Behind His Eyes: Consequences

  “It’s so nice out. I’d like to go for a hike while you’re working.”

  “No.” Tony slowed his tone. He couldn’t give anything away. “The phone calls may need to be postponed, depending on the outcome of the next web conference. I’d like you here, if I’m done earlier. We can lunch and discuss our possible afternoon activities.” He turned back to his computer screen and read while he spoke. It was the message he’d planted, the next step. As he was about to continue, Claire surprised him with kisses to his neck.

  Warm breaths instigated chills, as Claire responded. “Well, then, may I just go out back? The sky’s so clear, and I could really use some fresh air.”

  He didn’t try to contain his seductive grin. “Okay, just be back by noon, and …” It was now or never. “… could you get me some coffee before you go?”

  Each move she made filled him with hope and desire. His arousal was nicely hidden, but as soon as she left, he definitely needed to reposition his seating. One more kiss to his neck and Claire said, “Yes.”

  At 10:57 AM, Claire returned to his desk with a warm cup of coffee. When he heard her approaching, he picked up his iPhone and pretended to have a conversation as he rummaged through papers on his desk. When he hung up, he turned and faced his wife. Tony’s body battled with his mind as he fought his personal desire. It was the confidence of her impending behavior that propelled him forward. “Tell Eric there are contracts at the Iowa City office. I need them here before 1:00 PM. He needs to get them immediately.” For a moment, Claire stood silently and stared with her big, innocent emerald eyes. A small voice told him that she knew his plan, she was ahead of him and—and—he waited for the voice to tell him if she would pass. Then he remembered her earlier request. Claire didn’t know his plans; she wanted to walk outside. Exhaling the building tension, he added, “And after that, you may go for your walk. Just be back by noon.”

  She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Okay. I’ll tell Eric and be back.” He watched as she hurried away. The web conference was to begin in two minutes, yet he felt as though his life was literally walking toward her destiny. He adjusted his computer screen and pulled up the house surveillance.

  Sitting on the edge of his desk, where she’d placed it, was his coffee. Tony looked at the cup. He’d never asked Catherine the specifics about the contents. He had no reason to distrust her. She said he’d wake after he drank it. Tony knew that Catherine would not disappoint him.

  The conference began as each participant introduced him or herself. Tony listened halfheartedly as he scanned their resumes. They were the pages he’d been ruffling through earlier. He heard their voices and put names with their faces; all the while he watched the small section of his screen devoted to the garages.

  After he’d introduced himself and given a synopsis of the goals he planned to accomplish during the next thirty minutes, he watched Claire enter the garage. Briefly, she gazed at the cars and then walked toward Eric’s apartment door. The small image didn’t have sound, but he could see as she knocked and Eric opened his door. It seemed as though Eric answered a little too quickly; after all, he was expecting Claire, but Claire didn’t seem to notice.

  The exchange between her and Eric lasted only seconds, but as the cup of coffee taunted him, Tony felt as if time were standing still. Then the examination he’d prepared unfolded before his eyes. Eric grabbed his coat and hat, unlocked the key cabinet on the wall, removed a set of keys, and shut the cabinet. Tony held his breath as the small metal door bounced open. It wasn’t overt and Eric didn’t appear to notice. He was still speaking with Claire as he looked at his watch. Next, the garage door opened to the outside world as sunlight streamed over the camera, fading the color from the corner of Tony’s screen.

  On the larger image, two participants discussed something about a quantitative summary. Tony didn’t care. His attention was on the small corner where Claire wrapped her arms around her midsection and watched Eric drive away. Color returned to the image as the garage door closed. She turned back to the way she’d entered when she stopped and stared toward the open cabinet.

  Tony didn’t know what was being said on his web conference as he held his breath and waited. Seconds earlier, time had stood still; now he couldn’t slow it down. Claire reached into the cabinet and grabbed a set of keys. The ones to the new Mercedes were purposely placed in a more accessible spot. The headlights flashed as she hit the button on the fob.

  When the garage door opened again, Tony didn’t notice the loss of color. His vision, his office, his life was red. The disappointment was overwhelming. The pain of betrayal washed over him as the crimson-colored memories sped through his consciousness. Everything—all twenty-two months—was a lie. Claire never loved him. If she had, she wouldn’t have jumped at the first opportunity to leave. She’d played him, used him, and manipulated him. He’d been a fool to believe that love existed. He’d never seen it—not the love they talk about in songs or in books. Not the look she’d given to Simon Johnson. None of it was real. It was a fictitious emotion created for saps who wanted to believe, an illusion—like Santa Claus. The idea brought people joy, until they were faced with the bitter reality and disappointment of betrayal. Hadn’t Tony learned the truth a long time ago? Numbers were real. Money was real. Emotions were for the weak.

  As the garage door closed, Tony reached for the ceramic cup. The liquid had cooled, yet as he used one hand to make the web conference fill his entire screen, his other hand tentatively touched the rounded handle as if it were potentially scalding. He didn’t know how long it took to pick up the cup, or to take that first drink; however, as soon as he did, redness exploded, extreme pain clenched his chest, and blackness prevailed.

  Consequences are unpitying.

  —George Eliot

  Voices infiltrated the smothering darkness. Tony fought to find the surface, to break free of the blackness that surrounded him. It was as if he were at the bottom of a deep pit filled with water, swimming toward the air, pushing upward with all of his strength. Where was it? As the voices became clearer, he focused on and used them as his new goal. With all his might, he pushed toward the sound. A few more attempts and he’d break free.

  The voices were clear. “Doctor, his vitals are stronger. The medicines have gotten his blood pressure back within the normal range.”

  “Have there been any signs of regaining consciousness?”

  The first voice sounded less confident. “His physical response has been encouraging. The results of the EEG are in his chart, but we haven’t had any signs of voluntary movement.”

  Tony pushed forward, I’m here. I can hear you! The darkness wouldn’t allow him to speak. Unrelenting, it wrapped about him, filled him, and held him tight.

  “Doctor, do we know the substance he ingested?”

  “Not completely. The preliminary tests of the coffee found at the scene, and the contents removed from his stomach, confirm that the coffee was the source; however, due to his physical reaction, we believe the list is inconclusive.”

  “There was more than one toxin?”

  “Yes, whoever did this, wanted to be sure it …”

  The voices drifted farther away, taking with them Tony’s audible goal and disorienting him in the darkness. Exhaustion prevailed and the blackness momentarily won.

  Tony blinked his eyes, trying to focus on the world beyond the black. The room was bright, too bright, as people spoke. Keeping his eyes open was too difficult; instead, he settled into the darkness of his closed eyes and tried to listen. He heard voices, but their words were unfamiliar. Slowly they began to register … his heart—they were talking about his heart: it was beating.

  That was reassuring, and he was glad to hear that, but he had to wonder: had it not been?

  When he felt someone touch his forehead, he opened his eyes. It was one of the people in scrubs. Tony blinked toward her.

  “Doctor, the patient is conscious.”

  Suddenly, another face was before
him. This face had bright eyes that were acutely alert. “Hello, Mr. Rawlings, we’re glad you decided to join us.”

  Tony tried to talk, but he couldn’t. There were unknown sensations in his chest and throat that ached. The sensation was more of discomfort than pain. He tried to block it and searched for a new goal. Somewhere in the chaos he found a consistent beeping—somewhere beyond the people and discomfort. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the steady rhythm.

  “Mr. Rawlings, don’t leave us again. We need you to stay with us.” It was the voice of the bright eyes.

  He looked toward her and blinked.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Since he couldn’t speak, he blinked.

  “You had us all worried.”

  Tony’s mind scrambled. What happened? Where was he? Why were they talking about his heart?

  His heart.

  They said it was beating, yet agonizing emptiness made him doubt its presence. As Bright Eyes stared, the memories rushed back. He couldn’t think of anything except Claire’s examination. She took the bait, drove away, and failed his test. How these people could possibly be right? How could his heart continue to beat when Claire had ripped it out of his chest and shattered it beyond repair?

  Bright Eyes spoke again, “Mr. Rawlings, it seems that you ingested a poison. Do you remember what happened?”

  He blinked again.

  “You do? Did you take this toxin knowingly?”

  He fought to keep his eyes open.

  “Mr. Rawlings, relax. You’ll be able to talk with us soon.”

  Soon? Why couldn’t he talk now? Then there were people—more people—in his line of vision. They scrambled about pulling and prodding. He didn’t want to think about what they were doing; instead he closed his eyes and listened to the beeps.

  It was sometime later, the bright-eyed woman returned.

  “Mr. Rawlings, can you speak?”

  “Y-yes,” he managed.

  “Do you remember what you ingested?”

  “Cof-coffee.” His voice sounded unfamiliar—scratchy and weak.

  “Yes, the police collected the coffee. It contained poison. The police want to talk to you. However, I believe you need your rest first. How are you feeling?”

  “My chest and sides hurt.”

  Bright Eyes nodded. “We had to restart your heart. Whatever you ingested has had a negative effect on your heart muscle. We’ll have to ensure that there’s no permanent damage. We have a cardiologist who’ll be in to talk with you regarding future treatment.”

  Tony blinked and tried to concentrate. “Treatment? What do you mean? There could be long-term effects from this?”

  “I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily, but yes. Mr. Rawlings, you’re lucky to be alive—to have survived this. I’m guessing that either you were too healthy for this toxin, or the dose was misjudged.”

  “Are you saying that I could have died?”

  Bright Eyes smiled. “I’m saying that you’ll survive, and if treatment is necessary to facilitate that, we’ll find what is best for you. In the meantime, the Iowa City Police have stationed officers outside of your door.”

  “Why?”

  “Mr. Rawlings, someone tried to harm you. We don’t want to give that someone another opportunity.”

  “I have my own security. I don’t need policemen outside my door,” Tony said.

  “You can discuss that with the ICPD but not right now. I’m going to give you something to rest.”

  Tony looked around the room and saw the source of the repetitive beeping. “Nurse, what is all of this? Why is it beeping faster? Where’s my doctor?”

  Bright Eyes’ smile returned. “First, your IV is flushing your body with fluid. It’s helping to rid your blood and organs of the toxins. These are monitors that tell us what’s happening inside of you. The one beeping faster is telling me that you are stressed, and the medication we just added to your IV will help alleviate that. Your heart doesn’t need any unnecessary stress.”

  She had no fuck’n idea!

  Tony tried to sit up, but Bright Eyes’ small hand pushed against his shoulder. He couldn’t believe that this tiny woman could overpower him. He’d never felt so weak. “Mr. Rawlings, listen to me. You need to rest. Let me introduce myself: I’m your doctor, Doctor Logan, and I want you to follow my rules.”

  His eyes opened wide. “Oh … I didn’t realize. I just assumed … oh shit … I should probably just shut up.”

  Doctor Logan smiled again. “Yes, Mr. Rawlings, I think that would be a good idea. Soon the medicine will take effect and you’ll feel sleepy. I recommend you rest. Then, when you wake, we’ll see about you talking to the police.”

  “D-doctor?” His words began to slur.

  “Yes, Mr. Rawlings?”

  “W-where’s my … wife?” Tony slipped back into the darkness.

  The next time Tony woke, he wasn’t alone. Eric was sitting in a recliner near his bed, reading a magazine. After a few swallows to moisten his throat, Tony found his voice. “Eric, why are you here? What happened to Claire?”

  Eric dropped the magazine and moved swiftly to Tony’s bedside. “Mr. Rawlings, um, Mrs. Rawlings is on her way back to Iowa City.”

  Tony’s chest ached. He didn’t know if the pain was from the medical treatment or the confirmation in Eric’s voice. “How far, Eric? How far did she drive?”

  “Mr. Rawlings, I’m here to assure your safety.”

  “Are the police still outside?” When Eric looked puzzled, Tony continued, “The doctor, she told me about them—before.”

  “Yes, sir, they are. There’re some FBI agents here too. I promised I’d alert them as soon as you woke. Do you want me to get them?”

  “Eric, damn it! Answer my question. When Claire left the estate, how far did she go?”

  Eric leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Sir, I don’t believe the FBI want me to say anything.”

  “Since when do I give a fuck about anyone else’s directives?”

  Still whispering, Eric said, “Mr. Rawlings, Mrs. Rawlings was found, and she’s been arrested in connection with your attempted murder.”

  Tony closed his eyes. Everything was in motion. It had proceeded just as they’d planned, and damn, his plans never failed. Well, once, but that was over—Claire finished it. Opening his eyes, he stared. “Go tell the damn police or FBI or whoever the fuck wants to listen, I’m ready to answer their questions.”

  During the few moments that Tony lay alone in his hospital room, he remembered a scene in Claire’s suite. It was before they were married. They’d been discussing the prenuptial agreement. He remembered telling Claire why there wouldn’t be an agreement. He said it was because they would not divorce—he would not leave her, and she would not leave him. He asked her if she knew what would happen if she did. She said she did.

  As the law enforcement officers entered his room, Tony pushed the button, raised the back of his bed, and squared his shoulders. He bet Claire had no fuck’n idea of the consequences of her failure! She would soon find out what would happen!

  Anthony Rawlings’ statement was straightforward. “There was nothing special about the morning. I got up, worked out in my gym, showered, ate breakfast, and began working.”

  “Working?” the officer asked.

  “Yes, that’s what I do—I work.”

  “Mr. Rawlings, did you go to your office?”

  Tony pressed his lips together and momentarily stared. “Officer, I may be lying in a hospital bed, but I’m not crazy or stupid. Don’t ask me questions when you already know the answers. I don’t deal with incompetents and I don’t intend to start.”

  The man bristled in his seat and rephrased his question. “Could you please be more specific about where you were working?”

  “I have an office in my home. On occasion, I work from there. On the morning in question, I was working from my office within my home.”

  “Sir, who else was in your home?”

/>   “My wife and my staff.” Tony shook his head. “No one unusual.”

  “Did—” The officer immediately rephrased, “What did you eat and drink that morning?”

  Tony tried to recall. “I had a bottle of water after my workout. I think I ate eggs and bacon for breakfast. There might have been fruit, I don’t remember.” He paused. “Oh, I had orange juice and coffee with breakfast.”

  “Was that all?”

  “I had coffee again in my office, late in the morning.”

  The officer’s shoulders stiffened. “Did you get your own coffee?”

  “No.” Tony didn’t offer more.

  “Sir, how do you take your coffee?”

  “Black—sometimes with cream.”

  The man wrote more in his notepad. “Who brought your coffee to your office?”

  “My wife,” Tony mumbled.

  “Did you say it was your wife?”

  “Yes, my wife, Claire Rawlings, brought me coffee that morning, but if you or anyone else is suggesting that she would knowingly try to poison me, I believe you’re mistaken.”

  It wasn’t the young officer taking notes who responded. It was the older gentleman who’d been watching from the perimeter of the hospital room. “Mr. Rawlings, we aren’t suggesting anything. We’re trying to gather the evidence.”

  Tony was obviously feeling much stronger. Dr. Logan had been in earlier and authorized the questioning, and the cardiologist was scheduled to visit later in the afternoon. Tony leaned forward. “I’m at an obvious disadvantage,” he spoke to the older gentleman. “You know my name, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

  “Agent Hart, FBI.”

  “Well, Agent Hart, would you mind sharing that evidence with me?”