Last Chances Die Softly Read online

  James Bee

  Last Chances Die Softly

  First published by James Bee in 2018

  Copyright © James Bee, 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  ISBN: 1987787447

  ISBN-13: 978-1987787443

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  About the Author

  1

  Chapter 1

  Mac stood outside the door, hand hovering over the knob. He didn’t grasp it. Every fiber in his body was telling him not to. He had to escape, to run away from the room. How could he go in and face what was waiting within? Sweat poured off his head and down his shirt. His knees were weak and he had to swallow the rising bile in the back of his throat to save himself from gagging. He could go neither forward nor back. He was trapped. Fear and guilt coursed through his veins, tearing him to shreds. Mac closed his eyes, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. His resolve had come apart. He couldn’t do it. He had to escape. Had to get away.

  A hand took hold of his shoulder. Mac turned and saw Mia smiling at him. Looking into her eyes, he was again struck by how much she looked like his Amy. All those years ago…

  Fuck it. Mac gritted his teeth and turned the knob before the rest of his courage fled. Stepping into the room, he avoided looking at the two people who were already sitting, waiting for him. Instead, Mac focused on his chair and strode toward it. They’d practiced this; he’d rehearsed what he was going to say over and over again in his mind. All that careful preparation disappeared in the beam of their glares. Mac lowered himself into the chair, starting hard at the ground, wishing he could sink into it. He knew he would have to look up soon; he owed them that at least. He’d never been able to do it before, meet their eyes. Even after all these years, the thought still sent icy panic through him.

  Mac heard Mia cough and shuffle her papers. It was their signal. He had to look up now. Nothing would happen until he did. The moment stretched as he kept looking down. Fighting down the need to escape the room, Mac slowly raised his eyes.

  Twenty-five years had changed both of them, as it had him. That they had aged shocked him, though he knew it shouldn’t. His last glimpse of the two women had stayed fresh in his mind after all these years. A stolen glance as he was dragged out of the courtroom. The years may have changed their appearance, but it didn’t seemed to have changed their feelings. Raw hate burned in both set of their eyes. Mac slumped down in his chair, crumbling under the withering gaze. Again Mia saved him.

  “Before we begin, I have a few formalities to get out of the way. As we discussed earlier, both parties have agreed to have this meeting recorded for the purposes of use in training. Has anyone changed their mind?” she asked, her voice calm and measured. Both of the women shook their heads. Mac did the same a moment later. Mia nodded and took a small device out of her bag. Placing the recorder on the table, she turned it on. “Now, let us begin. Today is March 3rd, 2017. This victim-offender mediation session is taking place at the Oakview Halfway House. This meeting is taking place between one Mr. Mac Mills and Mrs. Peggy Sampson and Miss Mary Sampson.” Formalities finished, Mia looked over at the mother and daughter, who were clutching each other’s hands. Mac knew how the session would begin. They’d gone over it again and again. More so than Mac thought was normal. Though his case was likely far from average.

  “I was thinking that we may as well start with questions, if you two have any that are present and pressing. It is my understanding that you haven’t had a chance to speak to Mac in well over twenty years,” Mia said. Mac winced Here it comes.

  Mary spoke first. “I have a question. Why did you kill her? Why did you take our sister from us?” Her voice was flat, but Mac could feel the anger behind it. Mac opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He’d planned for this; he’d written speech after speech. All of his carefully crafted justifications seemed suddenly hollow. What could he say? What reasons could he possibly give? He had nothing for them. Yet he had to say something. Had to open his mouth.

  “I … was so angry. I didn’t mean to…” Mac stuttered. He knew how empty it sounded.

  “You didn’t mean to! What did you think would happen? I saw her body. What you did to her. You murdered her. It was no accident. You killed her, and you meant to do it,” Mary cut in over him. “I want to know why. What was the reason? The real reason? Why did you kill my sister? Was she leaving you? Was there another man? Was it the drugs? Do you even remember?” Mac winced again, the weight of the guilt crushing him. The words were echoing in his head again, louder than ever. The last words Amy said to him. The words that had haunted his dreams for the past twenty-five years. They were straining to burst free. Yet he didn’t dare. If he let them out, his sanity would likely go along with it.

  “There was no reason. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t! It all happened so fast. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Mac realized he was starting at the floor again. He couldn’t help it.

  “Sorry? You’re sorry.” Peggy spoke for the first time. “She was my youngest, my baby. You took her from us. You took both of them from us. All you can say is you’re sorry?” Her voice caught, and she fell silent. Twenty-five years hadn’t been enough to dull the pain and the anger they felt toward him. Mac knew he was a fool for thinking that it would have, but he’d still hoped. They came here for closure, but how could he give it to them? How do you heal that wound?

  “I…” Mac opened and closed his mouth, having no words to fill it. Helpless, he looked over at Mia, desperate for guidance, for something. All her careful coaching hadn’t left him prepared for this. He’d been a blind fool to think it could go any different. What had he hoped? That they would listen to him and at the end offer their forgiveness?

  Mia cut in, saving him from oblivion. “Maybe we can change direction for a moment and circle back to this later. Perhaps it would be helpful for you to describe to Mac what his actions did to you both.”

  Mary looked at her like she’d grown an extra head. “Describe the effect of losing my sister? My best friend since birth? Why should I? Does he care? I don’t fucking think so. He’s here so that he doesn’t get sent back to prison. He doesn’t care about us or what we went through.”

  Peggy held up her hand to quiet her daughter. “We agreed to this meeting to know why he did what he did. Not to tell him about what it did to us or to reconcile or have a moment. It’s been twenty-five years since the trial, since I last laid my eyes on this man. It could have been a hundred years, and I wouldn’t
feel any different than I do now. I look at him, and all I see is my Amy’s blood smeared on his face.”

  Mac started at those words. How could she know? Did they take pictures when they took me in? Was she there? The whole night was a blur, and twenty-five years had only further dulled his memory.

  Mia pursed her lips. “I just fear that you are asking Mac for something he cannot give you. I’ve read the court notes, as all of you have. Mac gave his deposition, his reasons. In detail.”

  “Fucking lies!” Mary exploded. “It’s all bullshit. All of it. He got angry? That’s it. He got angry and took the knife to my sister. I didn’t buy it then, and I don’t buy it now. There was another reason. One he didn’t want to say because the judge would have thrown him in some cell where he’d never see the light of day again. I want to know why. We both want to know why. We deserve to know, Mac. You know we do. You can tell us the truth, or we can just walk out that door.”

  Mac felt panic start to take hold of him. Panic and another feeling. The desire to give the to women what they sought. To finally tell someone, to open up. Yet he knew once he opened that box, it could never shut again. His fate would be sealed. Mia would give her report, and he would be bundled back to prison.

  Yet perhaps it would be worth it. To unburden himself. Would it make Peggy and Mary feel better? Mac doubted it, though that was hardly his concern now. They had demanded to know, after all.

  Mac raised his head until he was gazing levelly at the two women. Then he opened his mouth.

  2

  Chapter 2

  Mia closed the door behind her and strode down the hall, eager to put distance between herself and Mac. She was supposed to do a debriefing, to talk about what went right and what went wrong in the meeting. She suppressed a shudder. There was no way she could bear talking about it now. I need time to think. Was he lying? Did he just say those things to scare them? Shock the two women? Why would he do that? All of the time they’d spent preparing seemed to have been for nothing. All her best efforts hadn’t been enough. Now it was likely the whole program would be in jeopardy. If Mary and Peggy complained to the Head of Corrective Programs, or worse, if they went to the press… Not that Mia would blame them they if they did. They came looking for closure, and all they found was more pain.

  Old hinges screamed as Mia pushed open a door. The room was empty save for a pair of beds hugging opposing walls. Just a quick nap, then I’ll drive home. Mia was exhausted. The meeting had sucked her dry. Mac’s words echoed painfully in her head, setting her mind spinning. One question pushed through the haze. Did he tell the truth? Mia almost wanted to dismiss the thought outright, to label it impossible. She’d come here to help, to bleed away some of her own guilt. The men here were misunderstood, labeled monsters for crimes that had happened in their youth. Mia wanted to show that even though people made mistakes, they could be forgiven, redeemed. If they could be, then she could be forgiven for own her mistakes. Even if she could never forgive herself.

  But with a few short sentences, Mac had shaken that belief to its very foundations. He is a monster. Was it all just an act for me? Did he want to play me for the judge? The springs howled in protest as Mia sat down on one of the beds. Exhaustion lay heavy on hey eyes, and she longed to close them, though it wasn’t even night. Despite this, her head continued to buzz. Why couldn’t he have been like Hank? Hank had been her first real success, as complete a one as could be hoped for. When he’d met what was left of the family, it had started much the same as today, but everything had been different by the end. Once they heard Hank’s side, once he told them of his remorse, how he’d been turning his life around, everything changed. They saw him as a man who made a mistake decades ago, not as a heartless killer. Just last month they had spoken for Hank at his last meeting with the judge. That success had given Mia heart, quieting the guilt that screamed in her head.

  It was back now, stronger than ever. You took her from us. Peggy’s words thundered in her ears. They may have not been meant for her, but it fit just the same. What would her own mother say if they met? Would she scream as the two women had, thrown accusations at her? Demand to know why she had let her sister die beside her? Why she had just lain there while the life bled away?

  Mia tried to shake the thoughts away, but her head barely moved. With a start, she realized she couldn’t move. How can I be so tired? Even as she thought that, the realization that this was beyond mere fatigue began to dawn. Again she tried to move but couldn’t. What was happening? Possibilities raced through her mind. Could someone have drugged her? Mac maybe? Was he going to do her like he’d done his wife? If he came in now … she would be powerless to stop him.

  Mia shivered, but not only from fear. The room was freezing all of a sudden. Her confusion grew deeper, mixed with dread. It was if a chasm was opening under her, and any moment she could fall into the depths. The room grew colder and colder, until she was shivering violently. What was happening? Maybe I’m sick. A fever or something, Mia thought, though she wasn’t even able to convince herself. Was she going to die in this room? Freeze to death in the middle of June? She would have laughed if her teeth weren’t chattering so much.

  It wasn’t just the cold that had grown, though. Mia’s guilt, which normally burned low and constant within her, was roaring. The thoughts that she had forced down were unchained and screaming for her attention. It’s your fault she died! You introduced her to it. You showed her where to stick the needle. If it hadn’t been for you, she would still be here. Sweet Jane. Little sister. You were supposed to protect her! Mia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to drown out the words, but they were filling her head. The voice didn’t even sound like her own anymore. It was colder now, colder than anything she had ever experienced. Mia tried to scream for help, but nothing came out; her jaw was locked tight.

  Someone is in the room with me. Her eyes saw nothing, but she was certain she wasn’t alone. Something tickled at her nose. A familiar scent, though she hadn’t smelled it in years. Then a prick in her arm, in the usual place. Bliss and euphoria coursed through her veins, driving the cold away. Driving everything away.

  3

  Chapter 3

  The pot sizzled and spat, threatening to bubble over. “Drop the heat a bit, there you go. Put it in now, nice and easy.” Following Hank’s orders, Jason grabbed two handfuls of the dry, coarse pasta and carefully dropped them into the pot. Little drops of boiling water leaped out onto his arms, though he didn’t notice the sting.

  “Right. Now what?” Jason asked. He felt as out of place as he had the first day he walked into the prison yard. Unsure of his next move, scared to make a mistake.

  “Well, you’ve sorted the pasta, now check on the sauce. Don’t want to fuck that up. The sauce is the important bit. It’s where all the flavor is,” Hank said. The older man was standing behind him, watching his every move carefully. Jason was glad he was there, guiding him. Who would have thought that something as simple as cooking a meal would be so daunting? Yet after twenty years in jail, many such tasks seemed unreasonably difficult. For so long, his hands had only been good for one thing, and that hadn’t been cooking.

  Jason stepped sideways and lifted the lid to the other pot. The smell wafted up into his nose, garlic, tomatoes, pepper, and onions all mixing together. Not that he could tell what each one smelled of, but he’d put them in, so he reckoned that’s what the smell was.

  “How’s it smell?” Hank asked.

  “Good.”

  “Is it simmering?”

  “Don’t know. How can you tell?”

  “If it’s bubbling, it’s simmering.”

  Jason scratched his head. “Thought that meant it was boiling.”

  “Simmering is before boiling. Simmering is just a few bubbles, boiling is all the liquid is jumping about. You’d know if it was doing that,” Hank explained.

  “Oh. Then it’s simmering. Now what?”

  “Now we wait. Cooking is mostly waiting, I’ve found.
”

  Jason nodded, placing the lid back on the pot. “Lot to remember. Not used to doing so many things at once,” he said, turning to look at the other man.

  Hank ran a hand through his hair. It was white and thinning, making him look older than he was. His sunken eyes and the lines on his face didn’t help much either. “Not much multitasking in the joint. Don’t gotta think much either. You’ll get used to it. Took me a while to.”

  “Grub ready yet, big boy?” A man walked into the kitchen, grinning. He was in his early thirties, with a weathered face that spoke to many hours out in the sun.

  “Not yet, Robbie. Soon. Grab a chair and sit your bony ass down,” Hank said.

  “Oh gods, is Jason cooking? I survived seven years on prison slop to get killed by food poisoning in Oakview Halfway House. Just my fuckin’ luck,” Robbie said, shaking his head amiably.

  “No one’s going to die from damn pasta! Next week I’m teaching him how to make sushi. Might get interesting then,” Hank said. Jason looked up in alarm but relaxed at his friend’s expression.

  “Might want to save that lesson for the week after. Gimme a chance to master boiling water first.” Jason lifted one of the lids and peered inside. Looks like sauce to me. He wasn’t sure if he liked cooking much, but Hank had trained to be a cook, and that was enough for him. It was easier to follow a trail than forge your own path. Decades in jail had beaten that into him.

  “You hear about what happened in Mac’s meeting?” Robbie said. Hank and Jason both shook their heads and leaned in closer. The sauce may have smelled good, but gossip was more enticing. “Heard it went bad. Very bad. Lots of screaming and yelling. Saw Mia walk out, whiter than milk.”

  “What do you think happened?” Jason asked.

  Robbie spread his arms wide. “Who knows? Does Mac strike you as the type of guy that is sorry for what he done? That he’s overcome by the need to make amends?”