In the Wake of That Night

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."

Lana nodded again, and then wiped her eyes once more. Her head was bowed slightly, her eyes were focused on a spot near the edge of the table.

Phil returned, popped open the can of diet Coke and set it in front of Lana, then sat down. His partner gave him a barely perceptible nod. "Lana, can you tell us what happened again, take your time, there's no rush. When did the..." Phil glanced at his partner and she again gave him a little nod, "... the decedent leave the house earlier that day? You said he went to visit your mother in prison."

Lana's eyes welled up again. She hated that they never used his name, only called him 'the decedent' or her 'step-father.' She saw a little packet of tissues pushed towards her by the woman. Lana took a couple, wiped her eyes and then blew her nose. "That... that m-morning... about ten."

Phil spoke again, "You usually went with him to visit your mother, didn't you?"

Lana didn't look at the detective. She nodded.

The woman spoke, "Lana? We need you to say the answers so we can get it on tape and keep everything straight. Did you usually go with him to visit your mother?"

"Yes. U-usually."

They asked her a half dozen more questions about visiting the prison with him, then questioned her about the night he was killed.

"Did you invite Richard Dobson to your house?"

Lana nodded. "Yes."

"When was that? What time of the day?"

"It was... around five o'clock... a-a little after five."

"Why did you invite him over?"

Again Lana's eyes welled to the brim and she was on the verge of crying. "T-to s-see him." She sucked in a couple quick breaths to stave off her tears. "M-maybe watch a movie, have a-a pizza."

The male detective asked her more questions about the evening. When did Richard arrive? Did she order pizza? What was the title of the movie they watched? What did they do after the movie finished? Did she talked to Dobson about her step-father, maybe mention something about a little argument or disagreement she had with him, maybe a complaint about him? Did her step-father come up at all in conversation?

Lana answered the questions as best she could remember. Rich came over a little after 6:00. The pizza was delivered about 6:30, she had called in the order before he showed up. She couldn't remember the movie title or anything about the movie. She told them they listened to music after the movie. They didn't talk about him at all.

"After that what happened?"

Lana started crying. She felt the woman's hand touch hers to give her a couple tissues. Lana wiped her eyes and nose. The woman held her other hand and it was she who spoke next not the male detective.

"Lana, did you ask Richard to stay the night when he said was going to leave?"

Again all Lana could do was nod. She heard the man mumble something but didn't catch it.

The woman continued, "Did you tell him you wanted to hook up with him? Have sex with him?"

Lana released a loud sob but nodded once more. She again heard the male detective speak softly.

"The subject nodded indicating an affirmative response."

Det. Myra Morris asked softly, "Did you have sex with Richard Dobson that evening?" She saw Lana nod again. "Lana, I'm sorry, but you have to respond verbally."

"Y-yes."

"Did you have a sexual relationship with your step-father? Did you want him to see you having sex with Richie? Did you want to make him jealous?" She watched the girl start sobbing.

Det. Phil Jenkins' jaw clenched. He looked at his partner but she didn't meet his eyes. He turned his face to the girl. "Lana? You have the right to remain silent. Everything you s..."

Myra glared at her partner. "Hold off on that." She gazed at Lana and waited for her sobbing to subside, then said, "Settle down, Lana. We just want the truth. Maybe this will make it easier for you." She gave a nod to Phil.

He frowned and pressed the play key on the cassette recorder.

There was a lot of hiss on the tape but Lana recognized her own voice, it was high pitched and squeaky:

"Don't you die! D-Don't you d-dare d-die! I love... y-you! I was s-s-so m-mad... mad at you f-for going to... t-t-to h-h-her today to... t-to fuck her... I don't care about... t-that g-guy! I was j-just so ma-a-ad at y-you! I wan... wannid t-to make y-you j-jealous! I-I'm sorry! I'm s-so SORRY! Don't you dare die! Y-You c-can b-be with her... I-I-I won't b-bothe... bother you two, but PLEASE... PLEASE DON'T D-DIE!"

Lana again broke down. She had forgotten about the 9-1-1 call. She had never hung up the phone, had just dropped it on the floor.

Myra spoke softly, "We're going to leave you alone for a couple minutes. Try to settle down." She turned off the micro recorder as Phil stopped the cassette player. She and her partner walked out of the room into the hall.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Phil said, "We should have goddamn mirandized her. None of this is admissible."

Myra's jaw clenched for a moment. "Admissible for what? She's just a stupid, immature girl who had a crush on and was screwing her step-daddy. You think she had the brains to know the kid might kill him? She was jealous, angry that he was going to have a conjugal with the mother. She was just trying to get back at him, make him jealous, just like she confessed to him on the 9-11 tape. The techies did a good job pulling that out. And you said you believed Dobson. It was her first time with that kid. None of the neighbors had seen him over there before, her friends said they knew each other but had never gone out together, unless it was in a group, and then they didn't pair off or hook up. They had only known each other for a month. This was just a stupid plan on her part to make step-daddy jealous. It wasn't some conspiracy to murder him. I know you just made detective and would love to have a murder case, but I'm not going to waste my time on this crap."

Phil looked at Myra's eyes. He hated to admit she was right, but she probably was. "I didn't say I believed Dobson, I said his story sounded credible."

Myra exhaled. "You still pissed about the mirandizing? What if she asked for a lawyer? We would have been stuck with her for hours."

Phil also exhaled. "Let's just get this over with." He didn't like Myra. She was a bitch. She was the one who said not to use the dead guy's name. He would have handled the whole thing differently. Well, maybe not. He'd at least have tried to allow the stupid girl to keep her shit together. And what if she had admitted to some conspiracy? It wouldn't have been admissible in court. They should have mirandized her at the start, as they had with Dobson.

Lana was still wiping tears away when they reentered the room. It took only ten minutes for Myra to get the girl to repeat that the step-father had threatened Dobson, said he was going to kill him. That she had never seen him so angry. Yes, she had a sexual relationship with the step-father, but it wasn't just sex, she loved him. She had gotten mad and jealous when he went to the conjugal visit, that she had at first planned for him just to see her and Richie watching a DVD together, but then when he didn't come home, she got more jealous and angry, and then she asked Richie to spend the night, to have sex. Yes, she wanted to get caught with Richie because she wanted the step-father jealous too, but she had no idea that he'd get so angry and crazy, that there would be a fight, that anyone would get hurt. She had tried to stop him, and tried to get Richie to leave.

Lana broke down again at the end of making her statement. Phil was surprised when Myra stood up, told Lana she should see the desk sergeant about getting a ride home, then left the room. Phil stayed behind, waiting for Lana to compose herself. He got her some tissues, then escorted her to the ladies room. When she came out, he drove her to her friend's house talking with her a little, giving her some info about the stiff's parents and Dobson, but his thoughts were on Myra, how pissed he was that she had been right, that she definitely was a cold bitch, and that he had learned a couple things from her today. It had been a good move to upset the stupid girl.

When he returned to the station, he spoke with Myra. They concluded Dobson had been scared, had feared for his life, and the kid couldn't have run away with the injured knee. The kid had been beat up a little, his face and neck had looked bad, plus some defensive bruises on his arms. The stiff had a bruise on his lower abdomen and his inner thigh, a contusion on the back of his skull, and of course the kitchen knife stuck in his chest, exactly the injuries that would result from Dobson's description of what he had done to defend himself. The blade had penetrated the lung and had also knicked one of the arteries at the heart. The autopsy showed the stiff was just over the legal alcohol limit too.

The girl had been screwing the older guy, had wanted him to catch her in the act with the kid to make him jealous, but she hadn't bargained for what had happened.

They told the lieutenant that it appeared to be a justifiable homicide. Lana wouldn't be charged with anything either. It wasn't against the law to be a stupid teenage girl.

The states attorney didn't indict Richard Dobson for the death. The coroner's jury also reached the verdict of justifiable homicide. Lana had to testify and was scared to death the states attorney would ask about the relationship she had with him. The woman didn't ask, keeping her questions focused on what transpired that horrible night.

*

Lana thoughts moved to the funeral and his parents.

*

She had only met his parents briefly at the wedding. She recalled them both being very quiet at the small reception afterwards. His father had sat at the bar nearly the entire time, and then they left before things reached a wild party state.

Lana could only recall him going to visit them a couple times each year, and he always went alone. When he'd return he'd either be in a bad mood, or be half drunk and in a bad mood.

Lana didn't have to inform them of his death. The detective told her a police officer in their town had visited them with the terrible news. His mother called her. Lana started crying when she told his mother she didn't know how to handle the funeral. His mother said she'd help.

Both his parents met her at the house the day before his body was to be released from the morgue. His mother called his employer to find out if there was any life insurance. There was a small death benefit, $5K in life insurance from the Carpenter's Union. She also called the Social Security office but was put on hold for so long, she told Lana to look into it later. His mother was the one who made most of the funeral arrangements, and went with Lana to select the casket. They chose the second cheapest, a gray metal one. The least expensive was green painted metal. Lana remembered him saying once it was the only color he hated unless it was on a leaf. Most of the future insurance payment was used for the funeral and cemetery plot.