Pam (7 page)

At that second I knew something was wrong.

I
stepped
in, quietly calling out her name, but barely did when this weird stench
hit
me. It smelled like an old dog
pound
.

Two steps into the
house
I saw the blood. A pool of it by the entrance to the
kitchen
.

“No.” I thought. “
No
,” And I
hurried
toward the puddle.

The kitchen was small
,
and Marion’s body took up the entire length of the floor. She was
surrounded by
a deep pool of drying blood. Like
Sharon
Tate
, a rope
,
or rather phone cord,
was wrapped around
her
neck, her body
half-undressed.
S
he lay on her side and was covered in so much blood
that
I couldn’t tell how she died. Stabbed? Shot? I handled that until I stepped closer.

Her
stomach
faced the wooden kitchen cabinets. Her pregnant stomach looked like
nothing
more than a gutted de
e
r. The umbilical
cord
stretched out of the open wound to the fetus that was attached by a knife to the kitchen
cabinet
. Pinned there like a memo.

My stomach
churned
and
mouth filled with saliva. Immediately, my
mouth
filled with vomit laced with my previous night’
s
drinking.

It splattered
f
rom my mouth
through
my finger
tips
,
and I turned to the left, saw the bathroom
,
raced in and vomited in the
commode.

The whole time I heaved over that toilet bowl, it wasn’t the sight of Marion
’s body, it was the baby
. The
tiny
baby
no bigger than eight inches,
impaled and adhered to the white kitchen cabinet. The knife wasn’t huge, but compared to the size of the unborn baby it was monstrous.

That child probably got one breath of life.

It was sickening
,
and it took a while for my stomach to settle. Once it did, I used my foot to flush and walked back to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to Marion’s dead body. “I’m sorry.” I raced for the door.

Another one of my demons. Another reason bad karma followed me.

The subject of Marion came up once
,
and that was when Pam said, “Marion is in Hartford. I’m gonna not think about her anymore.”

I don’t know for sure if Pam killed Marion, I don’t know. I didn’t ask and she didn’t tell.
But I was just as guilty as the person who did it. Because I said nothing about what I had seen and found. Scared that it was my friend’s doing, and that perhaps we’d both be in trouble. I quickly left the apartment, and maki
ng sure I didn’t leave a finger
print
,
I locked and closed that door tightly.

I took off
,
n
ever looking back and swearing I’d never tell a soul.

It was a bad decision. A horrible, soulless decision. One I regretted
even more so now
because Pam was free.

“
Tell me about that day.
”

I wasn’t ready to, not yet.
I had only been out of the hospital for a week, and I wanted to
start
my
investigation
.
But Dr
. Andrews wanted to hear my story.

He had said
that
, once I told him, he’d feel better about me going to Willow Brook.

While I could have gone anyhow, a part of me felt as if I needed his permission, his blessing.

There was something about Dr. Desmond
Andrews;
he was different than any other therapist o
r
psychiatrist I had seen. He had a keen interest in me and everything I said. I avoided eye contact because for some odd reason, I thought he would lo
o
k into my mind. That he was trying to see into my soul.

My paranoia, I suppose.

“There is nothing in the folder,” he told me. “You didn’t speak at the trial so I can’t even order those transcripts. What did you tell the police?”

“That I didn’t do it. That someone else did. And that’s all I said.”

“Tell me about the day.”

I rehearsed in my mind what I was going to say, what happened that day. Not that I had to lie
;
I didn’t. I knew he would not break the confidentiality bond. But I rehearsed in my mind because I was nervous about speaking. Terrified about bringing that day forefront.

“I picked Mandy up at school
;
it was her birthday. We were having a small
f
amily party
,
and then her frien
ds were coming over for a sleep
over.”

“How were you feeling that day?”

“Stressed. I had dinner to cook. Things to get ready. Anyhow, we got home, I had errands to run, but I wanted to see if we had candles. I hung all the balloons earlier that day. I
w
as
pulling
out the drawer and it fell. I
tried
to
grab
it and it scratched me.”

“The scratch,” he said. “The
reason
for your release.”

“I told them Mandy didn’t scratch me. I should have told them what she said in the car.”

“And that was?”

“That she scratched a boy at school,”
I answered.

“This would be the DNA match of that other crime?”

I nodded. “They asked me if I remembered the boy. I told them no.”

He
leaned back in the chair. “Why?”

“I was afraid.
I don't know.
It was
stupid
.”

“Where was your husband at the time?” He asked me.

“Richie was at work. He wasn’t due home for a while.
He
had to work on Sharon’s car again
,
” I
huffed out
.

“Why am I sensing anger there?”

I shook my head. “Another time. Another story. Anyhow
,
he wasn’t there. M
y
mom showed up. Said she’d bathe the baby
so
I left to finish
my
errands.”

“Where did you go?”

“Where didn’t I go? I was running errands. I … I stopped …”

Dr.
Andrews tilted his head. “Go on
, you stopped where? Are you not
remembering?
”

“Another story, another time.”

“How about now.” He lifted his hands.

I shook my head.

“Pam. What
do not want
to tell me? You can trust me.”

“I know.” I debated
,
and then I figured he’d find out sooner or later and it was all part
of
the story, right? After a
pause
, I told him. “I wen
t to Richie’s garage. I thought
maybe put some fire in his ass to get Sharon’s car done. He had it for a while. When I got there, I didn’t see her car. S
o I went inside, t
o tell him to get beer and to thank him for finishing the car. And I walked in, he was on the phone. I heard him.”

I recanted what I heard ….

‘Baby, listen to me. I’ll tell her. I promise. Today. Today I will. I know we can’t keep using your car as an excuse.”

He nodded at me and then asked. “How do you know who he was on the phone with?”

Because I walked out after I heard him say, “Sharon, listen to me, I love you. You
are
not her.”

One would think I hit Dr. Andrews with a concrete
sla
b
;
h
e
had this look of shock on his face.

“He told
Sharon  ...
you
r
Sharon … that he loved her?”

I nodded.

“Are you sure it was Sharon?”

“Yes
,
and
it
started to make sense. They were fighting an awful lot. Too much. She said he had her car forever.
”

“What did you do?”

“I drove to the
bank;
I wanted to believe that it wasn’t her. Maybe another Sharon. But I saw her car. Parked in the lot. Sharon had been avoiding me
for
weeks
saying
she didn’t have a ride or she didn’t want to see Richie.”

“So you hadn’t seen her in a while?”

I shook my head. “No. So I went into the bank. It was crowded. I got a deposit slip and wrote on the back, ‘Are you having an affair with
Richie
?
’
I took it to the window.”

“So you called out Sharon?”

I nodded. “But she ran. Ran out. Didn’t
apologize
. Didn’t say anything. She ran out of the bank. In fact
,
she looked angry. I stewed about it and left. I figure
d
it would all come to a head.”

“Had Richie ever cheated on you before?”

“Yes, more times than I care to count.”

Hands folded in a prayer fashion, he nodded. “Okay, so his telling you about the affair and leaving you wasn’t a blindside.”

“He didn’t tell me about the affair, not the one with Sharon. We never got to talk about it. The day happened.”

“So his testimony was a lie,” Dr. Andrews said.

“Yes. We never spoke. Never again. I
finished
errands and returned home. Did that wife thing in the car and thought about what I was going to say to him after the party. I was upset, yes, but I didn’t know who I was upset with
more
.
” I paused to catch my breath. “When I got home, I knew something
was
up. That’s when I saw the figure. There was a figure in the bush. I saw it. It moved
.
I thought it was a teenager and I went into the
house
. I went in the back way.”

“Did you tell the police about the figure?”

“I did. Just once. When I walked in, water was coming out
the
kitchen door.” Suddenly I lost all
breath;
I found it hard to breathe.

“Pam. You okay
?
”

I
broke
down. “The baby.”

“You don’t have to continue.”

I violently shook my head. “I have to say it. I never told anyone what I saw. What
happened
.
No one. Not
even
the
police
. But please, never ask me again.”

He nodded. “Agreed. But stop if it’s too much
o
r too painful.”

“Painful? It will never stop being painful. Ever.
Every single morning for years, I would wake u
p and before I opened my eyes,
I prayed to God it was a nightmare.
A
horrible nightmare.
Then when I opened my eyes, I would be home and my babies would be fine.
But it wasn’t
a nightmare
. And I’d be struck with
t
his heart
ache that I physically felt.
A
pain
that wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t a nightmare
;
it was real
,
and I’d never have my babies again.” I
grabbed
a tissue from his desk and swiped it hard across my face. “My mother tried. I saw that. The water was pink, the sink was still on. M
y
mother was on the floor, holding Lizzy. She held my baby. She was covered in blood, her hands were sliced up as if she was trying to protect the baby.” I paused, the vision was still real in my mind. “And I
cried out
. I cried, ‘No’, and charged to find my other children. I thought of them. I hoped and prayed that they ran an
d
hid or got out. But as soon as I got to the steps.
Doyle
was there. My little boy. My
precious
baby boy.”

“Pam …”

I
lifted
my
hand, sniffed hard and looked
at him
. “They got him as he ran. I could tell. His hand was still on the steps. The
n
I heard it. A whimper. Mandy. Oh my God, I ran, I ran,
calling out
her name over and over. I ran
into her room and didn’t see her. The room was trashed. Everything was thrown about. I called again and the
n
I found her. She was on the floor by the bed.”
I grabbed another
tissue;
blood rushed to my ears as I told the story and relieved it. The visio
n of my daughter, her tiny body
saturated with blood
with
the
knife
still in her chest.

I continued my story, “I didn’t know what to do
.
I didn’t want to leave her, but I had to get help. She was gasping for breath. Gasping
.
I called her name and slid my hands under her body and she opened her eyes …” I sobbed out the words. “She opened her eyes and said, ‘Mommy, please’. That was it. She didn’t move again. That was when Richie came in.”

“What … what did he say? What did you do?”

“He said, ‘what have you done
?
What have you done?’ and that was it. I remember screaming out and then it all went black. I don’t remember anything until the police showed up. They were grabbing me, Richie was screaming, I tried to call Sharon. My call wasn’t for help. It wasn’t. But they took the phone from me and said I was being ridiculous.”

“Why
,
then, did you try to call Sharon?”

I paused before answering that question. I didn’t know how he’d take it, or what he’d think of me for saying it.

“Pam, why did you call Sharon?” he repeated his question.

Another brief moment and then I finally answered his question, “Because I think she did it.”