Chapter Twenty
Leo
I sprawled on my metal shelf, encased in my concrete. The guy in the next cell had just been sentenced. His screaming and threats towards the guards had rung out all night. It’s the same every time we get a new member to our death row crew. They either erupt with rage or break down.
Danica’s letter lay on my pillow. I buried myself in its words. Since my appeal had been turned down, she’d taken the same approach as my mother, trying to keep her pain locked deep inside. It spewed onto the page in spite of the happy tone she tried to keep.
I’d tried to ban her from visiting me. I wanted letting me go to be as easy on her as it could be, not the long, dragged out process it promised to be. Theo told me she turned up to every visitation, sitting in the car lot in her battered old station wagon, quizzing everyone I permitted to visit. She had more willpower than me. Three weeks after taking her off my visitor’s list, I added her again, bumping off Theo’s boyfriend. He understood. She spent the first visit letting me know in uncertain terms just what she thought of my refusal to see her.
The metal slot on my cell door slid open, a guard peered in. They checked on us every hour. Soon I’d be back on deathwatch, guards watching my every move. I still wasn’t ready. How can you ever be ready to die for a crime you didn’t commit?
“Roman, your lawyer is here.”
I knelt at the cell door, my hands extended behind me, my mind racing. I’d dismissed my lawyer two weeks ago. There was no reason for her defend me, my appeal had been denied. I didn’t want to fight it. I wanted to end it. I wanted peace. Harsh metal cuffs were snapped around my wrists. My ankles shackled, chained to the heavy leather belt they locked around my waist. Two guards pushed me through the concrete hall towards the small room reserved for legal visits.
My lawyer sat at the table, beaming at me.
I was pushed to the seat opposite her, my chains locked to a bar across the table. She silently pushed a paper across the table.
“It’s over, Leo,” she whispered, swallowing down the lump building in her throat.
I gazed down at the paper, the words swam on the page, making no sense. All charges against me had been dismissed.
“There’s still paperwork to be filed,” she explained, “but you should be home by the weekend.”
“How?”
“Someone confessed to the crime. They plead guilty to all charges yesterday.”
The next few days passed in a blur. The rigid routine I’d kept myself sane with throughout my incarceration went to the wayside. My time in my cell was spent on my metal shelf, gazing up at the cracked concrete ceiling, imagining all the things I’d do with my freedom. I’d move in with Dani, go back to work in construction if I could. We’d have babies, lots and lots of babies. My mother would retire to help care for our children, while Dani and I work, as misogynistic as that sounds my mother would be in heaven. She’d longed for grandchildren. Maia had been quickly adopted as her own. She decorated a room in her home for her. I’d work with Laura’s charity.
When the day finally came for my release, I was chained the same way as always, led to my freedom with wrists and ankles shackled. The absurdity amused me. What did they think I was going to do? Escape? Kill them?
I was locked in a cell to change. The suit I’d worn to court all those years ago hung from me, accentuating the weight loss my mother worried about. My belongings were handed back to me in a string sack. A picture of Stacey and Maia, another of Dani, that Carly had snapped on her cell phone in Mexico. I’d been allowed to bring them into prison with me, but it felt wrong, having them in such a cruel environment. My cell phone, wrist watch, the chain my father had given me for my eighteenth. These were all the possessions I had left in the world. The meagre things I’d left behind, my car, my furniture, the TV I bought for Maia had been sold to go towards my defence.
A guard led me to the gate. Dani, Theo, my parents waited on the other side. The second the gate buzzed open, Dani flew to me, throwing herself into my arms. My mother followed. I embraced them both, holding them close to my heart, my chin rested on Dani’s head, I inhaled, savouring both of them as if for the first time.
Theo prised me from their grip, enveloping me in his own arms. My father joined wrapping us both us in his arms. We laughed, we cried, we hugged.
“What do you want to do on your first day of freedom?” Dani asked.
I’d dreamt of this moment for so long. There was so much I wanted to do, so many people I’d missed. One thing called out to me, more important than anything else.
“Stacey and Maia, I’d like to see where they’re buried. I never got to say goodbye.”
My parents had helped Mr and Mrs Charles to organise and fund the funeral. My mother had relayed every detail to me. It sounded perfect. A white horse drawn carriage had carried their coffins to their final resting place, Maia’s coffin was pink decorated with silver glitter, Stacey’s simple and white. They were buried in the same plot, to be together forever.
Theo drove us there. Dani and I sat in the back of his little blue car, her hand clutched in mine. My parents followed behind in their own car.
Theo pulled up at a graveyard just outside town. The sun beamed down on us. It should have been raining. The grief I held inside for so long, that had been overshadowed by the fight to survive swamped me. Maia was gone. Never again would I see her smile, hear her laughter ring loud through my crappy apartment, struggle to braid her hair. Stacey would never manage to get clean, she’d never crouch at my feet, begging for another second chance, she’d never sob into my arms again. We’d never celebrate another day clean for her. It was over. They were gone and nothing and no-one could bring them back. I’d failed them.
Dani took my hand as we strolled through the graveyard, squeezing tight, her love held me together. I’d failed Stacey and Maia, I refused to fail her. I’d give her the fairy tale ending she craved.
Theo and my parents hung back. Fresh flowers drowned the simple grave. Stuffed animals and toys lined the grass around them. Cards from school mates with cheery drawings eased my pain. They hadn’t been forgotten. Quite the opposite, they were loved by strangers from around the nation.
“Mrs Charles visits twice a week, bringing fresh flowers,” Dani smiled.
I knelt at the grave, my knees sinking into the soft grass, my fingers running over the delicate rose petals scattered over the milky marble memorial stone that covered them.
“Roses were Stacey’s favourite,” I sighed.
I’d bring her them home, a rose for every day clean. She lamented the fact that she’d received a single rose from a lover. I promised her one day she would. That day never came. Maia loved daisies. We spent hours in the park making daisy chains. She’d bring them home for Stacey. Daisy chain necklaces, bracelets and headbands. There were egg cups stuffed full of daisies all around the apartment at summer time.
I snatched daisies from the ground, knitting them together, the way Maia had. Dani sank to the ground beside me, handing me daisies.
“Tell me about them,” she whispered, resting her head on my shoulder.
I talked until my throat was hoarse. I laughed, I cried, I raged. It wasn’t fair, they didn’t deserve that. They lived through so much agony and trauma. They deserved all the happiness in the world. Not death, anything but death.
“Maia sounds like a little firecracker,” Dani smiled, handing me another daisy.
“She was. She would’ve loved you. Stacey too. You’d have liked Stacey. If there was a mistake she could make, she made it, fuck did she make it, but she never stopped trying.”
“You were lucky to have each other.”
“Hardly. They’re dead because of me.”
“You think they’d have lived as long without you? I spent years fighting to survive in the world you rescued them from. Someone like Maia wouldn’t have lasted long. Her youth saved her. Once she started fighting back she was already dead. You saved her, gave her a bit of light in her life. Never regret that, Leo.”
Mrs Charles had said the same thing. My mother too. Maybe with time, I’d believe it.
We sat for another hour, the sun warming our skin, glittering off Stacey and Maia’s memorial stone. My daisy chain grew longer and longer. I used up all the daisies close by. Theo started hunting from them, bringing me handfuls every few minutes. My parents rested under a nearby oak tree, hand in hand, an indulgent smile played on my mother’s face. Her pain had finally been erased. She had her baby boy back. Mrs Charles would never get that. Stacey had been an only child. They were too old now to raise another family. I’d adopt them into mine, attempt to at least minimise their pain. Stacey and Maia would never be forgotten. They’d be missed daily for the rest of our lives but maybe new life could dilute our pain, bring us new hope and some happiness.
I linked the chain together, looping it into a long, infinite chain. It hung over the headstone, resting above the picture of Stacey holding Maia in her arms. It was a picture I’d taken on the beach in Mexico. Golden Sand clung to Maia’s skin, her grin shone wide and genuine. That had been the happiest day of her life. Stacey had been clean, she went a whole month not touching a thing. She had an unusual glow of health about her. That’s why I’d taken them there, to celebrate Stacey’s recovery. She got high four days after we came home.
“Let’s go,” I said, pulling myself and Dani from the ground. We walked back to Theo’s car in contemplative silence.
◆◆◆
Strange cars filled the quiet cul de sac my parents live in. The media had once again descended like vultures on them. Mr Peterson stood on his lawn, his brow furrowed, his arms crossed over his thick, heavy chest, her face puce, ready for a fight. Mrs Peterson twitched at the blinds. I'd never decided whether she hid behind their perfectly polished laminated blinds when he kicked off because she was too ashamed of him to be seen outside or whether she was simply enjoying the show. She crept further behind the blinds when she realised I was watching her.
He stormed across his lawn as my parents pulled in behind Theo and myself.
“How long is this going to on for this time?” He snapped, waving his arms madly towards the media circus camped on the street.
“Leo will be staying with me, Mr Peterson. I’m sure as soon as we head home after dinner, they’ll follow us,” Dani smiled through the car window.
“You could always try turning your sprinklers up,” Theo grinned.
Several press members inched away from Peterson’s drive.
I clutched Dani’s hand, awaiting the chaos that would greet me in my parent's house. The army of cars flooding the street snatched away my dream of a quiet, peaceful homecoming.
“It was meant to be a few close friends,” Theo frowned as I mentally counted the cars. “But you have so many people who still count themselves as close friends. It got a bit out of hand, sorry dude.”
Carly opened the front door, yelling obscenities at the media who stormed her.
“Get the fuck off the lawn,” she scowled, “this is private property.”
A few squad cars mingled with the family sedans and SUVS. Uniformed officers pressed the media away from our car.
The cacophony of noise, all of them yelling questions overwhelmed me. They crowded in, pressing against the cops who tried to push them, all desperate for a piece of me.
Dani wedged herself between me and the reporters, shoving into them hard as we passed. Theo followed behind us, begging for calm, promising statements in time. They barked questions at me, all yelling at once.
“Leo, Leo, how does it feel to be free?”
“What are you gonna do next?”
“Leo, are you going to sue?”
“Would you like to thank your supporters?”
Camera flashes erupted, blinding us.
Carly yanked us inside, slamming the door behind us. She hadn’t changed a bit. Her long blonde hair flowed in waves over her shoulders, her bright blue eyes crinkled around the edges when she smiled, glittering with tears. She pulled me to her, wrapping me in a hug. I’d been hugged so much since this morning, it stifled me. It’s difficult, going from your only physical contact being guards throwing chains all around your body, shoving you to the ground for whatever spurious reason they could dream up, to being hugged every five minutes.
A small, curly-haired, green-eyed toddler gripped her leg.
“Dani-Mae, this is your Uncle Leo,” Carly beamed, scooping the child from the ground, thrusting her into my arms. The photos I’d been sent in prison hadn’t done the cherub justice. She was perfect. A mirror image of Carly. Her stinky fingers wound around my neck.
I was home, with my family where I belonged, facing the overwhelming task of rebuilding my life. With their love and unerring support, I’d make it through. Dani gripped my hand. A sea of familiar faces closed in on us, old school friends, work colleagues, Laura and people I’d met through her. They’d all turned up to welcome me home. Schilling and his wife hovered at the back of the room, Mr and Mrs Charles by their side. I managed two hours at the party before having to excuse myself. The noise of happiness, children’s laughter, as sweet as it is, is overwhelming after years of hearing nothing but grown men struggle to adapt to life in solitary confinement and the deafening scream of metal doors closing in on you.
◆◆◆
The media followed us, tailing Dani’s car all the way home. They scrambled from their cars and vans as we raced from Dani’s bashed up, rusted station wagon, into her small, ramshackle rented house. This time they questions they yelled were aimed at her.
“Detective Milano, is it true that your biological father confessed to the murders of Stacey and Maia Charles?”
“Do you think Leo will forgive you?”
“How long do you plan on working for the department who built the case against your boyfriend?”
“Any plans for a wedding, Detective?”
She paused at the last question, a slow smile spreading over her full lips. She tucked her raven hair shyly behind her ear, squeezed my hand tighter.
“You’d have to ask Leo that,” she grinned, “but I hope so.”
The female reporter turned her mic to me. A tense silence fell over the baying crowd. Cameras poised, ready to flash. Dani’s grip on my hand tightened. She gazed up at me with wide, warm brown eyes, biting down adorably on her lower lip. My insides constricted.
“This is the woman I will spend the rest of my life with,” I told the reporter. A small cheer burst through the throng of headline-hungry hack journalists. “There’s nothing in the world that would make me happier than her agreeing to be my wife but when I do propose it won’t be in front of the world’s media.”
I pulled Dani into my arms, pushing her to the door. She fumbled with the key, her hands shaking. The door clicked open, we fell inside to the claustrophobic strobe light of cameras flashing wildly. Dani kicked the door closed behind us.
“I was starting to think I’d never get you alone,” I smiled down at her.
“Sorry about the mess,” she shrugged, running her eyes over the chaos of her sitting room and open plan kitchen. Empty beer bottles dotted every available flat surface. Laundry scattered the stained carpet. A pile of mail and takeout menus lay haphazardly in the doorway. After the sterile, minimalist nothingness of prison, the well-worn, lived in pandemonium of Dani’s house was a welcome, bright contrast to the harsh conditions I’d grown used to. Tomorrow, she’d go to work and I’d spend the day cleaning, organising and decorating. Theo would loan me some cash for new carpets.
“All I see is you,” I lied, gazing down at her. She backed into the wall, caged in my arms. “Which way is the bedroom?”
“That way,” she breathed, nodding towards a door on the opposite of the room. I lifted her into my arms. She nuzzled into my chest, purring. My dick responded instantly. It’d been months since I’d last felt the brush of her warm, bare skin on mine. I was starving for her.
The stairs were no tidier than the rest of the house. I manoeuvred over piles of boots and sneakers, Dani held tight in my grip.
“First door you come to,” she grinned.
I kicked the door open. A serene, perfumed scene met us. Rose petals scattered the carefully pressed white throw covering her bed, flameless candles cast a warm glow over the room. A bottle of champagne and bowl of strawberries rested on the nightstand.
“Who happened in here?” I asked, dropping her gently to the bed.
“Emma I guess, I didn’t leave it like this and it’s way too thoughtful for Schilling. He’d have skipped on the candles and binned everything, including my shoes.”
“I think I love Emma,” I grinned, falling to the bed on top of her, pinning her beneath my weight. My lips pressed to hers, my tongue parting them, finding its way into the soft heat of her open mouth. God, she was perfect. She tasted of soft mulled wine, spearmint gum and home. I ruffled my hands through her long, ebony hair, pulling it back from her face. She grinned into my kiss, her warm brown eyes glowing with contentment.
I pulled away, leaning up on my elbow, one hand reaching for her white linen shirt, snapping the buttons open slowly. The white cotton bra she lived in had been replaced with a racy black lace number. Her pert nipples pushed at the thin material. I traced a thumb over the hard nub, revelling in the satisfied mewl she gave.
She lifted herself from the bed, pressing into my arms, letting her shirt fall to the mattress. My hand snaked around her back, unhooking her bra. I lay her back, leaning back on my haunches to admire her. Perfection, utter perfection, goose pimples spattered her clear olive skin.
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
She reached for my too-big suit jacket, slipping it from my shoulders, tearing at my shirt buttons, undressing me with a hunger that spiked my need for her. Her legs splayed either side me, I let her wrestle with my belt as I peeled her pants over her slender hips, yanking her panties down with them. She was naked beneath me before she managed to unbuckle my belt. A low growl of frustration came from her as she grabbed with my pants. I sat back, amused by her desperate need to undress me. She scowled at me, giving up on unfastening the button. She tore it off, grinning, pulling at my ruined pants.
My cock sprang free, nudging at the soft curve of her stomach. Her tongue dipped between her lips, her eyes widened at my thick girth. She reached for her discarded pants, flicking a silver wrapped condom at me.
“Always carry one?” I laughed.
“Just in case.”
“You get foreplay this time, like it nor not.”
She growled out her frustration. Her annoyed, rumbling growl faded to a contented purr as I sucked a hard, sensitive nipple between my lips, running my tongue around the edge of the engorged nub. She thrust her hips upwards, pressing her mound into my thigh, grinding until she found the friction she desired. Her wetness spilt onto my leg.
I grabbed her legs, pulling them apart, crawling down the bed until my face was a breath away from her sweet pussy. It glistened with pleasure, her clit swelled, ready to be nibbled.
My tongue found her sweet spot. I drew her tiny pink button between my teeth, flicking my tongue over the tight bundle of nerves until she purred like a wildcat, wrapping her toned thighs around my head, her fingers digging into my scalp, fistfuls of my hair wrapped in her hands.
She thrust to meet me, smashing her pussy into my face. Her sweet, tangy flavour spread across my tongue. My hands reached under her, gripping her soft, curvy ass, holding her to me as she writhed in my grip.
I felt her body tense, her grip on my hair tightened, sparks of pain seared over my scalp. She growled my name as she came into my mouth, her pleasure dripped down my chin. I lapped up every last drop, addicted to her flavour, fueled by the need to consume her in any way I could.
Her body relaxed in my arms as the climax ebbed through her. She trembled with the aftermath, her cheeks glowing pink, her hair mussed up, splayed on the pillow, red rose petals caught in its wild waves. She was a vision of goddess-like beauty. My cock ached for a taste of her.
I was dragged by my hair up the length of her hot, slick body. She grinned at me, her eyes dazzled with the glow of a woman who’d just came hard into her lover’s mouth. She pulled my hair, forcing my head down, tracing her tongue over my lips, licking away the sticky remains of her orgasm.
“Enough foreplay,” she warned, grabbing the condom from the bed, tearing it open.
Her nimble fingers rolled it down my length, pressing the tip of my cock to her abused clit. She wrapped her thighs around me, pulling me inside her.
My cock enveloped in her tight, wet pussy, wrapped its warmth, I thrust in slowly, giving her time to adjust to me. A soft whine escaped her parted lips, her fingernails scraped down my back.
She pressed her legs into my back, pulling me deeper into her, urging me to go harder. My fingers found her clit, rolling it between them until her whine turned to deep, insatiable moans. She thrust her hips to meet me.
I held on by a thread, my balls tightening, my core ablaze until I felt her tighten around me. I came with blinding intensity, my whole body tense and burning with the force of the shuddering climax racing through it. Her pussy throbbed around, squeezing out every last drop my seed.
She held me, my head rested on her breasts, her fingers tangled in my hair, her heart racing in my ear as we came down from our euphoric highs.
“Champagne?” I laughed, rolling off her.
“Mmm,” she murmured.
We spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening in bed, exploring each other, teasing until we could take no more, venturing downstairs only to find food. Emma had left a casserole warming on the stove.
I spent the night laid awake, watching her in wonder as she slept soundly in my arms. I’d spend every night for the rest of my life with this woman. Nothing would come between us again.