In 1973 Virginia, quiet Army Major Elizabeth Halloway is falsely accused of wearing stolen military uniform by her former mentor, facing illegal arrest and gaslighting before fate intervenes.
I was shoved into the back of Kincaid’s cruiser, the metal interior cold and unyielding against my spine. The bars on the window blurred with raindrops.
“I want to see your paperwork,” I demanded, my voice muffled by the closed door. “Your legal justification for this.”
Kincaid leaned against the patrol car, a smirk on his face. He held a sheaf of papers, flapping them slightly in the wind.
Just then, the passenger door of a dark green Ford Fairlane, parked a few spaces away, opened. A stout man in a rumpled suit emerged. He carried a leather briefcase that looked too formal for a rural gas station at night.
“Ah, Donald,” Pendelton said, a pleased look crossing his face. “Just in time.”
The man, Donald Treadwell, walked over, his steps deliberate. He handed the briefcase to Kincaid, who snapped it open.
Treadwell pulled out a pristine, white document. The header was clear: “Commonwealth of Virginia – Mental Health Commitment Order.”
My breath hitched. A knot tightened in my stomach.
“Major Halloway,” Treadwell began, his voice flat and official, “based on documented evidence of severe delusion and a history of disciplinary issues following your dishonorable discharge in 1971…”
He paused, gesturing to the document. The date of the alleged discharge, 1971, swam before my eyes. This was the same year Pendelton had mentioned earlier.
“…the county has authorized an immediate, temporary hold for psychiatric evaluation.” He tapped a corner of the paper.
I saw a notary public seal stamped onto the bottom right, bold and black. The words “Donald Treadwell, Notary Public, Franklin County” were clearly visible. The ink was still strangely crisp, as if freshly applied.
“This is a lie!” I shouted, rattling the door handle uselessly. “I was never dishonorably discharged! I was on active duty in Southeast Asia until early ’72!”
Kincaid leaned against the door, holding the document up to the light, as if scrutinizing it for my benefit. His expression was indifferent.
“All duly certified, Major,” Treadwell said, his gaze unwavering. “Your service record, as far as the Commonwealth is concerned, ended two years ago under regrettable circumstances.”
Pendelton nodded slowly. “We’re trying to help you, Beth. You need to accept this.”
The fabricated discharge date, the pre-stamped papers, the carefully synchronized lies – this wasn’t just a confrontation. This was a trap, meticulously laid. They had planned to erase me entirely.
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