I invented dragons and epic civil war and I fought demons that were inside of me on paper for others to consume.
When the story was finished, I wrote another one and another one. I added romance, something positive and life-affirming; a reason to live.
Then I published my books. I used a different name and I learned about marketing and advertising. I made all the covers and I wrote the blurbs and I put my babies out there for others to enjoy.
Much to my surprise, my readers loved my books. They could not get enough. They would write me asking me when the next one was coming out and count down the days until the next release.
After a while, the mortgage was paid and I had extra money in my pocket. After a little bit longer, my sister no longer had to worry about her rent.
In the meantime, something else was going on. I couldn't get to my uncle, but I could get him in another way. The state was building a case against him and his Medicare scam. It wasn’t the murders that he had committed, but those are harder to prove since there are other people doing them. In this case, however, some of those witnesses were willing to testify and the prosecutor asked me if I would. After long deliberation, I did.
This was my way of telling him no. This was my way of telling him that he was wrong and that he was going to pay for one thing in his life. He had gotten away with too much and his ego had gotten too big, but I was going to put a stop to it.
It worked, but only for a while. My uncle was definitely surprised when he saw my face in the courtroom. They did get a conviction and my sister and I were overjoyed, but then the conviction was overturned.
The judge was threatened and the prosecutor's car was blown up. Suddenly, it wasn't so important anymore to make this man pay for what he’d done. This was just a white-collar case anyway, right?
My uncle was free and I wasn't. I couldn’t stay home anymore and I had to get away. Because they couldn’t find me, they had to make do with someone else; my girl.
I don't like talking about her because it's physically painful for me, but I think about her every day. I loved her and she loved me. She was an innocent who did not deserve anything that they did to her.
My uncle was angry. I stood up to him when no one else had. I challenged his authority and he couldn’t have that.
After her body showed up on my doorstep, my life was shattered into pieces. The foundation on which I had built everything started to shake and I knew that I was next.
Kristen told me to run and that I should never contact her again. She told me that they couldn’t get information out of her that she didn't have.
I asked her to come with me, but she refused. A part of me thinks that she knew that life on the run would be hard and she didn't think that my uncle would touch her. I wasn't so sure, but I could not make her go.
I didn't have time to waste. I got a new identity and I promised to send her money. I didn't tell her who I was or where I was, but she knew I was okay when she got an envelope with a cashier's check every month.
That's how it went for a year and then two and then more. I thought it was safe in the desert. I thought that life was going to be okay now. Of course, I still had certain things unresolved.
Sitting here in the Starbucks by the interstate, I finally know exactly what I need to do. There's a debt that needs to be repaid and I'm the only one who can pay it.
9
Liam
I don't stay in Phoenix for long. After I make my decision, I get on the road again and start to drive north. I know that my uncle’s men are after me.
The story that Emma published put me into great danger. They know where I live and who I am. I'm gone from that place, but that doesn't mean that they won't be able to find me. I haven't had enough time to establish a new identity and I have to use a slew of fake ones.
They are not the government, but they know people in the right places and it wouldn’t be a problem for them to access my credit reports and to track my location based on my credit cards. I have some money in cash and that's what I'm going to use from now on until I can buy a new reliable and clean identity.
In the meantime, I need something to throw them off my scent. I need them to believe that the story that they have read isn't true. I need to buy myself some time.
I drive up the interstate for hours trying to think of a way that would somehow discredit the story. I can call her editor and tell her it's not true, but would that be enough? I don't know.
Some newspapers and magazines would print a retraction, but how many of us read those? They are always in small print and hidden somewhere in the back. It’s like an apology but not really because most readers are not aware of it.
When I get tired of driving, I pull into a small desert town and find a coffee shop. A tired waitress with weary eyes and stringy long hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck takes my order. She has the deep voice of someone who has smoked for forty years, but she is kind, welcoming, and I appreciate her thoughtfulness in refilling my cup before I have to ask.
I have a new clean, unregistered phone which I use to do a brief Google search. I read a couple of stories in the Washington Post and the Boston Globe, the long investigative pieces that give the journalists a lot of recognition from their peers.
At the bottom of each is their contact info. I click on one and my phone immediately opens an empty email box, populating the Washington Post journalist's email address at the top.
If I do this, there is no going back.
This is it.
Of course, Emma had no right to publish that story.
Of course, I didn't give her permission, but she did it anyway. She wrote things that she had no right to make public. This is my way of taking it all back, but this is a lie.
If I do this, then I'm the one who's lying. Not her.
I tap my fingers on the Formica table trying to decide what to do. The waitress comes out with a few runny eggs and a sad looking avocado, but I accept the plate with a smile and a big thank you.
Surprisingly, the eggs don't taste that bad and the buttered toast makes it all go down nicely. After a few bites, however, I'm not any closer to figuring out my next move.
I need my uncle and his henchmen off my back. I need him to consider whether or not the story that was published is true.
I need him to have doubts and there's no better way of doing it than to give my side of it to two very well-respected journalists and newspapers that have a lot more reach and influence than Emma Scott and Coast Magazine.
I know what the right thing to do for me is, the problem is that I still care about her.
I feel like such a fool.
How many times has she lied to me?
How many times has she told me stories that were untrue?
I just hate the fact that I believed all of them. I should have known better. I have seen and lived through enough to know better, but for some reason when it came to her, I couldn't.
It was almost as if a different part of me took over. It was almost as if I was making all of my decisions with my heart rather than my head.
Love is a tricky dance. Sometimes you have to go with your heart and sometimes you have to tell your heart to fuck off. I now realize that my heart has been wrong.
I wanted to make things with Emma feel right and they did. Every time that we were together, I felt like the world made sense. Now I know that it was all a lie. A blatant fabrication.