One Last Breath Read online

“He should be a minute. You can go in now,” he said before opening the door for her.

  Tara took a deep breath and held the air in her lungs for a moment, as if about to jump into a pool. She stepped into the room, and the door slammed shut behind her. She exhaled. The room was small, about six feet in every direction. It was bare except for a single chair, which sat in front of a glass window. A short steel desk jutted from beneath it.

  Tara took a seat as her mind swirled into a haze. No one was in the room opposite the glass window, but she knew that any minute her father would walk through the door. She continued to reassure herself as she sat there. He’s in here, you’re free, she reminded herself. He can’t hurt you. You have every right to ask questions. You’re strong. Don’t you dare look weak in front of him. You came for one thing, and you’re going to get it. She told herself that over and over again as she stared at the doorknob to the room across from her, as if in a trance.

  She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. It was instinctual—like staring at the door in an active shooting, hoping you won’t be found. Even after coming so far, there was still a part of her that hoped he wouldn’t want to see her and that they wouldn’t come face to face. But it was a hope she kept pushing away, swatting at it each time it surfaced. She needed to be here. She needed to see him in person.

  The doorknob began to turn, snapping Tara out of her trance. She sat up straight, took a deep breath, and tried her best to look as relaxed as possible. The door swung open, and in stepped a tall, lanky officer with jet-black hair. His keys dangled from his belt loop, and they clanked at each movement, almost synchronizing with the pulsating that suddenly started in Tara’s head. He held the door open, looked toward Tara, and nodded––as if to say hello––and then turned toward the door frame.

  Every muscle in Tara’s body stiffened. The pulsating in her head roared in her ears. She stared at the door as everything else darkened around it. It felt like minutes were going by, when it had only been a matter of seconds. She could hear movement, then a figure stood in the doorway. She noticed the orange jumpsuit first, but then her eyes moved up his body, and she noticed that someone else stood behind him—an officer, escorting him in. They stopped walking once the door was closed, and Tara stared at the man in the orange jumpsuit’s wrists as the officer removed his cuffs.

  The officers then stepped back as the orange jumpsuit moved toward her, and for the first time she looked up at his face, at her father. He had the same dark brown eyes that had intimidated her as a child, the same large, sharp jaw, and the same large, masculine nose that always reminded her of Robert De Niro. But he also looked different. He had lines on his face that showed the passage of time; his skin was no longer tight and youthful but hung slightly under his chin; and his brown hair was now speckled with white.

  He smiled at her as he took a seat, and Tara could feel the tiny hairs on her arms suddenly stand up. It was the smile that had given her nightmares, that had always stuck in her mind. It was the smile he had given her as a child as he stood over her mother’s body.

  He reached for the phone, and Tara did the same. Her hand was slick with sweat, and she held the phone tightly in her grip.

  They sat quietly for a moment, both unsure of how to even start a conversation, but then he spoke.

  “Tara,” he said in one exhale, like a sigh of relief to be able to say her name.

  He stared at her a moment, studying her face. A look of pain momentarily washed over him. Tara knew it was because she was grown. It signified how many years he hadn’t seen her. After all, she was six years old the last time she saw him, when he was charged with her mother’s murder, and she was now twenty-five. But she also knew it was because of the woman she’d grown into. When her grandmother was alive, she’d told her many times how much she resembled her mother. She had her green eyes, her long lashes, her petite little nose, and her olive skin. She could see that her father saw it too. He knitted his eyebrows, and his mouth hung slightly open as he studied her face—it was shock and sadness.

  His eyes momentarily fell, and then he looked toward her again. “Well, how are you?”

  Her hand that gripped the phone shook slightly. “Fine.”

  A smile formed on his face, and Tara could feel anger rise within her. He had a look of satisfaction, a moment of happiness, but he didn’t deserve even a fraction of it. She wished she could slap the look off his face. It felt like a betrayal that she caused it—her mother’s daughter. Her stomach twisted into a knot at the thought. What would her mother think if she saw this moment? Would she be hurt? Would she feel betrayed?

  A fire swirled within her, but then she felt his eyes studying her, and she remembered her purpose. It’s not betrayal, she reminded herself. I’m here for the truth. My mom would want me to dig deep and find it. At that thought, she knew that making him feel flickers of happiness was exactly what she needed to do. She needed him to feel comfortable. She relaxed slightly in her chair.

  “How are you?” she finally replied. He smiled again, and Tara quickly extinguished her natural emotional response.

  He shrugged. “As good as I can be,” he started and then hesitated, as if afraid to speak what he was about to say. “But I have to say, my day just got a lot better,” he finally added.

  An awkward silence fell around them. That’s odd, Tara thought. To see him not drunk or angry.

  She knew he wanted to ask her why she was here, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment, and she let him enjoy it.

  “So, what have you been up to in here?” she asked. It was a stupid question. What could anyone be up to in prison? But she had to keep the conversation going, and she didn’t want to be the subject of it.

  He let out a chuckle. “Well, just trying to keep busy,” he started. “I get my plumbing license renewed every year, so that’s something I help out with around here.”

  Tara nodded. Her dad had been a plumber. She clearly remembered him coming home each day, his clothes tattered and stained, as he reached for a beer in the fridge before wanting anyone to say a word to him.

  “They try to give us each a job around here,” he added. “Certainly saves them a few bucks.” He smiled. “But I can’t complain. I’d rather be doing that then lying in my cell all day.”

  Tara nodded again.

  “But enough about me, what about you?” he asked. “You working? Married yet?”

  His eyes moved to her finger wrapped around the phone, and she suddenly felt vulnerable.

  She shook her head. “I’m working, but not married yet.” She didn’t want to go into detail. She didn’t want to tell him about John, about how good he was to her. It would bring him too much joy.

  “Where do you work?” he asked as he stared at her with eager eyes.

  She shifted slightly in her seat. She didn’t know if she should tell him, and she felt a slight panic wash over her. She knew if she told him the truth, he would be less likely to confide in her about the details of the night of her mother’s murder.

  “I’m an accountant,” she replied. It was the first occupation that popped into her head because of John.

  “Ahh, a number cruncher.” He sat back in his chair, letting his body relax. “Good for you, Tara.”

  Tara forced a smile as the room fell silent.

  He suddenly stiffened, moving closer to the window, as if about to tell a secret. “You know, I was surprised to hear you wanted to see me…after all these years.” He met Tara’s eyes, clearly hoping she would reply before he had to ask the question. But she didn’t. “What made you want to?”

  Tara’s mouth was dry. This was it: it was time to ask. A moment of doubt seeped into her mind. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I should just go. But then she remembered the promise to herself. She couldn’t allow herself to leave unless she asked.

  “Dad, I have to ask you something.” It was her first time addressing him as “Dad” since she was a child, and it tasted sour rolling off her tongue. But she knew she h
ad to. She couldn’t be cold to him if she wanted him to give her an answer.

  He raised his eyebrows, waiting, but she could see a tinge of worry in his eyes.

  “I’ve been having these dreams,” she started. “About Mom…about you.”

  He stiffened. “About what?” he asked, loud and proud. He was trying to play dumb, but Tara could see the complete panic in his eyes. He wouldn’t blink; he wouldn’t dare lose focus with her. He was afraid to miss the slightest hint of what would come next.

  His reaction fueled her. He was afraid she would bring something up, she could feel it, and it only solidified her desire to ask.

  She leaned in closer. “It’s always about the night it happened,” she started, being careful how she worded it. “When we lost Mom,” she added.

  Small beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, but she was careful not to look at them. She knew her father would never be receptive if he felt he was being attacked or purposely made to feel uncomfortable.

  Tara swallowed hard. “It always starts out with me in the closet, but then I come out and I see you in the living room, standing over Mom. But you whisper something to the corner of the room, which I couldn’t see. It almost seems as if someone was—”

  She was about to say “there” but he abruptly spoke. “Dreams are dreams, Tara,” he spat with annoyance. “I don’t think I can help you. I’m not a psychologist.” He looked toward a camera in the corner of the room and waved at it, signaling he was done with the meeting.

  Tara began to panic. She knew he heard what she was trying to say, that someone was in the room, and now he was acting odd. She was on the brink of something; she could feel it.

  “Wait,” she said as an officer began to open the door. “It’s not just a dream. It’s a memory. Someone was in the room, I—”

  Her father stood up. “We’re done here,” he uttered as the officer entered the room and began to place the cuffs on him.

  Tara stood up. She knew now; there was something suspicious about that night. There was someone there. He wouldn’t be acting this way if there weren’t.

  “Who are you protecting?” she yelled. “Who else was there?”

  Her father acted as if he hadn’t heard, but she knew her voice was still slightly audible through the glass. The officer looked at her for a split-second, but then her father leaned in closer, whispering in his ear. As he pulled back, the officer nodded. It was clear that her father was telling him he wanted to leave the room now, that he didn’t want to reply to her, and he got what he wished. The officer led him to the door, reached for the knob, and was soon escorting him through the threshold. The door slammed shut behind them.

  Chapter Five

  Tara stood in the lobby. They had led her out of the room and down the hall to where she first checked in. She had nowhere else to go but leave, and she was heading to the entrance of the building until her feet stopped short. She was still trying to make sense of what had just occurred. Her head was spinning. She had come for answers, but her father only refused to hear her. What did I expect? Deep down, she knew her father wouldn’t react welcoming to the memory, but she was so busy preparing herself for how to confront him that she hadn’t prepared herself for the outcome.

  Now what? Her skepticism was heightened more than ever. Her drive to find the truth was now in full gear. She had touched a nerve. So much so that he couldn’t even formulate a response. She just hoped that she didn’t ruin her chances of being able to see him again, to ask him once more. She knew he could always deny her future visits, and she had a worried feeling that he might.

  “Everything all right?” she heard.

  Her head turned to Owen, still sitting behind the counter where he had checked her in when she arrived. He was staring at her with a concerned look, reminding her that she had been standing there, consumed by her thoughts, for a moment too long. She turned to him as it suddenly occurred to her that she had signed her name on the way in and that everyone who had come to visit an inmate had to do the same. It was an obvious thought, but it was motivated by something she knew might help her. She had come all this way, and she didn’t want to leave empty-handed. Maybe she could see the visitation records. She couldn’t think of anyone that would come visit her father, but maybe there was. It would give her a lead, if so.

  Owen continued to stare at her, his bushy brows raised, confused. She moved closer.

  “Sorry,” she started. She looked around her; no one was nearby. The few chairs placed in the center of the room, where visitors waited for the name to be called, were unoccupied. The room was empty except for the two of them and the armed guard by the metal detector. She lowered her voice as she reached into her pocket for her badge. She didn’t want it to be known that she was an agent, because she didn’t want her father to know, but she was desperate now, and she could only hope that he wouldn’t find out.

  She flashed it in front of Owen. She wasn’t sure if he knew she was now in the FBI, and his face only confirmed that he didn’t. His eyes opened wide.

  “I need to see the visitation log of Richard Mills,” she said as she leaned in closer.

  “Of your father?” he asked skeptically.

  “That’s correct,” she said. “I’m looking into his case.” She knew she was bending the truth. This was a private matter. She was not on a case for the FBI, and her words were misleading.

  Owen sighed, and Tara realized that it was too obvious it was personal, and she could see the same pity once again surface in his eyes. Visitation logs were not something they readily handed over. He looked up at her in an endearing way, and Tara could tell he felt for her.

  “Do you have a subpoena?” he asked.

  She didn’t, and she shook her head, hope evaporating as she anticipated his next words.

  “Tara, you know I can’t give it to you then. I’m sorry.”

  She had known it would be difficult, if next to impossible to retrieve them, but desperation was pulling at her hard.

  She leaned even closer, her voice now a frantic low whisper. “Owen, you don’t understand,” she said. “It’s extremely important that I know who’s been visiting him. Something is not right with this case.” She could feel emotion rising within her. She steadied herself as she pulled back from the counter. She didn’t want him to see, but it was too late; he had sensed it. He could hear the panic in her voice, and his face scrunched even more into concern. A half smile formed. He pitied her, it was obvious, and it gave Tara another spark of hope.

  But then his eyes moved to the stoic officer standing by the metal detector. He was staring at them, studying Tara, as if waiting to step in.

  “I’m sorry, Tara,” Owen finally said. “I can’t help you if you don’t have a subpoena.”

  Her heart sank. The last bit of hope had finally gone out inside her. But she understood. He had no authority to hand over those documents unless there was an active case and she had a subpoena, but her father’s case had been closed for many years. In his eyes, she just looked like any other desperate family member. Her eyes moved to a camera in the corner of the room. He was doing his job, and Tara would never want to sacrifice that for her own benefit. She thanked him, finally giving in to defeat. Hopelessness swirled within her belly as she turned to the door and exited into the parking lot. She had no answers, nowhere to look, and now she would have to take a plane home empty-handed.

  Her only option would be to try to confront her father again.

  ***

  Tara waited as John unlocked their apartment and opened the door. As soon as they stepped inside, she dropped her bags on the floor and collapsed on the couch. It had finally hit her just how exhausting the day had actually been.

  The whole plane ride home, Tara had been replaying the meeting with her father, and she still couldn’t quite make sense of it. The only thing she was certain of was that he was hiding something—he had to be.

  “I just don’t get why he would be covering for someone,” she fin
ally said. John stood in the kitchen, filling up the kettle. He nodded.

  She had already told him everything that unfolded as he drove her home from the airport, and he had agreed that it was suspicious.

  “I don’t know what to do if he won’t tell me,” she admitted, feeling totally defeated.

  John turned on the burner and then moved toward Tara and took a seat on the couch next to her.

  “Do you think your dad speaks to anyone else?”

  It was something she had considered, but Tara shook her head. It was unlikely.

  “He doesn’t really have anyone else,” she said. “He just had Jennie, and well, I told you what happened to her.”

  The only sibling her father had was a sister who lived in California, but she didn’t live there very long before becoming addicted to drugs and overdosing. Tara’s father never spoke of her much, but from what Tara understood, they never had much of a relationship at all. Her father grew up in a family similar to the one he created—he had a drunk, abusive father and a mother who was scared for her life half the time. It was an environment that made those within it feel the need to fend for themselves. And so, when his sister was eighteen, she took a bus across the country and cut ties with everyone who reminded her of where she came from.

  The kettle began to whistle, and John quickly got up to attend to it, but Tara only stared in front of her. She had to get answers. There was something being kept from her—she could feel it pulsating through her body. She had seen it on his face the moment she mentioned she wanted to ask him something. She could see the fear—a fear that he had held all along but bubbled to the surface at Tara’s words.

  John placed a steaming cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her, but she only stared at it. She was searching in every corner of her mind for answers, for a lead. I can go back to where it happened, she said to herself. Maybe a neighbor saw someone leave the house that night. Maybe they saw someone lurking around the area. It was worth a shot, but she also didn’t want to waste time. She knew it was possible that her old neighbors didn’t live in the same house anymore. After all, it had been over twenty years.