by B. B. Hamel
I haven’t felt that in a long time. Five long years in a concrete cell.
I slam the laptop lid shut and look at the clock over the stove. It’s a little after nine in the morning. I need to get going. I leave the laptop and my bag, grab my keys, and head back outside.
Back in fucking Coldwyn. Never thought it would happen, but they better watch out.
“You’re late.” Uncle Nick looks up from his computer and frowns.
“Sorry,” I say. “Dropped my stuff off at the apartment first.”
He nods a bit. “How is it?”
“Shit,” I say. “But better than prison.”
He cracks a little smile. “Good. Got your first job in there.” He nods back toward the garage.
I cross my arms and hesitate. “Listen, I hate to ask this. But can I get an advance? I need to pay rent, get some furniture, some groceries. I’ll work it off, overtime if I gotta.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “On the desk there.” He nods at a little white envelope. “Go ahead, take it.”
I pick it up. There must be a few hundred dollars in cash. “This is too much.”
He watches me for a second. “Son, you rotted in jail for five years for a murder you didn’t commit. And now they toss you out here, no help, no nothing. Someone’s got to look out for you.”
I glance away from him. I hate the way people look at me sometimes. Like I’m some fucking charity case. Like they have to pity me. But truth is, I need Uncle Nick’s help right now.
My parents are dead now. Dad died years ago, when I was still a kid. Smoked his whole life and it caught up with him. Mom died when I was behind bars, I think of a broken heart, or at least that’s what Uncle Nick tells me. I think it was just from plain old drinking, which she always did even before I went away. I guess she hit the bottle harder, and she couldn’t handle it.
Now I’m alone in this world, and so be it. Uncle Nick picked me up from prison, let me crash on his couch, even gave me my father’s gun and some other stuff. I tossed the rest, kept the revolver, found an apartment, and now here I am, working in Uncle Nick’s garage. Fortunately, I’ve always been good at fixing cars, so I’m not a total fucking leech.
“I appreciate this,” I say. “I’ll work it off.”
He shrugs. “Do or don’t, I don’t care. Consider it a welcome home gift if you want.”
“I’ll pay you back.” I slip the envelope into my jeans.
“Anyway,” he says, glancing back at his computer. “Better get to work.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks.”
He shrugs and goes back to whatever he was doing. Uncle Nick is like that, the strong and silent type. He’s getting heavier in his old age, with a thick white beard and light blue eyes. He almost looks like Santa Claus, if it weren’t for the pockmarks that pit his face from when he was a kid.
The marks made him ugly, probably kept him from finding a wife, so now he lives alone and owns his garage, fixing cars, drinking on the weekends, just getting by.
I turn away and get to work. I don’t know where I’d be without Uncle Nick. Probably homeless. Instead, I’ve got a job, and I’ve got an apartment. Now I’ve got some money to start putting my life together.
And to start trying to find the bastards that set me up.
2
Avery
It feels like every time I turn on the TV, he’s there, staring right back at me.
We don’t get a lot of murders in Coldwyn, Maine. It’s a small town, a few miles from the coast, and it’s only claim to fame is the paper mill that employs pretty much the entire town. Seller Walker Paper is a titan in this part of the state, and as the daughter of Robert Seller, one of the founders and owners of Seller Walker, people like to think I’m smalltown royalty.
I don’t think I’m royalty. I think I’m more like a prisoner.
Five years ago, the murder of Lucinda Chavez, mother of three, was all over the news. The media obsessed about the case. It was heartbreaking, these poor little children left without their mother, all because of some monstrous drunk driver. It was a hit and run, with only one eyewitness, but that was enough to get the killer locked up. Good riddance too, Coldwyn doesn’t need a man like that running around its streets, and even better that his last name is Harper. That family is trash, plain and simple. Their son must be trash, too.
At least that was how everyone talked about it. Soon enough it disappeared from the conversation, but I never stopped thinking about it. Not even once.
Now, five years later, it’s back. Coldwyn doesn’t get a lot of murders, and they’ve never had a murder that was overturned due to a wrongful conviction. The news rocked the state, especially our little town.
I remember seeing him for the first time in years when I turned on the TV. It was Luke, coming out of the courthouse, head held high, flanked by his uncle and his lawyer. Luke looked into the camera and I thought he was staring right into me. His eyes were still that deep, incredible green, but there was a hardness in him. I still saw the boy I fell in love with, now five years older, but he was something else as well.
Two weeks pass, and the news doesn’t let up. They talk about Luke pretty much every day, and not a day goes by when I don’t see him staring back at me. I recognize him in my son Max, which is hard enough, but it’s even worse to see the man himself.
“Mommy, my castle is big.” I look over at Max and he smiles at me, waving his arms. A pile of Legos is in front of him, and he’s building a roughly castle-shaped structure.
“Very good, sweetie,” I say, smiling at him. He picks up a few more blocks and gets back to building.
I stare at the television. I don’t hear what the newscaster’s saying. I just see Luke, his eyes green like his son, his face handsome, his body still lean and muscular. It makes me think of all those nights together, his hands on my body, his mouth against mine.
That was the last time I was touched by a man, five years ago.
“Avery.”
I look up, surprised. My father’s standing in the door of the living room, a little frown on his face. He’s tall, about the same height as Luke actually, and rail thin. He’s a marathon runner, and it shows. His eyes are dark gray and his hair is thinning on the top, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s dressed for work, dress slacks and a polo shirt.
“Yes?” I answer.
He glances at the TV and back to me. “A word?”
I get up off the couch slowly. “Stay here, Maxy,” I say.
He just nods and keeps playing. I follow my father into the kitchen. He goes and pours himself a cup of coffee and I lean up against the counter, watching him carefully.
I was waiting for this conversation. I knew it was just a matter of time. We haven’t spoken about Luke in a few years, mainly because I’ve done as I was told, which always makes my daddy dearest happy. I live in his house, am dependent on his money, and I have no other choice. I’d be on the street if it weren’t for my parents. As it turns out, raising a child and trying to go to college isn’t exactly easy. I graduated from our local community college with a two-year degree, but I haven’t been able to find a full-time job. I work as a receptionist for a doctor in town, despite my father trying to get me to come to work for him at the mill.
I don’t want to be any more reliant on him than I have to be. Eventually I’ll get a real full-time job and move out. If it weren’t for my little project these last five years, I’d have enough saved up already, but as it is, I’m stuck.
So I do as daddy says, and I wait, just like I always have.
“You’ve been watching the news,” he says to me, sipping his coffee. It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” I say.
“And you know he’s out?”
I nod slowly. “I know.”
“Doesn’t change a thing.”
His words don’t surprise me, but they still hurt. “He didn’t do it,” I say softly to him, trying to contain my rage.
That’s all
I’ve been doing these last five years, trying to contain my rage.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says to me. “You think that’s the only reason we wanted you to stay away from him?”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s what you said. He’s a killer, he’s not good for me. But he’s not. He was innocent.”
“He’s a Harper,” Daddy says, as if that proves anything. “He’s trash. His whole family is trash. He got my only girl pregnant at eighteen and left her alone to raise her son.”
I clench my jaw. “He didn’t exactly run off.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He locks eyes with me. “Stay away from him, Avery. Nothing’s changed. You still need our help, and don’t forget it. I want to take care of you and my grandson, but I won’t have that fucking kid around here.”
I have to take a deep breath to keep from screaming at him. But as soon as the need to rage and shout comes on me, I let it pass over and wash away like I’ve done countless times.
I’ve gotten good at keeping myself calm.
“Whatever you say, Daddy.”
He smiles. “Good. That’s my girl.” He pats my shoulder. “You got work today?”
I shake my head. “Tomorrow.”
“Good. Very good.” He gives me one more look before walking off, heading back upstairs.
I stand in the kitchen, shaking like a leaf.
Luke’s a free man now, but I can’t see him. It’s like everything I did just doesn’t matter. I can work all I want, but in the end, Luke Harper is just trash and my family will never accept him.
Although I don’t even know if he wants to see me. He’s been out for two weeks and I haven’t heard from him. I can’t really be angry about that. I didn’t write to him, didn’t call, didn’t visit. I didn’t even tell him when his son was born. I’m guessing his uncle let him know, but I can’t be sure. His mom passed while he was away, and I didn’t even send my condolences.
Five years and not a word. It killed me every single day, but I did what I had to do. I got my associate’s degree. I got a job. I took care of my son. And I didn’t give up.
Now he’s free, and I can’t even go see him. I’ve been waiting for him all this time, the only person that believed in his innocence, and yet it feels like he’s still in jail.
“Mommy, look! Look! Castle!” Max climbs to his feet and kicks the Legos, sending them scattering all over.
I sigh. “Max, you shouldn’t do that,” I say. “Don’t make a mess.”
“I don’t make a mess,” Max says, climbing up onto the couch. “I don’t mess, I don’t mess, I don’t mess.”
I sigh and smile to myself. Just like his dad, headstrong and stubborn. I head out into the living room to be with my son, while on the television the man that I helped free gives me that same familiar look over and over and over again.
3
Luke
The first time I met Avery Seller, we were in gym class. She was one of the most popular girls in school back then, sort of the queen of Coldwyn because of her daddy. I hated her, although I didn’t know why.
I just knew that I was a Harper, and we were somehow not good enough for the Seller family.
We ended up on the same volleyball team anyway. I thought she was going to be a real pain in the ass, the kind of girl that never even tries to touch the ball, just dead weight. It didn’t really matter, since it was only gym class, but still. Girls like that always pissed me off, just lazy and prissy, not my type at all.
Instead, Avery was all over the court. She set me up for a few good spikes, dug a few good defensive shots, and at one point, she dove for a ball that was dropping right on the line.
She hit the gym floor pretty hard. I was the first person to get to her.
She looked up at me with those big, gorgeous blue eyes, the eyes I’d come to obsess over, dream about, spend so much time staring into that I’d forget anything else.
“You missed,” I say to her with a grin.
That’s the sort of line that would piss off most girls, but not Avery. She just grinned right back. “But I almost got it, though.”
“Damn close.” I reach out and help her up.
“Luke, right?” she asks.
I nod. “And you’re Avery.”
“Get up to the net. I’ll set you up again.”
I hesitate before nodding and getting into position.
We bumped into each other a few more times in the hallways, after school, and finally we ended up at the first big party of the year together. That night sealed it for us, we spent the whole time talking, and when I finally kissed her, it was like magic.
We were inseparable after that. Everyone wondered why Avery Seller would be with a guy like Luke Harper, a bad boy from a bad family, a kid that’s more into cars than anything else. Everyone assumed I was stupid, even though I was in good classes and got good grades. In a town like Coldwyn, that stuff doesn’t matter. People only see what they want to see, and nothing more.
Avery wasn’t like that. Maybe that’s what made me fall in love with her.
I let another week pass. I look at Avery’s profile, I think about adding her, but I never do. I get a bed, a couch, a TV, some pots and pans and shit from a thrift shop, and I set myself up in my apartment. I go to work at the garage, I work hard, and I come home at night.
That’s all I do for that first week. That, and I wake up drenched in sweat from the nightmares.
They’re always the same. I’m trapped in a box, screaming, shouting, kicking, but nobody comes. I wake up, panting and shaking every morning, the feeling of the dream lingering, an all-too-familiar sensation.
The routine feels good. At least until that Monday rolls around, and I finish up work early.
I toss my bag in my truck. Before I can head out, Uncle Nick appears. “Where you headed?” he asks. “Got a date?”
I don’t miss a beat. “Always do.”
He laughs a little. “Good work today. You got another Ford in the morning.”
“All right,” I say.
“Have a good night.”
“You too.” I start the engine of my truck and pull out.
As I drive, I can’t help but smile a little bit. My truck was impounded as evidence, and it sat on that county lot for five years, just waiting for me. Nice of them to keep it, and even nicer of them to give it back to me. I guess that’s the only good thing to come of all this, if you can call it good.
My truck was my alibi, although nobody believed me back then. It’s a 1969 Chevy C10, lovingly and painstakingly restored over the course of my high school career. I had just finished it a couple months before I was arrested, and that night I was two towns over for a car show.
At least, I was supposed to be. The show got rained out, and I decided to spend the night in a shitty little motor lodge instead of driving back to Coldwyn. In retrospect, I should have just driven the hour back home, but I was tired and annoyed that the event was rained out, plus I had a few drinks at a local bar. I figured, what’s the worst that could happen? I sleep in late, head home in the morning.
Bad fucking luck, I guess. Because that show got rained out, nobody could verify my alibi. The only person that could was the motor lodge attendant, but he refused to admit that he saw me. The security tape from that night went missing, so the police couldn’t confirm anything.
I was screwed. It was my word against two witnesses. Both guys said they saw my truck, my distinctive Chevy C10 truck, hit poor Lucinda Chavez’s Honda Civic going eighty. She was killed instantly. And apparently I just drove off, without a single speck of damage.
Well, the prosecution argued that my knowledge of cars allowed me to repair the damage, which is insanely ridiculous. You don’t just repair the damage to a truck that old in only a few days, but nobody believed me.
So I went to fucking jail.
I turn onto Lake Drive, the main road that cuts through the Lake Estates neighborhood. This is where I grew up, where my family home used to be. That
house was in my father’s family for years and years, though when my mother passed, my uncle ended up selling it. Can’t blame him, who knew I’d be getting out not too long later. I think he feels guilty about that.
But our place was always a stain on the neighborhood. We weren’t rich like everyone else around us, we just happened to have a house along with them. We couldn’t afford to upgrade it over the years, or even to maintain it all that well. Dad was lazy and Mom was drunk, and I was a kid, so the place went to shit.
I didn’t know Avery lived nearby. We never ran in the same circles in school. We didn’t even take the same bus, since the neighborhood is split in half practically. We were in our own separate worlds for so long, even though we lived just a half mile away from each other.
I drive slowly past my old house. It looks different. The new people are improving it, putting new shutters and windows in, and I think a new roof. Honestly, it looks a lot better. Grass is actually short for once. I should be more nostalgic, but I realize that I don’t miss it.
I keep on driving. I turn around and head back, but instead of going toward my apartment, I take a detour. I turn into the center of the neighborhood, toward the richer houses.
I don’t know why I do it. I must be insane or an idiot. But soon enough, I pull up across the street from Avery’s house.
I sit there, staring out the window. Memories assault me. Walking down the street with her, holding hands, making plans for the future. We had to hide our relationship from her father and her brother, which was frustrating, but we made it work. We spent a lot of time down by the creek that runs through here, right through her back yard actually. We’d sit by the water and hold hands, kiss for hours, joke and laugh.
Those were the good times. Back before I was thrown into a hole like a dog, forced to fight to survive. I’ve grown a lot since then. I’m a totally different man.
But my son… he’s inside that house. Right now, I could get out and walk in there and see him. My flesh and blood.