2. Kennedy
Kennedy
CHAPTER TWO
"It sounds like something out of a mystery movie," Delores, my new friend and perhaps the only one besides Mr. Ernest, says the next day when I tell her about the conversation I just had with my new lawyers.
Yesterday, I told her about Mr. Ernest's visit and also that the psychiatrist had admitted someone was paying his fees, though he refused to say who.
When I asked her if I should be worried about that, Delores said no, as the doctor has quite a reputation worldwide, and she doubts he'd tarnish his own name with dishonesty.
I sighed in relief. Delores has been in prison for almost two decades and seems to be an expert in laws and legal procedures.
She killed her husband to protect her own daughter from his abuse.
Delores has been like a mother to me since I woke up from the coma. She talks to me when I can't sleep because I'm anxious, trying to remember the past, understand the present, and imagine the future.
"Honest or not, I won't have any more sessions with that psychiatrist. My new lawyers have dismissed him. They said they'll bring in a new expert because Dr. Roberts wasn't part of the defense team, which I already suspected."
Unlike the psychiatrist or Ernest, they're not concerned about helping my memory recovery; they want to get me out of here. To do that, they've given me more facts than I had discovered by myself, both during the months I spent in the cabin and since waking up from the coma.
"Now I'm absolutely sure I have no family," I say sadly.
Trying to jog my memory, they recounted the stories I read in the newspaper headlines.
I was indeed raised by a friend of my mother's. She had appointed this person, Riny Marcotte, as a legal guardian in case anything happened to her, and when my mother and father died in an accident, I went to live with the woman, who has since passed away too.
It's a shame I don't remember anything about her. She must have been a good person to take in a child she wasn't related to.
"You also know you're of Irish descent on your mother's side, or you wouldn't have 'O'Neal' as a surname."
"Why didn't my father give me his surname?"
"What?"
"I'm Kennedy Juliet O'Neal—my mother’s surname. I don't have my father's surname. God, how I wish I could remember the past! I'd give anything to have my memory back."
"Can I tell you something?"
"You can tell me anything, Delores."
"Your lack of memory is a blessing."
"What?"
"I remember what I did. Every detail. And although I don't regret it, and I'm sure I'd do it again if my daughter's safety was at stake, the scene itself, the level of violence I was capable of, all that blood . . . I wish I could forget."
"I didn't kill that woman, Delores."
"How can you be sure?"
"I can't, but something in my heart tells me I'm not capable of that."
"We're all capable of killing, depending on what's at stake, Kennedy. I'm not saying you did it but rather that I believe you could . Now, tell me more about your conversation with the lawyers."
"They said I was at that house in Cape Cod, vacationing with the deceased woman, Pam. I lived with her and her grandmother, who was the Greek's housekeeper," I say, shuddering at the memory of the hatred in his features, even in the photos I saw in the newspapers from Pam's funeral.
"Why did you live with them?"
"They said it was because the grandmother took me in after the death of Mrs. Riny Marcotte, my guardian."
"You don't remember anything?"
"No. Sometimes, I have flashes of conversations. Phrases said, laughter, and . . .”
"What?"
"I dreamed of a man kissing me. In fact, doing more than kissing, but I can't see his face or remember his voice. Yet, I think I was in love with him."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because when I dream about it, I wake up with the sensation of his touch, his lips. I just don't understand why, if I was in a relationship with someone, he hasn't shown up yet. Maybe he's the father of my baby."
"Why do you believe that? I don’t mean to upset you, my love, but there's more chance, from what we know so far, that King is the son of the man who's on the run. According to what you've told me, the newspapers say you were Ryan Corey III's girlfriend."
I think of the photograph I saw of the man they accuse of killing Pam and whom I allegedly "assisted" to kill her. The wretch fled to escape capture, and he hasn't been found to this day. I don't remember ever seeing him, except in newspaper photos, but that's no guarantee that I don't actually know him because I also don't remember the Greek, Hades Kostanidis, and yet it seems I was living in his grandfather's house.
The lawyers have now given me more details about Ryan Corey III, the fugitive.
They explained many facts I was unaware of and others I already knew, like that he's a billionaire heir, quite a few years older than me, and supposedly, my boyfriend, but I don't know if I believe that. Even with amnesia, shouldn't I at least feel a "click" in my heart when I see his photograph? Yet, all I felt when I saw it was an inexplicable disgust.
"I don’t think King is his son. I felt repulsion when I saw that man's photo."
"I wish I could help you more, Kennedy. Don't take it the wrong way when I said you could be capable of killing. It's not because I think you're a bad person. If you did it, I'm sure there was a reason. I've been here for many years, and I don't see the world as I did before I was imprisoned. Nothing is black and white; there are many gray areas and nuances between truth and lies, good and evil, love and hate."
"Not in the Greek's case. He hates me. He was Pam's protector. From what I read in the headlines about the crime, from the time she was a little girl, he paid for everything for her. From the moment she went to live with her grandmother, Mrs. Vina Marcotte—who, by the way, was the woman I lived with after my guardian died. According to the newspapers, Hades saw her as a younger sister."
"And what about you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did you have any contact with him?"
"The newspapers don't say anything about it, but given the fact that I only lived with the old lady and the deceased girl for a short time—a couple of months, they claim—I don't think so." I pause and then remember something I read shortly after we arrived at the cabin. "My God, how must Mrs. Vina feel? She must blame herself for taking me into her house and everything ending this way."
"Don't torment yourself until you have all the answers, Kennedy."
"How can I not? She had a stroke after it all happened," I say, remembering the report about Pam's grandmother's suffering. "Ernest informed me that the lawyers say there's a chance they might get me to answer the charges out of jail. My fingerprints weren't on the knife that killed Pam. If I hadn't run away, maybe I wouldn't be in so much trouble now."
"I think your friend, Ernest, did what he thought was right. Yes, you might never have been arrested, but money is a weapon, Kennedy. If the Greek family cares so much about the deceased, they might have managed to get you in jail even without concrete evidence, just until the trial. And so, you would have spent your entire pregnancy incarcerated."
I shudder with fear at the thought. Despite the lack of memory and having been in hiding, my pregnancy was healthy. I took short walks around the cabin every day, had contact with nature, and ate well. "Yes, he hid me thinking of my well-being."
"I'm sure if the girl, Pam, was so important to the Greek, he won't stop until he manages to get the real murderer arrested and tried. When they find him, everything will be clarified, and there's still a chance your memory might have returned by then," she says. "I'll pray for that."