Chapter 1 Michael

Chapter 1
Michael

My book crashed against the wall of my study cubicle, causing a small ding in the library’s wall. Next I threw my notebook. How was I supposed to concentrate when all I could think about was Amelia? Studying was impossible, I just caught myself using my Biochemistry notes to try to find an answer to my Gross Anatomy questions― again. It was inevitable; I would flunk out of my first semester of medical school if I kept this up.

No matter how hard I tried to stay focused, my mind wandered back to this afternoon in lab with Amelia. Her laughter had echoed through the otherwise sterile room when I’d dropped the freshly prepared slides of three weeks’ worth of research in the sink. Any other lab partner would have blown up at such a clumsy accident, but not Amelia.

She rolled her eyes, shook her head and restarted preparing the slides. “Come on, Michael. I’ll share my honorary title of Drops-A-Lot with you.” She said as she winked at me.

“Don’t worry I’ll never take your title. After all, you hold the world’s record.” I had felt a surge of relief from her banter.

The never ending patience and understanding was what made Amelia. . . Amelia. These were only two of the millions of reasons I loved her. I needed to tell her, I wanted to be her boyfriend, not her best friend, not her bro; her boyfriend. But that was where my courage stopped.

Why couldn’t I just jump naked out of an airplane or wrestle an alligator? That would be much easier than telling my best friend of eighteen years I’m in love with her.

My stomach grumbled, when I leaned back in my chair and stretched. It reminded me of my plans to meet her around eight o’clock at her favorite Chinese restaurant. Her fundraising committee was supposed to be finished with their meeting by then.

A strong breeze blew across my face, sucking the library’s outer doors from my hands as I opened them. The early December night was chilly. I pulled the collar of my thin jacket up around my neck and wished for a warmer coat. The few remaining leaves on the trees rustled in the wind, but I paid little attention.

Afraid of sounding like a bad rendition of a soap-opera, I trudged through the deserted parking lot rehearsing the best way to tell Amelia how I felt. The furthest I got was “Hey, Amelia. You look great.” After that, I was stuck.

When I was a few yards from my car, a vehicle screeched as it entered the parking lot. My keys were stuck in my jacket’s pocket and I was preoccupied with dislodging them, but I looked up as the screeching came uncomfortably close in the otherwise quiet night. A large white van plowed towards me. Moments before it could run me over, I dove out of its way, landing hard on the cold pavement and scraping my hands.

With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I pulled myself up and sprinted to my car. As soon as I threw the car door open, someone yelled my name from the van.

Expecting to see a friend leaning out of the van’s window and laughing at the joke, I turned toward the source of my name. Instead, I heard a blast and felt my chest explode. Staggering, I grabbed the opened door. I felt another burn slash across the side of my head. The next shot I didn’t even hear. Fire ripped through my body as I collapsed into my car.

*

A foggy haze enveloped me, trapping me where I lay. There were two things that held my attention. First, I no longer felt any pain. My whole body felt frozen as if I had been dumped into an ice chest. Second, an angelic voice was singing out to me, pulling me toward it.

“Michael, Michael . . . can you hear me? Michael.”

It was the voice I longed for. It was my Amelia.

Amelia, of course I can hear you.

My frozen body was not cooperating as I attempted to look at her. How did you get here? Be careful! There is a maniac with a gun!

“Michael, wake up! Michael! Please!” Her voice was no longer singing—it was pleading. “Michael, please wake up!” Her body heat radiated against my face as she cradled me in her arms. Her
gentle hands carefully examined my wounds.

Can’t you hear me?

She didn’t respond. Then I realized I wasn’t vocalizing the words, so of course she couldn’t hear me.

“Hang on, Michael. Please don’t leave me.” Her voice broke as she tried to catch her breath. “I need you.”

Of course, Amelia, I’ll never leave you.

Suddenly, I seemed to be two people. I was outside the car, watching her hold my lifeless body in her arms. Torn between wanting to reach out and comfort her and terrified by the fact I could see myself, I could only observe as she gently laid my body across the front seat.

She took her cell phone from her back hip pocket and punched in some numbers. “What! No signal. Come on.” She threw her phone down on the pavement. “There has to be something in here to help you.” After looking under the front seat, she hoisted herself upright. “Oh, my lord. Michael, what did you do?” Using only her fingertips, she held a gun by a corner of its grip.

Amelia, have you lost your mind? Where’d that thing come from? Get rid of it! Now!

She grimaced as if she were holding a snake instead of a gun.

A laugh erupted from behind my car, causing my spirit to quiver. Amelia’s first reaction appeared reflexive. Spinning to face the direction of the laughter, she screamed into the night. Remembering the gun in her blood-soaked hands, she struggled to bring it up and fired into the night sky, aiming at nothing. Then she turned and ran away.

Get out of here, Amelia!

I ran with her, leaving my car and my body behind.

*
Death was not what I expected.

Bright lights were supposed to illuminate my pathway after I died, but I didn’t see any. Instead, I found myself trapped in a nightmare, one without smells, tastes, or textures―only visions and sounds. Horrible images of Amelia that I could not control.

Covered in my blood, Amelia ran to the campus’s nearest security office. She crashed through the door and flew from cop to cop as she yelled. “Michael’s dying. There was a gun. I tried to help him, but I shot at the laugh. He’s covered in blood. Help me.” She grabbed the closest cop and tried to pull him to the door.

The cop yanked out of her grasp and pulled his gun. “Put the gun down on the floor and then put your hands up in the air. Now.”

Amelia looked down at her hands and realized she was still holding the gun. Flinching away from the gun, she dropped it on the floor and stepped back. “It’s not my gun. I found it in Michael’s car.”

Forget about the gun! You have to help her, help me. I’m dying.

I positioned myself between the cop and Amelia.

The cop kept his gun trained on Amelia. “It doesn’t matter whose gun it is, I said put your hands up.”

Amelia turned to face him. “What? We have to help Michael. He’s dying.” Her voice echoed my thoughts as she took a step forward and reached for his arm.

“I said, put your hands up and stay where you are.” He spread his legs as if he were preparing for a fight.

Are you crazy? You’re not going to attack her.

I threw myself at him, only to have my spirit fall through his body.

She threw her hands up over her head. “Okay. Alright, my hands are up.”

Another cop handcuffed her and led her to a dimly lit room where she sat at a table with two chairs. After ten minutes of silence, two detectives arrived from the nearby Southside Precinct. One silently stood by the door while the other sat at the table in the chair opposite Amelia. He placed his folded hands on the table and said. “Amelia, I’m Detective Madison. Can you tell me what happened? They said you shot someone named Michael.”

Are you an idiot or just stupid? Let me spell it out for you. She did not shoot me.

I yelled in his face.

Amelia shook her head and exhaled as she threw her cuffed hands on the table. “No, that’s not what I said. I shot at the laugh behind us. It scared me. Michael was shot before I got there.”

“Where did you get the gun? Is it yours?”

“Of course not. I hate guns. Listen, we’re wasting time. We have to help Michael. Don’t you understand? He’s dying.” She stood and walked toward the door.

Come on let’s get out of here. As soon as they see my car, they’ll know you didn’t shoot me.

I glided with her to the door.

“Sit down Amelia. You ran in here holding a gun and covered in blood. You’re not going anywhere. Besides, officers have already inspected his car. His body wasn’t there, but there was plenty of blood. After we check you for gun powder residue and finger print you, I bet our theory will be confirmed.”

My body is missing? How? We were just there.

I moved to the wall as I tried to steady myself.
Amelia shook her head. “What? I don’t understand. Gun powder residue? Finger-printing me? Where’s Michael?” tears flowed from her eyes. “I already told you I shot the gun, but I didn’t shoot him.”

“That’s for a jury to decide. You have the right to remain silent. . .”

Amelia dropped her cuffed hands by her side and stared at the floor as the officer read her rights. Softly she whispered to herself. “But I didn’t shoot Michael. He was my best friend. But I guess I killed him, trying to save him.”

Chapter 2
Michael

That became my life, or rather my death.

I hovered in a corner and watched as they finger-printed Amelia. Afterwards, they placed her back in a dimly lit room, where she paced its diameter as she waited for them to confirm that her bloody fingerprints were all over my car. Two hours later, they escorted her in a squad car to Southside’s precinct.

The entire time, she appeared to vibrate. She only stopped shaking when the metal door slammed shut, locking her into a cell. That’s when tears started flowing down her cheeks. Unable to control herself, she wrapped her thin arms tightly around her chest and sank to the floor. There she stayed for the next three days, refusing to eat, sleep or talk.

The morning of the third day, a female officer opened her cell door. “Get up. You need to change out of those blood stained clothes.” She held a uniform out for Amelia. “Come on, I’ll take you to the showers so you can clean up a bit before you change.”

Without saying a word, Amelia followed her to the jail’s showers. After five minutes, Amelia reappeared in the hall looking like a freshly scrubbed puppy. Her hair was plastered to the side of her head, and the uniform was hanging off of her. The pants were missing the drawstring, so she had to hold the waistband up as she walked down the hall to her cell.

Hours later, another officer escorted her to the precinct’s interrogation room. After opening the room’s door, he pointed her inside and said, “You need to wait in here. A Sharolette Clayton and a lawyer are here to see you.”

Amelia nodded and slid into one of the metal chairs. Without looking up, she folded her arms on the table and laid her head on them. I hovered beside to her, strongly wanting but unable to comfort her. She raised her head, looked in my direction, then laid it back down.

Her actions startled me, but not enough to convince me to move. I stayed there wishing to protect her from my evil stepmother.

I had hated Sharolette from the moment my father brought her home only three months after my mom died. My feelings weren’t one sided, either. Sharolette had managed to make my life a living hell for exactly one year, four months and twenty-six days until my dad’s death. Even though Amelia was innocent, leave it to Sharolette to hire a defense lawyer to defend the person charged with my murder.

The precinct’s interrogation room was silent when Sharolette entered for their initial meeting; only the humming of the overhead fluorescent lights and the tapping of her stilettos on the concrete floor could be heard. She found Amelia seated slouched over the table, tracing the wood grain patterns with her right index finger. When Amelia saw Sharolette, she buried her head in her folded arms.

Sharolette turned to the guard and whispered, “I’ve known Amelia for years. I’m here to help her. Joseph Crandoff”—she waved at the tall, dark-haired man standing beside her—“is going to defend her.”

The guard nodded and motioned Sharolette to the table. She clicked past him, pulling her companion with her.

Once the guard left, closing the door behind him, Sharolette turned to Amelia and took a deep breath. Placing her purse in an adjacent chair, she leaned across the table. “You sure have got yourself into a mess this time. And your daddy isn’t around to rescue you.”

I couldn’t understand the sarcasm in Sharolette’s voice. Apparently Amelia didn’t either. Her eyes widened as she looked up and said. “What? What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing, honey. I always promised your father I would take care of you. You know—if anything ever happened to him.” Sharolette dramatically waved her manicured hand high into the air. “And—ta-da—here I am.”

Sharolette tucked her tailored skirt beneath her hips and slid into one of the metal chairs across the table from Amelia. Mr. Crandoff sat in a chair beside her.

Placing both of her hands on Amelia’s left hand, Sharolette lowered her voice and said. “Amelia, honey. How are you holding up?”

How dare Sharolette touch her. Move away! Don’t let her touch you!

Attempting to shield Amelia, I hovered in between them.

Amelia looked at Sharolette for a brief moment, then sat up and slid her hands from the table into her lap. Looking down, she shrugged her thin shoulders. “I guess I’m okay. I’m just confused. I don’t understand how they could say I shot Michael.”

Because you never would. I’m here.

I just wish she knew it.

Sharolette took a lace handkerchief from her purse and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Honey, cheer up. This is all a huge mistake. Everyone knows you would never hurt him.” She sniffed loudly. “Please forgive me. This entire ordeal has upset me so. I haven’t slept a wink since it started.”

She tucked her handkerchief into the sleeve of her blouse and continued. “Anyway, Joseph is going to defend your case. He’ll take care of everything. He’s an excellent defense attorney, and he’s going to smooth out this misunderstanding. And I’m sure he’ll be able to explain the letters you wrote Michael. You know—the ones the police found in his apartment.”

Looking at Sharolette, Amelia shook her head. “But I already have a lawyer. My aunt Cat is going to defend me.” She scrunched her eyebrows together as she continued. “Wait a minute. What letters are you talking about? I never wrote any letters.”

“Honey, slow down. Let’s take one thing at a time. Cat can’t defend you. She’s a corporate lawyer. She has no experience in front of a jury. You need a defense attorney. Joseph is the best one for this job. Trust me.” Sharolette removed her handkerchief and dabbed the corner of her eyes again. Then she tucked a strand of her platinum bob behind her ear.

Amelia, don’t trust them. This is wrong!

I thought as loud as my ghostly state would permit, but of course, she didn’t hear me. No one could.

Amelia leaned into the table and whispered, “But who is he?” She turned and looked at Joseph. “I’m sorry—please, don’t take this the wrong way. But I have no idea who you are.”

Turning back to Sharolette, she said, “How do you know him?”

“Honey, I’ve known Joseph for years. He’s the best.”

Joseph leaned forward to meet Amelia’s gaze. “I’ll work hard to get you the verdict you need. You can trust me.” Extending his right hand, he laid it on the table closer to her.

Will you, please, stop telling Amelia to trust you? She doesn’t even know you!

I screamed at Joseph.

Leaning back, Amelia crossed her arms in front of her and scrunched her eye brows tighter as she looked at him. Slowly shaking her head, she said, “So, how long have you been practicing law?”

“I have over ten years’ experience with criminal law. I’m excellent at getting what I want.” Adjusting his posture, he placed his clasped hands on the table.

Amelia looked at Joseph a moment, and then turned to Sharolette, “You’re right. I guess I need a defense attorney. Is he the best?”

“Honey, believe me. He’s the best one for this job.” Extending her right hand, she waited for Amelia to shake it.

Hovering between her and Sharolette, I said, Whatever you do, don’t take her hand. Trust me!

Turning away from Sharolette’s outstretched hand, Amelia nodded at Joseph. “All right, if you’re as good as she says, I guess you’re hired. But I want Cat to sit as co-council.”

“Agreed.” Joseph nodded his head as he took a recorder out of his suit’s pocket. He turned it on and placed it on the table. Next he flipped on an I-pad, opened a file and said. “Now, can you tell me what happened? Where did you get the gun?” He typed notes as Amelia spoke.

“When I arrived, Michael had already been shot and there was blood everywhere. My phone wouldn’t work and I didn’t have anything to stop the bleeding. I didn’t see anyone around to help, so I looked in his car to see if he had an old shirt or something.” Looking down at her hands she shivered, then lowered her voice and continued. “That was when I found the gun. It was under the front seat of his car.”

How did a gun get under the front seat of my car? I didn’t own a gun.

Joseph looked up. “The police’s lab report said you’d fired the gun. Why did you fire it?”
“I heard a loud noise behind us. It almost sounded like a. . .a laugh. I was afraid the murderer had returned, so I whirled around and shot into the air.” Her voice caught as tears ran down her face. “I was so scared, I wasn’t thinking. I just reacted.”


Joseph looked at the I-pad. “Why were you there in the first place? In a previous statement, you told the police you had been at a fundraiser committee meeting and had planned to meet Michael at Zoe’s Chinese restaurant.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I went to the restaurant and Michael wasn’t there. He was late, and that wasn’t like him. He’d told me he was spending the afternoon at the library, so I went to look for him. I knew something was wrong.” Tears streaked her face as she began to hiccup, unable to catch her breath.

Joseph exchanged a quick look with Sharolette. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

I knelt beside her. Amelia, I’m sorry. Please calm down.

If only she could hear me. How could anyone believe her capable of murder? Can’t they see she’s innocent?

A few moments after Amelia caught her breath, Joseph interrupted the silence. “I know this is hard, but we need to continue. Can you tell me about the letters they found in Michael’s apartment? The police said you had threatened Michael in the letters.”

Amelia wrapped her arms around herself and huddled in her chair. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. The last time I wrote Michael was a year ago, when he was away in college at Nashville. I didn’t threaten him. I was just trying to goad him into responding back—it was playful. Other than those, I have no idea what letters they’re talking about.”

How could I have been this stupid not to realize those letters could come back and hurt you? Amelia, I’m sorry. They were so warm and endearing. Meaningless threats to our friendship if I didn’t respond to your letters, they were harmless.

But they were my lifeline connecting me to you.

Joseph leaned into the table and gestured toward Amelia. “I only have one more question and then we’ll be finished for now. This may be hard, but can you think of anyone that would want Michael dead?”

Amelia looked down, exhaled and shook her head. “For the life of me, I can’t think of anyone that would kill Michael.” She looked at Joseph. “I’ve tried to come up with a list of people that would do this, but he simply didn’t have any enemies.”

I’m so sorry you have to go through this.

I wish you knew I was here. But she was right. I couldn’t think of anyone that would want me dead either.

Amelia wiped stray tears from her face with her sleeve. “I just can’t believe they think I killed Michael.” She pulled her knees up into her chair and wrapped her arms around them.
Sharolette stood, pulling Joseph beside her. “Amelia, honey, don’t worry. We’ll be back to talk again soon, and we’ll take care of everything.”

Their footsteps echoed through the room as they left.

Helpless, unable to do anything, I watched as Amelia collapsed on to the table, crying so hard it broke my silent heart.
*
For the next three weeks, I hovered in the background observing more interrogations. Her attorney, Joseph, planned strategies, questioned motives and hunted for evidence. When the trial began it was like watching a circus. The media in one ring, the prosecutors in another and Joseph in the third.

From the far side of the courtroom, I watched everything unfold. Amelia deteriorated quickly when the prosecutors presented their case. All of their evidence was circumstantial, but her lawyer never objected, and the judge did not seem to notice. As the trial progressed she became a fixture in her chair, never looking up or responding to anything the lawyers said. She appeared as if she would break if someone touched her. The only color to her face was the ruptured blood vessels in her eyes from her excessive crying.

The media lurked everywhere. As I watched, reporters blockaded the exits like hungry jackals waiting to pounce on any juicy morsel of trivial gossip. There was no way she was going to get a fair trial as long as these jerks kept their cameras focused on the smiling lawyers instead of the innocent.

Everyone seemed to have forgotten the term “innocent until proven guilty”—everyone except for Cat. But for some reason she wasn’t sitting at the counselors’ table. Instead, she sat powerless in the row of chairs directly behind Amelia.

With the trial’s progression, I realized from Amelia’s body language she had already accepted defeat. The once empowered woman, who could capture the heart of terminally ill children and encourage them with her zest for life, had given up.

Deciding I had to do something, I followed the judge into his chamber, determined to find some answers.

He was at his desk talking on his phone when I found him. I listened to his side of the conversation. “Walter Joneson, Judge Robert Hollingsworth here. We need to discuss Amelia Snow.” He loosened his tie and leaned back in his chair.

Who is Walter Joneson and what does he know about my Amelia?

Hovering closer to his chair, I hoped to hear both sides of the phone conversation. Unfortunately, I still could only hear the judge.

“Well, no, not exactly,” the judge said. “I am following up on our last conversation.” He nodded his head as he listened. “I think you were correct, but my people cannot figure out how they are doing it. They are both being closely watched, and―oh, I see. Remember, she is only twenty-one years old. Will she be safe?” He rested his elbows on his desk.

The silence that followed was deafening. Desperate for information, I moved beside him and raged, What do you mean, will she be safe? Are you talking about Amelia? She’s innocent, you idiot! Get her out of here!

How frustrating he couldn’t hear me.

Slamming his fist down onto his desk, he raised his voice. “Is there no other way? This is not right. There has to be another way without setting her up as bait. Surely someone else is involved.”

Instantly I was in the judge’s face. What do you mean bait? Bait isn’t safe! Bait ends up dead! Get her out of here, you moron!

But of course he didn’t respond.

The judge leaned against the back of his chair. “Okay, if that is what they think is best. The jury should deliver their verdict tomorrow. I guess it will tell us exactly how bad her situation is.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I want it on record that I do not support this decision.” He slammed the phone down on his desk.

Getting in his face I yelled, You idiot! What is going on? What have you done?

But he never responded.
Instead, he poured himself a drink. After downing it, he poured himself another and went to stand by the window. He stood staring outside long after the courthouse had emptied and the street lights came on.

Hovering in disbelief, I watched him, knowing Amelia’s only chance was gone. No one was going to save her.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 31.12.2012

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