Cheryl's Lament

You kissed me on the lips before you left for work but I didn't want to let you go. I stopped you just before you opened the door.

"Did you really mean what you told me last night?" I asked. "That you love me?" You looked back at me, smiled and nodded your head.

"Of course," you said. "I never stopped loving you, not completely anyway. That's why what you did hurt so much."

"I understand," I said.

Later that week, I approached you about getting a job. You listened as I explained my need to be productive again.

"I appreciate that you want to start contributing again," you said. "That's a good sign. Is your law license still valid?"

"As far as I know it is," I said. "I've got a lot of make-up work to do to catch up on my required continuing education, though." Lawyers in California are required to complete 25 hours of approved continuing legal education, or MCLE, every three years. I had completed a little more than half of that when the shit hit the fan a year ago.

"Well, there are other obstacles as well," you said. "First off, you were fired from Dewey and Cheatham and then there's your association with Castillo. Second, you have a year that you're not going to be able to adequately account for. Third, you're still not strong enough to put in the time you would need to if you did get a job somewhere. And let's not forget the feds may still want to talk with you about your time with Castillo, and there may be some charges stemming from that."

"I've thought about all that," I said. "And you're right. But I don't have to be a practicing lawyer. I'd be willing to do just about anything. What if I came to work for you? I worked with you once before?"

"And what would you like to do?" you asked.

"At this point, I'd do just about anything," I said. "Legally, that is. Maybe you could hire me to be your personal assistant."

"My personal assistant?" you asked. I smiled.

"Sure," I said. "Why not? I know you don't have one. I could be your PA with benefits, maybe?" You chuckled at that. It was good to see you do that. "Can I be honest with you?" I asked.

"Always," you said.

"The truth is," I began, "I've done the corporate attorney thing. Frankly, it didn't work out too well for me. I just want to be useful to someone again. And I know I may have to fend for myself sometime in the future. If possible, I'd like to be useful to you, for once." You looked at me strangely for a moment.

"What happened to that go-getter who wanted to get rich and famous, travel the world, drive fancy cars, hob-nob with the mucky-mucks and live the high life?" you asked.

"Let's just say I had a 'come-to-Jesus' moment," I said. "Been there, done that, got the t-shirts. It ended up costing me more than it was worth. And frankly, it wasn't all that it was cracked up to be."

"You really have had a change of heart, haven't you?" you asked.

"Yes," I said, nodding my head.

"I tell you what I'll do," you said. "I'll bring home some books so you can get caught up on what's changed since, well, you know. You study up on that when you're feeling up to it. In a couple months or so, we'll revisit the subject and see where things are. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," I said.

"Although, I have to admit, I kinda like the idea of you being my PA-with-benefits," you said with a smile. "Of course, you'd have to wear something for most of the day."

"Do I have to?" I asked in a fake whiny voice.

"I'm afraid so," you said.

"Darn," I said. "But think about it. We could have some really nice long lunches," I said. "You can stare at my boobs all day or look up my skirt and I'd never complain. And you could tell me you're having an affair with your PA and I wouldn't get upset."

"That is something worth thinking about," you said. "And you could admit having an affair with your boss, and I'd be okay with that as well." I laughed.

"And you'd never have to worry about a sexual harassment lawsuit," I said.

"There is that," you said with a huge smile.

You did as you promised, and brought home a stack of books for me to read and study. I spent the next six weeks studying at home, when I wasn't exercising or working around the house.

Meanwhile, I got stronger and was finally able to stay on my feet for most of the day. I started writing this for you as a way to help you understand what I had gone through the last few months. I hoped it would help you when it came time to decide whether or not to go through with the divorce.

I also made it to the basement and went through all my old papers. Fortunately, there was nothing incriminating there, but I did find an old statement from the bank where Enrique had deposited my money. I contacted the bank and started the process of proving my identity.

At the same time, we had a lot of hard discussions about what happened. We bared our souls to each other, and I'd like to think it helped us both. We spent a lot of time holding each other, drying each other's tears, and of course, making sweet love to each other. Then we got the visit I had hoped we could have avoided.

We were getting ready to eat dinner when there was a knock at the door. You answered it to find two very large federal agents in dark suits and sunglasses. For a moment, I was reminded of that movie, "Men in Black."

"Agent Smith, FBI, this is Agent Jones," one of the men said. "Is Cheryl Hawkins here?"

"Yes, she is," you said after examining their credentials.

"We need to take her in and ask her a few questions, if you don't mind," Agent Smith said as they came inside. By then, I had come into the front room. Fortunately, I was dressed. "Are you Cheryl Hawkins?" Smith asked.

"I am," I said in response.

"We need for you to come with us, please," Smith said.

"Why?" I asked.

"We have a few questions regarding Enrique Castillo," Smith said.

"Wait," I said. "I'd like to call my attorney first if I may?"

"Certainly," Smith said. I went to my purse and pulled out my phone. I dialed your number and we all heard your cell phone ring. We watched as you pulled out your phone.

"Lionel Hawkins," you said when you answered.

"Mr. Hawkins," I said, looking directly at Smith. "I'm being detained by two FBI agents who want to take me in for questioning and I'd like to retain your services."

"Certainly," you said. "Go with them peacefully. Answer no questions and say nothing to them. Understand?"

"I understand," I said. Smith and Jones followed the conversation, their heads turning in tandem to each of us as we spoke. I ended the call.

"Okay, Agent Smith," I said. "I'll go with you, but I'm not saying anything without my lawyer present."

"I see," Smith said. "And I presume you're her attorney?" he asked, looking at you.

"I am," you said. "Did you or did you not just witness her calling me and retaining my services?" Smith nodded his head in the affirmative.

"Alright, Mrs. Hawkins," Smith said, preparing to pull out a pair of handcuffs. "Please turn around, hands behind your back."

"Wait," you said. "Is Mrs. Hawkins under arrest?"

"No, sir," Smith said. "But we are detaining her for questioning."

"But she's not under arrest, and she told you she would go with you peacefully," you said. "There's no need for the handcuffs." Smith looked at you for a moment before responding. He slowly put his handcuffs away. Watching you stand up to this highly-trained, armed FBI agent made me respect you even more.

"Very well," he said. "Please come with us," he said, looking at me.

"I'll follow you," you told me, making sure Smith and Jones heard. I nodded my head. We drove to the federal building downtown and you followed as the two agents escorted me to a small interview room.

We sat through the questioning, with you interrupting as you felt necessary. I had a difficult time remembering everything that took place and I could tell the agents were getting frustrated. Finally, you spoke up.

"I have a few questions I'd like to ask if you don't mind," you said. Smith shrugged his shoulders.

"Go ahead," he said.

"This is an investigation into alleged criminal activity, is it not?" you asked Agent Smith. He nodded his head.

"Of course," he said.

"Do you have any evidence -- either direct or circumstantial -- linking my client to any of that alleged criminal activity?" you asked.

"None at this time," Smith said. "But she was Mr. Castillo's attorney." You turned to me before speaking.

"Mrs. Hawkins, you're still a trained and licensed attorney, are you not?" you asked. I nodded my head.

"Yes I am," I said.

"So you're familiar with the rights afforded under Miranda?" you asked. Smith's face paled at that.

"Yes, I am," I told him.

"At any time, from the moment Agents Smith and Jones came to pick you up until now, have either of them informed you of those rights?" you asked.

"No, they didn't," I said. You looked at Smith before speaking again.

"Then this interview is over, gentlemen," you said.

"But we're not finished," Smith said.

"Yes, you are," you said. "What, did the two of you go to the James Comey School of Law Enforcement or something? First, you question my client without reading her Miranda rights, then you expect her to violate attorney-client privilege. As a result of your incompetence, nothing that was said in this 'interview' can be used in any potential case. And rest assured, I will be speaking with your superiors about what I see as an abuse of power. This interview is over. Now!"

You stood up, and motioned for me to stand up as well. Smith was fuming, but you had him dead to rights. I looked at you with a new-found respect. You could have handed me over to him right then, but you chose not to, for whatever reason.

"Very well, Mr. Hawkins," Smith said. "But be advised, we're not finished."

"I think you are," you said, before turning to me. "Let's go." I stood and we walked out of the room, and back to your car. I started to say something, but you motioned for me to be quiet, then pulled out your phone. I watched as you called someone and asked them to meet us at the house. When you got in the car, you wrote the word, "bug," on a piece of paper and motioned for me to stay quiet. I understood what you meant.

When we got home, I saw a black SUV in front of the house. You got out and spoke to the man for a minute, then brought me inside, motioning for me to remain quiet. We sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee as the man and an assistant did their job. When he was finished, he came to the table.

"Just as you suspected, we found three bugs in the house," he said. "I also found a bug and a tracking device on your car." He put the devices on the table in front of us. "They've all been disabled. I also took the liberty of installing a jamming device in the house. They also tapped your phone."

"Thanks, Sam," you said as you walked him to the door. When you got back, you sat back down and looked at me. I couldn't read your face, and didn't know what you were thinking.

"Smith and Jones will be back, I can assure you of that," he said. "And I guarantee they'll have all their ducks in a row. They won't fuck up like that again. Tell me the truth, is there any incriminating evidence in the house that I don't know about?" I shook my head.

"No, nothing," I said.

"Not even in your papers?" you asked. I shook my head again.

"No, just old statements and things from Dewey and Cheatham," I said. "Why are you defending me?" I asked after a few seconds. "You had the perfect opportunity to hand me to them on a silver platter."

"Several reasons," you said. "First off, unless they changed the Constitution and failed to tell me, you're still entitled to an adequate defense, and you're still presumed innocent until found guilty beyond a reasonable doubt by a jury. Second, it's up to the prosecution to prove your guilt, not your job to prove your innocence."

"But you know what I've done to you," I said.

"Yes, I do," you said. "But you heard Smith. They have no evidence, not even circumstantial, to link you to anything Castillo did. Not even to me. And I don't think those folks in Texas will say anything. They haven't yet, anyway. And it would be pretty hard to explain to the authorities what took place. We'd all probably end up in the nut house if we did."

"Thank you for defending me, anyway," I said.

"It's the right thing to do," you said. "Besides, at the risk of being thought of as a wimp and a cuckold, I think you've been punished far more than any court could punish you."

"You're many things, Lionel Hawkins," I said. "But I don't think of you that way. Not anymore. I just watched you go toe-to-toe with an armed federal agent. You made him stand down, and not just once. I truly underestimated you and I'm so very sorry for that."

"Apology accepted," you said.

"And I promise you this, Lionel," I said. "No matter what you decide, I will never disrespect you nor will I ever dishonor you again. I would rather die first." You said nothing as you examined me for any sign of deception. I hoped and prayed that you found none, because I meant what I said.

Life went on for us and two weeks later, we were visited by Special Agent McIntosh, who informed us that the case against me had been dropped due to lack of evidence. He also apologized for the way Smith and Jones acted toward me. I felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Only you, I, and those folks in Texas knew the whole truth.

Nothing more was ever said about the pending divorce, but I knew that the deadline was fast approaching. I was now able to get around on my own, but it was hard living day to day knowing that at any time, I would be served with the papers.

I was determined to show you that I was worthy of your love, and I hoped you could see that I really was a changed person. I would do anything for you, Lionel, even die, if that's what it took to make you believe that I was no longer that greedy, unfaithful shrew you chained to a rock.

I know things will never be the same between us, Lionel, but I hope that in these last few months, you can see that I'm a completely different woman. Still, I will accept whatever you decide. Just please remember that no matter what, I do love you, with all my heart...

...

The manuscript ended there, but Lionel had attached a couple other pages. One held what he said was a note Cheryl had written on her computer before committing suicide. In it, she described why she took her own life.

According to the note, Cheryl said three men had barged into the house about an hour after Lionel had left for the office. They got in by pretending to be utility company workers inspecting homes for gas leaks. They raped her, repeatedly, she said. Worse yet, they used no protection.

After they left her body on the floor, she cleaned herself up as best she could, donned her wedding gown, then wrote a note in which she explained what happened and informed him of her off-shore account. Then she took an overdose of sleeping pills and alcohol and laid down on the bed. The last line of her note caused a lump in my throat.

"I promised that I would rather die than dishonor or disrespect you ever again, Lionel, and I intend to make good on that promise. I have made my peace with God, and I can only hope and pray that you can find it in your heart to forgive me someday," she wrote.

"Your loving wife, Cheryl," the note said in conclusion. The other sheet was a copy of an article published in the Los Angeles Times.

"Daylight Rapists Reportedly Dropped Off At Police Headquarters By Unidentified Man on Horseback," the headline read. The article went on to say that three very frightened men were hogtied and dropped off at police headquarters by an unidentified man on horseback late at night. The men confessed to raping several women, including Cheryl Hawkins, after their husbands left for work.

According to the report, the men said they would case out a home and watch it for several days before making a move. They were watching one home when they were reportedly caught by the strange man. Witnesses said the man only identified himself as "Justice" before riding away.

Police looked for the man, but were unable to find him, the article said. Authorities asked the public to contact police if they have any information about the unidentified horseman, but so far, no one has called.

After reading everything, I called Lionel to see how he was holding up.

"I'm doing okay," he said. "But it's not easy. Believe it or not, I actually miss her."

"I believe it," I told him. "Just curious, though. Were you planning to go through with the divorce?"

"Doesn't matter anymore. It's all academic now," he said. We ended the call, promising to stay in touch. I held my wife, Danni, and kissed her sweet face, grateful to have her, the kids and of course, Grandpa Elijah, in my life.