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“If Illinois had the death penalty, it would be that. But since we don’t, life in prison. And I want to know why, why he had to kill all of them.” She broke down and cried like she hadn’t in weeks. “The kids, why the kids?”
Joe reached across the table and took her hand. “Becca, you need to start to deal with it now. You may not ever get answers to those questions, and this will tear you apart if you let it. You can’t change what’s happened. All you can do is deal with it so it doesn’t destroy you, find a new normal, and live your life the best you can. You can heal from this and, in time, find happiness in your new normal.” He again watched her and waited her out. She didn’t pull her hand away.
“It feels wrong to. I’ve had moments I feel normal, or I should say I’m not thinking about it and am not feeling devastated and then I realize it and feel so guilty.” She kept her gaze fixed on her coffee mug as she spoke.
Joe squeezed her hand. “Hear me. You should not feel guilty for letting moments of normality sneak in and lift your spirits. It’s not a disservice to their memories. It doesn’t mean you’renot devastated by this, not grieving. All it means is that you’re healing and letting a little bit of light back in.”
Becca kept her gaze on the coffee mug. “Will I ever feel like myself again? Will I ever have a day that their murders aren’t the first thing I think about when I wake or the last thing I think about before I go to sleep?”
“Yes,” Joe answered gently. “And you won’t feel guilty for it either. That’s called healing.” He paused. “Has the intruders and the danger you faced last night dominated your thoughts today, too?”
“You know, I’m angrier about my house being trashed than the intruder attacking me and making me kill him in my sister’s house last night. His death is on him. Is that wrong?”
“No feelings are wrong. The only feelings that are wrong are the ones you don’t acknowledge. Those are the ones that will cause you trouble in the long run. Let’s break this down. You’re angry about your house being trashed. That is a normal, healthy reaction. If you weren’t, there’d be something wrong with you.” He smiled at her.
She couldn’t help but return the small grin.
“And you are absolutely correct that the man who attacked you, the intruder who broke into your sister’s house, where he did not belong, is to blame for his own death. You protected yourself, something everyone has the right to do, and I’d argue, a moral obligation to do.”
Becca nodded emphatically.
“It had to be scary. Recount what happened and name the emotions you felt. This is how you deal with trauma, talking about it and naming the emotions you felt then and now,” Lassiter said.
Becca told him about the events the night before. Fear was a predominant emotion. She also named hope that Carter and Jackson would get there before the men in the house found her.But when the doorknob jiggled, and she knew one or more of the men were on the other side of the door, a momentary paralyzing terror gripped her. When the door hit her back, she was shaken out of that immobilization, and she told herself she’d fight until she could no longer.
Oddly, when the mirror fell on the man and he went down, she felt relief. While sitting in the closet, clutching the gun, she felt determined to survive. She knew she would shoot anyone who entered the closet. At the sound of the gunshots downstairs, a new level of panic hit her. And when Carter appeared in the closet doorway, the feelings that washed over her were profound and overwhelming. She was safe.
“How did you sleep last night?” Lassiter asked.
“Better than I have in a really long time,” she admitted. “Not only was I exhausted, but I knew I was safe in this building.”
“It’s not surprising you haven’t slept well since the murders. That too is perfectly normal. For what it’s worth, besides, as you said, you were not dealing with it yet, I think you’re coping well. I can help you through a few other parts of it if you’ll let me.”
She moved her head in a noncommittal mix between a nod and a shake. “I’ll think about it.”
“Will you commit to one more appointment with me?” he pressed.
“Yes, I can do that.”
He grinned. “Our time is nearly up. If you need anything, reach out to me.” He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “Your brother-in-law didn’t kill your sister or her family. I’m glad you’re coming on board for this domestic violence case to help ensure our client isn’t killed by her husband.”
Becca finished her last sip of coffee and then stood. “Thank you for the conversation, Joe.”
Lassiter also stood. “Thank you for being so open. It’s a process, healing. You’ll get there.”
He walked her out. As expected, Carter sat in one of the chairs in the outer office, which brought Becca a feeling of security. He came to his feet as she stepped into the room. She gave him a mild grin, more as recognition, so she wouldn’t have to speak. She was feeling emotionally exhausted after the meeting with Joe Lassiter and the last thing she wanted to do was recap any of it with Carter.
“Hey,” Tessman greeted. He noticed her eyes were red. She’d probably been crying, which meant Lassiter got her to talk about the murders. Good, she needed that. The urge to hold her and comfort her hit him hard. “You ready to go back upstairs?”
“Yes,” she said. She turned back to Joe. “Thank you. I’ll talk to you later.”
Joe nodded. “Have a good evening, both of you.”
They took the public stairs back up to the fifth floor. Tessman led her into the kitchen.
“I thought you wanted to look for something in the bins from my sister’s house?”
“I looked while you were in with Lassiter,” he said. She looked bothered that he had looked through them without her. “I hope that’s okay. It was in the interest of time.”