Read part two here.
Confused but grateful nonetheless, I hurried home to take a much-needed bath to wash away the last few hours of my life. I was on the edge of a breakdown, but I was determined to hold on for a little longer.
It was when I was dressing that something clicked, causing me to jump up. It was Tuesday. Today was Tuesday, the day the city bus passed through Nalia. Frantically searching for my watch, I checked the time. 10:30 am. I had only thirty minutes to pack all my belongings and get to the station. Missing the bus would mean staying in this cursed town for one more week.
Despite the vindication, I was still afraid of finding a mob on my doorstep or the Constable deciding that he needed a scapegoat regardless. Heart thumping wildly, I hurriedly packed the few clothes I owned into my small travel bag and stuffed my handbag with a few other essentials. The only thing of sentimental value for me was a small photo frame with a picture of Ara and me on her last birthday.
Tucking in the emotions that were threatening to spill over, I wrapped a scarf around my head and took a last look around. Satisfied that I had everything I needed, I rushed to the station, thankful for the shortcut route away from the busy part of town.
Half-afraid that I would miss the bus, I almost sobbed in relief when I arrived at the station to see the white, coach bus at the stop. I paid for my ticket and gave my luggage to the conductor, waiting for my turn to get on the bus.
I was climbing onto my ticket to freedom when I heard my name.
“Sali! Wait!”
My heart dropped to my feet.
Turning, I saw Mrs. Anderson walking toward me, her face inscrutable.
“I went by your house. I guessed that you would be here when you weren’t there.”
Unsure of her purpose, I didn’t respond. She held out a small, blue drawstring bag to me. “Take this with you. I truly hope that it is enough to settle you into the city and help you to have a good life.”
I glanced up from the bag to meet her gaze with shocked eyes. Hand shaking, I took the bag from her, whispering a fervent thank you.
“No, thank you for everything you did for my granddaughter. Thank you for loving her till the very end. You are a formidable young woman, Sali, and I am sorry you had to go through that fearful experience. I wish you a good life.”
I could only manage to nod gratefully, staring after her as her block heels made clunking noises against the concrete floor. Her driver opened the door for her, and with one last look that seemed to bore into my soul, she lifted her hand in a wave and entered the car. I waved back dumbly, still shaken by the turn of events. Staring after the car even long after it disappeared behind the curb, I was startled when a hand suddenly tapped my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Miss. I tried calling you, but you didn’t seem to hear me. The bus is ready to leave.”
I nodded gratefully at the conductor and walked with him to the bus, taking my seat by the window at the back.
It was a fairly new bus with black leather covers and a dark blue interior. I took a cursory glance around at my fellow passengers. There were older couples and young people my age and over. It was a relief to find no familiar faces among the passengers. For a second, a curious part of me wondered what everybody’s story was, but I shook my head and turned my attention to the window. I watched as we drove past the old buildings and the farms. I watched as we drove past people who had been ready to lynch me just an hour ago, and I watched as we drove past my old, sad life, and into the new one I was going to carve for myself.
It wasn’t until about half an hour later, when we crossed the boundary of Nalia to the next town, that I began to breathe easily.
I was free. Finally free.
Looking around again, I was thankful that the aisle seat beside me was empty, and the old lady in the seat across was fast asleep. With trembling fingers, I opened the drawstring bag and gasped softly when I found several money bills rolled together.
I hurriedly stashed the bag in my luggage, glancing around to ensure nobody’s attention was on me. Closing my eyes, I leaned against the seat with a beating heart, remembering the knowing look that had passed between Mrs. Anderson and me, the suicide letter, and her last words to me. One thing is certain. She knew. She knew everything. But how? How could she have known?
Memories began to flit through my mind. Dark memories I wished I would never have to revisit.
I remembered that fateful morning almost a week ago when I wanted to surprise Ara by returning earlier from my break. I remembered hearing her screams as I got to the house, and how I ran to her room, thinking an intruder had entered the house.
Tears began to flow silently down my cheeks as I remembered the horrific view of chancing upon the mayor defiling his daughter.
I remembered my scream echoing through the empty house, and I remembered trying to get him off her and blacking out when he hit me with a vase. I remembered waking up to find myself tied up in his office, and later, hearing voices of people crying in the house and giving the mayor condolences for the loss of his daughter.
He kept me tied up for three days; dirty, hungry, and exhausted, and threatened to kill me. I remembered his rage towards me for “ruining his life” and “making him” kill Ara. I remember his admission to killing his wife because she wanted to ruin him too. I remembered how deranged he became, and all the painful, horrible details.
I wept some more as I remembered adding all that insecticide to his tea when he had finally untied me to serve him. I had watched in satisfaction as the monster disguised as an angel succumbed to the poison before my eyes. I remembered laughing hysterically when he stared at me in shock, never expecting my audacity. I had watched until he took his last breath. Only then, did I limp home in the dark, dirty and broken.
Yes, I killed him. I killed that monster. But it wasn’t in cold blood, and it most definitely wasn’t murder; it was justice. Justice that only I could serve because nobody in that town would have believed that their most esteemed mayor was nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing. They were not ready for that atrocious truth.
They would never have believed me if I had told them that not only had he murdered his wife, but that Tom Anderson had also defiled his own daughter and murdered her. My Ara would not have received justice.
Heartbroken at the onslaught of memories, I wept silently for my bright little girl whose life was cut too short by the monster that was supposed to protect her. After I calmed down, something still nagged in my mind. Where had that suicide letter come from? The Constable must have asked Patty, who had been his secretary, to authenticate the writing, and she hadn’t noticed anything amiss.
As I pondered, a new revelation took my breath away when I suddenly remembered Mayor Anderson telling Ara once that his handwriting was almost a replica of his mother’s. As a child, he had loved her writing so much that he practiced until he could replicate it. It wasn’t public knowledge that they had the same handwriting. And even if anyone knew, it would never have occurred to them that the mayor’s mother would forge his suicide note. This reinforced my suspicion that Mrs. Anderson knew what had really happened.
But how? How could she know?
I tried to think of a plausible explanation, but nothing came to mind. Not until the couple two seats ahead of me laughingly fought over a pair of binoculars. Then it clicked, and everything fell into place.
The woman! The woman who had been with Mrs. Anderson at the Town Square. She had looked familiar, but at the time, I couldn’t place her. It had been at least one year since I had seen Mrs. Anderson’s frail childhood friend, who was also the mayor’s only neighbor, at her window. She would raise her window and point her binoculars into the mayor’s house. I waved at her each time I saw her peeking out of her curtains, but she never waved back, quickly closing her curtains instead.
Some of the maids had been sent to warn her against directing her binoculars into the house, and they said Mrs. Anderson’s old friend was senile, always mumbling about catching a monster in the act.
A monster, indeed.
Remembering the position of the window she often stood at, I realized that she must have witnessed at least some of what happened and told Mrs. Anderson. I will never know for sure how Mrs. Anderson got to know, but it must have been devastating for her to accept that her son was a monster. She still went to great lengths to help me, so I will forever be grateful to the woman who, even through her grief, had gone above and beyond to save me from the jaws of death. Never mind also giving me enough money to live comfortably for a while until I find a job.
I grieved for most of the journey. I cried for the woman who was murdered by her husband and forced to leave her only child. I wept for the beautiful child who was defiled and killed by a monster, and I cried for the woman who had to mourn a grandchild and come to terms with the idea that she had borne a monster.
Exhausted from the ordeal and grief, I fell into a deep sleep for the last two hours of the trip.
When I opened my eyes again, we were in the city. It was dark, but bright bulbs illuminated the tall buildings and streets. My eyes hungrily devoured the huge buildings and shops in awe. There were so many vehicles, and many people were rushing about their endeavors even at night. One after the other, passengers got off as we reached their stops.
“Where do you need to get off, Miss?” the handsome young conductor asked kindly. He could probably tell that I was new to the city from the way I was gawking open-mouthed.
“Is there a motel or hotel nearby? I would appreciate being dropped close to any.”
The conductor nodded. “You’re in luck, Miss. Justice Motel is right ahead. It’s a little pricey but a very good place to stay.”
Lady Justice Motel? What were the odds?
Smiling suddenly, I reached into my purse for a tip for him. “Justice Motel would be perfect, thank you.”
I smiled wider when I saw the impressive building ahead with the “Justice Motel” signage on top. Fitting, wasn’t it?
“There’s the motel. Take care of yourself, Miss, and have a great life.”
I picked up my meager belongings with a new spring in my step, waving at the kind conductor after I got off the bus.
So, on March 21st, 1989, at 6:35 pm, I walked into Justice Motel to start the next chapter of my life.
Rest in peace, my darling Ara. I will never forget you. May you be with your Mama and the angels. I got you justice.
