Authors: Paul Adan
“I’m not sure,” Robert replied. “We have several witnesses who saw the whole thing happen. They claim that Mr. McDonald was the aggressor, and that the victim was acting in self-defense. The witnesses also claim that the other suspects were both actively involved in the struggle – and that their
assistance to Mr. McDonald was crucial in the stabbing that ensued.”
Every now and again, Arthur interrupted with a few questions. “Don’t you think the Defense is going to argue that our victim, Mr. Joey Jones, was the aggressor, and it was the three suspects who were acting in self-defense? Besides, don’t you have any doubts about the reliability of the witnesses?”
“Well, yes, there have been some conflicting accounts of what happened. Two of our witnesses claim the suspects were the aggressors, and another witness claims it was the other way around. In fact, this third witness has said that the other two witnesses were partly to blame for what happened.”
“Hmmm – this could be a big problem,” Arthur said. “Do we have anything else?”
“The problem is that everybody in the Bar was focused on the football game being played on the big screen TV – in the front of the bar. The incident took place in the back of the Bar; hence, very few witnesses. As far as forensic evidence goes, we have a partial print from Mr. McDonald on the murder weapon. We’re also looking into whether or not there were any social connections, or otherwise, between the suspects and the victim. So far, we haven’t got much. The victim didn’t seem to have too many friends, and his roommate has yet to be located.”
“Who was the roommate?”
“Some guy named Jason Lewis. Like Mr. Jones, this Jason character is a loser. When he was younger, he was a frequent-flyer at ‘juve-hall.’ Once we caught him, and some friends, torturing a cat out at the rock quarry. Another time, they were busted for breaking into some old guy’s garage and stealing power tools. Anyway, after they both got mixed up with drugs, they went down hill from there. You’ve probably heard of Jason before; he’s been in jail numerous times. And come to think of it, Mr. Jones has been in jail as well.”
The discussion carried on for ten to fifteen minutes. During this time, Arthur began to realize that without more evidence, there would be difficulties prosecuting the case. Although he’d felt comfortable with assault charges being
levied against the three suspects, he doubted that he’d be able to get convictions for murder. Complicating matters was the whole budget issue; in spite of proposed cut-backs, he knew he couldn’t skimp on this case.
“Listen, Robert, I need you to go full-bore on this one – but watch your overtime. The county is all over me to trim the budget. Damn it!”
After a brief pause, Arthur continued.
“And then there’s the media! They’re already chewing on my leg because of the sensationalism surrounding
the case. You know the story: Local boys, blah, blah, blah. If it looks like we’re wavering, this case is toast. I can probably hold-off on any new indictments for a while, but I need more witnesses, more forensics, more everything. I know it sounds cold, but I was kinda hoping this Joey Jones character wouldn’t have kicked the bucket so soon. We could have used a little more time. Are you catch’n my drift, Robert?”
Arthur realized that his last question was a little too bossy sounding. The conversation suddenly stopped, and the two men sat staring at each other for a second or two. Robert was the first to break the silence.
“I’ll see what I can do, Arthur.”
With that, Arthur ended the meeting with a few more exhortations and encouragements. As he was speaking, Robert struggled to extricate himself from the puffy chair. Shortly, thereafter, he trudged out the door.
Stuart Co. Jail, the Hole
7 September, 2:10 PM
EDWARD’S LIFE continued to spiral downward. Unable to understand why the
medications were not having any effect on him, he grew desperate. He had already seen the Mental Health guy, and he had even prayed to God on more than one occasion, but nothing seemed to be working. Every now and again he considered sending in yet another Kite, another desperate plea for help, but he had little confidence that his Kite would be answered to his satisfaction.
Thoughts of suicide crept into his mind. At first, they were fleeting and easily dismissed – but before long, they were persistent and nagging. Worse still, Edward was having fewer and fewer of his life-saving dreams. For a while, those dreams had been his only reminder of his former life. They were an anchor in the midst of a tumultuous storm, something that kept his mind from plunging further into the abyss. Equally important, they were his only ray of hope that the truth – the elusive truth regarding the incident at
Lucky’s – would eventually come out.
TODAY WAS a particularly bad day for Edward. He still couldn’t get over the fact that he’d been booked into jail the night he’d been celebrating his birthday at
Lucky’s. Over the past month he’d mentioned his “bad luck” to several COs, but the sympathy he’d received was lukewarm and insincere.
As he sat on his bed, despondent, Edward recalled the birthday celebrations he’d had when he was growing up. From the moment he’d awoken in the morning, to the time he went to bed, his family would periodically wish him a happy birthday. The best part about the day, apart from the gifts, was that he was the one who would dictate the menu; if he wanted pancakes for breakfast, or pizza for dinner, then that’s what his
mother would make. Whatever he wanted to eat that day, it was his to enjoy.
Insidiously, between the happy thoughts, the dark ones reappeared. Edward tried to ignore them, but they were powerful and suffocating. At one point, he even tried commanding them to be gone in the name of Jesus, but that too failed to work. No matter what he did, t
hey just kept coming – pounding, and pounding, and pounding on his fragile mind. Edward was drowning, and sinking ever deeper into the depths.
Between the tears, he began to weigh his life. As if on a scale, he considered the value of living as opposed to the value of dying. He thought about heaven, and he thought about his little cell. He wondered if God would forgive him if he chose to take his own life. He thought about his mother, and his father, and his family. He thought about Jerry, and Josh, and his friends.
Ominously, he mind began to inventory the items in his little cell which might be useful if he did, in fact, decide to call it quits. He realized that his options were limited. Basically, he could do one of the following: Drowned himself in the toilet; somehow acquire a sharp object in order to slit his wrists; hoard pills and then try to overdose; or hang himself with his blanket. Edward decided to try the blanket.
Just when he was about to cross the final line, however, Edward heard a voice in his head. It was soft and comforting. It could have been God, but it sounded like it was spoken by his mother.
Edward! Edward! Fake an emergency so you can go to the clinic. Do it! Do it, Edward. Fake a medical emergency!
D
ING! DING! DING! “MEDICAL EMERGENCY IN THREE SOUTH CHARLIE. MEDICAL EMERGENCY IN THREE SOUTH CHARLIE. DING! DING! DING!”
Edward had never had a seizure before, but he recalled the guy who’d had one a week earlier. From what he’d seen, Edward was reasonably confident he knew what to do. As if in a movie, he had begun his Oscar-winning performance by
stretching himself out on the floor with his face toward the ceiling. For effect, he’d previously scooped a little water out of the sink and splashed it onto his crotch; he rightfully thought it would lend credibility to his predicament. Not too long after that, when the CO passed in front of his cell while making rounds, Edward began to shake his arms and legs back and forth with considerable vigor.
By the sound of the alarm, and medical alert, Edward knew he’d achieved the desired reaction. In a matter of minutes, it seemed, he was surrounded by a cadre of medical staff. Someone was calling his name: “Edward! Edward! Can you hear me? Edward, what’s going on? Can you hear me?”
He decided not to answer.
By now, Edward was growing tired shaking his limbs around, but he managed to keep up the charade. At one point, he could feel a nurse tugging at his eyelid in order to open his eye, and another nurse seemed to be wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his right arm. Edward wasn’t sure if he should resist the effort to open his eye, or succumb to it. He decided to open his eye. Seconds later, a nurse shone a bright light into his eye, and then grunted a comment to another nurse. Next, Edward could feel someone lifting his left arm up above his chest – and then drop it. Not wanting to get hurt, Edward engaged his muscles and slowed the descent of his arm. Once again, he heard a nurse make a muffled comment.
Edward pretended to be coming around. He was, after all, getting pretty tired. After answering a few questions, someone finally uttered the words he’d been waiting to hear:
“Get up, Edward. You’re going to the clinic. Edward! Edward, can you hear me? I need you to get up in the wheelchair so we can take you to the clinic.”
Still pretending to need help, Edward got up off the floor with the help of a nurse, and then plopped himself into the wheelchair. The performance was masterful, he thought, and he felt reasonably confident that he’d fooled everyone. As he was whisked away to the clinic, however, he noticed an angry demeanor on the face of several nurses.
Stuart Co. Jail, 3SouthF
8 September – 11September
OVER THE coming days, Edward continued to fake medical emergencies whenever he wanted to get out of his cell because he was feeling overly stressed-out, or depressed. After three or four of these incidents, whenever he was escorted to the clinic, he was placed in a holding cell for several hours. Usually, after spending some time getting thoroughly bored, he’d request to go back to his cell so he could at least lay down with a blanket. Sadly, during each successive visit to the clinic, he sensed he was being treated with less and less compassion by the medical staff.
Edward’s erratic behavior had several repercussions. The good news was that he’d been moved to 3SouthF, a part of the jail where he could be more closely monitored. The bad news was that he was getting a reputation, amongst the COs and medical personnel, as being a manipulator and a nuisance.
♦ ♦ ♦
Stuart Co. Jail, 3SouthF
12 September, 1:23 AM
GREEN SLIME oozed out of the walls. Edward sat on his bed and watched with increasing fascination as the stuff formed little bubbles, popped, and then trickled down onto the concrete floor. Once it had formed puddles on the floor, it began to move; slowly at first, but then a little more rapidly as it got nearer to his bed. Disturbingly, what had begun as a curiosity was looking more and more like a threat. Edward stood up on his bed and watched in horror as the slime covered his bed – and then his legs and torso – and then, finally, his neck.
“Ahhh! Ahhh! Help! Help!” he screamed. But no one was listening.
The slime seemed to have a mind of its own. When he had screamed, a green mass had rushed toward his open mouth in order to suffocate him. Desperate, Edward called out to God
for help. “In the name of Jesus, be gone. I command you! Do you hear me? Be gone!”
Immediately, the slime retreated away from Edward’s mouth, down his torso and legs, off the bed, and back into the walls. Edward breathed a huge sigh of relief. For several minutes he simply stood on his bed, his mouth gaping open in horrified disbelief.
A loud knock on the door snapped Edward’s attention away from the walls.
Curious
, he thought,
who could be visiting me at this late hour?
After yelling, “Come in,” his mother emerged through the doorway. Strangely, she was dressed like a CO, but she was also wearing an apron. In her hands she carried a casserole dish containing lasagna.
Edward was ecstatic to see his mother. It had been a long time since he’d seen her. They talked, and talked, and talked until his mom finally encouraged him to eat. Edward didn’t need to be told twice; by now he was starving. With unbridled enthusiasm, he grabbed a spoon, licked off some crusty stuff that was stuck on it from his previous meal, and dug into the food. But he was sorely disappointed at what he found.
Out of the dish, worms began to emerge. At first, they remained confined to the casserole dish. But it wasn’t long before they began to crawl up the spoon and onto Edward’s hand. A short time after that, they were inching their way up his arm, along his neck, and towards his mouth. Edward screamed.
“Help!
There’s worms on me! Help!”
As they entered his mouth, and nose, Edward gagged. He coughed and sputtered as the worms went down his throat and into his stomach. Edward was terrified, and felt like he was on the edge of insanity. He feared he was being eaten alive, but from the inside out. Again, he called out to Jesus. He was desperate.
“In the name of Jesus, I command you to be gone! Be gone, I tell you! Be gone!” This time, nothing happened. So he called out again. “Be gone, I tell you! In JESUS CHRIST’S name, be gone!” Still nothing...
Just then, another visitor came in through the door. He said his name was Jason, and he was also dressed like a CO. Edward didn’t recognize him, but he looked vaguely familiar. All of a sudden, he grabbed Edward by the neck and shoved a little garden tool into his mouth. It looked like a little shovel, like something a person would use to plant flowers – or dig for worms.
It worked! The worms were gone. Edward looked around and noticed that both his mother and Jason were also gone. Suddenly, there was a loud noise.
“SLAM!”
♦ ♦ ♦
EDWARD AWOKE from his sleep in a cold sweat. His clothing was drenched, and he was shivering from the dampness. Even his sheets were moist with sweat.
Stuart Co. Jail, 3SouthF
12 September, 7:42 AM
HE FELT he was losing it – mentally – and he had to speak with a Mental Health Professional – ASAP. Whatever meds he’d begun taking were giving him hallucinations and disturbing dreams. This bothered Edward tremendously, and he didn’t like what was happening to him. His dreams had always been his place of solace; a place where he could escape from the world. Now that he was in jail, he felt that he couldn’t live without them.
After filling out a Kite addressed to MHP, Edward had second thoughts.
If I wait for them to respond to my Kite, it could take days. Why not just stop taking the meds whenever they’re offered to me? What harm would it do? I’ve only been taking them a short time, anyway?
The more he thought about it, the more determined he became to no longer accept any medications – period.
Stuart Co. Jail, 3SouthF
13 September, 2
:43 AM
ONCE AGAIN, Edward was on the verge of self-destructing. He’d hardly slept at all during the previous twenty-four hours, and the lack of sleep was beginning to wear on him. All night long he had paced about in his cell liked a caged lion; the difference, of course, being that Edward possessed very little courage. It had left him a long time ago.
Shortly before 2 AM, Edward decided to end his life. Since he’d already thought about suicide on numerous occasions in the past weeks, it wasn’t a great leap for him to transition from the planning phase to the implementation phase. Now, all that he needed was a tiny ounce of courage to actually go through with his plan. He grabbed his blanket.
With one last thought about his mother and father, Edward let himself down onto the floor directly below where he’d just been seated on the toilet. As he did, the blanket – which he’d somehow secured to the toilet – began tightening around his neck. Slowly, ever so slowly, it tightened just enough to cut off the flow of blood through his carotid arteries. In no time at all, Edward slouched forward a bit as he lost consciousness.
The seconds ticked by...
FORTUNATELY FOR Edward, and by the grace of God, a CO had chosen this exact moment to make his rounds. When he came upon Edward, he was already showing signs of imminent death: He wasn’t breathing, his lips were blue, and his eyes were bulging out. Immediately, the CO called for help over his radio, and then lifted Edward up off the floor in order to remove the noose from his neck. A few seconds later, the overhead loud speakers crackled to life.
“DING! DING! DING! MEDICAL EMERGENCY, THREE SOUTH
FOXTROT. MEDICAL EMERGENCY, THREE SOUTH FOXTROT. DING! DING! DING!”