Beyond Justice (34 page)

"Not his mind.  His bed."

"You mean—?"

"Yeah.  He didn't manipulate those men, he framed them."

I couldn't speak.

"I haven't gotten to the worst part yet," she said.  I knew where she was going.  Should have seen this from the start. "Sam, Detective Pearson found something at Stringer's apartment.  A file cabinet full of mementos.  Each folder labelled with the victims' names.  He kept fingernail clippings, locks of hair, jewelry.  All in ziploc bags."

"No."

"They found a folder with—"

"No!"

"I'm sorry, but you have to know.  He kept one labeled Hudson, Jennifer and Hudson, Elizabeth."

Gnashing my teeth, salty tears seeping through my lips, a tsumani of emotion crashed down upon me.  All at once, months of anguish, frustration and rage boiled to the surface.

"Sam?"

I held onto the hood of the payphone and caught my breath.  It would take me the rest of the day to fully process this.

"Sam," she said when she heard me take a breath.

"Yeah?"

"I've filed a motion to reopen your case, based on this new evidence."

"Evidence?  They found my semen on Bethie, remember?  How did that happen?"

"I don't have all the details, but Pearson says Stringer's cooperating."

"So, new evidence?"

"His confession, the nail clippings, hairs.  They're as exculpatory for you as it gets."

"Are we talking about—?"

"Exoneration"

I don't think I smiled.  But that was good news.  I asked about Aaron.  Nothing new.  Though he'd survived, he showed no signs of improvement.  No sign of ever coming out of his coma.

"He's on a ventilator now," Rachel said.  "Can't breath on his own."

Despair encroached.  I quickly replied, "He's going to be fine.  I just know he is."

"Sam, listen."

"You were the one who got that word, remember?  Trust me, I know a thing or two about that kind of thing now.  You can't stop believing now."

"It's just that, well...sometimes God answers our prayers, but the answer is no."

"Rachel, stop it."

"You know, if Aaron is taken home, to heaven, he'll be in a better place."

"I can't believe this.  You, of all people."

She'd always been the one to sustain my hope.  Now she was giving up.  I had never been angry with Rachel before.  But now... "Doctors say he's in a persistent vegetative state." 

"You listen to me, young lady!  God didn't spare my son just to let him die this way.  That's just not the way God works!"

"Your entire life you're an atheist, you become a Christian for a few weeks, and now you're a theologian?"

"I thought you were a lawyer, not a comedian." I huffed.   "Maybe you'd do better—"  I bit my lip and smacked my forehead.

Silence.

Come on, shout back, call me a jerk.  Anything but silence.  Then came a twinge.  I'd told people off before, but never felt guilty about it.

"Rachel."

"I have to go."

"No, wait.  I'm sor—"

Click.

I wanted to crawl back into my cell and lock myself in.  Forever.

Chapter Sixty-Six

For the next few weeks, there were no visits because, for the most part, Rachel was still recovering and was stuck at home.  All I'd have to do was to call her and apologize.  I couldn't work up the nerve.  Stupid pride.

The press remained relatively hushed about the Brent Stringer case, except that he'd been denied bail and had exercised his right to a speedy trial.  Jenn's parents, who had not once ever come to visit, write or call, sent me a letter.  After an entire page of beating around the bush, they wrote:

...As Aaron's legal guardians, we feel it is in our

grandson's best interest to terminate his life-support.

"You coming out to the yard, Silk?" Possum said.

I stumbled back and fell onto the lower bunk.

"Hey, buddy," he said.  "What is it?"

In a violent fit, I started to shred the letter, threw the pieces onto the floor slammed my hand against the steel bars of my cell.  Possum's eyes stretched wide.  Backing out of the cell, he said. "O-kay.... catch you later."

I wanted to scream, but instead cried out to God silently. 
Why?  You brought us this far, only to have them go and pull the plug?
  I stormed out of the cell, uncertain who I was more furious with; my in-laws, that accursed Brent Stringer, God, or Myself.

At the exit to B-yard, a backlit shadow stood in the doorway.  "Well, well.  If it ain't my favorite pretty-boy," Butch sneered, coming half into the light.

"Out of my way!"

"Oh, you're giving me orders, are you?" His eyes darted around, looking over my shoulder and around. 

The pressure within threatened to explode.  I clenched my teeth, my fists, did all I could to control myself. "Butch, if you don't mind."

"I've been keeping an eye on you, Silky-boy.  You don't fool me one bit, you and this..." he waved his hand,  "...religion thing."

"Fine.   Now, move!"

He pulled out his night stick and slid it over my face, my lips and then let it linger down my chest. "Or what?" Where were my guardian angels now?  He slid his stick down and around to my rear.  

Shouldn't have done that.  Not in the state I was in.

With one swift move, I grabbed his arm, twisted it and threw a punch square into his nose.   Butch screamed.  I swung him around and shoved him back so hard that I could feel the thump when he hit the wall.  But he didn't fall.  He touched his face, looked at the blood.  His face became demonic.  Out came his gun, aimed it at my forehead.

"Nobody gonna' question self-defense, here."  He grabbed my arm and pushed me out the door.  "Kiss the dirt, bitch!" If not for that gun, I might have given in to rage.  But I complied, laying down on my belly.  He pressed the muzzle into the back of my head.

"Yeah, you were eye candy, pretty-boy.  But you know what?  I'm tired of you."  He pressed the gun in, cocked the hammer.  I felt the click.  Shut my eyes.  Couldn't believe my life was about to end like this.

All I heard was the heavy breathing of a maniac about to kill.  He was excited, pleased with himself.  The sound of footsteps on the pavement grew louder.  I opened my eyes and saw Bishop standing with Luther and a couple of other cons.

"Bishop," I called out.  "You're a witness.  You're all witnesses here.  Don't let him do this."

All silent.

My eyes locked onto Bishop's.  Would he just stand idly by while Butch put a bullet in my head?

Butch pulled back slightly and addressed Bishop.  "You and Silk got something going on?" Bishop scoffed. "'Cause if you and Silky-boy here are together, you know I'm going to—"

"He's nobody," Bishop said, raising his voice.  "Now, you keep your word."

"Don't I always?" Bishop folded his arms over his chest and glowered. "Okay, don't matter how often I do or don't," Butch said.  He stepped back but kept his foot on the small of my back.  "You gotta prove to
me
that you'll keep up your end."

"Whatever."

"No, you listen to me, Bish!  This here boy disrespected me."

"Like you're so respectable."

"I wanted him dead, but y'all had to go on and show up here." Butch let up and stepped away.  I rolled over, kept my eye on Bishop.  Behind his tough façade I sensed a man who actually feared Butch.  Or something Butch could do to him, anyway.  Bishop just glowered at him without a word.  On his way out the door, Butch said, "Fine.  Then at least make sure he never forgets his place."

Looking desperately to Bishop, I asked, "Are you actually bending to him?"

"Shut up!"  He grabbed my shirt and pulled his fist back.  "Always getting in the way!" Words failed.  I couldn't believe he would do this.  He was about to throw a punch but stopped short.  Instead, he dropped me on the ground and stepped away.  Then he turned to Luther and the other cons. 

"Do it."

Chapter Sixty-Seven

I regained consciousness in the infirmary, aching all over, barely able to speak.  My last memory was Bishop standing by, arms folded over his chest, while Luther and company proceeded to puree me.

A sharp pain skewered my shoulder when I reached for the bedrail.  I let out a terse groan and propped myself on my side.  That hurt too.  There wasn't a side of my body that wasn't bruised or bandaged.
Just be grateful you're alive.

Victor, the doctor that checked in on me, was a firm believer in the thought that laughter was the best medicine.  Interesting in theory, but he just wasn't funny.   He'd laugh at his own jokes, snort when he laughed, then keep on laughing and snorting.  Finally, after a while, I asked him if I could just go to sleep.  He agreed reluctantly.

The next morning, Victor discharged me with two broken ribs, a sprained wrist, seven stitches, and one very bruised spirit.  On my way back to my cell, I ran into C.O. Sonja Grace.

"Oh Sam," she said.  "What happened?"

"Long time," a pained grunt cut me off.

"I got transferred to C-Block.  You okay?"

"They seem to think I'll live."

"Better do more than that," she said, with a sympathetic smile. 

Just as I began to answer, a guard from B-block interrupted us.  "Yo, Hudson.  Someone to see you!"  Great.  The last thing I needed was to show any one my beaten face.  I said good-bye to Sonja and dragged my chained feet, scraping against the concrete and made my way to the guard.

Because my guest hadn't yet entered the visitation room, I couldn't see who it was.  Maybe Dave or Alan.  My head swam in an ocean of painkillers as I took a seat at a vacant table, put my head down, and tried to block out the sounds of thugs and sweethearts babbling and flirting.  Two minutes.  That's all I'd wait.

Images of Aaron's face kept flashing through my mind.  His chestnut hair, fine features, freckles, all inherited from his mother.  As my thoughts turned to Jenn, something frightening happened.  For the first time since her death, the thought of her didn't tear my heart to bits.  Was I forgetting her?  Bethie?  It had been over two years now, but I never wanted to stop feeling the pain.  It reminded me of how much I loved them.

I just wanted to curl up and die.  Two years in prison had numbed me.  Now I was having trouble even conjuring up memories of my beloved wife and daughter.  I was losing them.  Before I could get up and leave, a warm hand touched the back of my neck.  I lifted my eyes.

"Hey, Sam." Rachel's arm dangled in a sling, a couple of stitches crossed her left eyebrow, and her forehead was bruised.  She was the most beautiful sight I'd seen in a long time.

Without thinking, I stood up and wrapped my arms around her like she was the last human being alive on the planet.  "Rachel.  Oh God.  I'm so sorry."  Our last argument was still fresh in my mind.

She reached her good arm up and around my neck.  We embraced for just a bit longer than ordinary friends.  She pressed her face into my chest, the warmth of her breath seeped through my shirt.  "No," she said.  "I'm sorry"

I gently pressed my lips into her ebony hair.  Jasmine and silk.  All the tension in her body dissolved as she leaned against me.  Though her last visit wasn't that long ago, it felt like years.  "You have no idea how glad I am to see you," I said, slowly releasing her and taking a step back to have a good look.

Her eyes glistened, naturally brown.  "Pardon my appearance," she said, holding up her slinged arm.  "My doctor would kill me if he knew."

"First do no harm?"

She smiled and gazed at her shoes.

"Don't we need a private room?" I asked.  She gave me a tentative smile. "I mean, you know, attorney-client?"

"I'm here as your friend," Rachel said.  As we spoke, the awkwardness from our little spat melted away like December frost in the corner of a window.   She had come in an unofficial capacity, but there were some urgent matters. 

Oscar and Maggie had been speaking to their attorney about the possibility of keeping legal guardianship over Aaron, in the event I was exonerated.   They knew how I felt about keeping Aaron on life support and were concerned that I was not thinking in his best interest.

"We're definitely going to fight it," Rachel said.  "But the first order of business is reopening your case."  Brent Stringer was being held in San Diego Central and the D.A.'s office would offer no deals.   As Rachel reported what she'd learned about Brent, the light in her countenance faded.  "They've combed through all his computer records, his notebooks.  The guy was as meticulous as he was arrogant."