By morning, Bret had concluded that every person has demons. His were Mai Faca, Jake Warden, and Sammy Tompkins. The pain they caused was devastating. To avoid a mental breakdown, he had to believe he would make them pay for what they did. He’d “settle all the family business” as Michael Corleone did in The Godfather. That night proved he wasn’t able to settle the family business. He was not Michael Corleone. He couldn’t hurt Sammy and there was no reason to think it would have been different with Mai and Jake. As a poet said, “I am that I am.”
How heavy do I journey on the way...
On the road: At eight that morning dressed in civilian clothes, Bret was led to Warden Connor’s office. The happiness that engulfed him when given the news of his release had evaporated and been replaced by the uncertainty of his future.
When Bret entered the office, Warden Connor stood and greeted him, “Welcome, my dear boy. It was such good news we received last night, wasn’t it?”
Bret said without emotion, “Yes, I was pleased to get it, but why have I been pardoned? I assume there was new evidence exonerating me.”
The warden looked surprised, “You mean to tell me you haven’t heard. It’s been on television all morning. By now, almost everybody in the state and, indeed, the nation has heard about what happened.”
“I purposely didn’t watch TV or listen to the radio. I wanted to hear it from you. I’ve learned the media exaggerates or reports things wrong. They only want a story. The more sensational the better.”
The warden smiled and nodded, “Yes, yes, I couldn’t agree more.” He arranged papers on his desk before beginning a rehearsed statement about the pardon. Warden Connor iterated what had taken place the day before that led to the conclusion Bret was innocent. He spoke of the suicide of Jake, and of the nationwide manhunt for Mai. “Shouldn’t be long before we catch her.”
Bret displayed no visible emotion upon hearing the news of the two people who had a profound effect on his life. Justice had been served in Jake’s case. Although Mai had caused him unimaginable hurt, wedged in a small corner of his heart was a nugget of love for her. It would always be there. It was why he answered “yes” when Tommy Boy asked if he had a woman.
The warden said the framing of Bret for the death of Frankie Grimaldi wasn’t the State’s fault. “A jury convicted you on evidence that seemed valid at the time. Now we know better, and we’re doing the right thing by freeing you without delay.”
My reprieve has come a little late. A great deal has happened in prison that will scar me for the rest of my life. I won’t sue, but I’m not about to say all is forgiven. His voice cracked as he said to the warden, “My regret is that the injustice Frankie Grimaldi endured can’t be as easily undone.”
Ignoring the comment, the warden continued, “I have more good news. Connecticut is ready to help you. I’ve made arrangements for you to be released to your mother’s home, but if that isn’t satisfactory, we’ll house you for a time at a hotel of your choice.”
“My mother’s home is fine,” Bret lied.
Removing an envelope from his top desk drawer, the warden handed it to Bret saying, “Take this. It’s for you. It holds a thousand dollars the State wants you to have as well as the hundred and seventy-five dollars that was left in your prison account.”
Accepting but not opening the envelope, Bret placed it in his front pants pocket. One of the lessons he learned in prison was other than a body cavity, a front pocket was the place to keep money or valuables.
Business taken care of, Warden Connor and a corrections officer escorted Bret on his return to the world.
The gray morning clouds over Suffield mimicked Bret’s mood. Although glad to be free, more than a year and a half of his life had been wasted. The past couldn’t be erased. As for the future, he had no aspirations. He wanted to be alone . . . to think . . . to be homeless . . . a hermit.
His mother and Uncle Hubie were parked in the administrative lot in front of the warden’s office. When Bret and his escorts exited, Hubie, who was standing by the car, ran to him and gave a hug with backslaps, “Good to finally have you out of this place. We missed you,” he said.
Bret spoke from his heart, “Words can’t express how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Uncle Hubie.”
Hubie turned to dry an eye.
They walked to the car. Bret leaned into the open car door and hugged and kissed his mother who was sitting in the back seat.
Choked with emotion, she said, “I love you, son. I’m so happy you’re free and your name is cleared.”
Hubie said, “Get in. We’re going to take you home where you can recuperate.” Looking toward the front gate, “And we’ll keep the media away. Right now, they’re staking out the front entrance. We should be able to get past them quickly.”
Bret looked at his uncle and said, “No, I’m not going with you.”
“What are you saying?” his mother reacted, “You’ve got to come home with us.” Her hand reached out to him.
Hubie reinforced her words, “Yes, we’ll help you with whatever you need. Now please, get in the car.”
“I’m not going,” Bret repeated. “I want to be alone and travel a bit. Clear my mind.”
“Please,” his mother implored.
“I’ve got to do this. I’ve decided. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”
“Not going to try to find the Faca woman, are you?” Hubie said.
“No,”Bret shook his head, “Believe me, she’s the farthest thing from my mind.” It wasn’t the truth.
When Hubie and Rose couldn’t dissuade Bret, Rose reached into her purse and Hubie produced his wallet.
Bret raised a palm toward them and took the cash envelope from his pocket. Waving it, he said, “This trip is going to be on the State.”
He watched as the limousine pulled away and headed toward the front gate. In order to avoid the mass of reporters, the warden allowed Bret to leave by a side gate. The one undertakers used when picking up deceased inmates. It fit with the empty feeling in his gut. As he walked the narrow driveway leading to the gate, he thought about Sammy’s next cellmate and what was in store for him. He hoped that man could handle Sammy better than he did.
With nothing but the clothes he was wearing and the cash in his pocket, Bret made the first decisions of his new life. He’d enjoy the long walk into downtown Suffield where he would purchase extra clothes, a good pair of sneakers, and a backpack. He planned to hitch rides and go wherever the driver was going. Y’s and cheap hotels would be his home, and no-frills food would sustain him. By the time his money ran out, he should have discovered good soup kitchens and church groups that provided food and a place to sleep.
He didn’t know when or where his travels would end. He’d keep going until he found within himself a new Bret Manley. Wiser and stronger than the one who began the journey. The old Bret Manley, he hoped, would be as dead as the man who betrayed him.
As the gate closed behind, a familiar song played in his head. About a man boarding a midnight train to Georgia, trying to rediscover his roots. He was that man.
He said he’s going back to find
Ooh, what’s left of his world,
The world he left behind
Not so long ago …
To Sleep... Perchance to Die Page 24