J.M.J.

Author's note: Hello, friends! Here, at last, is the final installment of the White Roses series. I was beginning to think this day would never come. The last couple months have been rough, between work and personal stuff. It didn't give me much time to write. However, I have a completed first draft of this story. I'm going to do quite a bit of revision, but I'm going to post as I go with that. My posting schedule might be a little erratic because of it, but there shouldn't be more than a few days in between chapters. As it is now, this story is thirty-three chapters long, plus a prologue and an epilogue, so basically thirty-five chapters. It might get a little shorter during the revision process. We'll just have to wait and see.

Thank you so much for reading! Thank you especially to the returning readers who have been so supportive during this entire series. This is part of a series, but if you haven't read the earlier books, I think you can catch onto what you need. That being said, this prologue contains major spoilers for the earliest books.

Thank you again! God bless!

White Roses

Part 8

Withered Rose

Prologue

"Raise your right hand. Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"I do."

"State your name for the record."

"Samuel Radley."

"You may take the witness stand, Mr. Radley."

Sam Radley could feel all eyes in the courtroom on him as he took his seat in the witness stand. All eyes but two, that is, and those two were the ones that were arresting his attention. They stared sightlessly forward, yet Sam knew that their owner wasn't missing anything that happened in the courtroom.

"Would you tell the parole board what your occupation is, Mr. Radley?" asked one of the board members, a tall, thin man with a bald head.

"I'm a private detective," Sam replied, looking away from the defendant and towards the board.

"How do you know Ms. Moriare?" asked another member. This one was a woman with red hair and a business-like attitude.

"I first met Ms. Moriare nineteen years ago," Sam explained. "I believe she was twelve at the time. Her name then was Evangeline Moretti. At that time, my father, Thomas Radley, was a full-time private detective and I assisted him when I could while I was in college. We were contacted by a New York Police Department detective named Fenton Hardy. Lieutenant Hardy was investigating several mob killings in which Ms. Moriare's father, Gregorio Moretti, was a suspect and in which a criminal organization called Black Rose was involved. He suspected an alliance between Moretti and Black Rose, but he was having difficulty in proving it since he thought someone on his team was giving information to Moretti. He had his partner, Sergeant Mitchell Johnson, hire my father to investigate the possibility quietly. At one point in the investigation, the police and FBI located Moretti. Lieutenant Hardy asked me to help him stake out the location where Moretti was hiding. However, the stakeout turned into a pursuit. We didn't realize it during the pursuit, but Moretti had his daughter, Ms. Moriare, in his vehicle. He was driving erratically and crashed into a utility pole. Despite his daughter being seriously injured in the crash, Moretti exited the vehicle and shot at Lieutenant Hardy, Sergeant Johnson, and an FBI agent who was on the scene and then attempted to escape. This was close to where Moretti's people were holding three children hostage: Angelo, Mario, and Isabella Beretta. Mario Beretta, who was six at the time, escaped and Lieutenant Hardy rescued him. The officers left him and Ms. Moriare with me while they pursued Moretti. More shots were fired and both Moretti and the FBI agent, Christine Roche, were killed. Ms. Moriare was blinded as a result of her injuries in the crash. I did my best to keep her calm and out of danger of further injury until paramedics could arrive. After that, since no eligible relatives could be found, Ms. Moriare was placed in a foster home.

"I don't question the fact that all of this was very traumatic for Ms. Moriare and I sympathized with her then as I do now. However, I don't believe that any amount of trauma can excuse what she did later. As soon as she aged out of the foster system, she became involved in the same Black Rose organization in order to get revenge against the people responsible for her blindness. She herself attested to this. She blamed four people for it: myself, Fenton Hardy, Mitchell Johnson, and Mario Beretta. I want to emphasize that Mr. Beretta was only a young child of six at the time of the incident. It was a bit over five years ago that Ms. Moriare enacted her programme of revenge. Her first act was to kill Mitchell Johnson. She freely confessed to doing so and was eventually convicted of murder in the first degree, as the board knows well. Later, she made several attempts to kill Mr. Hardy, Mr. Beretta, and myself. She also made threats against Mr. Hardy's children, who were then sixteen and seventeen. A sixteen-year-old friend of theirs, Iola Morton, was caught in the crossfire and was injured in an explosion, which resulted in temporary paralysis lasting several years. Ms. Moriare was finally captured during an attempt on Mr. Beretta's life. She confessed to her motivations then and was, correctly, sentenced to life in prison."

"We're well aware of the crimes for which Ms. Moriare was convicted," the bald-headed man said. "The question before this board is whether Ms. Moriare is eligible for parole. It is more her behavior and progress in prison that will determine that than the nature of her past crimes."

"With all due respect," Sam interjected, "I believe that the nature of her crimes is very pertinent to her eligibility for parole. She spent fourteen years from the time she was twelve planning revenge on people who couldn't reasonably be blamed for her injuries. Lieutenant Hardy was driving the vehicle pursuing Moretti's car, but it was Moretti's erratic driving that caused the crash. Ms. Moriare's complaints against the rest of us are even worse. I was a passenger in the car; even if Lieutenant Hardy had been responsible for the crash, I could have done nothing to prevent it. Sergeant Johnson was on the sidewalk when it happened, and had no more to do with the crash than the bystanders at the scene of any accident. Mr. Beretta was a young, terrified child who didn't even witness the crash itself. To spend fourteen years plotting revenge against such people is hardly an indication of good mental health. Additionally, I would like to remind the board that she did, indeed, succeed in murdering Sergeant Johnson, that she was not above killing or injuring teenagers whom she had no personal grudge against, and that she partnered with a criminal organization to accomplish this revenge. After such crimes, Ms. Moriare should not be considered for parole."

"The board will decide who is to be considered for parole and who is not," the bald-headed man said severely.

"I beg the board's pardon," Sam replied.

"Are you a trained psychologist, Mr. Radley?" the red-haired woman asked.

Sam wrinkled his forehead slightly in confusion. "No."

"Then how can you make any statement on the mental health of Ms. Moriare?" the woman pressed.

"I'll admit, I can't, other than what any layman could observe," Sam replied. "Ms. Moriare displayed behavior so nonsensical and immoral that it is hard not to imagine that her mental health is impaired. However, I will concede that a professional psychologist would be necessary to make an accurate diagnosis. In any case, her behavior speaks for itself. Not only has Ms. Moriare not fully paid for committing a heinous and cold-blooded murder of a police officer and intentionally injuring and endangering numerous other people, including minors, but she also has a strong likelihood of repeating her actions on release."

"I think that, too, is more in the realm of a professional to assess than you, Mr. Radley," the woman said. "I have no further questions."

None of the others on the board did, either, and Sam was asked to step down. He sat next to the only person in the room he knew, besides Eva Moriare herself. Mario Beretta nodded to him and looked as if he was preparing to get up when he was called. However, he wasn't called. Instead, the board asked Eva to give her side of the story.

Eva stood up and took the oath. Then she used her white cane to feel her way up to the witness stand. Once she was settled, the board asked her to tell her story from the beginning.

"There's no need to start at the beginning," Eva said, her voice quiet and humble-sounding. "Mr. Radley explained well enough about the accident. The only thing I would add would be to say that my father never really cared about me. He wasn't married to my mother, and my grandfather resented that. My father pushed me aside so that he could run his criminal operations and attempt to curry my grandfather's favor. Obviously, I had a hard time growing up and by the time I was twelve, I was very bitter and didn't understand that there are people in the world unlike my father. Yes, I promised revenge against the people who stood out in my muddled memories of the accident. In all my lonely, difficult years in the foster system, looking forward to that revenge gave me something to hold onto. It was wrong; I can see that now. No amount of hardship on my part can ever begin to excuse me for it. In fact, in some ways, I agree with Mr. Radley. Should I really be considered for parol?. When I think of what I've done…" She closed her eyes and looked as if she was about to cry. Then she shook her head and continued. "But you see, in a way, it wasn't really me who did those things. Mr. Radley is also right that I was mentally and emotionally disturbed in that part of my life, but since I've been in prison, I've gotten counseling and other types of help. I'm no longer mentally or emotionally disturbed, and my behavior in prison has proven it. I know that the things I did deserve the prison sentence that I got, but I also want to do something to help heal the harm I've done. I can't do that behind bars, but I could if I was free." She turned in her seat so that she was facing the general direction where Sam and Mario were sitting. "In conclusion, I want to apologize sincerely to the Radley, Beretta, Hardy, Johnson, and Morton families for all the pain I caused them. I know that I can never make up for it. All I can do is humbly ask for your forgiveness and hope that you will take pity on one who has done herself as much harm as she has done to any of you."

HBHBHBHBHB

Sam felt like he had aged twenty years by the time he left that hearing.

"I can't believe they actually let her out!" Mario burst out when they had stepped out into the frosty air of late November. "She was found guilty for murder-one, of a police officer! How can they give her parole?"

Sam shrugged in the sort of way a person does when they're exhausted. "She's also disabled, has been a model prisoner, has a psychiatrist who swears that she wasn't to blame for her actions and that she's better now, and can put on a very convincing penitent act."

"They didn't even call me to the stand. They should have. I could have told them it was all an act," Mario insisted.

"You couldn't have told them anything I didn't." Sam chewed his lip. "I think they called me because I'm the only witness left with any credibility in their eyes. No offense."

"None taken. They at least let me be there. Not like the Hardys."

"Yeah. Not like the Hardys," Sam repeated. "I don't suppose there's been any word from Angelo?"

"I would tell you and the police and anyone who would listen if there was," Mario said. "You've got to believe me. Angelo needs to answer for his crimes." He fell silent, thinking about exactly what crimes his brother had committed. Then he cleared his throat. "What are you going to do, Mr. Radley? About Eva, that is?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't believe for an instant that she's not going to try coming after us all again. My wife's parents live in Colorado. That would be a nice place for her and the kids to spend Christmas."

"Not you?"

"If I send them there, I might go for the day of, but the idea is to get them away from me so they don't get caught up in it if Eva comes after me. What about you?"

"Well, I don't have anyone living with me. I don't even have any family living in the same city as me, so I don't have to worry about that, at least. I don't really want to get killed myself, though. Is there any way to prevent that?"

"You can try to hide, but you can't do that forever." Sam sighed. "I guess the best thing to do would be to go somewhere else if you want to and can, and otherwise, keep your doors locked, stay with other people whenever you go out, and always be watching your back."

"I don't know whether to hope she tries something so she can get thrown back in jail or that we never hear from her again and always have to wonder."

"Oh, I have every confidence that it won't take her long to try," Sam said.

HBHBHBHBHB

The frozen grass was crunchy under Lisa Prito's feet as she walked through the headstones. A few snowflakes were beginning to fall, and Lisa wondered briefly whether it would be enough to turn the ground white. She reached the grave that she had come to visit. The dirt was bare and dry, standing out starkly amongst the others to show that it hadn't been there long. If the snow covered the ground, it wouldn't stand out quite so much. Lisa wasn't sure whether that would be better or worse. It was like a raw wound now, but the healing of that wound would be so final. She wasn't ready accept the fact that her brother was dead.

She bent down and scraped the frost off the front of the stone so that the inscription could be read more easily:

Antonio "Tony" Prito

It was a little over two months ago. It had been the hardest two months of Lisa's life. It was only natural that it would be hard in any case, but now that they were in the midst of the holidays, it was even worse. Thanksgiving had been terrible. Christmas didn't promise to be any better. Everyone was trying to be cheerful and normal, but nobody really wanted to be cheerful and normal just yet. It was so forced, and Lisa felt like she would rather just skip all the holidays.

Lisa looked around her to make sure no one else was there. She saw another young woman several rows away, walking slowly down the row as if she was trying to find a particular grave. She was far enough away that Lisa didn't think she would hear, so she turned her attention back to the newly installed headstone.

"I'm sorry, Tony," she said, forcing herself to pronounce the words rather than just mouth them. Tears immediately sprang into her eyes, but she didn't try to wipe them away. She knew that there would be more to come before she said her piece. "This is all my fault, really," she went on. "If I hadn't gotten mixed up in Black Rose…"

Her tears were making it hard to talk now, so she stopped, unable to keep from thinking about everything she had to confess. It had all started with her being an insufferable teenager. She had only cared about being smarter and better than everyone around her. Because of that, she had gotten mixed up in a group called School of Thought. They had called themselves a club, a sort of philosophy club with strict moral rules and an emphasis on the errors of everyone outside it. It had appealed to Lisa, but everyone else around her had seen in an instant that it was a cult. Tony had been the first to say so, and Lisa had reacted so strongly against it that their relationship had never really recovered.

As it turned out, School of Thought had been worse than most typical cults. It had really been nothing more than a recruiting board for a criminal organization called Black Rose, and it had turned out that getting Black Rose out of her life was much harder than Lisa imagined.

They kept turning up, over and over again. They had killed so many people who had gotten in their way, and tried to kill even more. Naturally, all this had involved two of Tony's friends, Frank and Joe Hardy, who had been amateur detectives back when all this started. The strain of it all had nearly destroyed their family. Lisa didn't know the full details, but she did know that rather than working with their dad, who was also a detective, Frank had become a police officer instead and Joe had moved to California and given up detective work. Tony had gone to California, too, as had another of their friends, Phil Cohen.

Then Black Rose had found them there. One of the organization's people, Angelo Beretta, had threatened Joe. The Hardys were all trying to stop him. They should have, but he had gotten away. But worst of all was what he had done before he had gotten away. He had kidnapped Tony and he killed him.

Most people blamed the Hardys. They were such great detectives, everyone said; they should have been able to stop it from happening. Now everyone tended to go about shaking their heads and saying that this was what happened when teenagers were allowed to play amateur detective. Sure, they'd had some luck, but that must have been all it was, because they weren't such great detectives after all.

"It's not their fault, Tony," Lisa whispered. "It's mine. I'm the one who brought Black Rose down on us all. So I'm also the one who caused everything they went through. I'm the reason, ultimately, that they're not a team anymore. That's why they couldn't save you. It's all because of me."

She had squeezed her eyes shut during this soliloquy, but as she finished, she opened them again. She saw that the woman she had noticed before had drifted closer and was looking at her. She had probably heard the whole thing. Mortification that a stranger should have overheard something so personal overwhelmed Lisa, and she retreated back to her car.

The other woman waited until Lisa had left and then she came around to the front of Tony's grave. She read through the inscription and then said, "It's a good thing the plot next to you is empty, Tony. She'll be needing it soon."

Then she dropped something onto the grave and turned to stride away before it had even hit the ground. It was two objects, actually: two roses, one withered and white and the other black with its stem wrapped around the withered one, choking it out.