“All right, buddy,” he said as if he were my friend, and hell, maybe under different circumstances, we could’ve been.
As he shut the door, I looked out the window toward the parking lot adjacent to the high school and woods. The Pit wasn’t far from here, just a quarter of a mile through those woods. The kids there must’ve heard the sirens, and a bigger crowd had gathered to watch as one of their suppliers was hauled away like the criminal he was.
And there, in the middle of them all, pressed up against the chain-link fence with his arms slung over the top, was Levi, wearing a sinister, triumphant grin. And suddenly, as my eyes met his, I was so acutely aware of the vile animosity I hadn’t known existed, and as Officer Sam drove me away, Levi lifted his hand and waved goodbye.
CHAPTER FIVE
APOLOGIES & GOOD MEN
Age Twenty-Two
“In my twenty-six years as a judge, I have unfortunately had a number of these cases pass my desk. I will say, most have been colored in stark contrasts of black and white, and an appropriate punishment has nearly always been easy to decide.
“Mr. Mason, your case has not been one of those.
“I have thoroughly reviewed the charges against you over these last few days, and while I wholeheartedly agree with your plea of guilty on every account, I don’t hold the same opinion as you that you are, as you have repeatedly put it, a bad person.
“Mr. Mason, I believe that, while, yes, you committed these crimes, you unwittingly did so with curiously good intent and without a genuine desire to harm. And your outward displays of emotion and your cooperation with law enforcement, along with your excellent behavior since your arrest, have been greatly taken into consideration in determining your fate.
“And so, with all the aforementioned in mind, I have decided to sentence you to a total of twelve years of imprisonment at Wayward Correctional Facility, taking into account the year you’ve already spent in custody, with the possibility of early release on good behavior. Do you understand this?”
Eleven more years.
It felt like an eternity—a death sentence—and yet it still didn’t feel like enough when all I could think about was Billy and the life I had stolen from him.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I answered, my voice hoarse and my heart thundering.
Somewhere in the courtroom, someone began to cry.
Billy’s mom.
“Additionally,” the judge went on, “for the crimes of involuntary manslaughter and possession of a controlled substance with the intent to sell, a fine of fifty thousand dollars is required. On top of that, you will be required to serve two years of probation upon your release, in which you must report to an assigned officer as well as remain within the state of Connecticut for the remainder of your sentence. Do you understand this?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge nodded, then leaned forward and folded his arms against the bench. His eyes met mine with a touch of sympathy, and then he spoke. “Mr. Mason, as I mentioned before, I do wholeheartedly believe that you are, regardless of the unfortunate circumstances in which you were born into, a good man because it is my personal opinion that a truly terrible man doesn’t believe he is in fact terrible. It is my deepest hope that you will somehow find peace in spite of the crimes you have committed and the tragedies you have faced during your short life and that, at the end of your sentence, you are able to begin the second chapter of your life with the brightest of lights guiding your way—the way the first should have begun—coupled with a predisposition to act in a way worthy of your character.”
I heard the words he spoke; I saw the honesty in his heavy, wrinkled eyes. And yet I couldn’t allow either to touch my heart. Not when Billy’s mom sat somewhere behind me, her cries of anguish escalating as her husband tried desperately to console her.
She hated me. Everyone did, including my own mother—who hadn’t bothered to see me in the year I spent locked up, let alone attend my sentencing. And for that reason alone, how could I not hate myself?
Still, I stared ahead, as I’d been told to do by my assigned lawyer, and said, “Thank you, Your Honor.”
His lips barely twitched into a forlorn smile. “And with that, Mr. Mason, I wish you a good life.” The gavel hit the bench. “Court is adjourned.”
I stood as the cop came to collect me and take me away. I kept my eyes trained forward, not wanting to so much as glance over my shoulder at the people who had come on Billy’s behalf. But there was a commotion, a shuffling of chairs and loud voices, and then there was Billy’s mom, shouting above the rest.
“Soldier! I opened my heart and my home to you. I fed you, and I loved you, and you repaid me by taking away the thing I loved most in this world.”
“Okay, Laura,” Billy’s dad said quietly, his voice choked with anguish. “Let’s go.”
The guard gripped my shoulder, silently urging me not to engage, and led me toward the door where I’d entered the courtroom.
“How am I supposed to live with that?!” she yelled after me. “How am I supposed to go on with my life, knowing you get to live yours?!”
I stopped walking despite the guard’s insistence. I glanced quickly over my shoulder, keeping my gaze diverted, unable to look at the woman I’d always wished had raised me instead.
I wanted to ask her to let me know if she ever found the answer to her question. I wanted to beg her to never stop loving me despite it all because if she did, there wouldn’t be a single shred of love for me left in this entire world. I wanted to thank her for everything she’d ever done for me over the years, especially during the ones in which I had nobody else.
But I didn’t. Whether for a lack of time or courage, I didn’t know. Hell, maybe it was both.
Instead, I whispered, “I’m so sorry,” hoping she heard me. Hoping she knew I meant it.
“Let’s go, Mason,” the guard said, nudging me along.
So, without another word, without looking back, I went.
CHAPTER SIX
LETTERS TO RAIN
Age Twenty-Seven
This is the part where you probably expect me to say that prison was a slice of hell, served to me on a shit-stained platter. You probably expect a harrowing tale of endless fights, shower seduction, and enough misdemeanors to tack another fifteen years onto my sentence.
Am I right?
Well, I wouldn’t lie to you.
For those first five years, I actually hadn’t hated prison.
I didn’t love it; don’t get me wrong. It was far from a walk in the park. But for all intents and purposes, it was better than how I’d lived the first half of my life.
I had a guaranteed roof over my head and three meals a day.
I landed a janitorial job and started working shifts in the cafeteria, cooking and serving breakfast a couple of times a week.
After accepting the fate handed to me, I’d spent the first two years working toward taking the GED exam, and by the time I was twenty-four, I had passed with flying colors. And once I was done doing that, I spent three years taking some online college courses and got a bachelor’s degree in business. In my downtime—and there was a lot of it—I decided to finally take up something I hadn’t had much time for since I had been a kid—hobbies. I quickly found that when I wasn’t swiping shit from Mom, selling in The Pit, or working my ass to exhaustion, I could devour about four books a week. I genuinely enjoyed running and strength training. I had a knack for carpentry, and gardening was something I found a lot of pride in.