eventually.
“Now get on outta here, ‘fore they change they minds,” she says.
“It’s been known to happen,” Nicolette says, still sitting on her bunk.
“Thanks,” I say.
With that, I’m quickly out the door and on my way to freedom. It’s the most beautiful moment of my life.
* * *
J ames is there when I walk out, but Jillian insists that I ride with her. It’s hard to think that it’s been less than twenty-four hours. I’m sure I’m just being melodramatic, but it really does feel like things have changed since I was put in jail. Hopefully, the hard part is over.
“You got lucky,” Jillian says as we pull away from the jail. “I mean, really lucky.”
“I had the truth on my side,” I say, joyfully looking out the window as the jail fades into the distance. “I don’t think that luck had anything to do with it.”
“Usually it’s the ones who are telling the truth that end up getting the worst of it,” Jillian says and lights up a cigarette. She glances over at me. “For your sake though,” she says, “I’m glad things turned out the way that they did.”
“Thanks,” I say. We come out of the DMZ and are finally back in civilization. Something’s bothering me though. “What happened? I mean, they had Melissa’s testimony that I had gone back into the office—which I never did, by the way.”
“Yeah,” Jillian says, flicking her cigarette into the half-full ashtray, “turns out she has a history of telling stories.”
“Telling stories?” I ask. “What do you mean?”
“She’s a Munchausen’s case,” Jillian says. “I mean, that sort of thing only really has to do with medical issues, but I guess your coworker went a little crazy with it after they locked you up.”
“How so?” I ask, not sure why I’m trying to be sneaky as I start inching my fingers toward Jillian’s cigarettes.
She notices what I’m doing without so much as glancing away from the road. She swiftly slaps my wrist, saying, “You’re not a smoker, and I’ll be damned if I let your brother know that you started because I wasn’t policing my pack.”
“Ow,” I say, pulling my hand back. “I’m not planning on making a habit of it, I’m just glad to be free, you know?”
“I don’t think anyone ever picks up their first cigarette and says, ‘I’m going to make a habit of this.’ It’s a drug, Rose. The shit’s more addictive than heroin.”
“Is that true?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve heard reports both ways.”
“What did Melissa say that made them stop trusting her?”
“It started out with a few embellishments,” Jillian says, blowing the smoke out of the corner of her mouth while she’s talking. It’s quite possibly the most fascinating action that I’ve ever seen.
“Like what?” I ask, wondering why I’m being made to pry this information out of my own lawyer.
“Well,” she says, ashing again, “at first, she said that you just went into the office for a minute, then came back out and walked to the elevator. Then she said that when you were walking to the elevator, you seemed really upset about something. Then she said that you walked into the office carrying a knife in your hand. Then she started saying that she could have sworn that she heard you yelling while you were in there.”
“A knife? Wow—” I start to respond, but Jillian continues.
“ Then she said that she saw blood on your hands after you came out.” She snuffs out her cigarette, but it’s still smoking. It makes me a little nervous, but doesn’t seem to bother Jillian in the slightest as she lights up another one. “I think the one that finally did it was when she called the detective and told him that you came to her desk right before you went in there, saying that he had to pay for treating you that way, then took a knife from your purse and only then went into the office to do
“Now get on outta here, ‘fore they change they minds,” she says.
“It’s been known to happen,” Nicolette says, still sitting on her bunk.
“Thanks,” I say.
With that, I’m quickly out the door and on my way to freedom. It’s the most beautiful moment of my life.
* * *
J ames is there when I walk out, but Jillian insists that I ride with her. It’s hard to think that it’s been less than twenty-four hours. I’m sure I’m just being melodramatic, but it really does feel like things have changed since I was put in jail. Hopefully, the hard part is over.
“You got lucky,” Jillian says as we pull away from the jail. “I mean, really lucky.”
“I had the truth on my side,” I say, joyfully looking out the window as the jail fades into the distance. “I don’t think that luck had anything to do with it.”
“Usually it’s the ones who are telling the truth that end up getting the worst of it,” Jillian says and lights up a cigarette. She glances over at me. “For your sake though,” she says, “I’m glad things turned out the way that they did.”
“Thanks,” I say. We come out of the DMZ and are finally back in civilization. Something’s bothering me though. “What happened? I mean, they had Melissa’s testimony that I had gone back into the office—which I never did, by the way.”
“Yeah,” Jillian says, flicking her cigarette into the half-full ashtray, “turns out she has a history of telling stories.”
“Telling stories?” I ask. “What do you mean?”
“She’s a Munchausen’s case,” Jillian says. “I mean, that sort of thing only really has to do with medical issues, but I guess your coworker went a little crazy with it after they locked you up.”
“How so?” I ask, not sure why I’m trying to be sneaky as I start inching my fingers toward Jillian’s cigarettes.
She notices what I’m doing without so much as glancing away from the road. She swiftly slaps my wrist, saying, “You’re not a smoker, and I’ll be damned if I let your brother know that you started because I wasn’t policing my pack.”
“Ow,” I say, pulling my hand back. “I’m not planning on making a habit of it, I’m just glad to be free, you know?”
“I don’t think anyone ever picks up their first cigarette and says, ‘I’m going to make a habit of this.’ It’s a drug, Rose. The shit’s more addictive than heroin.”
“Is that true?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve heard reports both ways.”
“What did Melissa say that made them stop trusting her?”
“It started out with a few embellishments,” Jillian says, blowing the smoke out of the corner of her mouth while she’s talking. It’s quite possibly the most fascinating action that I’ve ever seen.
“Like what?” I ask, wondering why I’m being made to pry this information out of my own lawyer.
“Well,” she says, ashing again, “at first, she said that you just went into the office for a minute, then came back out and walked to the elevator. Then she said that when you were walking to the elevator, you seemed really upset about something. Then she said that you walked into the office carrying a knife in your hand. Then she started saying that she could have sworn that she heard you yelling while you were in there.”
“A knife? Wow—” I start to respond, but Jillian continues.
“ Then she said that she saw blood on your hands after you came out.” She snuffs out her cigarette, but it’s still smoking. It makes me a little nervous, but doesn’t seem to bother Jillian in the slightest as she lights up another one. “I think the one that finally did it was when she called the detective and told him that you came to her desk right before you went in there, saying that he had to pay for treating you that way, then took a knife from your purse and only then went into the office to do
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