Chapter Fourteen
Laura cries in such an aesthetically pleasing fashion.
It’s sort of disturbing how good she is at it.
Over the next couple of days, I watch her on the news and various other shows.
The woman has turned her prospective mother-in-law’s attempted homicide and head-on collision with a tree into both a very sad thing and a publicity boon for the #justiceforryan movement.
“The immense sadness and pressure that Dianne was under these past ten years…that dear sweet woman was tormented by what happened to her son.” Insert a tear rolling over the smooth curve of Laura’s cheek here.
“How his life was derailed by this one dreadful relationship. Is it any wonder she snapped and acted so out of character?”
You would think the whole trying-to-run-me-down thing was an unfortunate mishap, or accident, according to this woman.
Her sweetness and sincerity along with the vaguely trad wife vibes she’s giving off are working wonders for the cause.
Since neither Noah nor I release a statement, Laura’s spin on things gets good airtime.
Though thankfully some people are pushing back and questioning her narrative.
The official ruling on what occurred will take time.
But Dianne’s actions over the last few days and the tire marks on the road tell a definite story.
Her intentions are clear, for those willing to see.
But burying the truth and confusing the situation is how her son got away with the lesser charge of manslaughter.
It’s how he’s hoping to have the charge dropped to accessory with time served.
No wonder they’re trying to pull the same trick again now.
Dianne might be beyond caring about her reputation.
However, it still matters to Ryan and Laura.
They’re all about the thoughts, prayers, and monetary donations to help cover his ongoing legal costs.
Some news crews stood in front of my house on the day after the crash.
But they eventually got bored and went away.
My policy of not feeding the media beast is helping to protect our privacy.
Sort of. I can’t actually stop them from hanging around and attempting to get a soundbite out of me.
Auggie gave them a good barking at before turning his back on them and going to sleep. Such is his disdain for the press.
Meanwhile, Mateo gave me a high-five for not getting hit by a vehicle.
He even took it easy on me since we were working out the night after the crash.
I didn’t have to do a ridiculous amount of pushups for once.
We still did some sparring, however. Sore muscles and gross scabby elbows will only get you so far.
On the second night after the crash, I decide to cook for Noah.
Normalcy is needed. Though I also want to show him I am not completely useless in the kitchen following the French toast debacle.
My grandmother would doubtless haunt me if I didn’t make the man her favorites—regional dishes she served me from a young age.
These include a boiled dinner, which is corned beef cooked with garlic, peppercorns, a bay leaf, cabbage, and a variety of root vegetables served with mustard.
And a homemade apple pie with a chunk of cheddar cheese.
“I’m not sure about this,” he says, inspecting the slab of cheese. “Don’t get me wrong…apple and cheese are great together. But I feel like accompanying apple pie is more of a sweet sort of situation.”
“Welcome to Vermont.”
“You’re not going to serve me sugar on snow?”
“Grandma was old school when it comes to sugar on snow. She didn’t agree with using shaved ice. So we have to wait for the right time of year for that one.”
“I respect her wishes.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
The corner of his mouth edges up some. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
We’re seated at the dining table. Which I actually managed to clear of bills, books, and other assorted shit like an adult.
Candles are burning and music is playing.
There’s a vague air of romance to the scene.
We’re even using Grandma’s vintage stoneware dishes and her heavy-ass wineglasses.
The ones I used with Grace. It’s a bittersweet memory.
Dinner started at ten thirty since that was when he got back from work.
What time of the night or day it is doesn’t bother me.
So long as we’re spending time together.
Much more of this and I’ll be drawing hearts around our initials in my notebooks.
The truth is I don’t know how to handle being this happy. But I like it a lot.
Noah spends the night here every night. He’s done so since we got together, and is showing no signs of stopping.
His clothes are on my bedroom floor, and he has his own toothbrush in the bathroom.
We have officially entered a state of domestic bliss.
A place where I would love to linger for a good long time.
“Muriel has invited you to bingo, by the way,” I say as he chews and pulls thoughtful faces. Noah takes his tasting duties seriously.
“I’ve never been to bingo. This is interesting. Excellent pie crust.”
“Glad you approve. Do you want ice cream now?”
“Yes, please.”
I smile and steal the ungrateful man’s piece of cheddar on the way to the freezer. One of us knows how to properly appreciate cheese.
Police lights are hard to miss, so I notice them right away as a cruiser is pulling in front of my house. No siren is blaring. But the lights are enough to stop me dead in my tracks. “No.”
“What’s wrong?” Noah is already up, out of his chair, and looking where I’m looking. It doesn’t take Auggie long to stir from his dog bed in the living room and do some barking. “Good boy. Settle down.”
I have the front door open before they manage to knock. Two officers in uniform are standing on the front porch at eleven o’clock at night. My heart goes into apoplexy at the sight. Because there’s no way they have good news.
A Black woman with short natural hair asks, “Sidney Walsh?”
“That’s right.”
“I am Sergeant Mayhew, and this is Corporal Yang.”
“What happened?” I ask, my shaking hands curled tight into fists. “Has another woman died?”
“No. No one is dead. But Ryan Brody has escaped from prison.”
It doesn’t take long for the news to get around.
To those still awake at least. The hunt for Ryan is being broadcast all over the place.
Reporters are filming updates standing outside the prison fences.
Photos of Ryan and a missing guard at the jail by the name of Maggie Young are being shared far and wide.
In her work uniform, she appears to be a calm and competent woman with long blonde hair.
Just his type. The plea from her husband asking for her to be returned unharmed is heartbreaking.
But it seems far more likely the woman knew exactly what she was doing, and was a willing participant.
Rumors are rife that Ryan wooed her. It wouldn’t be the first time he charmed someone into something.
Social media is full of theories about where he is and what he’s going to do next. The option of lopping off my head is winning one poll by over a thousand votes. People are wild. I’m not sure how much more of this I can handle. And throwing my cell into Lake Champlain is not out of the question.
“So he either ran out of patience or thought his mom being exposed as a murderer was going to hurt his chances of getting the charges reduced to time served,” I say to the detective.
“Perhaps,” says Detective Hahn over the speaker. She calls not long after the two officers arrive. “We’ll be guarding your house for the time being. Just to be careful.”
“They’re saying he romanced a jail guard and they’re on the run together?” I ask.
“We believe that to be correct,” answers the detective. “There are extensive phone records between him and a corrections officer.”
“Charming psychopath strikes again,” I say. “Let me guess…she used a burner phone to hide what was happening?”
“What we do know for certain is that he left the prison grounds at around one in the afternoon. The reason given was he was attending a supposed court appointment. But he and the guard never arrived at the courthouse,” she says. “Miss Walsh, where do you think he would go?”
“I’ve hardly talked to him in ten years. How would I know?”
“His girlfriend Laura is currently unable to be located, and his cellmate isn’t talking. You’re all I’ve got to work with right now. Would he stay in the local area?”
“He could cover a lot of ground in ten hours.”
“Yes, he could. The official vehicle used for the escape was found at a train station in Essex Junction. And the guard’s personal vehicle has been located parked outside some shops in Milton.”
“Fast work. But the guard…has her body been found?”
“No. We believe they’re still together. For now.”
“Milton is north of us. If they left the car there, he probably wants you to think they’re heading in that direction. Going to Canada to get lost out in the wilderness or something.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s not like he used to talk about backup plans with me. Just in case he got caught. I had no idea he was a homicidal maniac, remember?”
“Can you think of any reason he might stay in town?” she asks.
“I get that you think I’m a lure for him. That’s why there are cops sitting outside my house. But I’m just not convinced.”
Nothing from the detective.
I think it through. And none of my thoughts are nice. “He wrote once to tell me how pretty I was the night he got captured. How soft my skin was and how wide my eyes were.”
“He meant while he was strangling you?” asks the detective.
“Yeah.”
Noah shifts in his chair. The muscles in his jawline are taut.
“I think he was encouraging Laura to stalk me,” I say. “From some things she said. Being free would take precedence over messing with me for most people. But with the way his mind works, I just don’t know.”