“Mami, vamanos!” the other Latina yelled, hearing the sirens in the distance. They both jumped into the Focus and disappeared into the shadows.
Chapter Fifty-three
The first things Freddie saw when he opened his eyes in the hospital were a bright white light, and two blurry faces. As his vision returned and his pupils focused, he saw that the two faces belonged to two smiling men he had never seen before but recognized instantly: cops.
“Welcome back, Mr. Holmes,” Wilson announced triumphantly. “You almost got away from us, for good. But thank God for the miracle of modern medicine. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Freddie just looked at Wilson, stone-faced.
“I didn’t think you would. But I can’t say that I blame you, because where I’m sending you, you’re going to wish you were dead,” Wilson taunted, then began with the all-too-familiar words, “You have the right to remain silent . . .”
Epilogue
One Year Later
Trenton State Prison was the end of the road for anybody in the New Jersey prison system with twenty-five years or more. Nothing but concrete and steel, it was where dreams died and inmates prayed for miracles. This was where Freddie was expected to serve out his twenty-eight-year sentence. He had been charged with three murders and one attempted murder. Three murders because the gun he killed Mannie with had two previous bodies on it. He easily beat the first two bodies, but copped to one count of second-degree murder and attempted murder for the cop he shot.
He lay back on his bunk, looking at the letter in his hands. The return address simply read: SIMONE JACKSON.
He smiled. He had been down for almost nine months and Simone hadn’t written him one letter. She had sent numerous pictures of his daughter, Fredica Simone Jackson, and had sent the beautiful bundle of joy up to see him with his mother, but she had never written him prior to the letter he held in his hand.
Freddie was almost afraid to read the letter, satisfied with the daydream of what he wanted it to say but knew in his heart it didn’t. He had written her countless letters, and this was her first reply. There was a scent to it.
Hello Freddie,
How have you been? I received all of your letters, and to answer your question, Fredica Simone and I are doing fine. Did you get the last pictures I sent you? She is growing so fast, it’s amazing! Every day I thank God for her little fat-faced self. Everyone says she looks like I spit her out. I must admit, she does look a lot like me, but those are definitely your dimples and your eyes. Every time I look into her eyes, I think of you, the good times that we shared, and it makes me smile.
I am also glad that you are doing well with your college courses. I always knew you had it in you. Remember I used to try to get you to go back to school? I’m glad you’re doing it now. Never stop learning, regardless of where you are.
After all the times you wrote me, I guess you’re surprised to finally hear from me. But I felt there were some things that I needed to say to you, for you and for myself to have closure. You said in one of your letters that you’re sorry for everything you did to hurt me and that you don’t blame me for what I did to you. Believe it or not, Freddie, I don’t blame me either. I’m not trying to rub it in or be an evil bitch, but you owed me at least that. Do you remember what you said at the airport? What you vowed to me? You pledged on your soul to give me your life. Do you remember, or were those just sweet words you’re so good at talking?
You say you don’t hate me and I don’t hate you. I feel sorry for you because I don’t think you deserve all that time. It was a no-win situation for you, and you did what you had to do. But ask yourself this: if you hadn’t had sex with that girl, would you have even been in that position? Think about that, because until you change that part of yourself, you haven’t changed at all, like you claim.
As for money, I’m okay. I’m working in Elizabeth and going to school at night. Plus, I have some money put up, which I have you to thank for. All that money you were giving me I was saving, saving for us, until “us” became our daughter and me. With what I saved, plus the $25,000 Slug and Kiki gave me, I bought the house that you now have the address to. It’s hard but I’m making it.
And lastly, as to my personal life, you need not be concerned about that and I don’t need any advice from you as to what kind of man I need. There will never be another you, because no one will ever hurt me like you did. No one will be playing daddy, as you put it, either. I will continue to send you pictures of our daughter, and I’ll send her to see you with your mother at least twice a month. But please don’t think you can use Fredica Simone to set things right between you and me. They are as they are meant to be.
I’m praying for you, for your strength and wisdom, and I pray you can get out because our daughter deserves that. She deserves to have her father in her life. Stay strong, Freddie.
Sincerely,
Simone
* * *
Freddie sat up on the bunk and laid Simone’s letter beside him on the pillow. She was right and there was nothing he could say. He had made many promises to her, promises she had bet her life on, and he had let her down. He must have been a fool to think that, after all that, she’d do twenty-eight years with him. Freddie didn’t even know how he could do twenty-eight years. One day at a time, he guessed.
Slug hadn’t written him once since his incarceration and that angered him. But knowing Slug had hit Simone off with the amount of money he had made him grateful to Slug in his heart. He had no way of knowing it was his own money, the money he had paid Simone’s ransom with, nor would he ever.
Freddie thought about what Simone said about the time he got. He didn’t feel he deserved it either, but looking back on all the people he had used, abused, or manipulated, he realized that justice had truly been served, and he had to accept it.
His thoughts turned to Gina. He hadn’t written her or heard from her at all. He really didn’t have anything to say. Until now.
Freddie crossed his small cell to his desk and took out his notepad and pen. His attention was caught by the series of pictures of Tina on his desk. Tina had hopped the fence months ago, after she learned what he had been on the run for. She wrote for a few months, then the letters just stopped. The only reason he kept the pictures was because they were nude and panty shots in all seven of them. He chuckled to himself as he grabbed his pen.
G,
I don’t know if you’ll ever read this or if you even want to hear from me. I’m sure you know where I’m at and the bid I got. You’ve always got your ear to the streets (smile).
I’m not gonna stress this scribe with all kind of apologies or whatever because I know you know I am sorry for how I treated you, but you probably don’t want to hear it. It’s all good, though. I just wanted to tell you that I finally learned the measure of a man. The measure of a man is taking responsibility for your own actions, good and bad. When you do something good, it’s only the result of the lessons from doing bad. And when you do bad, you accept the consequences. I ain’t doing this time for murder, but for the life I led that led me to that. I understand that now.
I just wanted you to know that I truly appreciate all that you mean to me, and I’ll forever value the time we spent together. I don’t expect to hear back from you, but I just wanted you to know at least this.
Freddie
Freddie sat back and tilted the chair until he was looking at the ceiling. Twenty-eight years. He was twenty-two and would be approaching fifty when he got out. He set the chair down on all four legs and looked at the notepad. He felt he had a story to tell, and he definitely had the time to tell it. He took up his pen, and this was how it began:
The first bullet whizzed through the air, shattering the bottle of Grand Cru Rémy Martin on the table, piercing the soft flesh of my upper left side, breaking two ribs. The burning sensation ignited my insides, telling my intoxicated mind that I had been shot.
The End
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On the Run with Love
Copyright © 2016 J.M. Benjamin
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