Chapter 6 - The Visitor in Orange
The Visitor’s Center at the Cook County Jail was a bleak, sterile concrete room divided by thick panes of bulletproof glass. The smell of bleach, old floor wax, and stale sweat hung heavy in the air.
I sat on the small metal stool on one side of the glass, wearing my dark green coat, holding a small paper cup of water.
A heavy metal door on the opposite side clicked open.
A guard led Luke into the booth.
He was wearing a oversized bright orange jumpsuit. The sleek, arrogant man who had spent thousands of dollars on custom Italian suits was gone. His hair was cropped short, his skin was pale and breaking out, and his wrists were bound by heavy steel handcuffs attached to a belly chain.
He sat down heavily on the metal stool, his eyes burning with an intense, toxic hatred as he glared at me through the glass.
He picked up the red phone receiver hanging beside the window.
I lifted mine to my ear.
"You think you're clever, don't you, Carrie?" Luke’s voice rasped through the small earpiece, bitter and sharp. "You think running to your bitch sister and taking my company makes you strong?"
I looked at him calmly, not flinching at his tone. "The company was never yours, Luke. It was paid for with my family's money. You were just the manager."
Luke let out a harsh, barking laugh, leaning his forehead against the glass. "You won't last three months out there! You don't know how to run a business! You don't know how to talk to city inspectors, you don't know how to negotiate contracts—you're a weak, pathetic girl who cries when the kettle boils too loud!"
"I survived four years with you, Luke," I said quietly, my voice bouncing off the thick glass. "Running a real estate firm is easy compared to that."
Luke’s face contorted in rage. He slammed his bound hands against the ledge beneath the glass, making the metal chains rattle loudly. The guard behind him stepped forward, resting a hand on his taser, but Luke didn't care.
"I should have poured the whole pot over your head!" Luke spat, his eyes bulging. "I should have finished it years ago! You ruined my life!"
"You ruined your own life the day you decided to hurt my children," I said, my voice dropping into a register so dark and lethal that Luke froze, his breath catching in his throat.
I leaned closer to the glass, looking straight into his bloodshot eyes.
"Dr. Aris gave me the pathology reports yesterday, Luke," I whispered into the receiver. "They found the copper sulphate levels in the fetal tissue. They found the prescription logs from the corrupt clinic in Indiana where you bought the blockers under an alias."
Luke’s lips trembled slightly, his arrogance finally cracking under the weight of the evidence.
"The state prosecutor isn't just charging you with attempted murder for the burns, Luke," I continued, holding his gaze. "They are charging you with three counts of fetal homicide under Illinois state law. You're not going to a minimum-security facility for fraud. You are going to Stateville Correctional Center for the rest of your natural life."
Luke stared at me, the color draining from his face until he looked as hollow and dead as he had tried to make me feel.
"No..." he whispered, his voice shrinking into a high, pathetic squeak. "No, Carrie... please... we can work something out... I'll give up the shares! I'll sign the divorce papers without a fight! Just tell the prosecutor to drop the homicide charges! Please, Carrie!"
He was groveling now. Just like he had forced me to grovel on the kitchen floor. Just like he had made me beg for food, for medicine, for a single moment of peace.
I slowly brought the phone receiver away from my ear.
Luke slammed his hand against the glass, screaming silently, his mouth forming the words Please, Carrie! Please!
May you like
I looked at him one last time—not with fear, not with hatred, but with complete and total indifference.
I placed the phone receiver back onto its hook, stood up, smoothed down the front of my green coat, and walked out the door into the sunlight.
