Hostage Situation

"Stop the car!" Renee Vaughn shoved a fistful of cash at the taxi driver and scrambled out of the car. She sucked in deep, ragged gulps of air...still unable to get enough that had chilled her to the bone. It's not right. The judicial system had failed. She had failed. The execution would not be stayed. At midnight, an innocent man would die, and there was nothing she could do to help him. Nausea roiled in her stomach. She took the few steps across the sidewalk to brace herself against the nearest building. She closed her eyes and tried to block the painful memories churning in her head. She was a murderer. The sounds of evening's rush-hour traffic filtered through the haze of emotions, ushering back time and place. Renee forced her eyes open and blinked to focus. She'd been down this road already. This wasn't her problem any more. She should go home, put it out of her mind. She'd been taken off the case two years ago. Her former client's new attorney had taken out a restraining order to ensure she kept her distance. There was every reason for her to forget...to put the whole damned mess behind her. But she couldn't. The man sitting on death row awaiting execution was her brother. She knew the truth, or at least part of it, and he would not allow her to stop this. No one would listen to her. The wind whipped around her, urging her to move...to pull herself together. She glanced around to get her bearings. Madison Street. She could walk home from here. Her place wasn't more than ten blocks away. Her legs still felt a little unsteady, but she'd be okay just as soon as the initial shock wore off. Her gaze landed on St. Peter's. Of all places for her to decide she needed out of the confines of the taxi. Before the thought could completely evolve in her brain, she was walking through the door. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in church. Or the last time she'd prayed, for that matter. Her mind in a chaotic battle of emotion against reason, she moved up the aisle between the rows of pews, her movements on autopilot. She approached the chapel at the back of the church and knelt in front of the icon. She lit a single candle, offered a silent prayer for the innocent man who would die a few hours from now. It would take a miracle to save her brother now and, as an attorney and former prosecutor, she knew better than to believe in miracles. Her chest constricted and a flood of tears pressed against the backs of her eyes. Her mistake. No matter what anyone said, she knew where the fault lay. She didn't have to be present in Huntsville, Texas, to imagine the scene. A crowd would be gathered already. Newspaper and television journalists from across the state. Protesters, those for and against the death penalty, with their signs and chants. The family members of victims, anticipating the moment when a convicted killer would finally pay the price for his crimes. Renee rose from the kneeler and slumped onto the front pew and sat there for a while, thankful for the anonymity and silence in the empty church. She should go home. In another hour, the church would be filled with parishioners attending Mass. But somehow she couldn't find the strength to haul herself up and walk out the door. Instead, she sat there and stared at the flame. Reaching up with a shaky hand, she ruthlessly brushed back the lone tear that managed to escape her stronghold. "Damn it," she muttered, then immediately railed at herself for the slip. Why should she punish herself for the actions of others? Her brother had caused this. She had tried to stop it once she knew the truth, but he had not allowed her to do the right thing. That was masochistic. She had promised herself that with this new move, she would not permit the past to take over her life again. If only someone would tell that to her foolish emotions. A hand settledWebb, Debra is the author of 'Hostage Situation ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373692569 and ISBN 0373692560.