Graduation was lame. I didn’t walk, but I went to support Maggie. I couldn’t handle the thought of everyone staring at me. People did that enough the last few weeks.
Can you tell me what things are like in jail? (Never thought I’d be asking that question lol.) Do you have your own cell?
I have to leave in a few week
s for college. It kills me. I don’t want to go. Dad says your trial will start soon. I hope it’s while I’m still here. I know I won’t be able to hold or kiss you, but I don't care. Being in the room with you will be enough.
Please write back to me.
Forever yours,
Ellie
Dear Elaine,
Stop writing to me.
I do not love you.
I never loved you.
If you show up at my hearing, I’ll have your dad escort you out of the building.
Leave me the fuck alone,
Asher
“You’re going to be fine, kid,” Jeffery Harris, my lawyer, claps his hand on my shoulder.
It’s an open and shut case, or so he said ten weeks ago when this mess started. If that was true, why am I still here? Why is Mr. Walker, Ellie’s dad and the state appointed prosecution, dragging this out? I never meant to kill Clint. Did I want him dead? Abso-fucking-lutely. But I never wanted to be the one to kill him. Yet, here I am because of a sick twist of fate. Story of my life, nothing ever goes the way it should.
I hold my wrists out and the guard sticks a key into my cuffs. He unlocks them and puts the aluminum shackles into a pocket on his belt. I rub the bruised skin with my wrists. I’m only cuffed for transport, but it’s enough to drive me crazy. Long enough that with every twitch of my arm, they tighten. I don’t mean to move, to make things harder, but I can’t stop shaking.
I’m nervous.
I don’t want to spend my life behind bars, away from Ellie, but it’s a possibility. A scary as fuck possibility. Mr. Harris says my emotions are a good thing. They make me relatable and show a side of me that’s vulnerable. Juries like that, to see that murderers have a heart.
“It’s time,” Mr. Harris says. He stands and leads us down the same hallway I’ve walked at least once a week. We’ve had so many hearings, my head spins trying to remember what happened when. Hearings to record my plea. Hearings to set bail. Hearings to discuss placement after the attack on me in the courtyard that first week. Hearings to discuss my psych eval. And of course the actual trial, which has lasted three days. To me, this is the opposite of an open and shut case. This is an open and never ending story.
My cellmate, Killian, says I’m lucky. His charges took over a year to work through and he’s been sentenced to twelve years. Even if my mess wasn’t about to end with the possibility of freedom, he’d be leaving me. County jails won’t keep you if you’ve been sentenced to more than a year. His transport is set for Tuesday. As much as I want to be out of my cell, I don’t want to leave before him. Before getting the chance to say goodbye.
Killian has been a godsend. An unexpected protector from my side of the tracks. Mr. Harris explicitly warned me not to get in any fights, which put me in a shitty situation on more than one occasion. If not for Killian, I’d probably be dead or someone’s prison bitch.
Killian says I won’t owe anything for the protection. I remind him of his son, so he says. Besides being my guardian angel behind bars, he was a distraction. Listening to his stories helped keep my mind off of Ellie.
I hate myself for breaking her heart, but I know Ellie. She’s the type of girl to put her own needs aside to be there for the people she cares about. I don’t want Ellie throwing her life away, waiting for me. There’s still a chance I’ll be found guilty. A terrifying possibility that I’ll spend my entire life, or close to it, behind bars.
I can’t risk it.
I have to do what is best for Ellie, even though it kills me.
Mr. Harris and I walk down the hallway to meet my fate. Our shoes squeak against the linoleum. His, fancy Dockers. Mine, state issued loafers. White walls only make the fluorescent lights brighter. And then there’s the air, so cold it makes you shiver. Thank fuck the cuffs are off, or I’d have lost circulation.
Today’s bailiff opens an oak door and guides Mr. Harris and I to our side of the courtroom. There’s no crowd anxiously awaiting the verdict. No news crew here to report the story they once spun as tragic and heartbreaking. Most importantly, there is no El. She hasn’t been to one day of trial hearings. It’s what I wanted, for her to go to college and forget about me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hold on to a sliver of hope that she’ll show up. Especially today.
“Please rise,” the bailiff announces.
Judge Parker has presided over my case since day one. Mr. Harris says he’s fair and understanding, and that we were lucky. From what I can’t tell, he’s expressionless.