We're All Broken

by O. L. Gregory

  Simon shrugged. "You cared about yourself so much so that you got help for your mental health issues, put in the work necessary, but couldn't stop yourself from risking it all, to kill someone who's never done a thing to you, and you weren't under the influence of alcohol. Tell me about that moment."

  Roger slouched back in the chair. "I couldn't help it. There I was, giving her the benefit of the doubt, then I was ready to get out and go to her side. And then, after obviously not wanting to be somebody else's victim, that bitch climbed in the car, perfectly willing to let other people suddenly become her victims. That's the thought that pushed me into going after her."

  "She'd engaged your sympathies, and then turned out to be not worthy of them."

  Roger thought about it for a moment, just now putting this little piece of the night together. This aspect was new from the usual routine. And anything out of routine could only help him tonight. "Yes. I didn’t think of it like that, earlier. But I think you've just pegged it."

  "Was it your intent to kill her, when you began to follow her?"

  "No. I intended to follow her and become a witness for police, when she crashed."

  "Why didn't you just call the police and tell them you were following a drunk driver, and tail her until the police caught up to catch her?"

  "Because I'd have to give my name over the phone, and it'd be in a report, and I didn't want it becoming a thing where the court thought I had a thing out for drunks. I didn't want it to come up in my custody suit. It was the first time I'd followed anyone, and I wanted to keep it confidential, between a therapist and myself."

  "All right. So, you followed her, and she didn't crash. She made it safely back to her home. Why didn't you leave?"

  "Ugh! Because she'd broken the law and had gotten away with it! There was nothing about what she had done that would have taught her a lesson on not doing it again. She'd put people's lives in danger. She'd merely gotten lucky that she hadn't hit anything. Does that mean she should have been allowed to get away with it, probably over and over, until her luck ran out, she hurt somebody, and only then says she’s sorry?"

  "Who are you to stop her?"

  "I'm a witness that saw what she did!"

  "And took upon himself to dole out his own version of justice?"

  "Well, the police weren't there to do it. And I was only going to do to her what she clearly was more than willing to do to somebody else."

  "Except the police were there. They saw what happened in the parking lot, and that she got in the car. She was going to be caught, without your presence. And, in fact, would have been pulled over far sooner. But they thought they were onto the trail of the serial killer. So, what happened instead was that they put the cars in what was basically a slow speed chase, of sorts. They did their best to prevent the drunk girl from crashing, while waiting for your actions to pan out. Because they had to wait until you made a deadly move. Point being, she was going to be caught anyway."

  Roger's shoulders slumped even more.

  "Why did you have the gun in the car?"

  "Protection. I've hooked up with people over the internet, to swap services, and while I've been fortunate and successful so far, you never know who these people are, not really. I could be dealing with someone who happens to have a talent I need, but who is also looking for their next victim. These people are self-employed, which means they have no company standing behind them. It's a risk to give them too much information, or let them know how well you're doing. So, I keep a gun for protection."

  "In the car?"

  Roger shrugged. "There are people going in and out of my house. It'd be easier to get at me when I'm going back and forth to therapy. Emotionally, I'm more vulnerable after a session."

  "Where'd you get the gun?"

  "It was my father's. I have my license, though."

  "Not anymore."

  Roger shrugged. "It's just as well."

  "Do you own any other guns?"

  Roger looked him in the eye. "No."

  "Did your dad?"

  Roger shrugged. "I didn’t find any others. But I wasn't exactly thorough when I tossed his stuff, after his death."

  "Well, I do know that the same gun was used for all the serial killer's murders. As long as the markings on bullets they're going to fire from your gun don't match the markings of the serial killer's bullets, you should be clear of those charges. And your history of mental health issues will be helpful."

  "Temporary insanity?"

  Simon shook his head. "No. More like, let's get you in a mental health facility for your sentence, and keep you out of prison. That's going to be my goal."

  * * * * * * * * * *

  "But why?" I asked.

  It was Friday afternoon. I'd just gotten home from school, and had just been told that I was not going to my Dad's house for the weekend.

  "Honey, I'm sorry, I am, but your Dad just can't do it."

  "But I was supposed to get to spend the weekend with Charlotte and Sophie!" I was on the edge of whining and didn't care.

  Sandy, Sadie’s mom, bit her lip like she always did when there was more that she wasn’t saying.

  "What happened?"

  "Honey…"

  "Was taking all three of us too much? Did his therapist tell him not to do it? Does he have the flu or something? Did he have an accident? Is he having surgery? Oh, God, did he die?"

  Sandy's eyes had widened bigger and bigger as I kept guessing, "No, no! He's not in the hospital… he's… he, he got sick again, his depression and mental health. We don't know if you and your sisters’ custody had anything to do with it, but probably not. Sometimes mental health patients just… relapse."

  "So, is he back in the mental hospital?"

  "...No. He's, well, they're trying to figure out what they should do with… for him."

  I didn't know how much I believed her. But as long as Dad was getting help, I wasn’t going to call her a liar and make keeping me any more difficult for her. I turned to leave the kitchen.

  “Penny, honey, I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. I’ll just see them at the visitation center.”

  “Um…”

  I turned back to her. “They’re not even going to let us see each other anymore, just because Daddy can’t be there?”

  “Well, honey, no. I mean, I can talk to the other fosters. We all exchanged numbers when bringing you guys in. Maybe I can push them on meeting at a park, somewhere that they can bring all their kids for an outing, if they want. I promise, I’ll try my best to set something up.”

  I knew she was just doing her best, and I knew she meant well. “It’s just not the same. I mean, yes, please, I want to see them whenever you can make it work, and thank you. But,” tears sprang from my eyes, “I was supposed to be getting them back. I was supposed to be going home in a few weeks. I made a countdown calendar and everything!”

  And then the tears started falling off my face and the world felt like it had started spinning as I slid to the floor, wailing and crying, like the twins having a meltdown over having to share a doughnut.

  Sandy got on the floor with me and hugged me to her, rocking me.

  “I want my mo-o-o-m-my!” I wailed out, like the toddler I felt like would have wailed.

  “I know, baby, I know,” Sandy whispered through tears of her own.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Five Years Later

  “Mr. Hayes, are you aware how rare it is that we would even give you the chance to be heard in front of the parole board, after only serving five years for an attempted murder conviction?”

  “Yes, sir. Many tried to tell me to not even bother trying.”

  “And why did you not listen?”

  “Because, sir, if I had, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to hear in what areas I need to continue to improve upon, in order to gain parole at a more appropriate time.”

  The men sitting at the table seemed to consider that.

  “Mr. Hayes,
I think that might have been the best answer to that question I’ve ever heard. I must say, looking through your paperwork and the reports from your in-house therapists, psychiatrist, staff, and even your roommate, they all sing your praises.”

  “I’m in here to focus on my mental health recovery, and I’ve devoted myself to it. I’ve tried to be useful wherever I could. I’ve found it helpful to keep busy and stay focused on constructive things.”

  “If you were to be granted parole, how would you support yourself outside these walls?”

  “My small company that I started before that horrible night, is still operating. The employee that I’d been working with stepped up to manage all the day-to-day operations, for an increase in pay and title. I use my weekly phone call to contact him and get the rundown on everything, plus we send mail back and forth. He’s hired on three other employees over the years, and the business that is legally mine has been making sufficient money.”

  “Where would you live?”

  “Where I was before. The business is run out of my basement office. My manager has paid all my bills for it out of what would be my share of the profits.”

  “How do you know he isn’t swindling you?”

  “I have an accountant that I’ve hired separately, to keep a check on things. He and I correspond through mail. My lawyer has checked, as well.”

  “And what are your plans for your children?”

  This was a tricky question. He actually didn’t know what they would want him to say to this one. “I miss my children greatly. But I understand that being convicted of an attempted murder, when they were already in foster care, caused me to lose all rights to them. Of course, I want to re-establish contact with them. But I can only imagine the unnecessary heartache and stress that my actions have caused them. I know that they owe me nothing. I'm aware that, in as far as legalities go, I'm not even owed the right to know where they're staying, if anyone has been adopted, or if any of them are together or even in contact with one another. My only wish is that when the system drops them at eighteen, they are each told that they will be forever welcomed in my home."

  "If you could go back to the night of the attempted murder, what would you do differently?"

  "I would have asked that the group therapist have us all stay longer and list the good things alcohol had given to each of us. That would have had each of us acknowledging the pain, but also have it balanced with positive, so none of us risked having a moment like I suffered."

  "Then let me ask you now, what good have you gained from alcohol, Mr. Hayes?"

  "Determination and perseverance to set lofty goals and achieve them, it was the only way I ever made it to college, let alone graduated. And it's that attitude and mindset that attracted my wife, and later drew my kids to me. So, really, I have just as much to thank alcohol for, as I have to blame."

  The questioning continued far longer with him than he thought they'd spent with any of the others.

  Then, a few staff members stepped forward on his behalf. They spoke of how he had written a custom app for the facility's scheduling of staff, session schedules, cafeteria menus, you name it. With a couple taps, you knew who was in the building, who was supposed to be in the building, where they'd last been, and where they'd show up next. Any additions they wanted, he added on. He'd done the work free of charge.

  Another spoke about how he was giving lessons to other patients on beginner's coding. Therapists spoke about him being prompt for sessions, very communicative, and that he genuinely had a complete hold on his mental health.

  "Mr. Hayes, we've now heard from everyone we need to, except for one." The man leading the hearing gestured toward the door, and the officer standing there opened the door and nodded to someone.

  In through the door came a familiar face. Familiar, because he'd vowed to never forget it.

  Roger dropped to his knees. "I'm so sorry. I've wanted to tell you that, to your face, for five years. I've wanted to apologize to your family, for the grief I nearly caused them. I have no excuse for my actions that night, only an explanation. The grief of losing my wife to a drunk driver broke me, and in turn, my family. I saw you take off down the road, knowing you were driving impaired, and suddenly, it was like it was happening all over again. I'm unbelievably sorry that I almost made you pay the price for my grief."

  Roger took a breath, having rehearsed that speech in his mind for the last year and a half.

  "Mr. Hayes, please stand. Ms. O'Connor, you've requested that time be allowed to hear your impact statement. Please share that with us now."

  Belinda O'Connor nodded and stepped forward. She turned to Roger and said, “I do not accept your apology.” Then she turned to the board, "I was nobody. I was raised in a middle-class family by a mother who did everything for me and a father who let me get away with everything. Grades barely passing, because nobody seemed to care, and it was easier to breeze through than try at all. I was entitled and poorly educated. I moved in with some friends after graduation, and was mad that I wasn’t getting my own room, and felt that justified me in not paying my share of the bills." She paused to chuckle. "Which was further justified in my mind because I'd lost the job I'd just gotten because I couldn't get it through my head that my hours were set and that I couldn't just show up when I wanted to. After two months of paying my friends nothing for the roof over my head, they threw me out. And my parents refused to take me back in, because I was grown and no longer their problem."

  "And how has the night in question changed you?" the board leader prompted.

  "That night, I had just gotten a paycheck from one of the four gig jobs I was working. I drove to that bar, knowing I'd be lit when I came out. I flirted with that guy who followed me out. I'd wanted to get him to pay for my drinks that night, so I’d still have money in my pocket for gas the next day, and he did. Then, I wanted to ditch him and go home. He didn't want to be ditched, and I thought I was about to have real trouble. When those other guys came out to get him off me, I thought I was home free. I climbed into that vehicle, and didn't care a bit that I was putting anyone else in danger. In my mind, there was no danger. When I got out of the car, and there were suddenly police lights and yelling on the street, I really thought it had nothing to do with me. But then they were coming after me, demanding a Breathalyzer and blood draw and I knew I was in for it. Finding out that someone was about to kill me for putting others in danger, making it so that I would be guaranteed to never hurt anyone in the future… it broke me."

  Roger could feel his parole slipping away.

  Belinda wiped unshed tears from her eyes and took a deep breath, quelling her emotions, "But it broke me for the better. I remember laying in my jail cell, the next morning, thinking I wished that guy would have shot me, because then I wouldn't have to deal with my own mess. I ended up getting therapy, with someone who pulled no punches in getting me to understand how twisted my thinking really was. It's been a long road, but I've gotten my life together. If you want to know what the actions of this man did to me, I'd say that he helped me to understand that my actions actually do affect other people, and that I alone am responsible for whether it is a positive or negative influence. The simple truth is, he saved me. And it wasn't because I got caught drunk driving, it was because killing me would have done other people a serious favor that night. That's the thought that woke me up. It's the only thing that shook me to my core. Not waking up in jail, but knowing somewhere, out there, someone should be very disappointed that he hadn't succeeded that night. I would have blamed the cops for catching me and blown the whole thing off. I would have ignored the license suspension and drove. And I would have driven drunk again, because I hadn't hurt anyone yet, and wouldn't have expected that to ever change. I maybe wouldn't have cared even if I did. The truth is, this man actually saved my life, along with the life I would have eventually taken."

  She turned to Roger. "This may sound stupid, but I don’t need your apology. I want to thank you for trying to s
hoot me. It's been the most significant thing a person has ever done for me."

  She turned back to the board. "I was given a second chance to live a better life. I ask that this man be given the same opportunity."

  The board leader cleared his throat. “I’ve been doing this for a number of years, and this is only the second time a victim has thanked her attacker. Both times, it opened a journey for personal growth. And while this dire happenstance had a merciful and happy ending for this woman, we are in no way grateful for your actions of that night.”

  Roger shook his head, almost sputtering, “Of course not.”

  The leader pointed to a chair along the wall. “Have a seat while we confer, Mr. Hayes. Ms. O’Connor, thank you for your impact statement, we will keep your written statement on file, you may leave.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a nod, and turned to exit the room.

  Roger sat, letting out a slow breath. He’d given it his best shot. He’d claimed he had only come in for feedback on how to better himself and his chances in the future. It was the same line he’d given everyone he’d discussed it with. But he wanted out of this place just as much as the rest of the ‘patients’ did.

  Well, except for Marley. Marley seemed stable enough in here, with structure and guaranteed food and shelter. You follow the rules, and life goes on alright for you. On the outside, Marley couldn’t handle it.

  But he wasn’t Marley. And he’d done everything in his power for the last five years to play into the model patient/inmate. That custom app he’d made for them and perfected with their every request? He owned the rights to it and his company had already marketed it to a number of institutions. Sure, he’d given it to this place for free, the employees here had been his Guinea pigs in refining what the software needed, but the profits from the others had just about paid off the remainder of his mortgage. And sending it to Max had proven that Roger could still hold his own with the company, lest Max think about abandoning the company to start his own and take all the employees and customers with him.