Pieces For You (39 page)

“Sounds like a good plan,” I said skeptically.  “You sure you can keep emotions out of it?”

“Oh yeah, that’s the easy part.  And he is definitely not the type to get emotionally attached.  Easy-peasy.”

Meg believed every word she said, I could tell, but her words revealed a piece of Meg I had never noticed before.  She was scarred…someone had hurt Meg—bad.  It was easy to miss with her sunny disposition and positive outlook, but it was there.  Maybe having my own scars made it easier for me to see…now that I could see beyond just myself.

“Careful, lady.  Anyone I knew who ever swore love couldn’t touch them got drop-kicked by the bitch.”

“Bitch has got to catch you first, and I’ve learned how to run—fast—like Olympian 50-meter sprint fast,” she said with humor, but I thought I caught a flash of steel in her eyes.

“Now you’re just tempting fate.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice—even fate isn’t that spiteful.”

I placed my hand on her arm, wanting to offer her support.  It was then that I realized I knew nothing about Meg’s past.  She seemed so open and warm, but I couldn’t remember a single detail about her past outside of references to a typical, happy childhood.

“Meg, you know if you ever need to talk, I—”

“Wes?  What are you doing here—miss me already?”

I looked up, horror-struck.  Why the hell was Meg calling Westly Black, “Wes,” with a smile on her face that promised exactly what I had done to Griffin last night?  Holy fuckballs.  No, no, no…this could not be happening.

“What happened to Mark?” I snapped at Meg.

Her head spun to me so fast I was afraid she would get whiplash.  I guess my tone was even sharper than I had intended.

“Who the hell is Mark?” she shot back.

“The assistant DA you’re dating?”

“Um, no.  I went out with Wes,” she said and pointed to him.  Neither of us had bothered to acknowledge him yet.

I turned my deadliest stare on him and pointed, too.  “You—go sit in the corner and wait for me there.”

His eyes narrowed at me before turning to Meg.  “Meg, let me explain.”

Meg held his stare.  “Did you come here to talk to me or Sam?”

“Miss Whitney,” he said flatly.

“And I assume there is something I don’t know that I’m not going to like?” Meg asked flatly.

He nodded.

“Thanks for dinner last night.  As I said, I had a nice time.  Unfortunately, I’m going to have to cancel our plans for this weekend.  I don’t have time for drama and bullshit.  I just wanted to have a little fun.  You’re not fun anymore, apparently you’re just an asshole.”

Wes opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it, shaking his head as he walked to the furthest table.

“Explain,” Meg said to me. 

“He’s the asshole attorney for the guy who hurt me.  He’s been coming in to bribe or threaten me to prevent my testimony for months.”

“That son of a bitch—I sure know how to pick them,” she sighed.  “At least I found out now,” she said casually, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes.  “I had no idea, Sam.  I would never have accepted if I’d known.”

“I know,” I said while giving her a quick hug.  “Let me go take out the trash.”

And with that, I headed in Mr. Black’s direction.

“I should kick you in the balls for screwing with my friend’s head.  Why are you even here?  Heath’s dead, in case you hadn’t heard.  There is no trial.”

“I never represented Heath.  I represent the Varbeck family—”

“Semantics.  Let’s get this over with and then I never want to see you again.  And God help you if you come sniffing around Meg!”

His body stiffened, but it was the only indication he had heard me.

“The Varbeck family asked that I bring you this,” he said, extending an envelope in my direction.  “They also wanted me to express their sincere apologies for any pain you may have suffered at the hands of their son.  They aren’t monsters, Sam, even if their son was.”

With only a brief glance in Meg’s direction, he left, hopefully never to be seen or heard from again.

I sat down and opened the envelope.  Inside, there was a check for two million dollars and a hand-written note.

Dear Miss Whitney,

There are no words to convey the depth of our sorrow for your suffering.  It is no excuse, but perhaps one day you will be a parent and understand the unconditional love for your child, even when you are horrified by their actions.  I have to believe that he was ill beyond his control, no longer the same little boy, because that is a mother’s love.

We have decided to divide the trust Heath was to receive on his next birthday amongst his victims.  I know restitution cannot undo the damage, and perhaps it will only serve to assuage our guilt.

You will be in our prayers and I hope you can one day find room in your heart to forgive us for defending our child despite his guilt.

Sincerely,

Sandra Varbeck

I wanted to rip the check to shreds like their son had done to my life and send it back to them with a nasty letter, hurling blame at them and accusing them of being responsible for Heath’s evil.  I was about to do just that when it occurred to me that I was reacting and not thinking.  I didn’t know if a deep, dark secret lay within the Varbeck family that produced the monster Heath had become, or if pure evil existed in him from birth.  It was an answer I would never have.  The painful realization that this mother loved and supported her demon son, despite his evil and no matter how absurd it seemed, was truly a testament to a mother’s love—and a stark contrast to my parents.  For that alone, I decided not to return the check, but there was no way in hell I was accepting a penny of the money intended for him.  I was at a loss for what to do with the money until inspiration struck.

I slid my phone from my pocket to locate the number I needed.

“Thank you for calling RAINN, the rape, abuse, and incest national network, how can I help you?” a voice answered.

“Yes, I’d like to make a donation.”

"Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices."  -Alfred A. Montapert

I entered the Psychology building at Hensley University where the professors’ and advisors’ offices were located.  I had received a voicemail this morning asking me to come in for a meeting at noon and knew it didn’t bode well for me.  Knowing what the meeting was likely about did not lessen my apprehension.  I was prepared for the possibility of such a call since I went to visit Heath in prison, and when I heard about his death, I expected it. 

I walked down the long corridor toward the corner office—the Department of Psychology Graduate Advisor.  I hoped she would make this quick and not try and counsel me about my choices…there were none. 

I knocked on the doorframe to capture her attention before entering.  She nodded to the seat across from her, the smallest chair in the room, and smirked.

“You don’t want me to get too comfortable, huh?”

“I think it’s appropriate that you feel a bit uncomfortable, don’t you, Griffin?  We’ll call it penance,” she said, unreadable.  “You know why you’re here?”

“I have a guess.”

“Heath Varbeck lodged a complaint with the warden prior to his death, claiming you arranged for him to be sexually assaulted by other inmates.”

“Did he?” I answered, unwilling to lie, but not planning on volunteering information that could lead to criminal charges.

“Unfortunately, inmate against inmate violence is extremely prevalent in prisons, and the warden found no evidence of any wrongdoing on your part.  I’m sure you know all evaluations are recorded.”

“I recall hearing that.”

She rolled her eyes at me, acknowledging the dance we were engaged in.  The warden, police, and university might have suspected I had influenced the abuse Heath suffered, but there was no concrete evidence.  I doubt any of them were crying over the death of a serial killer.  I was relieved that no charges would be leveled against me, especially while I was still completing my community service for beating the shit out of Robbie.  Whatever else came out of this meeting, it was still my lucky day.

“The Varbeck family does not intend to pursue civil action against the State for Heath’s death, so other than a mountain of paperwork, the issue is dead.”

Knowing her twisted humor, I assumed the pun was intended.  I nodded my understanding and appreciation.  I had been counting on the Varbecks’ desire to avoid further publicity and distance themselves from their son’s crimes.  I was relieved the risk paid off.  I never planned for Heath to be killed, but I couldn’t say it was shocking either, nor was I sad at the news.  In truth, I would have preferred he suffer the abuse for the next sixty years behind bars.  But it worked out for the best; Sam wouldn’t have to endure a trial or face Heath again.  The latent threat he posed while living was now removed.  Already she was lighter—definitely worth any smudges now staining my soul.

“The problem is, you never should have been in that room with Mr. Varbeck.  Your clinical hours were completed, and you had a significant conflict of interest.”

I raised my eyebrow at her for the last comment.

She stared back, undaunted.

“Yes, it is possible to evaluate and treat clients when there is a personal connection.  Many therapists have done so successfully, but it requires compartmentalization and objectivity.  Are you going to tell me you entered the eval room to meet with Heath as an objective psychologist?”

“No.  I stand by my assessment and diagnosis, but I was not objective where he was concerned.”

“Griffin, you abused your access to the prison for your own agenda.  You violated several moral and ethical tenets.  I am sorry, but I cannot recommend you to the licensing board.  You have completed all requirements and as such will receive your Doctoral degree in Clinical Psychology from Hensley; I won’t interfere in that regard.  You could consider finding another sponsor for your licensing, given time, but I would suggest you prepare yourself to answer several difficult questions before anyone would even consider taking you on.”

I nodded. 

“You would need to prove to the sponsor you would be able to exhibit better judgment in the future.”

“I am not planning to go out and buy a spandex body suit, utility belt, and mask.  It may have been vigilante, but my actions were contained to justice for one person.  I don’t have delusions that I can or should try and rid the world of all evil.”

“I’m sorry it has turned out this way.  I believe you would be an effective therapist.  Are you sure you made the right choice, sacrificing the assistance you could have provided to many others for the benefit of one?”

“Hell yes.  If it ensured her safety, I’d do it again without regret, no matter the cost to me.”

“Okay.”  We both rose and she escorted me to her door.  “As you are no longer my charge, and you have technically graduated from Hensley, there is one thing I would like to say.”

I gestured for her to proceed.

“As a therapist, I am appalled by your behavior.  As your advisor, I am disappointed in your choices.  As a woman and a friend, I’m glad he got a taste of his own medicine.”

I laughed at her candor.  I’m not surprised that anyone would be glad to hear that Heath endured the same treatment he inflicted on others without remorse, but I hadn’t expected her to verbalize that truth.