David Bell - Never Come Back

“Why wouldn’t he answer me, Paul?” I said. “I know Ronnie can be moody just like anybody else. Lord knows moodiness and reticence run deep in this family. But he brought it up. He said, ‘They think I killed Mom.’ And when I asked him if that was true, when I gave him a chance to put my mind at ease and deny that, he wouldn’t take it. He didn’t say anything at all. He didn’t admit it, but he didn’t deny it either.”

“I don’t know,” Paul said. “I bet they pressured him or coerced him. Hell, they’ve had him cooped up here, alone basically. Anyone would say anything to get out of here. Or he might just say something to get people off his back.”

“That’s what I said. I told the detective that people with disabilities might say anything to please an authority figure.”

“You wouldn’t have to have a disability to do that,” Paul said.

I knew he was right. And yet there remained unspoken things between us, things I didn’t dare bring up. I didn’t bring them up because I didn’t want to risk having another fight at a time when we needed each other the most. I didn’t want to bring them up because, on some level, I didn’t want to know whether he harbored the same doubts about Ronnie that I did. I suspected he did. Why else would he have advised my mother to have Ronnie sent away after one of his outbursts? He saw Ronnie more than I did. He must have understood him better in some ways. And I just wasn’t ready to see into all of those dark corners.

“I’m going to see him,” Paul said.

“I was just about to. They wouldn’t let me before, but I called Frank Allison. I want a lawyer here to deal with this.”

“Good.” Paul looked at me a long moment, his tired eyes growing angry. “That’s bullshit,” he said. “We can see him if we want.”

“Richland said no,” I said. “He said everything is too delicate right now. I guess he means the case, but Allison said to not let Ronnie talk.”

Paul looked away. “He’s in the hallway—Richland. He didn’t even look at me when I walked down here. He just pointed to this room. You know, he waves those hands around like he’s corralling butterflies or something. He was talking to a nurse or doctor.”

“I wish Detective Post were here,” I said. “At least I could talk to her a little. At least she seems human.”

“She’s a woman,” Paul said. “She has a lighter touch. She listens. Or pretends to.”

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s both go down there.”

As if his ears were burning in the hallway, Detective Richland came through the door. He nodded at both of us as though we were friendly acquaintances, then took a seat. I’m sure he didn’t notice, but I didn’t grant him the courtesy of eye contact. I looked at a spot on the wall above Richland’s head. I bit back on my anger.

“I want to see my nephew,” Paul said. “Something isn’t right here.”

“I’ve already explained to Ms. Hampton that I can’t let you do that right now. I was just on the phone with someone from the county attorney’s office. They certainly don’t want any family members going in there and confusing the story your nephew has to tell.”

“Confusing it?” I asked. “Are you saying we’d try to get him to lie?”

“It’s best to just keep things simple right now.”

“Our lawyer is on the way,” I said. “He requests that you stop talking to Ronnie.”

“Detective,” Paul said. “I need to talk to you.” His voice sounded level and calm, strangely so given the circumstances. It fit Paul’s demeanor since Mom’s death—sober and a little detached. He’d really only showed a full spark of life when he yelled at me in the cafeteria. “Could we speak somewhere?”

“We can speak right here if you have questions,” Richland said. “I don’t want you all to feel this is adversarial. I’m aware of the issues surrounding your nephew’s condition—”

“It isn’t a condition,” I said.

“Well—”

“‘Condition’ suggests an illness,” I said. “Ronnie doesn’t have an illness. He has a disability.”

“Okay,” Richland said. He reached up and adjusted his shirt collar. “I understand that. I’m trying to be sensitive to the issues that come up.”

“I was hoping we could speak alone,” Paul said.

That sentence landed in the room like a lead weight. Richland looked at me, and I looked at Paul. Paul had his eyes steadily placed on Richland, waiting for a response. He acted as if I wasn’t in the room anymore.

Richland took a long time to answer. Then he said, “Sure. If you would like to, we can speak alone.”

But I wasn’t going to be cut out of the conversation. I wasn’t going to get up and leave the room, not if they were talking about the fate of my brother. I had no idea what Paul wanted to say to the detective that I couldn’t hear, but I didn’t intend to make it easy for him. I remained rooted to my spot, as obstinate and stubborn as a child.

Richland read my body language. He said to Paul, “Would you like to speak out in the hallway? Why don’t we do that?”

They both rose from their chairs and went through the door, trying to leave me alone in that little room again. Paul turned back to me before he walked out. “Just wait,” he said. “I’ll take care of this, okay?”

But I decided not to sit still for being banished. I pushed myself up out of the chair and followed them into the hallway. Paul and Detective Richland were standing just a few feet away from each other, the difference in their heights striking. Paul looked like a child. When they heard me come through the door, they looked up. Disappointment crossed Paul’s face, but I didn’t slow down. I brushed right past him, heading for Ronnie’s room.

“Ms. Hampton?” Richland said behind me.

I was tired of being called “Ms. Hampton.” I was tired of his forced and overly formal public servant manners. I didn’t stop. My shoes squeaked on the hospital tile. I yanked open the door to Ronnie’s room.

He lay in there alone, the TV playing. His eyes opened wide when he saw me. Not in fear or shame, just surprise. Maybe the police had told him he wouldn’t be having any visitors, or maybe he knew how strange it was for his sister to be showing up anywhere so early in the morning.

“Ronnie?” I said. “Why? Why did you tell them that? Tell them the truth, Ronnie. Tell them.”

Before Ronnie could say anything, the door opened again and Detective Richland was there behind me. Then he moved in front of me, blocking my view of my brother.

“You can’t—”

“Ronnie. Tell them. You don’t know what they’re going to do—”

“That’s it,” Richland said. “You have to go. You can’t be here.”

“Ronnie?” I said.

Paul took me by the arm, applying gentle pressure. “Come on, honey,” he said.

“No,” I said. “He has to know. He has to understand this.”

“Mr. McGrath,” Richland said. “Please, can you take her out of here?”

“Elizabeth,” Paul said.

I turned away from both of them. I turned toward Ronnie.

“Ronnie?” I said. “It’s not true, is it? Tell them it’s not true, or you’ll get in trouble.”

He looked at me, his eyes focused and clear. But he didn’t say anything. He turned his head to look at the TV screen again, and that was all the fight I had in me. My body wilted, physically and emotionally.

I let Paul lead me out of the room.

Paul sent me away from the hospital. He walked me down to the front door and told me that I wasn’t doing any good there, especially if I was losing my cool.

“Losing my cool?” I said. “If anyone deserves to lose her cool, it’s me.”