A wave of nausea made Jane double over and grab her stomach. The surge of fear that gripped her chest like a vice had her feverish and light-headed. Sweat ran into her eyes, blurring her vision. She tried to slow her breathing, to ignore the panic coursing through her in a monster wave. Her throat was closing in and she struggled to breathe. One minute, two minutes crawled by. She needed to get out of this apartment because she was surely going to die or go crazy if she didn’t escape the stifling room. She staggered toward the door.
The night air was cool on her skin and chilled the sweat beaded on her face and arms. She’d grabbed a sweatshirt on her way out, knowing that she’d be shivering when the sweating stopped, and she yanked it over her head and pulled the hood up as she ran the length of the block, trying to outpace the demons clawing to get out. She inhaled deeply, several full, slow breaths, and gradually the fear lessened and she felt back inside her body. She slowed her pace to a brisk walk and kept going in the direction of the lake, relief replacing the panic. The headlights from passing cars slid by, but she kept to the shadows.
At the corner of Victoria and Princess, she hesitated as the light turned green and looked behind her. Somebody was hurrying toward her, their long coat flapping around their legs as they ran. She felt her chest begin to constrict again but the figure appeared too small to be a man, and as the woman got closer, Jane forced herself to relax. She turned and crossed as the light blinked to yellow. She had been so certain that she’d left the panic attacks behind her in prison that this one had come as a shock. It had rattled her to her core. She picked up speed as she walked, trying to swallow the anguish that threatened to make her break down and weep.
Head down, at first she didn’t hear her name being called. She turned her head sideways. The woman in the open trench coat was almost next to her, breathing hard and trying to get her attention. She was an older woman with messy auburn hair and concerned brown eyes. Jane slowed her steps.
The woman’s voice was apologetic. “I’m sorry to bother you, but you looked so upset running out of the door of that apartment building. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. You knew my name. Do I know you?”
“No. My name is Marci Stokes and I’m a reporter with the Whig-Standard. I don’t mean to intrude and this is totally off the record. Can I buy you a cup of coffee or a drink or something? You look ready to pass out.”
Jane was not a stupid woman. She knew that Marci Stokes had been waiting outside her apartment hoping for an opportunity to question her, but the panic attack had left her shaken and in need of distraction. At least this reporter had been up front about her profession. She looked intelligent and warm, like someone Jane would have befriended back when she had a life. She spotted a coffee shop up ahead.
“I could sit for a minute.”
They walked without speaking and Marci held the door open, saying, “Why don’t you find a table and I’ll get two coffees. Do you take cream and sugar?”
Jane nodded even though she didn’t take sugar. She felt drained and sugar might give her some energy. She took a table near the window and looked listlessly out at the street. She thought about Ben and Olivia and imagined herself back in her house before all the ugliness. Their faces from four years ago floated on the glass in front of her. Her sweet children, the only good thing in her life. She was so deep into the memory that she forgot all about Marci until she set a coffee cup in front of her and sat down with a groan. “This has been one long day. I’m beat. Thanks for keeping me company.”
Jane wrapped her hands around the coffee cup, finding pleasure in its warmth. Now that they were sitting close together, she regretted having agreed to share the table with a reporter who would no doubt be looking for a sensational angle, not that there weren’t lots of them already out there.
Marci lifted her cup and grimaced after the first swallow. “I always think I’m going to enjoy this beverage more than I do. Must have something to do with the smell of coffee being so seductive. I read up on your story, by the way. I don’t pretend to walk in your shoes, but I understand making a fool of yourself over love. I keep doing it over and over myself.”
“At least you never went to prison for it.”
“At least not that.”
They smiled at each other and Jane finally raised the cup to her lips. The coffee was sugary sweet and hot. Marci appeared content to sit without speaking and Jane felt herself relaxing. She looked at their reflections in the window. Marci was younger than she’d first thought. Probably in her forties, but she didn’t appear to care much about her appearance. This gave Jane the confidence to say, “My husband Adam was in love with how I looked. At first, I liked all the attention and compliments but toward the end, his obsession with my physical self became … unbearable.”
“Is that why you started up with Devon Eton?” Marci tilted her head to one side.
Jane looked down at her hands. They were dry and chafed. She’d meant to buy some hand cream but kept forgetting. She spoke quietly. “I wanted out. I couldn’t do it anymore. And for all I gave up, he won’t let me see my children.” She lifted her head.
Marci nodded as if she understood. Jane knew that she didn’t. How could she?
“Surely, he can’t keep you from seeing them. You are their mother.”
“He has sole custody. Devon’s death gives him another reason to keep them from me.”
Marci hunkered forward, her brow furrowed in rows of concentration. “Does Adam believe you killed him?”
Jane laughed. “Is this your way of asking me if I did it?”
“I guess it is. Sorry to have come at it that way.” She grinned an apology.
“You’ll forgive me if I give this a pass. I’ve been misquoted almost every time I spoke to a reporter before you.” Jane took a last drink from the cup and got to her feet. She left the cup on the table. “Thank you for the coffee. I’ll finish my walk now and hope you understand when I say that I’d like to be alone.”
“Of course. You look like you’re feeling better. Maybe, we can talk on the record sometime. I could tell your side of the story. Here, take my card.”
Jane hesitated, but she accepted the card and tucked it inside the pocket of her jeans. “Thanks,” she said, “but I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for me to call.”
“There’s no time limit.” Marci lifted her coffee cup in Jane’s direction. “Consider my offer open-ended. It’s never a bad idea to get your side of the story out there. I could be your voice.”
Marci finished her coffee and returned to the counter for a refill and a honey cruller. She ate the doughnut at the same table where she’d sat with Jane Thompson and thought over their conversation. Jane had looked so ill and frightened when she’d spotted her coming out of the apartment building — as if she was being pursued by an axe murderer. It took a second for her to recognize Jane, having only seen photos and video news footage from around the time of her trial. The short hair was a surprise and she was thinner but still undeniably attractive. When Jane had careened out of the front door, Marci had watched for a few moments to see if anyone was following her. When it became obvious that Jane was alone, she set out in pursuit. What or who had spooked her? That never became clear.
Marci licked sticky honey from her fingers as she pondered what it was about Jane Thompson that didn’t ring true. She pulled out her cellphone and checked for messages. Nothing yet from Woodhouse. Maybe, she should stop barking up that tree. The guy was something of a snake.
She tucked her phone back into her pocket and took out her mini tape recorder. She’d turned it to record before she brought the coffees to the table but had kept it in her pocket. Not exactly ethical, but she wasn’t planning to use anything Jane said, not that Jane had said much.
On her way back to her car, she clicked play on the tape recorder and plugged in an ear bud. Jane’s voice was low and pleasing to the ear. She was stunning up close. Marci had never seen eyes so blue. Hypnotic and hard to look away from. Had Devon Eton been seduced the first time that he looked into those eyes?
Marci stopped walking. She hit rewind on the tape recorder and listened a second time to Jane explain how she couldn’t take it anymore. Marci had thought that Jane was speaking about her wanting out of her claustrophobic marriage. Yet, the last sentence didn’t fit. Marci realized that Jane could have meant something entirely different.
I wanted out. I couldn’t do it anymore. And for all I gave up, he won’t let me see my children.
What had she given up that made her think she’d get to see her children? Marci popped out the ear bud and took her car keys from her pocket, so deep in thought that she walked past her car the first time. She checked her watch. Going on ten o’clock and she was tired, but her reporter nose was twitching. She’d head home, pour a Scotch and spend an hour on the internet. Something told her Jane Thompson had more story to tell but needed to be coaxed along. Time to get out the rake and start rooting through the dirt to see if she could get a new angle on this sordid tale.