Chapter 19 - The Glass Wall Encounter
Two years after the trial,
I received an official notification from the Federal Bureau of Prisons.
Eric Dawson had submitted an emergency request for a legal conference prior to his transfer to a medium-security facility in another state.
His attorney had sent three formal letters,
claiming that Eric had vital information regarding old corporate tax filings that required my personal signature.
Arthur Vance recommended ignoring it.
"It's a trick,
Claire," Arthur told me over the phone.
"He just wants to see you."
"He thinks he can use emotional manipulation one last time."
I looked at the blue sky outside my office window,
thought about it for five seconds,
and then answered:
"Schedule the meeting,
Arthur."
"Are you sure?" Arthur asked in surprise.
"I am completely sure," I said calmly.
"I want to close this book myself."
Two days later,
I walked into the secure visitation room at USP Lompoc.
The room was cold,
divided down the middle by a thick wall of bulletproof glass.
I sat down on the metal stool on the visitor's side,
setting my designer handbag on my lap.
A heavy steel door opened on the inmate's side.
Eric was led inside by two guards.
When he sat down on the opposite side of the glass,
I almost did not recognize him.
The arrogant,
handsome man who had worn my tailored gray suit in Las Vegas was completely gone.
His hair was entirely grey,
his face was thin and hollow,
and his eyes carried a permanent look of defeated,
haunted exhaustion.
He picked up the plastic telephone receiver on his side of the glass with trembling fingers.
I picked up mine.
"Claire..." Eric whispered,
his voice raspy,
weak,
and trembling through the small speaker.
"You... you actually came."
"State your business,
Eric," I said,
my voice cool,
level,
and professional.
"Arthur told me you claimed there were tax documents."
Eric let out a harsh,
bitter laugh,
tears instantly filling his hollow eyes.
"There are no documents,
Claire," he admitted,
pressing his forehead against the thick glass.
"I lied."
"I just... I needed to see your face."
"I needed to hear your voice."
"Why?" I asked,
not a single drop of emotion showing on my face.
"Because I am dying in here,
Claire!" Eric sobbed,
his hand slapping feebly against the glass panel.
"Every single night,"
"when the lights go out,"
"I hear that text message in my head!"
"I hear myself calling you pathetic!"
"I see myself standing in that Vegas chapel with Vanessa!"
"And I realize that I destroyed the only good thing that ever happened to my life!"
He wiped his nose with the back of his khaki sleeve,
his shoulders shaking violently.
"Vanessa hates me," Eric continued,
his voice breaking.
"She sent me a letter blaming me for everything,"
"calling me a weak,
useless old man."
"Your mother tried to write to me asking for money!"
"They never loved me,
Claire!"
"You were the only one who ever took care of me!"
"You were the one who built my life!"
"Please... I am begging you..."
"Tell the prosecutor you forgive me."
"Help me get a sentence reduction."
"I can't survive twelve more years in this hell!"
I listened quietly until he had finished his pathetic,
desperate speech.
I slowly brought the telephone receiver closer to my mouth.
"Eric," I said softly,
my tone carrying the weight of absolute finality.
"When you texted me at 2:47 in the morning,"
"you expected me to break."
"You thought I was weak because I was quiet."
"You thought my love was a permanent cushion for your betrayal."
"You didn't realize that my kindness was a choice,"
"a choice I withdrew the moment you proved yourself worthless."
Eric wept openly now,
his forehead resting flat against the cold partition.
"I don't hate you,
Eric," I added gently.
"Hate requires feeling."
"And when I look at you through this glass,"
"I feel absolutely nothing."
"You are just a stranger sitting in an orange suit."
I hung up the plastic telephone receiver,
placing it neatly back into its cradle on the wall.
I stood up,
adjusted my coat,
and turned toward the exit door.
Behind the glass,
Eric slammed his fists against the panel,
screaming my name,
his voice muffled and silenced by the heavy bulletproof partition.
The guard opened the heavy steel door,
May you like
and I stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight,
leaving him trapped forever in the dark shadow of his own choices.
