“Oh, you’re a shrink now, eh, Ed?”
“I don’t have to be a professional to see it. Look, you’re a good guy. She’d be proud of you if she saw it the way I do. You’ve made the best of your time here more than anyone I’ve seen come and go before.”
I’d damn well tried. I’d taken some classes toward finishing my degree and even organized a soccer program for the inmates in the adjoining juvenile hall. I was determined not to let these years be a total waste, to make something good out of them. If being here meant giving up everything, it was damn well not going to be for nothing. There was no doubt I’d be leaving prison a different person—not a happier one—but a stronger one.
Eddie interrupted my thoughts. “Let me ask you this. What if you found out this chick was out there somewhere still single? Don’t you think what you had is worth risking disappointment for a shot at a second chance?”
Before I could answer, the long, slow creak of the prison cell door opening echoed through the halls.
I looked at Eddie. “I guess this is it.”
He hugged me, patting my back. “When you start to feel down, think about this. If nothing else, Chancey boy, you’re still one of the best lookin’ dudes ever to leave prison with his ass intact.”
I broke out into almost hysterical laughter. I was definitely going to miss him. “You’re a good bloke. You’ve always had a knack for showing me the bright side of things.”
“Glad I could do that for you.”
“I’ll keep in touch, eh?” I said, exiting the cell.
I let out a deep breath as I followed the prison guard through the halls amidst the heckling, swearing and applause of my fellow inmates.
He took me to a room where I signed the release papers. This felt surreal. I definitely expected to be happier about leaving. Instead, the fact that I was about to become a free man left me feeling surprisingly numb.
I waited alone until he returned with a large plastic Ziploc containing my belongings. Opening that bag was like opening a time capsule of an abandoned life. There were my jeans, and navy pullover sweatshirt that I’d been wearing when I turned myself in, along with my wallet, phone and watch.
My iPhone was dead, so I asked the guard if he could find me a charger. Since it was an older phone, no one seemed to have the right kind. Apple had apparently come out with two new versions since my imprisonment began. That figured. The guard was finally able to find someone in the office with a charger that fit my phone.
“You can charge your phone in here, get dressed, and then you’re free to go.”
I nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
I plugged the charger into the wall and proceeded to change into my clothes. After several minutes, a light illuminated the screen of my phone as the device turned on. I waited a bit longer to allow the battery to gain enough juice to last the trip to surprise my sister. I was originally going to have her pick me up, but I decided to keep mum instead.
When it was time to walk out, I felt like a fish out of water. My footsteps past the guard booth were intentionally slow.
The bright sunshine outside the gates was a shock to my system. There I was standing in front of the massive prison building wearing the same clothes from two years ago and having no clue what to do with myself. It felt like the day I turned myself in was just yesterday and a lifetime ago all at once.
How did one become reacquainted with his own life? I felt like asking myself, “Where did we leave things again?”
I looked around me. There should have been a guidebook of what the fuck to do with yourself when you’re let out of prison.
When you’re locked up, it seems like your life is on pause. You come out expecting and wanting everything to be exactly the same, but knowing damn well that it’s not.
All I fucking wanted right then was to go back to exactly where my life left off.
She was where my life left off.
What I wouldn’t have given to snap my fingers and have her pull up to the jail in the BMW with that stinking animal in the backseat. One could only dream.
My mind was heading into delusional and dangerous territory. I shook my head and pulled out my phone to look up the number for a car service then remembered I had no data plan. Miraculously, the internet seemed to work. My phone was part of a family plan with my sister, and she must have continued paying the bill. I decided I’d walk to the nearest train station instead of taking a cab. Before I started the trek, I happened to click on my photo library.
Big. Fucking. Mistake.
It opened up to the last picture taken. It was of Aubrey. There she was.
Oh. God.
My heart felt like it came alive again after a two year hiatus.
Princess.
Suddenly, the emotions I was hoping to suppress had appeared in all of their glory, completely overpowering the numbness I’d experienced just minutes earlier.
I’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was. Aubrey never knew I took that picture. I’d snapped it of her sleeping peacefully in the hotel room right before I left. I wanted to always remember that moment.
Our fucking wedding night. It was supposed to be fake, but it felt all too real. Nothing had ever felt more real in my entire life.
Now, I was cursing at myself for ever thinking that taking that photo was a good idea. I should have deleted every single last image of her so that I’d never have to look at what I lost—the heart that I damn well knew I’d shattered into a million pieces.
At the time, I truly felt my leaving her the way I did was for her own good. I knew what kind of person Aubrey was. She would have waited every single day of those two years for me. That wasn’t fair. After everything she’d been through, she deserved her fresh start. A new city, a new life…she was on the verge of finally starting to live the life she wanted. I couldn’t drag her down, couldn’t make her spend two more years lonely and sad. She deserved better.
Fucking her was definitely not part of the plan. Several times during the trip, I’d almost lost my control, but that night in Vegas was the last straw. I’d tried with all of my might to avoid giving in. But I wasn’t strong enough. I came apart when she stormed into my room. I’d never made love to anyone like that in my life, and to this day, I didn’t regret it. That night with her meant everything to me.
My finger lingered over the photo. I couldn’t get myself to slide back through to the others. But I also knew I’d never delete them for as long as I lived.
When I stuck my phone back into my pocket, my fingers touched a piece of metal. I took it out. Gleaming in the sunlight was the fake gold wedding band that I’d still been wearing the day I turned myself in. Twirling it between my thumb and index finger, anger started to build up inside of me.
I stood there, staring at the ring, trying to figure out why I was so fucking angry all of a sudden. It was because I was starting to doubt whether I’d made the right decision.
Eddie’s question from earlier—the one I never answered—replayed in my head. “Let me ask you this. What if you found out this chick was out there somewhere, still single. Don’t you think what you had is worth risking disappointment for a shot at a second chance?”
Placing the ring on my finger, I answered the question, “Fuck yes, it would be worth it.”
I took the phone out of my pocket. My heart was pounding out of my chest as I typed into Google: Aubrey Bloom Temecula.
Chapter Fourteen
2 years and 2 weeks ago
“Will the defendant please rise?”
I stood. My lawyer stood with me.
“Mr. Bateman, has your attorney explained the charges that you are pleading guilty to today?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Before I can accept your guilty plea, I must be confident that you understand the charges against you, the effect of your guilty plea, and that you are entitled to a trial. The procedure that we do here today is called allocution. I will ask you a series of questions and then you will b
e given an opportunity to make a statement on your own behalf before sentencing. Do you have any questions about this procedure?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“You have been charged with a violation of California penal code 242—Felony Battery With Serious Bodily Injury. Has your attorney explained the elements of this crime to you?”
“Yes, Your Honor. He has.”
“And do you understand that you are entitled to a trial by a jury of your peers and that a plea of guilty today will effectively waive that right?”
“I do. Yes, I understand.”
“And do you wish to waive that right today and plead guilty to the crime that you have been charged with?”
“I do.”
“In your own words, can you please state the elements of the crime that you are charged with?”
“I am charged with physically injuring another person and causing him serious bodily harm.”
“Okay, Mr. Bateman. This Court finds that you understand the nature of the crime with which you are charged and the implications for your plea today. The district attorney and your attorney have put forth a plea bargain for the Court to accept. One of the conditions of this plea bargain requires that you provide the explicit details of the crime you have committed and the reason the crime has been committed. This removes any doubt as to the nature of your guilt. Are you prepared to provide the Court with your statement at this time?”
I turned my head and looked back at the mostly empty Court. A bailiff was picking dirt from under his fingernails. A few men in gray suits had their heads down and were texting away on their phones. It was as if nothing earth shattering was happening; this was an every day mundane occurrence. There was only one face that looked shattered in the gallery. I’d done my best to get her not to come—but she insisted. There in the third row of the courtroom, sitting alone on one of the worn, wooden pew style benches, sat my sister Adele. Her nose was red and tears were streaming silently down her face. I hated that she was going to hear the details all over again.
Returning my attention to the waiting Judge, I nodded and spoke quietly. “Yes, Your Honor. I’m ready.”
“Alright. What say you, Mr. Bateman? Tell the Court what happened on the night of July 10th?”
I swallowed hard. “On the night of July 10th, I went to the home of a drug dealer and threatened him—”
The Judge interrupted me and spoke to my attorney. “This is an alleged drug dealer, correct? The victim has not been convicted of any crime?”
My attorney responded. “Yes, Your Honor. The victim has not been convicted of any crime.”
Ain’t that a kick in the ass. I’ll be a convicted felon before all of the real criminals.
The Judge directed the next part to me. “Mr. Bateman, you can either refer to the victim as the victim, the alleged drug dealer or by his name. Anything else will not be tolerated. Do you understand?”
My jaw clenched so tight I thought I might crack a pearly white, but I nodded. There was no fucking way I was calling that piece of shit a victim. Adele was the only victim in this whole tragedy.
“Go on.”
“As I was saying. I went to the home of the alleged drug dealer, Darius Marshall, and threatened him. The alleged drug dealer was the boyfriend of my sister. It’s my understanding that he had a dispute with another alleged drug dealer. I threatened Darius to tell me where the other drug dealer was. The police had been looking for the other alleged dealer for two weeks and weren’t making any progress. I wanted to help. Darius refused to tell me where the guy was.”
“And why were the police looking for this other alleged drug dealer?”
I looked at the bench and then back at my sister. She looked broken. Taking a deep breath, I continued, “He raped my sister. To get even with Darius. And before he left her beaten and scarred, he told her he’d be back again.”
It was the first time the Judge’s face softened. “And what did you do when Darius Marshall refused to give you the information you wanted?”
It was a small victory, but the Judge finally stopped calling Darius the victim, too. “I attacked him.”
“Were any weapons involved in the attack?”
I looked to my attorney and back to the judge. “I don’t believe so, Your Honor?”
“You don’t believe so? Meaning you aren’t sure?”
“Well…no weapons were recovered at the scene, and I don’t recall having one with me. But, no, I can’t be sure.”
“And why is that Mr. Bateman?”
“Because I don’t remember most of the attack.”
“I see. What is the last thing that you are able to recall?”
I knew. But I damn sure didn’t want to repeat it out loud. She was so fragile already.
My lawyer whispered to me, “You need to do this, Chance.”
I cleared my throat. “Darius said something to me. And that’s the last thing I can recall.”
“And what is it that he said, Mr. Bateman?”
My attorney had warned me not to show anger. It took every ounce of willpower that I had to unclench my fists and speak. “He said…my sister was a crack whore, and she might as well have gotten the first one under her belt because she would be taking cock down her throat in exchange for a dime bag by next week.”
The judge looked sympathetic momentarily. “And do you know the nature of the injuries that Darius Marshall sustained?”
“As far as I’ve been told, he had a broken nose, a fractured eye socket, a concussion and a few broken ribs.”
“And you recall none of the actions that lead to these injuries?”
“No, Your Honor. I don’t. I remember what I already told you, and the next thing I can recall is him saying 1925 Harmon Street.”
“Alright then, Mr. Bateman. We’re almost done here. I have a few additional questions before we will break and then come back this afternoon for sentencing.”
I nodded.
“Do you regret your actions, Mr. Bateman?”
The last question was a bone of contention between my lawyer and me. While he didn’t outright tell me to lie, I could read between the lines. But I’d come this far. I was going to stand tall. Not three hours after Darius was carted away in an ambulance, the dealer that attacked Adele was arrested. I looked straight into the eyes of the Judge and told the honest to God’s truth. “No. I don’t regret my actions.”
It was nearly four by the time the Judge called us back into the Courtroom. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes before speaking. “Mr. Bateman. Do you understand that as a result of your guilty plea, you may lose certain valuable civil rights such as the right to vote, the right to hold public office, the right to serve on a jury and the right to possess a firearm?”
Even after having two months to think about the consequences of my actions, I didn’t care about what I lost. Only that Adele could sleep at night again. “I understand, Your Honor.”
“Okay, then. Mr. Bateman, your plea deal with the District Attorney to serve two years is found to be an adequate punishment and is therefore accepted by this Court. While the Court sympathizes with what your family has gone through, our legal system must be trusted to serve its intended purposes. We cannot have vigilantes running all over the city avenging crimes as they see fit. Your request for time to get your affairs in order is granted with the condition that you turn in your passport and do not leave the state of California. You are hereby ordered to surrender to the Los Angeles County correctional facility in fourteen days.” The judge slammed his gavel and just like that, I was a convicted felon.
Chapter Fifteen
Even though my place was blocks from the beach, the smell of the ocean permeated the air. I took a deep breath and filled my lungs with freedom. Damn it smelled good.
The last thing I did before turning myself in for two years of hell, was check my sister into rehab. I knew she did well; I saw it on her face every other Saturday when she came to visit. Yet for some reason, I
was suddenly nervous to show up unannounced and surprise her.
When I unlocked the heavy metal door to my place, pop music blasted through the open-air loft I called home. I smiled hearing it, even though her shit taste in music drove me up a wall growing up. “Adele?”
I lived in a renovated warehouse—sound was normally muted from the high ceilings, but it was completely lost to the howlish sound of Taylor Swift blaring through the indoor speakers. “Adele?” I called slightly louder. After everything she’d been through, I didn’t want to startle her. I had no idea if she was still skittish. After the attack, she jumped if anyone walked into a room, even when she knew they were there. I dropped my key in the bowl on the table near the door and headed to the kitchen.
A man wearing a dress shirt and boxers was ironing on my granite counter. We spotted each other at the same moment. He held up the iron like a weapon; I held up my hands in surrender. “Is Adele here?”
“Who are you?”
“Relax, Mate.” I spoke calmly, keeping my hands in the air where he could see them the entire time. If there was one good thing about spending two years in prison, I’d definitely learned how to defuse a violent situation. “I’m Adele’s brother—I live here.”
Boxer boy’s eyes flared. “Chance?”
Well one of us was filled in. “That’s me.”
“Shit. Sorry. I thought you were getting out next week.”
“Overcrowding.” I narrowed my eyes on the iron he was still holding. “You want to put that thing down now, yeah?”
“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.” He set the iron on the counter and took two steps toward me, extending his hand. “Harry. Harry Beecham. I’ve heard so much about you.”
You’ve got to be shitting me? Harry? “Wish I could say the same.”
“Do you think we could stop at the—” My sister’s voice abruptly halted as she turned the corner into the kitchen. “Oh my God!” She almost knocked me over when she flew into my arms. “You’re here! You’re home!”
“I am.” Adele held me in a death like grip. She was crying, but unlike the last time I hugged her, these were tears of happiness. I pulled back to take a good look at my little sister. I’d seen her every other week, but I’d only gotten glimpses of what she wanted me to see. She was twenty-eight now, dressed in a skirt and girly blouse with her hair fastened on top of her head. She looked a lot like Mum.
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