by Jay Bell
“I want to make a statement right now!”
The officer sighed, but must have taken out a pad of paper because David started rattling off the whole story.
“Into the car, son.”
The police cruiser door was opened and a hand placed on Connor’s head to make sure it cleared the frame when David’s voice rose.
“Aren’t you listening? You need to arrest Chuck, not him!”
Connor was seated now and could see David’s panicked face. His expression turned to horror when the officer spoke:
“Charles Bryl—Chuck—is in the hospital. We’ll take a statement from him if he regains consciousness.”
Then the car door slammed, shutting Connor off from the world of the free.
Chapter Fifteen
Arriving at the police station, Connor decided those television crime shows didn’t seem as funny anymore. One of the officers, who introduced himself as Officer Doyle, stayed with Connor while his partner went elsewhere. Connor’s fingerprints were taken, scanned into the system with the latest technology. Then he stood for mug shots, making him feel like judgment had already been passed. When Doyle sat him down to take a statement, Connor was eager to plead his case. He told him the truth, but made sure to mention all the times Chuck had threatened David.
“You saw him. David’s not a big guy. I don’t know if you’ve seen Chuck, but he’s huge. At least he has weight on him. He also has a lot of friends, so it was never a fair fight. If I didn’t stand up for David, no one would.”
Doyle leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “You should have called the police. If you had, Charles Bryl would be in that seat instead of you.”
Maybe, but only after David had been hurt. “What now?”
Doyle turned his attention to the computer screen on his desk and clicked the mouse a few times before he raised his eyebrows. “You’re being charged with aggravated battery. It was battery when we brought you in, but the Bryl family lawyer is on top of this and wants to make it a felony.”
“Battery? I thought that was when a husband beat his wife.”
“In Kansas law, assault is threatening someone without bodily contact. Battery means there was physical contact. I’ll let your lawyer explain the details, but aggravated battery is a felony.” He clicked the mouse a few more times. “Your bail is set at $10,000.”
Connor’s stomach churned. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Who does? You’ll have to call a bail bondsman. They charge ten percent. Can you get a thousand dollars together?”
He had a little more than that in savings, but that was for the move to Florida. “What happens if I don’t pay bail?”
“Then you’re stuck here until a judge can see you.” Doyle checked the screen again. “You live at this address alone, or are you with your parents?”
“My parents.”
Doyle must have been familiar with the neighborhood, because he didn’t ask if Connor’s parents could afford to spring him.
“Listen, I’ll see if we can get you in front of a judge tomorrow. That way you’ll only have to be here overnight. I don’t suppose you have a lawyer in the family?”
“No.” Strange how getting arrested could cost so much money.
“Well, if you don’t want to hire one, we have some great public defenders,” Doyle said without much enthusiasm. “Ready to see your room for the night?”
Connor didn’t move. “What would you have done? Say it was your little brother, and he was getting beat up by someone bigger than him. Would you really just stand by and let it happen?”
Doyle considered him for a moment. “Did it happen right in front of you?”
“No. Not really.”
“Then you didn’t stop it by beating the guy up afterwards. Next time, call us. We’ll take care of it. Speaking of which, is there anyone you want to call?”
Connor’s parents couldn’t do anything. If he didn’t show up that night, they would assume he was at David’s place. He could call David, but didn’t know what to say, and the look of horror on David’s face was still too fresh in his mind.
“Can I use my call later?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
For the wealthiest county in Kansas, Connor expected more from the jail. Maybe it was as drab as possible on purpose. The furnishings—if they could be called that—consisted of a concrete slab just long enough to recline on and a heavily battered toilet and sink. That was all.
“I’ll have some bedding and a pillow brought by,” Doyle said.
Connor couldn’t believe any of this was happening. These environments were surreal, something out of a movie or a child’s game, but here he was, in jail. Three concrete walls and a fourth made of metal bars. Connor sat on the stone slab and leaned his head against the cold wall, wondering what the future held.
* * * * *
Rain pitter-pattered on the leaves outside, the air in the bedroom cool and damp. David sat on his bed facing the open window, knees pulled up to his chin. There was no music playing to comfort him. For once, he needed silence. His ears strained over the sounds of wet tires driving by, hoping to hear a coughing engine pull into the neighborhood. Or a twig snapping along with the sound of footsteps on moist leaves.
Connor would come back to him, if he could. The second the police let him go, he would be at David’s window, apologizing for having been away. David would laugh at his constant concern and welcome him with open arms. Connor would come back. And yet the day faded to dark, and the rain blew away, leaving only dim flashes of summer lightning in the distance.
His stomach grumbled, the frozen pizza untouched in the freezer upstairs. Normally David would consider it a welcome treat, enjoying the empty house while his father was out late at his seminar. But for once David wished he was home. Maybe his father could do something, like talk to the police. Anything but this constant waiting and not knowing.
David didn’t move except to light a candle in the window, a beacon to guide Connor back to him. But he didn’t come. David was listening so intently for sounds of his arrival that he flinched when the garage door rumbled open. Desperate hope drove him to his feet. He was at the kitchen door leading to the garage when his father opened it.
“David! My god!” His father dropped his leather satchel on the floor and rushed to him, holding him by the arms and examining his face in horror. “What happened?”
David told him in short truncated sentences reluctant to escape his throat. He wasn’t sure if he was understood, but he fell into the hug his father gave him, whimpering and letting a few tears escape. Then he was brought into the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat, feeling like a little kid as he watched his father wet a washcloth with warm water.
“That boy won’t get away with this!” His father squatted in front of him, dabbing at David’s injuries with the cloth. With everything that had happened, David hadn’t yet cleaned himself up. “This Chuck person is going to face charges!”
“I filed a report with the police,” David said. “When they were taking Connor away.”
“Good.”
“Can’t we do something to help him?”
His father leaned back to consider him before he stood and started rummaging in the medicine cabinet. “I’m sure the police have it all under control.” He returned with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, which he applied to a corner of the washcloth.
“Is that the stuff that stings?”
“A little. Connor shouldn’t have gone after the other boy.” His father concentrated on cleaning the cut on David’s cheek. “Although at the moment, I don’t I blame him.”
“He loves me.”
“I daresay that’s obvious.”
“This is why I need to get out of here,” David said. He had his father’s sympathy at the moment, and he felt bad for taking advantage of that, but his words were true. “I can’t go to school here next year. It’s just going to get worse.”
“Leaving isn’t the
only solution.”
“But it’s the only one I want.”
His father dabbed at his face a few more times before tossing the washcloth in the sink. Then he leaned against the wall, considering David and shaking his head at what he saw. “I talked to your mother.”
“About Florida? What did she say?”
“That it was up to me.”
David didn’t feel liberated by this news. “She doesn’t care about me.”
“Don’t be foolish! Of course she does.” His father sighed. “You’re too much alike.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Where do you think your wanderlust comes from? Whenever Sharon wanted something, she went after it, never looking back. She was never content with me, always restless. When she met Jeff, she somehow found the place she wanted to be.”
That she had. David hadn’t understood when he made his choice years ago that he was saying goodbye to her. Of course she was still there, but it had never been the same. Maybe she had been hurt by him wanting to stay with Dad, or maybe Jeff completed her in a way they couldn’t. He didn’t know.
“It’s not like she went far,” David said.
“No, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way, does it? Sometimes our hearts go on long journeys while our bodies stay in place.”
That made sense. More than wanting to see exotic places, David had wanted to find where he belonged. That had never been here, not Kansas, not until he met Connor. Then he had been much more content, but Connor wanted to show him somewhere new, and David had found the best of both worlds. He loved Florida, and he loved Connor. As incomprehensible as it was, his mom must have felt the same way about Jeff. But to those left behind, there was a sense of loss, not discovery.
“I’d come back, Dad. I’d come visit on the holidays and call a lot. Or you could come down and see us. It won’t be like Mom, I swear.”
His father shook his head and stood. “This isn’t the time to discuss it. Have you eaten?”
David didn’t push his luck further that night. He didn’t want to argue and couldn’t stomach the idea of any more conflict. His father heated up the pizza for him, but by the time it was done, David’s mind was on Connor again. He nibbled on a couple of slices with disinterest. When he went back downstairs to his bedroom, the candle had blown out. David relit it, curled up on far end of the bed facing the window, and waited.
* * * * *
The next morning dawned with a backache from hell and bland scrambled eggs with soggy toast for breakfast. Connor set his empty tray by the bars, but didn’t see another living soul until past lunch time, if his grumbling stomach was any indication of the time.
The man who came to the cell didn’t look much older than Connor. He was dressed in a pressed suit, had immaculate hair, and carried a small briefcase. Under ordinary circumstances, Connor would have thought he was peddling religion, but when an officer let him in the cell, the man pulled a file—not righteous pamphlets—out of his briefcase.
“The dreaded manila folder,” he said with mock terror, tossing it on the bed and extending a hand. “Mark Zimm. I’m your public defender.”
Connor shook his hand. “That means you’re a lawyer, right?”
“That’s right.”
Mark sat on the bed as if they were now bunkmates. “Usually I’d talk to you in a conference room, but they’re all booked up. It’s a busy day for the court, which could be good or bad. Either way, the judge won’t want to spend much time on you. How do you plan to plead?”
Connor’s head was already spinning. “Can I get away with justifiable cause or something?”
Mark grinned at him. “Today the judge only wants to know if you plan to fight the charges or not. I understand this, uh—” The pages of the file were shuffled. “—Charles Bryl ended up in the hospital, so I’m thinking the answer is guilty.”
“He was beating up my boyfriend.”
Mark’s smile faltered for a moment. “Okay. That’s something better discussed in a trial. I wouldn’t mention it today.”
“David, the guy Chuck beat up, filed a statement with the police. Is Chuck in jail too, or is he still in the hospital?”
“I’m not sure where he is, but I’ll tell you an ugly truth. In situations like these, the winner is often the one who calls the police first. When someone files a counter complaint after an arrest, the police usually see it as revenge and don’t take it as seriously.”
Connor exhaled. “That’s fucking great.”
“You didn’t hear it from me,” Mark murmured as he consulted some more papers, “but the law isn’t always fair. I’m afraid the bad news doesn’t end there. You’re facing some serious charges. A felony in fact, which could mean more than three years in jail.”
Connor stiffened. “Three years? Isn’t there something you can do?”
Mark nodded. “Getting the charges lowered to plain battery would make a huge difference. That’s just a misdemeanor and could get you a month or two in jail and some fines.”
“Better, but I’d rather not do time at all. Is there another option?”
Mark set the file down. “Yes, but I’ll tell you now that if this goes to trial, the judge is less likely to be lenient on you. Not taking up the court’s time with cases like these usually earns some back-patting. It’s up to you, but I would recommend pleading guilty.”
Anger rose alongside Connor’s despair. “Look, I know you probably don’t get the whole gay thing, but I love David. Think of whoever is on the other end of that wedding ring you’re wearing and imagine Chuck beating up that person. What I did might have been extreme, but who wouldn’t do the same in my situation? Surely a jury would understand that, right?”
Mark studied him a moment. “Honestly, Connor, half that jury probably wouldn’t see past your sexuality. Even if they did, the trial won’t be about whether or not others would have done the same. The question would be whether or not you beat up Charles Bryl. Is there much room for doubt in that regard?”
Connor shook his head. Of course he did it. He wouldn’t deny that. He didn’t know much about legal matters, but he knew a misdemeanor was less serious than a felony. If he could just get through this, maybe it wasn’t too late to salvage what he and David had together. A little time, some of his summer lost, and then they could still move to Florida. “If you can get me away from aggravated battery, I’ll plead guilty.”
Mark gave a curt nod and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing. You’re due in court in two hours. I’ll come get you shortly before then. Is there anyone you want to call? Your parents, maybe?”
Connor shook his head. “No. Not yet. I’ll have a chance afterwards, right?”
“Absolutely. I’ll see you soon.”
At least Mark was kind enough to take the dirty food tray with him when he left. Connor lay back on the bunk and tried to remember everything he had been told. How much jail time for normal battery? Would anyone be willing to hire him with something like that on his record? Jesus, when his family found out! Or David’s dad. The more Connor thought about it, the more hopelessly screwed it all seemed.
When Mark returned a couple of hours later, an officer was with him. Together they walked Connor through marbled halls to the courtroom, and for once, the situation looked nothing like TV. The judge presided over all the usual settings, but no jury or audience was held in rapt attention. Instead everyone seemed impatient or bored while they waited in rows of cheap chairs. Most of the time the judge’s words were too quiet to hear, but those Connor picked up had to do with probation violations and traffic tickets. Few spoke to the judge for more than a minute or two, and those who left were soon replaced by newcomers. The entire business reminded Connor of a mall Santa.
Mark was right. The judge was busy, and to him, Connor would soon be another forgotten face. How was he supposed to plead his case in a situation like this?
“Are you sure I shouldn’t go to trial?” Connor whispere
d to his public defender.
Mark let his cheerful expression fall. “Trust me, you’d need a better lawyer than I am to avoid doing time. And more money.”
Connor’s name was called out and he flinched, thinking at first that he was being scolded for talking in court. He went up the aisle with Mark for his turn in front of the judge’s bench. Another lawyer stood there, representing Chuck, who wasn’t present. Connor understood about half the terms the lawyers spoke to each other before the judge addressed him directly.
Wiry eyebrows sat heavily over scowling eyes, the judge looking him over impatiently. Connor pictured him wearing hunting gear under his robes with a shotgun below his desk to grab as soon as the last case was heard.
“I understand you intend to plead guilty,” the judge said.
“Yes, sir.”
The judge grunted. “And are you repentant for what you’ve done?”
Damn. Connor hadn’t counted on this, but now wasn’t the time for pride. “I’m very sorry, sir. It’s the stupidest thing I’ve done in my life.” And yet he’d do it a hundred times over again to protect David. “I’ve never fought with anyone before and won’t ever again.”
The judge sniffed. “Do you have a job, young man?”
“No, sir,” Connor said. “I did until just recently.”
“And what happened?”
Connor swallowed more of his pride. At this rate, he wouldn’t need to eat lunch or dinner. “I was fired, but I already have a new job lined up.”
The judge didn’t appear impressed. “When I was your age I was fighting in a war. I had a wife back home I was supporting with our first child on the way. Do you have a family?”
Of course he did. He had parents, Tommy, and Tracy, and if things kept going well, David. But he knew that wasn’t what the judge was asking. “No, sir. I don’t.”
“Well, thank god for small favors.” The judge shuffled the papers aside, already reaching for the next case. “A month in county jail should show you what your future holds if you keep acting like a fool. If not, the six months of probation will keep you in line.”
“Yes, sir.”