BEYOND JUSTICE

by Joshua Graham

  Instead of a tidal wave of resentment, I experienced peace. It's going to be fine. The hatred for Stringer, which had been hollowing me out, was now gone. No longer did it haunt me, grip me. The same relief and anticipation I experienced, that day I left Salton and the gate slammed behind me, filled my spirit.

  I was free.

  ___________________

  Once again at visitor check-in, I anticipated the rolling of eyes, the shaking of heads. "Please," I said to the guard at the desk, a petite African-American officer who you'd best not mess with. "Just ask him again."

  "And what makes you think today will be any different?" she said, without bothering to meet my eyes. More typing at the keyboard.

  "I don't know for sure that it will."

  "Mmm-hmmm."

  I took a step back and turned to the wall. There had to be some way. I steepled my fingers and pressed them to my forehead. God, I could use a little help here. The answer came in another vision, like water flowing down a brook, without the drama of previous visions. Then a word, or a name, rather:

  Sally.

  Had no idea what that meant, but I knew it was for this very moment. I turned back to the guard and rushed over. "Tell him I want to talk to him about...Sally."

  The keyboard pecking stopped. "Sally."

  "Just tell him, please."

  "You're as crazy as he is," she said, getting up and reaching for her handset.

  "Perhaps."

  She phoned the instructions over to the guard at Brent's cellblock and gave me a dirty look when she said the name "Sally." When she hung up, she looked at me as if I'd grown an extra nose. "What's with you anyway? How can you even stand breathing the same air as him, after what he’s done?"

  "I'm on a mission of sorts."

  Her fists went to her hips. "Don't you try none of that vigilante stuff. Save it for the court and let the legal system do its work. You hear?"

  "Of course." Did she have any idea what the legal system had done to me? Anyway, I wasn't about to tell her I was on a mission from God.

  "So you here with R.J.M.P. or something?" she said.

  "R.J...?"

  "Restorative Justice Mediation Program. You know, confront the offender, make him write you a check every month. Where's your mediator?" She looked over my shoulder.

  "I'm not with R.J...whatever."

  "Then what do you want?"

  "You wouldn't believe me."

  "Trust me, I heard it all."

  No. She'll think I'm crazy. Even Rachel thinks so. Her phone rang.

  "Really?" she said. "Well, all right. I'll let him know." She met my gaze, blinking and trying to speak with several false starts.

  "What?"

  "I don't believe it," she said.

  "What did he say?"

  "He said he'll see you."

  Chapter Ninety-Seven

  "You think you're pretty clever, don't you," Stringer said to me, his tone frigid. Seated and bound, the sleeves of his orange jumpsuit were rolled up to reveal a pentagram tattooed on his arm. In the middle was a goat's head and a triune epigraph which read Leviathan, Samael, and Lilith. The Sigil of Baphomet, a Satanist symbol I remembered from my college roommate's creepy friend who called himself 'Leege'—short for Legion.

  "Apparently not as clever as you," I said. "Up till your arrest, at least." I took a seat and two armed guards stood at the ready, one behind me, the other behind Stringer.

  "How do you know about Sally?" he asked.

  "Hard to explain. It'd take some time."

  "I've got nothing but."

  "She was special to you, I know that much." The room was spacious enough, but his unblinking stare made me uneasy.

  "What exactly do you want?" he said.

  "I..." What would I say, that I forgive him and wanted to be his friend? The words just wouldn't form.

  He scoffed and turned to the guards. "Think we're done here." He got up and they took him to the door.

  "Wait," I said. He stopped, regarded me with glacial contempt as I rose and turned to face him. "I came here to tell you something."

  "What? You hope I get the death penalty, that I get gang raped in prison, that I rot in Hell? How cliché. You’re just like the—"

  "I came to tell you that..." I swallowed a dry lump, "...that I forgive you."

  As if for the first time in his life he was at a loss for words, he stood silent for a moment until the guard said, "You ready?"

  Stringer didn't answer. Finally, a crooked smile twisted his mouth.

  "Nearly had me there, buddy."

  ___________________

  Questions floated around my head while I cruised the slow lane of the 163. How had Stringer taken it? Would he permit further visits? And if I had really forgiven him, why did I still feel such bitterness?

  It was Aaron's birthday today, of all days. Hard to believe that he was now seven years old. He'd lived nearly half of his life in a coma. Now, in just another couple of weeks, if nothing changed, the State of California would take him from me.

  Was I being selfish, as so many had accused? I found myself questioning my motives, wondering if indeed I was merely prolonging this because of my inability to face "reality." Didn't have to figure it out today. I was going to see my boy. Perhaps for his last birthday.

  I arrived to find another visitor there with him. Someone I wasn't prepared to see just yet. "Rachel?" She was sitting at his bedside, her head bowed and holding his hands.

  "I thought you were downtown," she said and got up. "I'll leave."

  "No, wait." I took her hand. She kept her eyes from me. It was then that I noticed the balloons, a birthday card on his nightstand and a new teddy-bear, donning a San Diego Padres uniform and cap.

  "I should be leaving," she said.

  I released her hand and said, "It's not so much that you disagree with me. I just... I can't stand that you're embarrassed by me."

  "Really, I should go."

  "Please. Just... hold on, okay?" I picked up the card and read what she'd written.

  Happy Birthday, Aaron. May you awaken soon and learn what an awesome father in heaven you have. And what an awesome father you have on earth.

  Suddenly, the gifts I'd bought him seemed insignificant. I put the card back. "Thank you," I said and I bent down to kiss her.

  But she moved away and started for the door.

  "Rachel, come on, would you just—?" her hand slipped down my arm and I caught it by the fingertips. Held gently. She held on for a moment too.

  But then let go.

  "You still don't get it," she said, sniffing and wiping the corner of her eye.

  "Most of life, I don't get."

  "You think I'm upset with you over a theological matter—should you forgive someone like Brent Stringer or not—but you just-don't-get it." She glared at me, her fingers trembling as she wiped her eyes again. It was hopeless. If I didn't know, she wasn't going to tell me, right?

  She then looked to Aaron, stepped over and kissed him on the forehead and walked out the door.

  "Rachel, please. What is it?"

  She turned around and said, "I understand how hard it is to overcome all your rage over what he did to Jenn, to Bethie, I really do. But not once— You haven't given it much thought have you? You're so ready to let him off the hook—" She stopped her rising pitch and accelerating words abruptly. "I know this'll sound self-serving, and I'm sorry. But... he tried to kill me too. Where's your anger over that?"

  For the next two days she didn't answer my calls.

  CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT

  Chapter Ninety-Eight

  Stringer finally agreed to see me again. Every now and then, I found myself checking my emotions. If this wasn't the hardest thing I'd ever had to do, I couldn't imagine what was. He seemed different today. That cockiness, that condescension I'd come to expect, strangely absent. Was it merely the act of a psychopath?

  "Will we ever know why you did it?" I asked.

  With eyes far off
, he scraped his cuffed hands across the table, plopped them into his lap and slumped his shoulders. "I don't know what to say."

  "How about starting with an apology?" He sighed and lowered his head. "All right," I said, "tell me about Sally, then."

  Studying his thumbs, he smiled and chuckled. "Your pretty lawyer friend and that P.I. of hers, they're thorough."

  "They don't know anything about Sally."

  "Can't see why you'd want to deny it."

  I pushed back in my chair. It scraped the floor so abruptly that Brent winced. "Take it easy," I said repositioning the chair.

  "Sally was..." his eyes lit up. "She was my best friend."

  "Rough childhood?"

  "Think what you want. She was a puppy. How do you know about her?"

  "You won't accept my answer."

  Clicking his tongue, he said, "Probably not. Anyway, Sally was my first."

  "You're first?"

  "Oh, don't be sick. I just meant that Sally's was the first death I'd ever witnessed."

  "And that's how it all started?"

  "I don't know. You asked me about her, I'm telling you."

  I held my hands up. "Fair enough."

  "I wasn't like other kids—soccer, little league, video games. I kept to myself, read a lot. No siblings, no friends. Mom worked nights and days. Dad..." his jaw muscles rippled. "Dad was a drunk. Just hung around the house watching porno tapes and getting wasted. Couldn't hold a job if he tried. I was careful never to let him see me playing with Sally because he hated when I was happy."

  "Why'd he get her for you then?"

  "He didn't. She was a stray who just followed me home from school one day. I suppose Mom let me keep her because she felt guilty leaving me home alone with Dad all the time."

  "So you killed the dog because you were angry?"

  "No, you imbecile!" His eyes and nostrils flared. "My father killed her. Kicked her over and over. I was too scared to do anything, too scared to cry, even. When he was done, he went back into the house and had another beer. I watched Sally die a slow and painful death." The anguish in his eyes gave way to the look of intoxicated sensuality. "But that was when I realized just how exquisite it is... those last moments of life when life slips away. It's hard to explain. But man, what a rush! The final gasps, the fading consciousness." Thousands of miles away, he licked his lips and sighed. "I was hooked." He started whispering to himself a long list of names, with each, his eyes closed and he smiled.

  This was Brent Stringer, award winning journalist, a best-selling writer? An army of red fire ants nibbling on my back would have felt less creepy. I stood and quietly lifted the chair legs off the floor.

  "Here." I reached into my jacket pocket and handed him a new leather bound Bible that I'd picked up from that Christian bookstore in Clairemont. "This is for you." With his eyes still closed he sat there savoring something I didn't want to know about. I set the Bible on the table before him and padded to the door. "See you."

  Nothing.

  The urge to go home and soak in a tub of hydrogen peroxide threatened to overtake me.

  ___________________

  When I pulled into the driveway, I noticed Rachel waiting inside her car. She came out as soon as she saw me and met me at the front door with a stack of documents. "You got my voicemails, didn't you?" she said.

  "Forgot to turn my cell on. Come in?"

  We sat at the breakfast nook and I offered her a drink, which she declined as she leafed through the pages. "Need your signatures," she said. "State legislature's denied the governor any right to intervene. We're filing for a motion to take Aaron's case up to Federal Court."

  I looked over the documents and signed them.

  The reinforced concrete in her voice began to crumble. "I've got to be honest with you. It's not looking good."

  "I'm going to see Aaron, right now." I handed her the papers.

  "I'll come with you." She added, "If it's okay."

  "Why are we doing this, Rachel?"

  "Doing what?"

  "We get into one stupid fight and we're reduced to attorney-client?"

  "You walked out," she said, her eyes fixed on mine.

  "If I'd stayed I would have said something I'd regret."

  "So you don't regret anything you said?"

  "I do, but—!"

  Stop.

  Deep breath.

  "All right, this is crazy. We're chasing our tails." I reached out for her. She pulled back initially, but then responded by putting her hand in mine.

  "You're right," she said. "This is petty."

  "Isn't it?"

  She touched her forehead to mine. "I'm sorry."

  "Me too." I kissed the tip of her nose. "Move to retry?"

  Her soft fingers caressed my face. "Granted."

  Our lips brushed. My spine tingled. We were all right again.

  Thank God. We got into my car and drove to Children's Hospital. Directly into the eye of the storm.

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  The sound of chanting and singing and shouting and swearing, rose up into a putty-colored sky as we climbed the concrete steps out of the parking lot to the entrance of Children's Hospital. The first thing I saw was not the heads of protesters, but their picket signs and posters, bobbing irately.

  LET AARON LIVE!

  SET AARON FREE!

  FIRST DO NO HARM!

  TORTURE FOR RELIGIOUS GAIN!

  Police barricades separated the factions on both sides and news reporters spoke into video cameras. I stopped midstride, grabbed Rachel's arm and turned around.

  "Did you know about this?"

  "They weren't here yesterday."

  "Any chance we get in without being recognized?"

  "Don't you want to say anything to the press?"

  "Like what?"

  "Let's leave," she said, glancing over to the mob. "We'll take our chances later tonight."

  I considered it but became angry. "No, wait. It won't be any better later. And there's no way I'm going to let them keep me from my son."

  "You sure?"

  I took her hand and led her to the top of the steps. She started to jog ahead of me and would have broken into a sprint if I didn't hold her back and say, "Hold on. We walk. Keep your head high." Facing the entrance, hardly anyone in the crowd looked elsewhere. But then a woman with the SET AARON FREE sign turned, met my eyes and pointed.

  "It's him!"

  The crowd let out a roar of antiphonal strife. On one side, tearful men and women reached out trying to touch my hand. But at the same time, on the other side, snarling protesters gritted their teeth and hurled insults along with wadded up papers at their opponents.

  We hadn't even gotten a quarter of the way to the entrance when a half-emptied Pepsi can flew at us from the LET AARON GO side. Rachel shrieked as it hit her in the ear and splashed all over her face and shirt.

  "Legal whore!" shouted the man who threw it.

  My hands and forearms became rigid. With all the ferocity of an ex-con, I marched over to him with my fist balled up.

  "Sam, don't!" Rachel said.

  Just as I got to the barricade, the man sneered and faded back into the shouting crowd. Lucky for him. But just then, a boy, about Aaron's age who sat on his father's shoulders shouted, "Yo!" I'd never seen a child's face so twisted with hatred. "You bastard!" he shouted, then leaned over and spat in my face.

  "Tommy!" his father said and brought the boy down from his shoulders. He regarded me apologetically, but couldn't seem to utter the words. He just took the boy by than hand and led him away.

  A hand bearing a white handkerchief stretched over to me. It was Dan DeMarco of Channel Seven News. His camera man stood next to him. "Mister Hudson," DeMarco said. "How're you holding up?"

  Rachel pushed in front of me and shouted, "No comment."

  My thoughts lingered upon little Tommy. So young, so angry. No child should know hatred like this. "Come on, Sam." Rachel tugged on my arm. "Let's go."


  I took a couple of steps forward to return the handkerchief.

  The reporter said, "Mister Hudson, a statement please."

  Three or four more reporters pushed though on both sides closing on our position. I said nothing and started for the hospital entrance.

  The crowd started up again.

  Just as we reached the glass doors, I turned and looked at the crowd. Both sides angered me. None of them knew Aaron. And while I'm certain the purest among them believed they were picketing in his best interest, most of them were everything their opponents thought they were.

  "What are you doing?" Rachel asked, realizing that I'd let go of her hand.

  "I going to say something." Two steps forward and the clamoring died down. News cameras were aimed, microphones telescoped. I didn't speak until the drumming of my heart settled. Finally, with a deep breath, I looked up and into the crowd.

  "You all seem to know what's best for my son." Though some in the distance probably couldn't hear me, I didn't shout. They leaned forward. "Truth is, I don't think any one of us really knows. Only God does." A whoop emerged from the Pro-Lifer's side. I shot them a glare. "And far be it from any of us to define or to limit divine wisdom. I appreciate all your prayers, but I don't believe what you're doing here is particularly godly."

  "Yeah!" cried a woman on the Let Aaron Go side.

  "That said, I'll be damned if I let politicians or special interest groups play God with my son's life! He is my son and to deny me legal guardianship because of a policy-serving technicality—!" The words caught. "It's not just an offense against me, it's against all of us."

  Unsatisfied, the crowd started to grumble. I held a hand up sharply and shouted so loud my voice echoed down to the parking lot. "HEY!"

  All eyes came forward.

  "I have just two more things to say." I scanned the pavilion, made contact with as many of them as possible. "Go home and leave us alone!"