When I first contacted Derrick Sadasky, he was very hesitant about how I was going to treat all the people in his journals. He was very clear that everything written in them was true, but he was quick to admit his attitude about certain things had changed. Given the time between him getting the courage to send me his chronicled life and our first call was almost two years, it was understandable. Assuring him I would take into consideration any new insights he provided me put him at ease.
“How do you plan to present the information?” Derrick asked.
“To be honest,” I admitted, “your writing is wonderful. The diary form used is quite suitable for a book. I plan to hit the highlights of your work experience starting with your sister’s call and ending with what happened the day you were shot. Does that sound fair to your story?”
He laughed. “My story. That’s funny to say since I actually lived it. Story sounds like something you make up.”
“I am sure I will take some artistic license, if you’ll allow me.”
“You’ll have to be more specific on that one. I’d hate for this to turn into a romance novel or a Shakespearian tragedy. Do you see my point?”
“Sure. Was your relationship with her ever romantic?”
“No, despite my best efforts. That is something I always felt was weird. Two adults having a middle-school relationship was disturbing.”
“To what do you attribute that disconnect?”
He cleared his throat. “That is something I’ve changed my mind about since I’ve written those journals. I truly believed at the time that her lying that day meant every big thing she told me was untrue.”
“You mean about her confession to you about being raped?”
“Yes. I think that really happened now. Her mother gave me more of the story that I do not think needs to be included. Suffice it to say, that was what broke her. I was willing to wait until we could get counseling or something. Calling her out about it must have hurt her very deeply.”
“Do you think that is why she allowed herself to be shot?”
“Are you putting the blame on me?”
“No, I am wondering if you now feel that those accusations pushed her to the point of wanting to die.”
“She did not want to go to prison.”
“A permanent solution to a temporary problem then?”
“Yes. That allowed her to feel in control, even though it doesn’t make sense to anyone else.”
“You know that for a fact?” I asked pointedly.
“No, but that’s what I believe today.”
“Understood. Do you stay in touch with the family?”
“No. It’s too painful. We did sit down and talk about everything. Like I said, her mother shared a lot more, off the record.”
“Was there any more talk about deporting them?”
He laughed. “That was all made up so she could convince them to take the gun. While the grandparents were not citizens, the investigation never included them. It was all about her and what she was doing with that one client.”
“Did those involved at the association do any jail time?”
“Yes. Several people are still appealing the verdict.”
“Any other staff at your company caught up in the case?”
“No, but our whole company was under the magnifying glass for a good long time. It is amazing how thorough investigators are when it comes to issues like this.”
“Did you ever talk to that investigator, the one who shot you, again?”
He laughed. “Yes. He is still very apologetic. I think he probably got reprimanded pretty severely for firing off that round. He isn’t a police officer, so he had to justify the use of his gun to them. It did turn the situation violent, although he was defending himself against an unknown weapon in an escalating situation. I should have dropped it and put my hands up or something.”
“How did work react to you getting shot?”
“In the beginning, I was very afraid that they would simply let me go. When I was able to do my job while recovering, they realized I was still committed to them. As I was able to do more, I went into the office and picked up where I left off. I move a little slower, need some help moving the heavier things, but all in all, it’s business as usual.”
“Do they still ask you about what happened?”
“Still? No, most of the people from two years ago are gone. The level of turnover hasn’t changed. If I wanted to keep the story alive, that would be easy. However, I’d rather you tell it once to the world. It is tiring to rehash it all in summary form each time a new person sees me limping. I usually tell them it was an accident and hope they go ask someone else behind my back.”
“Are you prepared for the popularity if this book does find a large receptive audience?”
“Popularity?”
“The media will want to talk to you directly. Interviews, cameras, tours, maybe the whole thing will go global.”
He whistled. “Didn’t think about that. Just tell them you made me up or you’ve changed the names to protect the innocent.”
“You wouldn’t want to get some deeper meaning or message out to everyone? It could be an opportunity to speak publicly for or against any topic you wanted. A platform for any agenda.”
“I did not send you my journals for me to be put on every channel’s news or anyone’s pedestal. Stop the presses if that’s something you think needs to happen.”
“Needs? No, but I hope the book is a success, for both of us.”
“Success is hard to define. I would like to go back to quietly living my life.”
“Then why did you reach out to me?”
“You want to know why I picked you?”
I sighed. “Yes, why?”
“I read something you wrote about lacking confidence. How it stopped you from pursuing your dreams. After that, I bought your books and thought you had some potential. If anything, our stories seemed very similar.” He chuckled. “With a few exceptions, of course.”
“I appreciate that. How are you doing with your writing?”
“Stalled. No one wants what I’ve written.”
“That’s a shame. I know it’s not easy to turn what you’ve done into a true source of revenue. Still journaling, right?”
“No.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I tried to give up all my obsessions after that day.”
“What do you do with all your spare time then?”
“Raising two kids is a full-time job.”
“That’s your sister’s kids, correct?”
He laughed. “Yes, those two are all the children I need. There are times like they have the energy of ten. They seem very well adjusted to my slower pace, and I appreciate them being careful not to hurt me any further.”
“So, you aren’t going out with anyone?”
“No one wants to be anything more than friends.”
“Are you talking about anyone specific?”
“No, but you want to know about Wren, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“She is doing well. We stay in touch through holiday cards and e-mails. Her work schedule keeps her very busy. I’m still hoping to go on another road trip with her, but that’s still to be determined if that will ever happen. Polly and the kids would love to visit her too. She really does a lot of travel for work and pleasure. I believe that day helped us both want to stay in touch.”
“How is your sister?”
There was some prolonged silence. “She is having a hard time not being around for the kids now that they are older. I really believed my writing would take off and afford us the ability for her to stay home permanently with them. As I said, that hasn’t happened.”
“What about Ms. Cedar?”
“She is busy back in the association management world and hasn’t had too many outreaches to me. I told her about my writing and wanted her to read it, but she doesn’t seem interested. Polly sends her cards about the kids, I think, so she is at least informed, I guess.”
“It still bothers you that those that leave don’t stay in touch.”
He sighed. “Yes. I’m better about not letting it pull me down. However, I’m still as guilty as they are because I don’t reach out either. I think I’ll struggle with that my whole life.”
“We’ve covered a lot, and I’m sure the readers will appreciate you tying up the loose ends. Anything else you want to share before I go ahead and put this project together?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened to Alison?”
“You didn’t want the book to be a tragedy. Ending it on the events of that day leaves it up to the reader to debate what happened to her. If they find out she’s dead, that would be tragic.”
“If she isn’t, what would that do to the story?”
“If she still loves you and you don’t love her, that’s tragic. If the reverse is true, still tragic. There’s no easy way out. The reader cannot know for sure.”
“What if we still love each other but she’s locked up?”
“Romantic tragedy, even worse.”
“What if she’s in a vegetative state?”
“Tragedy.”
He laughed. “Do you think readers will be okay with intentionally leaving out such an important part of the story?”
“It’s not about her, it’s about you. It’s your story.”
“I don’t know if I feel comfortable with leaving that part out.”
“I can always include this conversation as an epilogue.”
“If you do not tell the reader what happens after the story, then what’s the point?”
“It explains your desire to tell a certain type of story and why it was necessary to omit a detail that would contradict your first wish.”
“I see your point, but I don’t like it.”
“Change your mind then.”
Derrick was quiet. “I feel there were so many times I promised her not to tell anyone what was happening between us.”
“Those parts can be left out too. However, the more you leave out, the more confusing the core story will become. It is time to choose what you want people to know. Remember, if she is dead, you wouldn’t be breaking a promise, unless you felt it would taint her memory. If she is alive, all bets are off because she lied to you, negating your promises to her.”
“I want everyone to know.”
“That’s fine, go ahead and tell me. I’ll add it if you want.”
“You don’t care, or you’re just not curious?”
“I care about what happened to you and want the readers to know that part. Curiosity only comes into play if I didn’t already know.”
“So you do know what happened after the events of that last day?”
“I’ve been chasing down every detail for the last year, so yes.”
He sighed. “I guess I’ll leave it up to you then. I know I would hate being kept hanging.”
“You’ll just have to trust me.”
“What if she was locked up and we were both friends?” “Be honest. Given everything you’ve been through, would you be capable of being just friends?”
“Friends was the closest label that fits properly.”
“So, friends isn’t romantic, but jail is tragic.”
“What if that was the truth? Doesn’t my desire to tell the truth supersede not wanting it to be romantic or tragic?”
“That’s up to you, it’s your story. Would this friendship turn romantic? Would you want to see her go through therapy and help her get past the roots of her intimacy issues? Maybe marry her in prison?”
“How about they decided to reduce her sentence to time served because they needed her testimony to nail the guys truly responsible? That she was simply caught up in the act in a sense of desperation to make ends meet?”
I sat and thought about all the options while I compared it to the truth. “Derrick, do you remember Alison’s last name?”
He was quiet, most likely thinking. “It’s in one of my journals, probably several.”
“I know it’s in there. Do you remember it?”
“I would have to read through them again, sorry.”
“What did the doctors tell you about your memory?”
“Oh, right. That’s why. I hit my head in the pool and was under for a very long time.”
“Did they tell you that today?”
“Yes, when I got up.”
“Do they tell you that every day?”
“They have to, yes.”
“Was it your idea to send your journals to me?”
“Yes.”
“If you need them to remember, why would you do that?”
“I want everyone to know what happened.”
“How is it you remember now what happened if you don’t have your journals?”
“My sister tells me when I forget.”
“Is she there now?”
“Yes. Would you like to talk to her?”
“Please,” I said and waited in silence.
“This is Polly. Do you need me to tell you something?”
I sighed. “I’m having a real hard time with this. He doesn’t remember what happened to Alison, does he?”
“No. Anything after the accident is what he makes up on the spot. He still thinks he goes to work some days. Stuff from before that day is questionable, but at least we have the journals. If it’s in there, it happened.”
“Who wrote what happened on the last day then? Who wrote the letter in the envelope in the last journal?”
“What envelope?”
“In the last journal, in the bottom of the third box, there was a note in an envelope, stapled to the back inside cover. I assumed it was Derrick because the handwriting seems to match perfectly.”
“Maybe he wrote it as he was packing them up to send it to you. He was reading through the journals as he was putting them in the box.”
“It did seem like a summary, so I was planning to put it first since it didn’t reveal too much.”
“As for the last day, he worked with Wren to get it down as best as she could remember for the parts she witnessed firsthand. The rest was shown to everyone else that was there, and they agreed to its accuracy. Alison’s last words to him are questionable since he was the only one that heard her say something before she died.”
“He doesn’t want it to be a tragedy, but there’s no way around it.”
“I know,” Polly said, her voice shaking. “Do your best with the rest of the story, and we’ll make sure to tear out the epilogue in his copy.”