She said, “Hello?”
A man’s voice said, “Did you remember the phone number?”
“Yes. Surprised you still have the same one after all these years.”
“Federal bureaucracy moves slowly, if at all. I’ve gotten a few promotions over the years, but the main number is still the same. And when the request came through I told them I wanted to handle it. You were and still are a very special case.”
“What request?” said Reel.
He didn’t respond right away. “Your father,” he finally said.
Reel said nothing at first. It was like a hand from the grave had just closed over her mouth.
“I don’t have a father.”
“I know in every sense of the word except biologically, you don’t. But the biological one has asked to see you, before he dies.”
“I have no interest in seeing him ever again.”
“I thought that would be your answer and I sure as hell can’t blame you.”
“He’s still in prison?”
“Absolutely. Same place. Alabama. And he’s not going anywhere. He’s currently in the prison hospital ward. Cancer. They can’t execute him because of his medical condition. He’s terminal. I was assured of that. The man will not be leaving prison alive.”
“Good. Lethal injection is fast. Cancer is slow. The more pain the better. Hell is too good for him. Anything that happens to him is too good for him. He was born a son of a bitch and he’ll die a son of a bitch and he won’t have one person to mourn him.” Reel’s voice had risen as she spoke.
“I know, but I’m just the messenger, Sally.”
“That’s not my name anymore.”
“They wouldn’t tell me what you’d changed it to. So Sally is the only one I know.”
“Okay.”
“Look, I debated whether to even bother you with this. But I decided it was ultimately your decision, not mine. I made a few calls. I sort of knew where you ended up. Pulled a few strings and they gave me your current number but not your name. Said I could make one call. It was up to you to answer it or not. They wouldn’t have even done that, but I am a fellow fed. It probably freaked you out when you saw the number.”
“It did. You know I’m no longer in Witness Protection. Haven’t been for a long time.”
“I know, but this was the only way he could think to reach out to you. Apparently he knew you were in the program. It must have come out all those years ago.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going.”
“No argument here.”
“How much longer does he have to live?”
“What? Oh, um, they didn’t really say. The doc I talked to said he was bad off. Cancer all over him. She wasn’t sure what was keeping him alive. Any day now, I guess. And then you can really lay that ghost to rest.”
Reel nodded to herself, thinking about things. “I appreciate the call.”
“Well, I wish it were over something better than this. You were very memorable, Sa — I mean, whatever name you go by now.”
“Jessica. It’s Jessica.”
“Okay, Jessica. It’s been a long time, but I’ve never come close to forgetting you. And with all the hoops I had to jump through to get to even talk to you, I imagine you’re a pretty big deal now. I’m happy for you. Always knew you’d do something special with your life.”
“I wouldn’t characterize my life as being ‘special.’”
“Well, whatever the case, I wish you the best of luck. And if you ever need anything, please call. I know you’re not in WITSEC anymore, but, well, I still care about what happens to you.”
“I appreciate that, I really do.”
“And your old man can go to hell.”
Reel clicked off and stared down at the phone in her hand.
She was still staring at it when Robie came back.
“What’s up?” he asked, taking off his coat and coming over to sit next to her.
“Nothing. How’s Julie?”
“She’s fine. She said you two had a nice talk on the drive over, but she wouldn’t tell me anything about it.”
“I like that kid more and more.”
Robie looked at the phone and then up at her. “What is it, Jessica?”
“I got a call.”
“From who?”
“WITSEC.”
“You’re not in the program anymore.”
“They reached out to me because someone reached out to them.”
“Who?”
“My father. Earl Fontaine.”
Chapter 32
Robie went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. He carried two cups back into the other room and handed one to Reel. The rain continued to pour down outside as he sat across from her and took a sip, letting the warmth of the beverage battle the chill in his bones.
“Your father?”
Reel nodded.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.” He started to get up, but she said, “Wait. Just wait.”
Robie settled back in his chair as Reel took a drink and then clasped her hands around the cup. Robie could see that her hands were shaking slightly, something he had never witnessed in her before.
She didn’t say anything, so Robie said, “In the interest of full disclosure, DiCarlo told me some about your past. I know why you were in WITSEC. I know some things about your old man. And what he did.”
Without looking at him she said, “And my mother?”
Robie replied, “Yes.” He added, “I’m sorry, Jessica.”
She shrugged and sat back, almost burrowing into the cushion of the chair. She drank her coffee and they both listened to the rain.
“He wants to see me.”
“Your father?”
She nodded. “He’s dying, in prison, of course. He was supposed to be executed but he has terminal cancer.”
“And they can’t execute a dying inmate,” said Robie. “A bit ironic.”
“He wants to see me,” she said again.
“It doesn’t matter what he wants,” replied Robie. “The choice is yours, not his.” He leaned forward and tapped her knee. “I know that you understand that.”
She nodded again. “I understand that. The choice is mine.”
He cocked his head and studied her. “And it should be an easy choice.” He paused and added, “But it’s not?”
She let out a long breath that she seemed to have been holding in, because she gave a little gasp of discomfort. “Easy choices are among the most difficult of all,” she said in a husky voice.
“I take it you never got to face him back then?”
She shook her head, drank more coffee down, and retreated into a shell seemingly as thick as the armored hide of an Abrams tank.
“And you want that shot now, before it’s too late? Hence the easy becomes difficult.”
“It’s irrational.”
“Half the things people feel are irrational. It doesn’t make it easier to deal with. It actually makes it harder, because logic doesn’t come into it. That’s one of the downsides of being ‘merely’ human.”
Reel rubbed at one of her eyes. “He was an evil man. No conscience, Robie. His greatest thrill in life was to…was to hurt other people.”
“And he hurt you?”
“Yes.”
“And he killed your mother.”
A tear formed at the corner of Reel’s right eye. She flicked it away fiercely, even angrily, her hand moving like she was blocking a punishing blow about to be delivered against her.
She looked up at him, dry-eyed now. “He was the principal reason I do what I do.” She paused, seemed to consider her own statement, and added, “He’s the only reason I do what I do.”
“Normal people don’t grow up to do the sorts of jobs we do, Jessica,” said Robie.
They listened to the rain a bit more before Robie said, “So what are you going to do? Just let it go?”