Chapter 8 - The Remorseless Visitor
A year after the arrest, I received an unexpected administrative notice from the State Department of Corrections.
Eric Vance had submitted a formal request for a family visitation interview prior to his transfer to a medium-security facility in the northern part of the state.
I didn't tell Mom. I didn't want to drag her back into the mud. But on a rainy Thursday morning, I drove up to the state penitentiary alone, wearing my civilian coat and carrying my detective badge.
I sat behind the reinforced glass partition in the prison visitation room.
When the heavy iron door opened, Eric walked in, escorted by two armed guards. He was dressed in a dark blue inmate uniform. His head was shaved, his face was gaunt, and his hands were calloused. The soft, pampered man who used to drink expensive bourbon by my mother’s fireplace was gone, replaced by a hardened, bitter convict.
He sat down across from me, picking up the black plastic telephone receiver.
I picked up mine. "You asked to see me, Eric."
"Look at you," Eric sneered through the glass, his voice thick with unrefined hostility. "The big detective hero. Coming to gloat over your handiwork?"
"I didn't come to gloat," I said calmly. "I came to see if twelve months in prison had managed to teach you a single shred of humanity."
Eric let out a harsh, barking laugh. "Humanity? In this place? You destroyed my life, Claire! You put your own brother in a cage over a stupid misunderstanding! Vanessa divorced me six months ago and took what was left of our savings! I have nothing!"
"You didn't lose everything because of me, Eric," I said quietly, leaning closer to the glass. "You lost everything because you looked at a seventy-year-old woman who fed you, loved you, and gave you a home, and decided she was worth less than a luxury condo in Florida."
"She was old!" Eric yelled, his face turning red as he slammed his hand against the glass. The guard behind him immediately stepped forward, placing a hand on his nightstick. Eric backed off, breathing heavily. "She was going to die eventually anyway! The house should have been mine!"
I looked at him for a long, silent moment. I realized then that some people are born without a soul—and no amount of punishment, time, or tragedy will ever force them to see the truth of their own cruelty.
"Mom is happy, Eric," I said softly, my voice filled with complete, absolute peace. "She’s healthy. Her foundation has saved thirty elderly people this year from monsters just like you. She never mentions your name."
Eric’s eyes widened with a sudden, desperate surge of pure rage. "She... she forgot about me?!"
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"She didn't forget you," I corrected him, standing up from my chair and hanging the telephone receiver back onto its hook. "She just realized she never really had a son."
I turned my back on Eric and walked out of the visitation room, leaving his furious, silent screams bouncing uselessly off the bulletproof glass behind me.
