Accused Criminal
4
It took an extended period of time to calm Lana down, and Mr. Andrews lawyerly demeanor controlled the situation.
“How is Cameron, our little girl? I’d love to see her.” Lana, leaning against a couple of pillows and cuffed to the bed by one wrist, managed a smile as she pushed the detectives’ words away.
Howard relaxed in a chair in the corner of the room, a copy of the day’s paper resting in his lap. “She’s a little frightened and doesn’t understand what happened to you. Also, she doesn’t want to come see you in here.” Turning his eyes to the black print, Howard sighed. “They’re feeding the public a tight story.”
“Howard,” she attempted to gain his attention, “I don’t understand what has happened.”
“That is why I am here.” The presence of her husband actually surprised Lana. He had stayed the night after calming her down and escorting the detectives from her room. The lawyer persona hung on him as natural as a tie, but he had not discussed her case. She expected lawyer jargon, but received quite. Lana had slept through the night and Howard was still there when she awoke.
“What do I do, Howard?”
Standing, Howard placed the paper in the chair and strode to the side of the bed. Looking down at her a smile tugged up the corner of his lips, a look some might mistake for warmth or even loving concern but Lana knew to be annoyance. “You stay quiet, and never speak to the police or the detectives without me here.” Raising his arm, Howard checked the face of his gold Rolex. “I have a meeting. I’ll be back.” He left the paper on the chair and didn’t bother to kiss her goodbye.
“Bye.” She spoke to an empty room, rolling her eyes. Twenty years together meant she was used to his manners, but sometimes Lana found herself amused by the distance between them.
The time spent in the hospital was long, tedious and boring, but already Lana felt herself healing; however, she also felt her mind striving to push her over a ledge. Her husband’s company while it wasn’t the most stimulating had been a distraction.
Wiggling against the pillows she had propped her back against, Lana counted her options. She could sleep or she could stare at the ceiling or walls. Both options would likely lead her mind to reviewing the torture followed by the destruction of her captor.
She shifted against the pillows again and pursed her lips. Although she had reviewed the events, sometimes willingly, Lana did not comprehend what had occurred.
Quietly swinging open, the door was open long enough for the doctor to step inside and then it banged shut.
“Mrs. Andrews.”
“Doctor.” Lana resisted another eye roll and lifted a cup of water from the table beside the bed.
“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Andrews?”
“Better, but still cuffed to a bed.”
He almost cracked a smile, the corners of his lips twitching as he studied her chart. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Andrews, that is police business.”
“You seem different today, Doctor.”
“I,” he placed her chart at the end of her bed and huffed. “I’m sorry for my behavior before, Mrs. Andrews. I’ve never had a patient like you before.”
She imagined how she looked and how she must have looked when the detectives had first brought her in. Handcuffed, Lana was portrayed as a criminal. The night she had come to the hospital she had been bloody, burned, and obviously a wild mess. She could not imagine the complete effect that the massive about of blood and wounds created, but savagery came to mind. With her body patched and hooked to monitors she felt weak and was the portrait of a patient. Yet there was still a cuff attaching her to the bed. The mark of a prisoner, Lana cringed when the metal clattered, echoing the sounds of the room she had been held in. “And by like me you mean someone handcuffed to the bed?” The handcuff represented that she was some ones prisoner, but also announced to this man that she was viewed by the police as a danger.
“Uh,” the doctor chuckled nervously, “yes.”
Ignoring the jingle of the cuff as she curled her fingers, Lana attempted to pour persuasion into her voice, “I told you, I’m not dangerous.”
“You did kill a man.” He spoke coolly, the edge of nerves subsiding.
“In self-defense.”
He nodded, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “I’ve overheard some of your conversations with the police.”
“They’ve got some wild ideas,” she snorted. Sadism, Masochism, an affair, Lana only imagined what they thought up in their spare time. She prayed that there was medical proof that could point in a different direction.
“And what does your husband think?”
“He’s a lawyer,” she smiled, always proud of her husband’s accomplishments, but avoiding the actual question. What her husband thought was impossible to tell until you stood in the courtroom with him.
Nodding some more, the doctor bobbed his way to the door. Despite the handcuff and the ugly condition she was in, the doctor seemed to have relaxed, slipped from his natural composure and allowed a personality to come through. “Doctor,” he paused at the door, “how long am I going to be here?”
“Not long.” Personality gone, the doctor image fell over him like the white lab coat. The door closed with a soft click and she watched a shadowy form move in front of the window. The blinds were closed but the hospital light cast shadows, and as people passed the window, Lana saw their blurred sometimes deformed images.
There were noises to accompany the shadows, voices and hospital sounds. Voices carried differently and sometimes Lana caught bits of conversations while other days the world seemed to pass in blurs and muffled noises.
The predicted not long turned out to be nearly three more weeks during which her husband and the detectives were frequent visitors. They removed the second handcuff which allowed her to become mildly more comfortable, but for the most part, Lana remained irritated and uncomfortable. The nurses, whose names she never learned, passed through the room completing tasks with an air of indifference. Hospital food was stale and reminded her of her high school cafeteria food, but that wasn’t the worst aspect of her stay. Detective Peterson and Detective Mathews, in addition to a couple of blue uniformed policemen pestered her to no end with the same questions and twisted stories and when she thought it was done, her husband told her that she was out on bail, but the prosecutor was pushing for an early trail date.
Before the three weeks were up, Lana was discussing with her husband the fine details of the case firmly against his wish. The police, raging with wild stories, had little focus on who the man that had captured her was. They had called him Mr. Lowell, a name she did not recognize, and they claimed to have proof that she had known the man. Evidence had been flashed in her face, but primarily it passed through her husband-attorney. He didn’t seem to believe she needed to be bothered with the details or anything else case related.
When Lana pressed for information her husband simply left the room or scolded her into silence.
She tried to reassure herself that her husband was working her case and he would get her out of the horrible misunderstanding, but as the time passed and she heard less and less she worried.
“How is Cameron, our little girl? I’d love to see her.” Lana, leaning against a couple of pillows and cuffed to the bed by one wrist, managed a smile as she pushed the detectives’ words away.
Howard relaxed in a chair in the corner of the room, a copy of the day’s paper resting in his lap. “She’s a little frightened and doesn’t understand what happened to you. Also, she doesn’t want to come see you in here.” Turning his eyes to the black print, Howard sighed. “They’re feeding the public a tight story.”
“Howard,” she attempted to gain his attention, “I don’t understand what has happened.”
“That is why I am here.” The presence of her husband actually surprised Lana. He had stayed the night after calming her down and escorting the detectives from her room. The lawyer persona hung on him as natural as a tie, but he had not discussed her case. She expected lawyer jargon, but received quite. Lana had slept through the night and Howard was still there when she awoke.
“What do I do, Howard?”
Standing, Howard placed the paper in the chair and strode to the side of the bed. Looking down at her a smile tugged up the corner of his lips, a look some might mistake for warmth or even loving concern but Lana knew to be annoyance. “You stay quiet, and never speak to the police or the detectives without me here.” Raising his arm, Howard checked the face of his gold Rolex. “I have a meeting. I’ll be back.” He left the paper on the chair and didn’t bother to kiss her goodbye.
“Bye.” She spoke to an empty room, rolling her eyes. Twenty years together meant she was used to his manners, but sometimes Lana found herself amused by the distance between them.
The time spent in the hospital was long, tedious and boring, but already Lana felt herself healing; however, she also felt her mind striving to push her over a ledge. Her husband’s company while it wasn’t the most stimulating had been a distraction.
Wiggling against the pillows she had propped her back against, Lana counted her options. She could sleep or she could stare at the ceiling or walls. Both options would likely lead her mind to reviewing the torture followed by the destruction of her captor.
She shifted against the pillows again and pursed her lips. Although she had reviewed the events, sometimes willingly, Lana did not comprehend what had occurred.
Quietly swinging open, the door was open long enough for the doctor to step inside and then it banged shut.
“Mrs. Andrews.”
“Doctor.” Lana resisted another eye roll and lifted a cup of water from the table beside the bed.
“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Andrews?”
“Better, but still cuffed to a bed.”
He almost cracked a smile, the corners of his lips twitching as he studied her chart. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Andrews, that is police business.”
“You seem different today, Doctor.”
“I,” he placed her chart at the end of her bed and huffed. “I’m sorry for my behavior before, Mrs. Andrews. I’ve never had a patient like you before.”
She imagined how she looked and how she must have looked when the detectives had first brought her in. Handcuffed, Lana was portrayed as a criminal. The night she had come to the hospital she had been bloody, burned, and obviously a wild mess. She could not imagine the complete effect that the massive about of blood and wounds created, but savagery came to mind. With her body patched and hooked to monitors she felt weak and was the portrait of a patient. Yet there was still a cuff attaching her to the bed. The mark of a prisoner, Lana cringed when the metal clattered, echoing the sounds of the room she had been held in. “And by like me you mean someone handcuffed to the bed?” The handcuff represented that she was some ones prisoner, but also announced to this man that she was viewed by the police as a danger.
“Uh,” the doctor chuckled nervously, “yes.”
Ignoring the jingle of the cuff as she curled her fingers, Lana attempted to pour persuasion into her voice, “I told you, I’m not dangerous.”
“You did kill a man.” He spoke coolly, the edge of nerves subsiding.
“In self-defense.”
He nodded, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “I’ve overheard some of your conversations with the police.”
“They’ve got some wild ideas,” she snorted. Sadism, Masochism, an affair, Lana only imagined what they thought up in their spare time. She prayed that there was medical proof that could point in a different direction.
“And what does your husband think?”
“He’s a lawyer,” she smiled, always proud of her husband’s accomplishments, but avoiding the actual question. What her husband thought was impossible to tell until you stood in the courtroom with him.
Nodding some more, the doctor bobbed his way to the door. Despite the handcuff and the ugly condition she was in, the doctor seemed to have relaxed, slipped from his natural composure and allowed a personality to come through. “Doctor,” he paused at the door, “how long am I going to be here?”
“Not long.” Personality gone, the doctor image fell over him like the white lab coat. The door closed with a soft click and she watched a shadowy form move in front of the window. The blinds were closed but the hospital light cast shadows, and as people passed the window, Lana saw their blurred sometimes deformed images.
There were noises to accompany the shadows, voices and hospital sounds. Voices carried differently and sometimes Lana caught bits of conversations while other days the world seemed to pass in blurs and muffled noises.
The predicted not long turned out to be nearly three more weeks during which her husband and the detectives were frequent visitors. They removed the second handcuff which allowed her to become mildly more comfortable, but for the most part, Lana remained irritated and uncomfortable. The nurses, whose names she never learned, passed through the room completing tasks with an air of indifference. Hospital food was stale and reminded her of her high school cafeteria food, but that wasn’t the worst aspect of her stay. Detective Peterson and Detective Mathews, in addition to a couple of blue uniformed policemen pestered her to no end with the same questions and twisted stories and when she thought it was done, her husband told her that she was out on bail, but the prosecutor was pushing for an early trail date.
Before the three weeks were up, Lana was discussing with her husband the fine details of the case firmly against his wish. The police, raging with wild stories, had little focus on who the man that had captured her was. They had called him Mr. Lowell, a name she did not recognize, and they claimed to have proof that she had known the man. Evidence had been flashed in her face, but primarily it passed through her husband-attorney. He didn’t seem to believe she needed to be bothered with the details or anything else case related.
When Lana pressed for information her husband simply left the room or scolded her into silence.
She tried to reassure herself that her husband was working her case and he would get her out of the horrible misunderstanding, but as the time passed and she heard less and less she worried.