copyright ©2009 by A_Satori. All rights reserved.
(Author's notes: This story is a sequel to
A Prison Break
. I suggest that three part story be read prior to reading
In the Wake of That Night
although I believe it can be a "stand alone" piece.
This is a story about different kinds of love, loss, longing, guilt, and sadness. It's also about hope. There is erotic content, albeit a minor thematic element.)
***************
Lana applied the brakes for the red traffic light. Her mind was reeling with a thousand thoughts and fears, which was why her left foot was tardy pushing in the clutch as the old pickup came to a stop, making the vehicle chug, lurch twice then shudder, nearly killing the engine.
Killing.
Her already nervous stomach knotted tighter. Her eyes teared up. He had taught her how to drive the standard transmission, making his usual dumb joke nearly each of the dozen evenings she had practiced in large empty parking lots, the double entendre being that he really enjoyed teaching her how to handle and drive his "stick." The first time he chuckled about it, she hadn't gotten the joke right away. The other evenings he had repeated it, she just told him to shut up.
Sometimes he'd laugh during the instruction when the truck began staggering then nearly shout,
'Clutch... clutch! You'll kill the engine!'
Once she had rammed her left foot on the brake pedal, not the clutch. He had laughed then too, saying he was glad to know the seat belts worked. She had killed the engine numerous times.
Killed.
Her face began to contort, her eyes shut tightly, her hands gripped the steering wheel with all her strength as images from that horrible night flashed through her mind once more -- the hate and rage in his eyes when he found her with Richie; how she had tried to hold him back from following Richie but his elbow had punched her chest so hard it had made her let go; the amount of blood on the kitchen floor and his face, neck, and chest; his gurgley, raspy voice saying he loved her, then telling her to forget him; how just as the cops and paramedics entered the house, his eyes had been gazing into hers and she was sure she saw the moment the life disappeared in them.
Life. His life.
Her head bowed and her mouth opened. She started silently crying, silently screaming yet again. She stopped breathing. She desperately tried to do the things the county clinic therapist had told her to do to rid her mind of the images, to relax, to breathe slowly and deeply, to try to picture a calm and happy time from her life. What brought her back to reality though, was a blaring car horn behind her. Her head jerked up and her eyes opened. She hurriedly wiped them with her fingers. The traffic light was green. The horn sounded again. She shifted into first, then raised her foot too fast off the clutch, stalling the engine. The horn blared again as she hurriedly turned the key to restart the truck. She got through the intersection, the car behind squealing its tires on the rain slick pavement pulled around her into the oncoming lane. An arm extended high out the open passenger window, the middle finger stiff and pointing skyward.
"Hey, moron! Learn how to fuckin' drive!"
She assumed it was a college guy. She knew the campus was somewhere close. She wiped her eyes again and watched the car speed away. She saw a city park ahead. She had to calm down. She put on the directional signal, slowed, then turned left into the small blacktopped lot. There was only one other car parked. She pulled into a space as far away from it as she could, switched off the engine, then opened her large bag. She grabbed a few tissues, wiped her eyes then blew her nose. She leaned back in the seat and concentrated on calming down, breathing normally, ridding her mind of the awful images, and relaxing her body. Her therapist said it was PTSD, post traumatic shock disorder. Lana knew it really was her overwhelming guilt. She had caused it, she was the reason he was dead. Without wanting to, she started recalling that night and the following months, she knew most of what happened, but not all of it.
*
When he died in her arms, Lana had gone into shock and the police had taken her to the hospital. After she was mildly sedated, she hadn't been able to tell the cops much of anything, just that it had been a dreadful misunderstanding, not quite in those words though. She told them Richie had stabbed him. When the cops asked for Richie's full name, she couldn't remember his surname. She completely fell apart after that.
She found out later, the police didn't have a difficult time finding Richie. His parents had taken him to the hospital emergency room and then had called a lawyer, after that the attorney telephoned the police. The lawyer was with Rich when the teenager told the cops he had been attacked, that the guy had said he was going to kill him a dozen times, that the guy wouldn't listen to him when he said all he wanted to do was leave, that he didn't want to fight. Rich said he had been afraid for his life. He had hurt his knee so he couldn't even run away. He told the police that maybe the guy thought he was raping Lana, which was totally bogus, it was consensual sex and in fact it had been Lana's idea, she had called him, told him to come over to her house, that they'd be alone.
Early the next day at the hospital, two detectives, one male, one female, questioned Lana. They asked what her relationship was to the decedent, if he was her step-father. Lana said he was her mother's husband, that he was her guardian since her mother went to prison. They asked Lana if it was possible her step-father might have thought she was being raped by Richard Dobson. Lana, thinking of Barb, of hiding the truth from Barb, said he might have thought that.
They asked if she knew whether or not her step-father had been drinking. She said she didn't know, that he had been gone most of the day, visiting her mother in prison.
They asked if he had telephoned at any time during that day. She said no.
They asked if after entering the house he had made any verbal threats against Dobson, had he said he was going to kill him.
Lana started crying and nodded. Her crying turned into sobbing. A nurse came into the room and told the cops they'd have to leave.
Later that morning her friend Cindy visited and told her that her mom said it was all right if she stayed with them for a few days. It was the first Lana had thought about that. She couldn't imagine sleeping in the house ever again. Then she wondered how she was she going to get money to live.
Where
would she live? She almost had an anxiety attack about it, let alone the grief and guilt that never left her.
She spoke with a therapist in the afternoon. She finally ate something that evening. The following morning she was released, armed with a bottle of some sort of anti-anxiety med with enough pills for two weeks, a prescription for an anti-depressant she was to get filled and start taking ten days after the first med was finished, and a contact number for the county mental health clinic where she should make an appointment with a therapist as soon as possible.
When she was signing her release papers, the dark haired, young-ish male detective and the slightly older blond female detective showed up again. They said they had some questions, that it would be best to go to the police station to review all the paper work, and afterwards they would drive her home.
Lana's anxiety level instantly rose. She called Cindy and told her not to pick her up, that the police wanted to talk to her and would drive her there later. Lana had again been on the verge of crying but her medication dulled the urge.
The cops didn't speak to her during the short drive to the suburban police station. With each passing minute she grew more and more anxious and scared. At the station the female detective escorted her to a small, windowless room. The only furniture in it were a table and four chairs. The woman sat across the table from her. A minute later the male detective walked in with a small cassette tape recorder/player. The woman set another micro recorder on the table and switched it on. Even though Lana's thinking was somewhat slowed by the anti-anxiety med, she had seen enough police TV dramas to know they were interrogating her as if she was a criminal suspect. Her anxiety rose tenfold. Her breathing grew fast and shallow.
The female cop reached across the table and held her hand while she spoke. "Lana, we're just going to ask you a few questions, to clear up some details, that's all. Would you like some coffee? Water? Maybe a soda?"
Lana nodded then wiped her eyes with the fingertips of her free hand.
"Phil, get her a diet soda."
He raised an eyebrow and frowned. "Yeah... sure." He pushed his chair back and left the room.
"We don't want to upset you, Lana. Don't worry about anything, just relax. This won't take too long. We'll just be asking what you remember, and just tell us the truth."
