’t killed him; paramedics rushed to the scene.

Now if they could just get Jackson help. Pulling out of Michael’s embrace, Cathy hurried back into the hotel room.

T
hey needed one more miracle. Holly struggled to see through her tears as she followed the ambulances in her taxi. Warren’s leap had left him broken but not dead. It wasn’t fair, since Jackson lingered so near death.

Why did God let cruel men live and innocent boys die?

Please, God … Jackson needs you!

At least Jay would be released this afternoon and could be at the hospital with his son. Maybe his presence would help Jackson’s recovery.

But dread of a death vigil crushed Holly. She lost Jackson’s ambulance as it raced through a red light, cars pulling to the side of the road to let it pass. She waited at the light as sobs overtook her.

Annalee dead … Jay arrested … Jackson’s illness … Warren’s jump. In her heart, the traumatic events got tangled up with her pregnancy. Hormones didn’t help matters.

She turned off the highway, looking for a place to pull over until she could stop crying enough to see. She cut through a residential area with cars lining the road. Nowhere to stop, so she kept driving.

Before she knew it, she was at the post office again. She pulled into the parking lot, once again facing the abortion clinic.

No, this was not where she wanted to be. But she couldn’t seem to make herself leave.

Most of the protesters were gone for the day, but two women still stood across the street, their huge posters of an unborn fetus leaning against their car. She couldn’t help staring at those posters.

One of them had S
IX
W
EEKS
written at the top.

Her hand went to her stomach. Was that what her baby looked like now? Were there tiny little fingers and toes? Eyes? A nose?

Her gaze strayed to the door of the clinic. Would she be able to actually call and make that appointment? Would she manage to walk up that sidewalk and go in? Would she get the words out to tell the receptionist that she wanted an abortion? Would she be able to go into that examining room?

And after it was over … how would she walk out and go home, as if nothing had ever happened?

She’d just risked her life to save her nephew. Couldn’t she risk her convenience to save her own baby?

She wanted to be noble, someone others might want to be like. But so far, her life was a study in failure. What not to do. She hadn’t succeeded at one thing.

No, she told herself quickly. That wasn’t quite true. She had succeeded today. She had helped in the search for Jackson. Even though her gun wasn’t loaded, she’d been part of
the team that had solved the murder and led to Jackson’s rescue. If they’d waited for the police, Warren would have got ten away.

So maybe she did have the potential to succeed. Maybe she could change. Maybe she could even parent a child.

But that was ridiculous. She wasn’t fit to be a parent. She could almost hear Juliet now, ranting about how irresponsible and immoral she was, reminding her that she always made the wrong choices.

But she couldn’t make the wrong one now. The stakes were too high. Her baby’s life was more important than a thoughtless whim.

Adoption was a possibility … a much better one than abortion. But if she gave the baby up, she had no doubt that Juliet would want him. Holly would never be able to stand seeing her child growing up in her sister’s home. As good a parent as Juliet was, this was Holly’s child. God had given this baby to her.

So how could she consider destroying it?

Unable to look at that building any longer, she pulled her car back out of the parking lot and headed to the hospital.

When she got to the ER, they had already taken Jackson in. He was still alive, and the doctors assured them that with IVs and drugs, his prognosis could still be hopeful. She couldn’t see him for a while, she was told, since only one person could be with him while they admitted him back to the ICU.

Cathy and Michael left to go pick Jay up when he was released from the jail, and Juliet stayed in the room with Jackson. Holly sat alone in the waiting room for a few minutes, fidgeting and helpless. Adrenaline still pulsed through her, making it hard to sit still. Finally, she decided to check
on Mrs. Haughton. If she were still alive, she probably didn’t know that Warren had been injured. Who would tell her?

Holly found out what room they’d admitted her to on the third floor. She rode up in the elevator, then went to the nurses’ station. “Excuse me. I want to see Doris Haughton.”

“Room 318,” the nurse said without looking up from her charts.

Holly just stood there for a moment. “Can I ask why you didn’t put her in intensive care? She seemed really sick.”

The nurse looked up then. “She has a DNR order in her file, so we’re trying to keep her comfortable here.”

“DNR?” Holly asked.

“Do not resuscitate.”

Holly’s heart jolted. “Can I see her?”

“Yes. Are you family?”

“No, just a friend.”

Holly went to her door, knocked softly, pushed it open.

Mrs. Haughton lay limp on the bed, an oxygen mask on her face. She was asleep or unconscious; Holly couldn’t tell which.

She leaned over the bed, touched the thin skin of Mrs. Haughton’s cold hand. The limp woman didn’t flinch.

“Mrs. Haughton?” Holly whispered. “It’s me, Holly. I just wanted to come by and make sure you’re all right.”

Mrs. Haughton didn’t move or react. Holly looked around, saw a blanket in a chair. She went to get it, unfolded it, and spread it over the bed. “Is that better?” she asked.

Still … silence.

“Mrs. Haughton,” she said, “I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened. Annalee, Jackson … Warren. I know your heart is broken.”

Mrs. Haughton probably didn’t know that Warren had
kidnapped Jackson and almost killed him. She didn’t know he had tried to hurl himself to his death.

She pushed the gray, coarse hair out of the woman’s wrinkled face. “Life just doesn’t turn out like we expect, does it?” She sat down in the chair next to the bed, stroked Mrs. Haughton’s hand again. “If Juliet were here, she’d tell you that there’s more on the other side. That all things become new again. That there’s healing and life. But I don’t know if I believe that.” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze settled on the window beyond the bed.

What, exactly, did she believe? She wasn’t an atheist. She cried out too much to God to claim she didn’t believe. Faith had molded Juliet, and to some extent, Cathy. But Holly’s spiritual core was tainted with cynicism. How could she believe in the things her father preached, when he’d been proven a fraud?

And the church that had been such a family to them when she was little had abandoned them so easily. Her mother never sought another one. Oh, she’d attended one now and then and dragged the kids along, but she’d never put her trust in the people again.

To Holly, the body of Christ was as sick and broken as Warren and his mother.

But now, as she sat with this woman hovering on the brink of death, she found herself wondering if her impressions were true. Did it really matter that the world was full of hypocrites, when it came right down to it? Would God give her a pass because she’d been hurt by his people?

“I take that back,” she told Mrs. Haughton. “The truth is, I do believe that there’s more. And if I didn’t believe in forgiveness, I guess I’d just give up. It wouldn’t be worth going on.” The words caught in her throat, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I know it all sounds far-fetched. I’ve thought
that too. That my mistakes … and there are an awful lot of them … couldn’t possibly be erased clean. That Jesus couldn’t possibly forgive them. But I think that’s the whole point of why he came.”

The words were cathartic, infusing her with peace, though they were meant for Mrs. Haughton. Holly swallowed and squeezed Mrs. Haughton’s hand. “I hope you can hear me.”

Juliet waited with Jackson until they moved him up to the ICU. It would be an hour or so before they got him set up and she could see him. By then, she hoped that Jay would be here.

She couldn’t imagine what her little brother had been going through. Had he somehow heard about the Amber Alert and the search for his kidnapped son? It must have been torture.

She decided to take a few minutes to check on Mrs. Haughton. The woman had been brought to the hospital without any fanfare. There had been no one from her family to receive her and stay with her. No one who cared whether she lived or died.

Juliet’s heart ached for Annalee’s mother. If she found out how evil her son really was … what would it do to her? She could hear it on TV or read it in the paper tomorrow.

Maybe Juliet could break it to her gently, without telling her everything he’d done.

She got Mrs. Haughton’s room number and went up to her floor. She went to the door, found it partially open. Quietly, she stepped inside.

Holly was already there, her back to the door, sitting
close to the woman’s bed. “I know it all sounds far-fetched. I’ve thought that too. That my mistakes … and there are an awful lot of them … couldn’t possibly be erased clean. That Jesus couldn’t possibly forgive them. But I think that’s the whole point of why he came … I hope you can hear me.”

Juliet touched her chest as tears came to her eyes. She started to step forward and stand beside her sister, but she hesitated when Holly spoke again.

“I’ve done so many things wrong. Things that are life-changing. I haven’t told anybody this yet …”

Juliet’s hand dropped, and she took a step back, out of sight.

“Juliet would have a heart attack. She would tell me how stupid I’ve been. That I have terrible judgment. She’d be right. She would tell me that I’m not fit to be a mother.”

Juliet almost gasped, but she threw her hand over her mouth. What? A
mother
?

Had Cathy been right in the car?

“I’m pregnant, Mrs. Haughton,” Holly said. “And I was thinking about an abortion, but I can’t go through with it.” She paused, looked down at the wrinkled gray face. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I haven’t really had anyone else I could tell. You probably can’t hear me anyway.”

Juliet slipped out and walked down to the nurses’ station, stunned. She leaned back against the wall, looked up at the ceiling. Holly pregnant? No wonder she’d been throwing up. No wonder she cried so much.

She tried to imagine what her baby sister was going through … considering abortion … wondering what to do. She’d been carrying this alone. Suffering and angry at herself.

After a few minutes, Holly came out of the room, wiping her face. When Holly saw Juliet, she stopped walking. Juliet pushed off from the wall and went toward her.

“Juliet,” Holly said. “Did they move Jackson to this floor?”

“No,” Juliet said. “I came to see Mrs. Haughton.”

Holly’s face tightened. “Oh. She’s in there, but she’s not conscious.”

Juliet’s face twisted, and she thought of pretending she hadn’t heard. But then Holly would have to keep enduring her situation alone. Suddenly, Juliet pulled her sister into a hug, held her as if she were her own child.

“What is it?” Holly asked on a whisper.

Juliet began to cry. “You’re a beautiful girl, Holly. Inside and out. And you’ll be a wonderful mother.”

Holly pulled back suddenly, and stared, stricken, at her sister. Her wet face turned crimson, and her jaw dropped open. Then she began to laugh. Juliet laughed with her and pulled her back into the hug.