Before Claire knew what happened, she was on the floor. Shoes and voices were all she saw and heard...
Meredith couldn’t react fast enough. She knew the woman across the room was Claire. Despite her dull, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and her too pale complexion, Meredith recognized her sorority sister. It was her eyes. Yes, they lacked the luster of their youth, but Meredith had no doubt—the too thin woman with emerald eyes was definitely Claire.
Meredith wanted to call out, but if she did, she’d blow her cover. Briefly, their eyes met, bringing a momentary spark of recognition. Before Meredith could move, comment, or anything—Claire fell to the floor as if she’d been struck. Suddenly, she was lying in a fetal position, shaking her head, and mumbling incoherently.
The woman who’d been walking with her calmly knelt beside Claire and made a call. Within seconds, they were surrounded by other members of the facility’s staff. Meredith moved forward in seemingly slow motion as they scooped Claire onto a gurney and slid an IV into her arm.
Meredith’s ragged breath pulled at her chest as the needle entered Claire’s skin. She quietly eased herself closer to the woman she once knew. By the time she was beside the gurney, Claire’s emerald eyes held little sign of recognition. Under the guise of the commotion, Meredith gently touched Claire’s forearm and moved her lips near Claire’s ear. “Claire, it’s me, Meredith. Please help me tell your story.”
The trembling woman before her slipped away. Her last gaze toward Meredith was one of relief as the peaceful calm of medication overtook her body. Helplessly, Meredith watched the gurney being wheeled away.
The pain in her arm was back, but so was the calm. Before the dreams began, Claire tried to process the identity of that woman. She felt an undeniable belief that she should know her, but it wasn’t right. The woman didn’t belong here, not in her safe haven. Claire’s thoughts were scattered...her story. No, the story wasn’t just hers.
The story belonged to so many others, so many others, who like her, would never be able to tell the world what happened; so many others, who were now silenced—now and forever, yet Claire knew every word—she’d lived it.
Tell her story? No...some things were better left unknown!
People are stupid; given proper motivation, almost anyone will believe almost anything.
—Terry Goodkind
Sighing, Claire fastened the final clasp on her luggage and turned toward Phil. “I’m glad you didn’t need to fly back to Iowa, to meet with the Iowa City Police Department.”
Golden flecks shimmered in Phil’s hazel eyes as he responded, “Well, Mrs. Alexander, it wouldn’t be very husbandly of me to let you travel to Venice all by yourself.” Nodding toward her midsection, he continued, “Especially, not in your condition.”
Claire’s hand instinctively moved to her growing baby. With a small smile, she replied, “Mr. Alexander, I certainly appreciate that.”
While Phil spoke, Claire made the final adjustments on her dark wig. She’d gotten good at making the fake hair look real. That didn’t mean it didn’t itch. She was beyond ready to forgo the disguises.
Phil continued, “It seems the ICPD no longer needs my information. The prosecutor’s office said they had new evidence to investigate and asked that I keep in touch.”
“Hmm,” Claire hummed in agreement as she placed a few more hairpins. When her lips were clear, she asked, “I wonder what new evidence came their way?”
Stepping behind her, he gazed into their reflection. When their eyes met, he grinned and answered, “Since I heard your end of the conversation, I’d say they were informed of a very—”
A loud knock interrupted Phil’s words. The straightening of his stance told Claire he saw the concern in her eyes. Every contact was suspicious and required scrutiny. Phil nodded silently, stood taller, and walked toward the door.
Claire didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she released it, hearing her husband announce, “It’s the bellhop. Are you ready to leave?”
Allowing her shoulders to relax, Claire took one last look around the suite. The luxurious furnishings paled in comparison to the lovely view beyond the balcony. As the sun rose in the East, hues of blue and sparkling waves danced across the water of Lake Geneva. The unseasonably warm breeze bathed her cheeks as she paused and gazed at the sight for one last time. She knew it was time to go; their things were packed and ready. Exhaling, she replied, “Yes, I’m ready to move on.”
Phil nodded as he opened the door and allowed the hotel employee to enter.
Meredith couldn’t react fast enough. She knew the woman across the room was Claire. Despite her dull, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and her too pale complexion, Meredith recognized her sorority sister. It was her eyes. Yes, they lacked the luster of their youth, but Meredith had no doubt—the too thin woman with emerald eyes was definitely Claire.
Meredith wanted to call out, but if she did, she’d blow her cover. Briefly, their eyes met, bringing a momentary spark of recognition. Before Meredith could move, comment, or anything—Claire fell to the floor as if she’d been struck. Suddenly, she was lying in a fetal position, shaking her head, and mumbling incoherently.
The woman who’d been walking with her calmly knelt beside Claire and made a call. Within seconds, they were surrounded by other members of the facility’s staff. Meredith moved forward in seemingly slow motion as they scooped Claire onto a gurney and slid an IV into her arm.
Meredith’s ragged breath pulled at her chest as the needle entered Claire’s skin. She quietly eased herself closer to the woman she once knew. By the time she was beside the gurney, Claire’s emerald eyes held little sign of recognition. Under the guise of the commotion, Meredith gently touched Claire’s forearm and moved her lips near Claire’s ear. “Claire, it’s me, Meredith. Please help me tell your story.”
The trembling woman before her slipped away. Her last gaze toward Meredith was one of relief as the peaceful calm of medication overtook her body. Helplessly, Meredith watched the gurney being wheeled away.
The pain in her arm was back, but so was the calm. Before the dreams began, Claire tried to process the identity of that woman. She felt an undeniable belief that she should know her, but it wasn’t right. The woman didn’t belong here, not in her safe haven. Claire’s thoughts were scattered...her story. No, the story wasn’t just hers.
The story belonged to so many others, so many others, who like her, would never be able to tell the world what happened; so many others, who were now silenced—now and forever, yet Claire knew every word—she’d lived it.
Tell her story? No...some things were better left unknown!
People are stupid; given proper motivation, almost anyone will believe almost anything.
—Terry Goodkind
Sighing, Claire fastened the final clasp on her luggage and turned toward Phil. “I’m glad you didn’t need to fly back to Iowa, to meet with the Iowa City Police Department.”
Golden flecks shimmered in Phil’s hazel eyes as he responded, “Well, Mrs. Alexander, it wouldn’t be very husbandly of me to let you travel to Venice all by yourself.” Nodding toward her midsection, he continued, “Especially, not in your condition.”
Claire’s hand instinctively moved to her growing baby. With a small smile, she replied, “Mr. Alexander, I certainly appreciate that.”
While Phil spoke, Claire made the final adjustments on her dark wig. She’d gotten good at making the fake hair look real. That didn’t mean it didn’t itch. She was beyond ready to forgo the disguises.
Phil continued, “It seems the ICPD no longer needs my information. The prosecutor’s office said they had new evidence to investigate and asked that I keep in touch.”
“Hmm,” Claire hummed in agreement as she placed a few more hairpins. When her lips were clear, she asked, “I wonder what new evidence came their way?”
Stepping behind her, he gazed into their reflection. When their eyes met, he grinned and answered, “Since I heard your end of the conversation, I’d say they were informed of a very—”
A loud knock interrupted Phil’s words. The straightening of his stance told Claire he saw the concern in her eyes. Every contact was suspicious and required scrutiny. Phil nodded silently, stood taller, and walked toward the door.
Claire didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she released it, hearing her husband announce, “It’s the bellhop. Are you ready to leave?”
Allowing her shoulders to relax, Claire took one last look around the suite. The luxurious furnishings paled in comparison to the lovely view beyond the balcony. As the sun rose in the East, hues of blue and sparkling waves danced across the water of Lake Geneva. The unseasonably warm breeze bathed her cheeks as she paused and gazed at the sight for one last time. She knew it was time to go; their things were packed and ready. Exhaling, she replied, “Yes, I’m ready to move on.”
Phil nodded as he opened the door and allowed the hotel employee to enter.
