1. Kennedy
Kennedy
CHAPTER ONE
Present
BARNSTABLE COUNTY CORRECTIONAL FACILITY MASSACHUSETTS
"What do you remember about that night?" the doctor asks me, and once again, I look at him without knowing what to say.
What do they expect from me? If I lie and tell the story they seem to want to hear, will they leave me alone? Because I feel so drained that I'm about to do just that, just to be left in peace.
I just want to be able to leave and go back to them, even though I know there's a good chance that won't happen unless I can prove my innocence.
Despite being physically and mentally exhausted, a little voice inside me begs me not to give up. Even if I don't remember anything about the past, about what happened before I ran away from that house on the night that turned into my worst nightmare, how can I admit to something they say I did when just the idea of hurting someone fills me with absolute horror?
I wanted to do right so that someday my son could be proud of me, but now I'm not sure if deciding to finally turn myself in was the right choice. I could have been killed, and then King would grow up without either of his parents by his side.
After spending my entire pregnancy on the run, when my baby was a month old, I decided it was time to confront my past once and for all, but then, before I even got to the police station, I was hit by a car, and I’ve spent the last twenty-four months in a coma.
Even though I woke up from my death-like sleep two months ago, I remember nothing from before Ernest helped me escape from Cape Cod almost three years ago to avoid being arrested on the night of that woman’s murder.
I don't even know how Ernest found me. When I escaped from the house in Cape Cod, I was injured, bloody, and my clothes were torn. I didn't know who I was or what had happened there. I left the house out of survival instinct, afraid that whoever had hurt the woman would come back to do the same to me.
I had barely stepped onto the street when the man who introduced himself as Ernest approached me.
I asked who he was, and his answer was: your friend and protector .
It didn't take long to realize I had lost my memory, and he promised that no one would hurt me.
When I asked him how he’d found me, he said he had always kept an eye on me because he didn't fully trust the new family I had moved in with in New York.
There were so many conflicting pieces of information and almost no answers, so I told him that nothing he said brought back any memories.
He took me to a safe place, hid me. I learned from Ernest that the police were after me, considering me an accomplice in the murder of the young woman, Pam Marcotte.
We lived in a cabin surrounded by woods, and about three months into our stay, I started experiencing the first symptoms of pregnancy. Ernest bought a test from the pharmacy, and soon we had confirmation.
Finding out I was pregnant, without any idea who the father was, was the second scariest thing that had occurred in my life, superseded only by waking up covered in blood in that Cape Cod house.
I spent the rest of my pregnancy in hiding.
A doctor came to examine me once a month. He didn't ask questions, and when it was time to give birth, a helicopter picked us up and took us to a clinic that looked more like a fortress.
They registered me under a false name, but at that moment, I wasn't concerned about what they called me; I just wanted my child to be safe.
Three days after King was born, we returned to the cabin.
He and Ernest were all I had left in the dark abyss of amnesia I had plunged into.
And then, when my baby was a month old, I realized I could no longer hide. I needed to prove my innocence, not just for my son to be proud of me but also to prevent him from having to hide forever and miss out on having a normal life.
However, my plans were shattered when a car hit me, almost killing me and throwing me into a deep coma for two years.
The strangest thing of all is that I remember my entire pregnancy, the conversations with Ernest during the months we spent together, and King's birth. But absolutely nothing about the time before that dark night.
When Ernest came to see me about a week ago, he told me that the police claimed my accident was just that—an accident, a misfortune.
Now, in the prison hospital, I've been interrogated relentlessly by this man almost every day since I woke up.
He introduced himself as a psychiatrist, and I found out from one of the inmates, Delores, who had the chance to work at the hospital for good behavior, that he is globally renowned.
"I've already told you what I remember. I woke up in a house I didn't recognize. What I assume were my clothes, because I don't remember them either, were torn. My body had dried bloodstains on it, and when I looked in the bathroom mirror, there was blood on my face too. My lower lip looked cut, like . . .”
"Like what?"
"It looked like someone had slapped or punched me."
"And how do you know that?"
"Are you testing me?"
"Constantly, Kennedy. I thought I made that clear to you from the start."
"I don't remember facts, like my name, the people I knew, or if I did what they're accusing me of, doctor, but I haven't forgotten how a human being functions or appears. I know when I need to go to the bathroom, I know how to brush my teeth, and I also know the difference between a 'normal' and a 'beaten' face, and when I remember that morning, I'm sure someone hurt me."
His expression doesn't change. It's annoyingly neutral, like in all the other sessions we've had.
"Who's paying you?" I ask.
"What?"
"You're not a state-provided doctor. I talked to an inmate, and she told me you're famous."
"I can't give you that information. I signed a confidentiality agreement."
"Is it someone who wants what's best for me?"
"I won't answer that, Kennedy, because I really don't know the motivation of the person who hired me, but I can give you my word that I am a doctor who honors the oath he took. My assessment of your condition will be absolutely neutral. I will form my opinion based on our meetings and not to satisfy the defense or the prosecution."
"That sounds fair."
Earlier today, I found out that the public defender the state provided me with when I woke up from the coma has been replaced by a team of criminal defense lawyers. I'm sure Ernest is responsible for this change, although I don't understand how he managed to afford them. We lived comfortably, albeit isolated, but I don't think he's wealthy.
"Let's focus on why I'm here, Kennedy. For this to work between us, you'll have to tell me everything that happened that night."
I run my hand over my face, feeling very tired. I look at the ceiling in the hospital room. "And what is everything? When will you accept that I'm not lying? I've told you the same story dozens of times. It's what I remember. I woke up in a strange house—or rather, strange to me because I don't remember it—in pain, and saw blood on my body. I thought I was injured. I panicked. I ran downstairs to ask for help, and when I got to the ground floor, everything was eerily silent. And then . . .”
I struggle not to cry as grotesque images form in my mind.
No, I don't believe I did that. No matter how much they say I did, I couldn't be that cruel.
"Calm down. Let's end the session. Someone is waiting to see you."
I know it's Ernest. He said he would come, and I'm torn between joy at seeing him again and worry because, even if only for a short time, he leaves King with someone else to come visit me, and right now, I don't trust anyone else.
"Yes, I know."
"Our session is over for today," he says, getting up.
Only a few minutes pass before the door to the room opens again and Ernest walks in.
I try to get up from the bed, but he shakes his head. "Calm down, my dear."
"How is he?"
"Your son is fine, dear. King is handsome and healthy. A happy child."
Thick, warm tears stream down my face. "I would give anything to see him again."
"I can try to arrange a visit."
"No. I don't want him here. Any news about my lawyers' request for me to answer the charges while out on bail?"
"They're doing their best, my dear. They said there's a chance because the prosecution hasn't formally charged you as an accomplice to murder. At the moment, it seems your charge is for assisting in the commission of a crime, which would mean a much lighter sentence."
"Why didn't they charge me with murder? Isn't that what everyone thinks I did?" Especially "that man," I add silently.
Hades Kostanidis. He wants revenge against whoever hurt the woman who was under his protection. I'm sure he hates me, because Ernest told me that as soon as I woke up from the coma, the Greek hired a team of lawyers to assist the prosecution in getting my conviction.
During the final months I spent in the cabin, although I didn't force myself to remember, Ernest gave me newspapers containing everything that was said about the crime.
It was like reading about someone else's life.
According to the reports, I’d lived with the deceased woman, Pam Marcotte, and her grandmother, Vina.
I'm an orphan, and I was initially raised by this lady's daughter in Louisiana, but about two months before the crime that resulted in Pam's death, I moved to Manhattan to be with them.
I push that memory away and focus on the present.
"Because there's not enough evidence against you," he finally answers. "Your memory hasn't shown any signs of returning, has it? It would be crucial for your defense."
"No. It's as if my brain deleted the past. I only remember finding Pam dead, and my first instinct was to help her, but when I realized there was nothing I could do, I ran away, scared."
Amnesia is a scary thing. I remember what people do to lead a normal life. I know there are laws, courts, prisons, banks, schools, and universities.
I know there are poor and rich people and how the world is governed by politicians, but I can't say a word about my childhood, for example.
"We will get you to answer the charges while out on bail, Kennedy. The lawyers defending you now are excellent."
"Do you think it's really possible?"
"I have faith that it is."
"Who is paying them, Ernest?"
"That's not important right now. One day, when you remember the past, I'll tell you. What you need to believe is that I will never leave your side. I am your protector and friend. Someone who will never give up on you, Kennedy. We will get you out of here."