I squeeze his hand lightly. He smiles at what he probably thinks is a gesture of affection, but it is merely the closing of a countdown that started long ago. Ten of those little squeezes of my hand, each expels one more minute that I have to endure with him. I’ve always been good with timing. It’s how you deliver a perfect opening or closing statement at court. It’s how you hit the perfect pauses during a cross-examination. It’s why I’m so good at my job. It’s all about timing. He squeezes my hand back. I don’t care to be involved with him in even the most germane of romantic interactions, but I’ve endured worse from him… much worse.
“Did you ever find anything more on the case?” he asks with a pleading tone, touched with hope.
“Adam,” I sigh out to him, “why even bring that up? It won’t do you any good.”
“You were never curious enough to look back into it? To try and save me?” His voice begins to rise in tandem with his eyebrows.
“Of course, and I have, but there was never any new evidence—there was no way to get the case reopened. You know that. I went over that with you six months after the trial ended.” I squeeze his hand for the second time.
He lowers his head feeling defeated all over again. Did he really think I’d spring in here with new evidence and he’d magically get released at the eleventh hour? That kind of thing only happens in the movies. It doesn’t happen in real life. After a few awkward moments of him staring at the table, he lifts his head back up and looks at me. I squeeze his hand for the third time. He squeezes back. I wish he’d stop that.
“What about that third set of DNA?” There’s a small air of excitement in his voice.
“What about it?”
“Do you know who it belonged to?”
“Adam, we went over it. There wasn’t enough evidence to bring it into court.” I sigh.
His face scrunches up, anger setting into his eyes—the wild beast is returning. He takes a deep breath, smoothing out his face again. He’s finally coming to terms with it all. I squeeze his hand a fourth time. This time he doesn’t squeeze back. Instead, he gives me an odd look.
“Listen, I didn’t come here to rehash the case. I came here to say goodbye and to tell you that I love you.” I loved him at one point, so it’s not hard for me to mimic saying those words to him, even if they’re not true anymore.
He drops his head and whispers under his breath, “I love you too, Sarah.” Silent tears begin to stream down his face.
I squeeze his hand a fifth time.
63
Adam Morgan
Sarah came to see me today. I’ve wanted to see her for so long, I’ve lost count of how many years it’s been. And now here she finally is, right in front of me, and it feels… bittersweet. She doesn’t seem to be herself, at least not the Sarah I remember. She is cold and disinterested. And for some reason, she keeps squeezing my hand in a way that doesn’t convey love or affection but rather, something else. At first, I thought it was for comfort, whether for her or me, I wasn’t sure. But the timing of the squeezes is off. No, actually the timing of them is perfect, right down to the second. One every single minute. Why is she doing that? I know this isn’t an easy day, I should fucking know more than anyone, but… it doesn’t seem to be affecting her, at all.
She looks beautiful today. It’s almost painful to take in, given the circumstances. Her hair hangs freely down to her shoulders, and her lips and nails are painted a bright red. She’s dressed in all white, like an angel, but it hardly seems appropriate the more that I think about it. I choke up thinking about her and me together and all the time that we lost. The fact is that once she walks out this door, I will never see her again. I’ve tried not thinking about it all these years. Sure, I knew this day would have to come eventually, but it’s not something you want to dwell on. Lethal injection for a crime I did not commit. That last part is what stings the most.
No further evidence was ever found in my case, so my fate has remained unchanged. It was the perfect crime and the perfect set-up by whoever did this. I gave up hope a long time ago, yet for some reason, I thought on this day, maybe by some miracle, Sarah would walk in with a bombshell discovery to blow the lid off whatever conspiracy was sealing me in; my knight in shining armor here to save me. Her outfit certainly matched the part.
I know now that won’t be happening for me. My life is already over, I’m just on borrowed time, walking dead through these halls. Perhaps in the afterlife, if there even is one, I’ll learn the truth of what happened to Kelly Summers and finally have some peace about all of this. But probably not.
She squeezes my hand again. It’s the sixth time. I’ve been counting.
“So, did you move on?” I finally work up the courage to ask.
“I don’t think anyone ever truly moves on from something like this, Adam.”
She’s been answering with these vague “non-answers” the whole time she’s been here. Not letting me back in for even a second. Her defense systems are fully activated.
“Do you think things could have been different for us?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Like if the trial turned out differently. If they found the real killer. Would we have had a chance?” I try to contain the desperation in even asking the question.
“I’d like to think so.” Her eyes lock with mine as she tilts her head and begins batting her eyes, it almost seems… forced. Like she’s saying what I want to hear, but why? I really don’t know, but that’s the one thing about Sarah, she’s always thinking, calculating. There’s never not an ulterior motive, another angle to the play. She’s always in control… of everything.
“I’d like to think so too. I think we’d have been happy. I think we’d have finally started a family of our own.” There’s hope in my eyes, but there’s none in hers.
She smiles and squeezes my hand for the seventh time. “Do you regret what you did?”
“What do you mean?” My head perks back up from the table as my eyes squint to brace from the angle of this question. I have all types of regrets. Which one is she trying to pull out of me?
“Sleeping with Kelly? Cheating on me? Giving up on us?” Her eyes narrow and she leans further away from me.
Ahh, those regrets. “I never gave up on us,” I say, and I mean it. “I may have been unfaithful, but I never gave up on us. I love you. Always have and always will, not that that is for much longer.”
She just stares back at me with a thousand-yard stare. I know she heard what I said, but it’s not registering. She seems to be looking through me, to the wall behind my head as if I’m not really here. Or maybe it’s her that isn’t really here, and this is merely a phantom proxy of her. A projection of the person I wished would show up today of all days. She squeezes my hand an eighth time.
“I’m sorry for not being a better wife to you.”
I snap back from my train of thought. Where is this coming from? She’s not to blame for any of this. These were my actions. I caused all of this. I didn’t commit murder but I did cheat. I did throw away what we had, carelessly like a piece of litter into a trash can I was passing. I can’t leave this earth with her blaming herself for everything that happened. She is the only one who defended me through all of this. The only one who truly believed me. The last person on earth who loves me, aside from my mom. “Sarah… none of this was your fault. You were a wonderful wife. You worked hard and were the only person who believed me and defended me. You loved me during my darkest times. You did everything you could for me and my career. I don’t blame you for anything. You have nothing to apologize for.” I try to hold back tears. She squeezes my hand a ninth time. I squeeze back.