Crossroads
Tori Nedza
Part One
Dear Diary, 3/13/99
After constantly dreaming about the perfect guy, I’m happy to say, I think I found him!
Here is what exactly happened:
At 11:30 this morning, Mother was on the other line and started lecturing me again, about getting serious with someone. Once I told her that it actually takes time to meet your “soul mate” and devote your whole life to that person, she backed off. She reminded me that it would be impossible to find the “perfect” guy, so after a long hesitation I mumbled, “Goodbye Mother” and hung up.
Like usual, to get my mind off of mother’s absurd comments, I always found myself going to the mall. “Shopping heals any wound”, she always said.
As I hunted for a present, I passed by this good-looking man. At first, I didn’t recognize him but once he turned sideways, I realized who he was. I introduced myself hoping I wouldn’t appear to be desperate. You see, this time in my life, late twenties and still miserably single, who cares if you embarrass yourself? The look of dread must have crossed my face, however, because he answered me quickly. I felt my cheeks flush as he spoke. His name was Logan Clark, and it turns out that I used to go to high school with him.
That night, we went out for some coffee at the Starbucks. Logan’s first words were compliments about my eyes. How their blueness sparkled under the brightness of the moon. We talked about memories of high school, what we have been doing since then and other “get to know each other” talk. As we were about to leave, I told him how special the night had been. To tell you the truth, I was really waiting for a good night kiss. I leaned over to him, but he didn’t return the gesture. I wondered why he was so hesitant, but figured that he was being respectful of the newness of our friendship.
I flirted some more, we said our goodbyes and I drove home, listening to Tainted Love on the radio, singing along.
‘Till another day,
Love,
Brooke
Dear Diary, 3/16/99
Yesterday, Logan and I had our second official date. Except this time we went to an early movie and afterwards he insisted I introduce him to my mother.
As usual, she wasn’t too pleased by his appearance, or mine. Mother of course criticized me for wearing a skimpy dress, and said it brought the message of ‘accessible’ across. Then again, don’t most Victoria Secret dresses do? I told her “It’s the ‘90’s. Going out for dates you don’t wear suits anymore.”
Sensing it was better to leave before disaster would strike at the hands of my doting mother, we went back to my house. We settled in on the couch. It has been a long time since I had someone hold me as tight as he did. His strong, secure hands caressed my body, making me feel warm as the breeze of the cold midnight air swept through the window. He was gentle too, not making any of the first moves; which was a switch from the typical guy who tries to get you into bed on the first date. We sat there for a good three hours and then he abruptly announced that he had to go home. I was a little disappointed but I understood and Mother would be relieved.
Love,
Brooke
Dear Diary, 3/24/99
The past few days Logan and I have been together a lot. He took me everywhere: to the movies, shopping, our favorite restaurants, to several concerts and shows and a few bars downtown. I was devastated to encounter his first flaw (which I thought someone so perfect could never have). I confronted him with his problem, but he stared yelling and arguing with me. He admitted he was in rehab for 28 days for a drug and alcohol problem. It seemed that his insecurity had resurfaced. He admitted that although the cravings still haunted him, he hadn’t had a drink for a couple of weeks. Nevertheless, I didn’t believe him. We both felt uncomfortable and left the bar. I said goodnight to him on the steps of my house and didn’t look back to see him go. The screeching of the car wheels told me all I needed to know. I peered out from my bedroom window and wondered if he had grown up since high school?
Hopefully the next few weeks will be enlightening.
Love,
Brooke
Dear Diary, 3\25\99
This morning Logan woke me up with an appetizing breakfast-in-bed. Wrapped around a scarlet rose was a glossy, white ribbon. Nestled in the bow was an engagement ring. A 2 carat Princess cut diamond. As soon as I laid eyes on the glimmering ring, he asked me by kneeling on one knee, “Will you marry me?” I knew that even with his problems and imperfections, we could still work it out. After all that’s what relationships are for. I was speechless! He picked me up and twirled me in his arms. I do admit, I usually don’t rush into things especially relationships, but there was something magical about Logan. It’s something I can’t put into words.
The newness of my feelings overwhelmed me. I felt like I was Cinderella! I called mom to share exciting news. Her silence pierced my excitement. And, like always, she lectured me again.
She said, “I know no one’s perfect, but from the things that you’ve told me about him, well, he isn’t the right guy for you. He might be sweet and caring, but his problems one way or another will interfere with your life. I think that you should reconsider, darling. But please understand that whatever happens, it’s not your fault.”
That evening Logan went out to a bar with some of his buddies. I had asked him to spend the night with me, just the two of us, but he went against my wishes and went anyway. He told me, “Don’t invite anyone over tonight; I want you all to myself when I come home.”
Defiant as ever, I decided to invite over a few of my closest friends. We played poker, ate like pigs, and wept our eyes out while watching Terms of Endearment. What a hunk Jeff Bridges is!
Nearing midnight, as my friends were about to leave, Logan stormed in mad and drunk. He threw all them out, threw the popcorn and potato chips on the floor, grabbed my arm, and pushed me on the couch. He smacked me across the face. I sat there, stunned; trapped against my will next to a guy that I was going to marry. When he wasn’t looking I got up and pushed him away. I threw the engagement ring in his face which made him even more furious. The tears ran down my face. He apologized halfheartedly and began mumbling as his internal storm began to lose its momentum. Feeling confused and hurt, I left him sleeping on the couch and I called mother. I needed help; I didn’t know what to do. She started telling me that it wasn’t my fault. At first I didn’t agree. I thought that if I hadn’t invited my friends over then maybe he wouldn’t have acted the way he did. I waited for morning’s daylight to make everything better.
~Brooke~
Dear Diary, 3\27\99
Two days after “the little incident”, I came to the conclusion that would solve both of our problems. We needed to seek help.
I told Logan that I wanted to see a professional. His feelings seem to simmer on the top, but underneath, where I couldn’t see, he was raging mad.
Later that afternoon, I made an appointment with Dr. Charleston, a psychologist at the Baron Clinic. Logan and I were to meet him the following afternoon at 1 P.M.
~Brooke~
Part Two
I was a little worried when Logan Clark and Brooke Anderson didn’t show up for an appointment. I figured maybe Ms. Anderson was a little nervous, although she seemed completely confident on the telephone. I called the number of the residence she gave me. A man who I assumed was Mr. Clark answered the phone. Strangely, all I heard in the background was fading voices. He didn’t answer any of my questions and abruptly hung up. I called several times more and no one answered. I thought to myself, “Maybe it’s time for a house call”.
There were a several cars in the driveway and the windows on the first floor of the house were open, letting the curtains blow freely in the wind. I knocked on the newly painted door and waited. A good five minutes had past and still no one answered. As I was about to leave, the door opened, and a young woman appeared. I took her hand and it trembled. She withdrew, her eyes misting and she turned away from me. I thought it best to take a step into the house.
“I’m Dr. Robert Charleston- the psychologist. I was worried and decided to visit you instead. On the phone you seemed a little apprehensive. Is everything alright?”
“IÉum, I’m sorry to have bothered you. The problem is over, I did what I had to do,” Brooke said hesitantly.
“Well, are you sure? Did you talk with Logan?”
“Yes, I did and everything’s better.”
“That’s good. I guess I’ll be leaving, unless you still need my help.” It was a question and an answer all in one.
I looked over her shoulder, noticing nothing peculiar, so I left.
* * *
The next day, Brooke came to my office. I sensed something was wrong. Her face was sullen and sadness loomed like a heavy cloud over her.
“Three days ago, my mother had a stroke and is still in the hospital.
Feeling depressed, I turned to Logan for comfort. His response to my feelings was so positive, Dr. Charleston.”
I listened closely.
She began again; “I said something, not knowing what exactly, and he, he just blew up again! He got ticked off really easily. I thought he changed. But he went back to his old habits and this time shoving and hitting me. At the hospital with bruised ribs and a black eye, I told the resident that I fell down the stairs. I don’t know what to do Doctor. Should I leave him again? ÉDoctor Charleston, did you hear me?”
Thinking how much he could have hurt her made me furious. Brooke is so innocent, I thought. She should have someone who appreciates her!
“I promise I will do something, just give me some time.” I told her.
“Do something? You can’t. I mean I love him.” Her eyes searched mine, waiting for an answer. Instead, I felt rage rush through me. I could feel the veins in my neck bulge as my heart beat quickened. I need to go over there, confront Logan and tell him I knew what he has been doing to Brooke.
While Brooke was at work I went to see Logan. As the door opened, I saw a young man standing there. He stood a good 5 inches over me and I knew from my size, that I would be no match for him physically. We chatted a little and suggested we meet for counseling at my office in three days. Most of the time, the man is pessimistic about talking to a therapist about his problems. But Logan surprisingly agreed. Was Brooke right? Did he want to change? But there was something peculiar about him, he didn’t seem remorseful. Once I got home I called my friend Tony DeSanto. For the past few weeks I have been confiding in him and I knew he could help me and that he understood that I was in an awkward situation. Tony was a much bigger guy than I was. Anyway he owed me a favor. I knew that I could depend on him to get the job done.
* * *
I walked into my office to find Tony already there. We agreed to keep it clean and simple. My plan was to wait across the room in the darkness of a small corner by the closet. Tony would wait by the door on the side, and as the door would open, in would walk Logan and before he would even notice what was going to happenÉ BANG!
Surprisingly, everything worked out as planned. However, I didn’t think the emotions in my head would be so powerful. As I watched Tony pull the trigger, it felt as if time had stopped. I stood there for a few seconds. It felt like hours. The echo of the bullet bounced off the walls. Then the silence struck me with fear. Everything happened in slow motion. I would be the one emotionally who would die. As a psychologist, we learn that not all things are our fault, but some in fact are things that we cannot stop.
BANG! It was too late. Tony fired a second shot and I recoiled from the horror of the scene in front of me. For a few minutes I was in grief but in the back of my mind I thought that finally Brooke could live peacefully. I walked to the light switch and turned it back on.
“Hey, Tony! You think anyone heard the gun shot?”
“Nah. Doubtful Boss. I don’t think anyone’s around this late.”
“What are you gunna do with the gun?” I asked.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”
“Okay. You could probably leave now and I’ll clean up.”
“Alright, be careful and don’t miss a spot!”
“Yeah. It would look too suspicious if we both walk out together.”
“Oh Tony, I think It would be wise if you leave town for a little bit, go somewhere nice like Tahiti or some exotic island like that. It’ll be good for ya. Now leave!”
A few minutes after Tony was gone, I called 9-1-1.
“This is 911, how may I help you?”
“UmÉ My name is Doctor Robert Charleston. There’s a young man in my office. I think he may be dead.”
“Okay. Please state the address.”
“It’s 180 Duetz Avenue, 6B.”
“Is he breathing? Is there anyone else there, hurt?”
“No he’s not breathing and I’m alone.”
“Okay, stay there and we’ll send an ambulance there right away.”
The two homicide detectives and the ambulance all came within 10 minutes or so. The odor of gunpowder still hung in the air. I deliberately didn’t bother to clean up and I left the puddle of blood surrounding his head on the floor. I told the police that I thought someone was out to kill me and accidentally killed Logan. They asked me questions and I told them only what they needed to know. As an officer went to ID my car at the lot, another took fingerprints throughout.
“You think that’s necessary?”
“It’s procedure,” the officer said.
I didn’t really get a feel that they considered me a suspect, but you never know.
“Oh wait, I knowÉ Perhaps it was Brooke Anderson. She was in love with Logan Clark. See, she thought that she was in love with him, until he started beating her. Then, she came to me asking for help. She refused my treatment and cancelled our sessions together, but maybe she thought that I was interfering with her life. Maybe, but I don’t know for sure. She could have done it, she’s strange that way, you know?”
The Police told me I was free to leave, but my office was now a crime scene and I could not see patients there until a week or so passed. I was a little nervous that I would say something that would lead them to believe I killed Logan. As I left, they were still looking around. I ducked under the CAUTION tape and went down the steep steps through the hallway, out to the cold garage and got in my ‘97 blue BMW.
I drove up to the mountains, several miles away from my apartment. I stopped the car and stood close to the edge. Staring at the gleaming lights below, a chill passed through me and I went back into the car. My hands gripped the steering wheel. My face was drenched; you would think it was raining inside the car. I had the music on loud trying to distract my thoughts. My palms were sweating and no matter what, I didn’t want to let go. I tested myself by pumping the gas pedal; fearing for my life, knowing that if I went a little further then that would be the end. I was a coward I told myself. But so far, the police didn’t suspect me.
I woke up the next morning with a stiff neck and my head on the wheel. I turned the car around and drove back to my apartment and crashed on the sofa.
I took a week off of work and didn’t return to my office until the following Thursday. The place had been cleaned up and in walked a new patient. Her name was Maggie Joines. She was my first patient since the murder. My first impression of her was a young and incredibly attractive woman. I was immediately struck by her compelling, topaz colored eyes. If you took one look at her you wouldn’t be able to stop, she was so perfect. Despite her good looks, the package inside was coming apart. She confided that she drank heavily hoping her insecurities would disappear. When she was young, her father abused her and her two sisters. Her marriage was crumbling and her husband was abusive towards her own children. Once he seriously injured one of them, she refused to implicate him. Fearful that the authorities would take her children, Maggie suffered from tremendous guilt. Her life was a mess, and I had to help her in some way.
On a regular basis she came to my office and sat in my huge black reclining chair and as she tearfully related her story to me; I analyzed and took notes. Incredibly, I soon felt the same feelings towards her that I did to Brooke. I felt protective of her; I couldn’t see a sole hurt her or her children. Those kids are innocent, if not more than she is. But if she thinks it’s right for her husband to abuse them, even if she experienced it as a kid, then she has to know that that’s wrong. I met with her more and more studied her ‘till I had so many notes that I could practically write a book. Coincidently, like with Brooke, I felt I had to do something more. Although this time I wanted to do it myself.
Later that day, when I got home, I received a call from the police. They said they had found a leading suspect in Logan’s death. I was so excited; finally I can be free, live without fear and stop looking over my shoulder to see if anyone was there. A night out would be just what the doctor would order!
I called Maggie at home and asked if I could do anything. I didn’t want to tell her what I really had in mind. So instead I went to the shooting range to test my target skills. I used to go hunting a lot back when I was in college; something about having to power in your hands is amazing.
I walked around a bit and got comfortable with the atmosphere again. I took a nine-millimeter handgun, held it tight and pulled the trigger. It nearly made the target. I had aimed at the head but instead it shot the lower chest, not even close enough to strike the heart. I shot off a few more rounds and after a while, it gradually became more comfortable. I would go back some nights spending hours until I improved. I was sure now that a bullet to the heart would not be enough, so sometimes I made bulls-eyes right to the skull. I progressed and then began to shoot from further distances. After many practice runs, I felt confident, finally ready to try it in real life.
Days past and I told Maggie that she shouldn’t worry about her husband any more. I told her that at last she’d be able to rest at night again; except, I didn’t really tell her what I was going to do. Even if she thought a bit, she would realize that what I was doing was for her benefit. I told her husband, Donnie, that he should meet me at my office on Wednesday at 9 p.m. My plan was basically the same as Logan’s death. I would just wait for him and shoot as he entered my office. Then I would clean up, call the Police and never look back.
The most convenient day for him was two days. I told him that I would prefer him to come alone so we can discuss “confidential” information. He agreed to meet me. Each night I went over the plans in my head and then acted it out. I found the place to dispose of the gun and rags I would use in cleaning up.
I went to my office extra early on the day that Donnie and I were to meet. I rummaged through old papers on my desk. I tried to find something to do to relieve my trepidation. The handgun jutted out of my back pocket and as I was about to pull it out and handle it one more time that evening, I saw a tall man peering through the window of the door. I rapidly threw my jacket over myself and walked to the door, welcoming Donnie to my office. I offered him a glass of wine and invited him to sit down. We talked a little about his Wall Street experience and he explained some strategies he had used successfully in the market. I remained as attentive as I could.
“Well, I would love to sit here and chat, but it’s getting late and I have to get home to my family,” said Donnie.
“We should talk again. Your investment ideas sound very promising. There are also some things I’d like to know about your family, Don. But your time is running short”
We walked to the door and when he turned away, I took out my gun and held it to the back of his head. I told him to turn around slowly and head to my desk. My back was to the door and he was looking at me with the gun pointed to the center of his forehead.
“How the hell could you hurt your own damn wife and your kids?” I said disgustedly.
I told him that in some bizarre way, I felt that Maggie was like my younger sister and knowing that, I must do anything to protect her. He nervously explained that when he was a kid his father was an alcoholic, betting up on everyone to make himself feel better. Did he think it was an excuse?
“Even if you wanted to, you don’t have the guts to kill me!” He yelled.
“Why not?”
“Turn aroundÉ”
I twisted my head to the right, slowly, eyes wide open, and then pivoted around to see who was there. Dressed in a black uniform was a police officer.
“Drop the gun and put your hands up behind your head where I can see them.”
I had no choice; I had to do what the cop said. It was foolish of me to think that I could kill Maggie’s husband.
“Now down on your knees, but keep looking at me.”
“Why are you arresting me? I didn’t do anything. You don’t have anything on me. You think you’re going to arrest me for attempted murder on this guy? That’s ridiculous! He’s the one you should arrest for battery!”
“Sorry Dr. Charleston. We came here to arrest you for the murder of Logan Clark. Lucky for us, we caught you ready to do it again!”
“You got the wrong guy. It’s Tony, I tell you, it’s Tony!”
Handcuffed, I walked to the cop car and we headed to the police station. In the interrogation room there was a cop at the door and a homicide detective walking and drinking coffee at the same time. The small room was white; it had one door, a large mirror on one side and a cold metal table.
“So Doc, why did ya kill Logan Clark?”
“What evidence do you have that leads you to believe that I killed Logan?”
“I asked you first. Let me do the asking here. Tell me exactly what happened that day; the day you found Logan Clark’s body in your office. Give me an alibi.”
“I went to do some night work at my office. I turned the light switch ON, walked around my desk and there on the floor was a dead body.”
“So you met Logan before that?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know that the dead body belonged to a Mr. Logan Clark?”
“I didn’t, the police IÉ Identified him.”
“RightÉ So, after you found the body you called the police right away?”
“Yeah. Kind of that is. I mean, after I caught my breath and allÉ then I called 9-1-1.”
“Wait TonyÉ He pulled the trigger, not me. I swear.”
“Tony? Last name?”
“DeSantos.” The detective with the brown jacket on shook his head at the mirror.
“Do you live alone Dr. Charleston?”
“Yes I do.”
“So there was no one that could say you were at your apartment aroundÉ what time do you think you were there until?”
“No, no one was there at my apartment. Um, maybe ‘till 8 p.m. or so.”
A few minutes after, another police officer came in and motioned something to the man in a white buttoned down shirt with the tail sticking out of his pants.
“Hey Doc, we haven’t found Tony yet. You’ll be free to go, but don’t go far. “
I was stunned and relieved to be let go.
“Next question: Why did you accuse Brooke Anderson of trying to kill you?”
“Because of her husband, Logan. Like what I said earlier, when you gentlemen asked me questions at the crime scene.”
“She’s the one who came to you for help. You weren’t interfering in her life. You were helping her. If anyone wanted to kill Logan, it would be her.”
“Quick question. How did you know I was going to be at my office?”
“Because it was a setup. There is no Maggie Joines or Donnie Joines. They were all decoys to catch you in the act of killing. We knew that you would feel protective of Maggie. It’s how you felt with Brooke. You would kill anyone who would hurt them. We just needed to catch you in the act. See Mr. Charleston, right from the very beginning we knew that you were our leading suspect. There were too many mistakes and unanswered questions floating around. For example, the body was found at the right side of the door. You just said the body was by your desk. We also knew that you didn’t have a gun. Yet your friend Tony, who was the shooter, did have a licensed handgun. There was a witness who saw Tony coming out of your office that night and he unexpectedly left without a trace. One last thing Doc, detectives know that if the killer or lead suspect feels off the hook and free, then they will make a mistake in their next killing, thinking that no one will catch them. Just like you did here. Oh, did ever think this through?”
“I didn’t mean to kill Logan, I really didn’t. It was an impulse; he was abusing his innocent wife. I had to do something to stop him. How’s Brooke?”
“Fine, she’s safe now.”
* * *
Being in here, you have a lot of time to face reality. But how? How could a young man who just tried to help save someone’s life keep sane in this joint? Prison is a place for loonies and cold-blooded murderers, not me.
Cell Block Report, 1:34 AM. Robert Charleston was found strangled in his darkened cell. Investigation is under way.
