THOMAS: ‘Aww, don’t be a sore loser, Grace. You were bettered at your own game. Just accept it.’
MARY: ‘Stop calling me Grace.’
THOMAS: ‘But that’s your real name, isn’t it? Grace-Kelly Mitchell?’
There was no reply.
THOMAS: ‘But if it bothers you, I can call you Mary. I don’t mind.’
Mary took a second to calm herself down. She needed answers and getting angry wasn’t the way to get them.
MARY: ‘So, how did you and Nelson find out about my real name? How could he possibly know?’
Thomas chuckled cynically.
THOMAS: ‘Nelson? You think that this has something to do with Nelson Stewart? The guy you conned in Massachusetts?’
Was he joking?Mary thought. Why else would he have wanted her to see the photo of the courthouse in Woburn?
MARY: ‘You asked the detectives to show me that photo of the courthouse where Nelson’s trial took place. That was the last photo they showed me. It has to be the starting point for this whole charade, right?’
THOMAS: ‘Not the starting point. That was just the place where I finally found you.’
MARY: ‘Finally found me?’
Instead of answers, Mary was coming up with more questions.
THOMAS: ‘I think that it’s finally time that I tell you a little story about myself, Mary.’
One Hundred and Five
Thomas readjusted his back against the pillow on the bed, brought his unbandaged hand up and quickly massaged the back of his neck.
THOMAS: ‘Are you comfortable?’
MARY: ‘Yeah. I’m enjoying my fucking waterbed inside my king-size holding cell. Popcorn and Champagne are on their way. You should join.’
THOMAS: ‘I’m glad to hear that you haven’t lost your sense of humor.’
Mary waited.
THOMAS: ‘When I was a kid, I was truly a “bully magnet”. I was skinny and awkward-looking, I dressed for shit, I had no aptitude for sports, and I had no idea how to be social and talk to anyone, never mind girls. I truly was a “Billy No-Mates”. The only thing that I had going for me was that I was a great student, in every subject, but I loved numbers and I excelled with computers—’
MARY: ‘I don’t give a fuck about your life story. Just tell me what you need to tell me.’
THOMAS: ‘Oh, you will. Just let me get there.’
Thomas reached for a cup with a straw that was on a tray to his left and had a sideways sip.
THOMAS: ‘So… because of the way I looked and the way I dressed, I was bullied practically every day… in school… on the streets… it didn’t matter where I went… it was as if I had a sign on my back and a target on my forehead. One day – I was only twelve years old then – I was coming home after spending a few hours in the town library. This was during wintertime, so it got dark really early. That day, despite it being only four thirty in the afternoon, it was already getting dark. My mom hated when I got home after dark, so to try to gain some time, I decided to cut through the park instead of sticking to the road. Bad decision. That day, this group of dickheads from my school – four of them – were getting drunk on stolen alcohol on that same park.’
MARY: ‘I hope they beat the fuck out of you.’
Thomas chuckled and the effort caused him to wince.
THOMAS: ‘They sure did. But here is where this story gets interesting, right? So, these four assholes were kicking the living shit out of me. I was on the ground, curled up into a ball, trying my best to protect my head from being kicked in, when this other kid, also twelve years old at the time, came flying out of the bushes and “bam” punched one of them straight in the face. The other three in the group were completely stunned by this kid’s action because this kid was as skinny as I was, and just about as awkward too, but once he punched one of them in the face, he turned to the other three and said – “four against one is a fair fight, you fucktarts. Howabout we try four against two? Let’s see how you like those odds”.
‘The other three stopped kicking me and turned to face this new kid. Let me add here that they were much bigger than him… much bigger than me too.’
