Page 64 of Absolution

It’s been two days since my arrest, and with each day, my will to fight starts to slip away. The confidence, in which I came into this hellhole with, has been stripped away from me piece by piece. I had hoped that my stay here would be short term, but even the backwoods lawyer who sits before me thinks I’m fucked.

The case against me is a mockery of the judicial system and has been orchestrated by my father’s drive to ruin my claim on Asher. The false charges that are listed next to my name mean nothing, but jail time to the buffoon representing me.

“Mrs. Azzo, I understand that you want to enter a plea of not guilty, but you have to understand. In the eyes of the law, you are. The drugs were found in your purse, in your vehicle, and in your presence. Even with the lack of fingerprint evidence and the negative drug test results, you still are being charged with possession with intent to sell.

I slam my shackled fists on the table in front of me. Possession with intent to sell? How in the fuck have they fabricated such a claim against me? Intent implies that I had buyers, and to have buyers, I would have to be a dealer. None of which I did nor I am. I’m not sure who educated the man in front of me, but he needs a re-education on simple terms in the dictionary. None of this makes sense.

“Mr. Gibbs,” I start.

“You can call me Leroy, Ma’am.”

“Whatever. Listen, Leroy. You went to law school, right?”

“Of course, I did. I am a licensed public defender for Hancock County. How could I be sitting here with you if I didn’t have a license?” he throws back into my face.

“It seems to me, Leroy, that you should be more attentive to the truth, instead of trying to get me to admit guilt when there is no guilt to be had. I am innocent, and no matter what you, or anyone else says, that is the truth. There’s no evidence that I intended to sell. You just admitted that my fingerprints weren’t even on the bag. It could have been easily planted by someone else. Explain to me how I didn’t leave a shred of evidence behind on the bag. Were rubber gloves found at the scene?”

“I do admit it is quite odd that there is no DNA or fingerprint forensic evidence that links you to the bag of cocaine found in your car. But you still were in possession of it, and that in itself is against the law. The judges in this area are hard on first time offenders, and I just want you to be aware that a guilty plea may be the better odds of staying out of jail.”

I want to reach across the table and strangle this incompetent asshole. The evidence says I’m guilty? Not in my fucking book. It’s as if this man watched Law and Order and called that his education. His ineptitude is going to get me locked away without a doubt. Is this all a running joke that no one has let me in on yet? How is any of this even legal?

“Admitting guilt to something I didn’t do is just as bad as false admitting to doing it on the principle that it would be easier for you. Furthermore, what was the reasoning for the officer pulling me over and searching my car? Was there suspicious activity involved? Do your fucking job, and get me out of here,” I demand of him, before calling for the guard.

He shoves his papers back into his worn, leather satchel and sneers back at me.

“Fine, you don’t want to listen to your attorney then you can represent yourself. I will not work with someone who chooses to do things the most difficult way possible. Good luck with your case, Mrs. Azzo.”

Leroy stomps past Lydia, the guard, waiting in the doorway. She shakes her head at me, before stepping in and releasing me. Unlike the other guards, Lydia is gentler when she un-cuffs me and doesn’t shove me at every turn. Had I been more of a noncompliant inmate, I would understand the rougher treatment, but this is fucking ridiculous. Nothing I have done has warranted such brutality.

“If it’s any consolation, Mrs. Azzo, you convinced me of your innocence. The man is an idiot, and you’re better off without him.”

“At least, you don’t think I’m crazy.” I offer to her as she ushers me back into my cell. The door shuts with a clang, and locks me into the tiny space that may end up being my temporary home for several years. Just the thought of calling this home sucks the air right out of my lungs.

This will not be it for me. I will show them.

Lying back on the paper-thin mattress, my thoughts drift to Ratchet. The way things ended is still haunting me. He may have said that he loved me, but the tone of his words had something lingering just underneath the surface. A promise. A threat. Maybe a combination of both. The endless possibilities of his intended words are enough to drive me crazier than I already am. What is it about a jail that makes those who inhabit it less mentally stable than when they arrived? Is it something in the air?

The fact that I had betrayed the trust that we had agreed upon ate at me. Why did I think keeping him in the dark was going to spare me from my father’s wrath? It has only made things more divided. Where we would have stood together and fought against him, we now stand on either side of the battle lines. Together we are strong, but together may not be the right word to describe our situation after my lie.

I took my father’s threats, and Ratchet’s pride for granted. Two mistakes that I never intend to do again.

My head falls back and soon, sleep takes me. My dreams are filled with horrors just like they have been, since my first night here. The veil between real and imaginary is the hardest to see in the dark spaces of one’s mind, and today’s nightmare show is the worst yet. Asher screaming for my help as my father drags him away. Ratchet destroying my love for him by fucking one of the club whores in front of me. But the worst comes in the last dream. The swirling fog clears, and reveals the scene that has haunted me for years. Not even the desert dungeon could touch the disgusting visions playing in my unconscious mind. I watch, as a ghost that is still watching their living family, as my mother sells me to a man three times my age. She sells me for his pleasure, and for my virginity. I could hear my own screams and pleas from the room, but as I moved closer, a sound startles me from my sleep.

I shoot up from the bed, covered in sweat, and gasping for air. My eyes are wild as I try to convince myself that it was just a nightmare, and it’s not real.

“Inmate,” one of the guards barks.

I groan, when I see someone other than Lydia standing outside my cell bars, and flop my body back onto the bed. For days, it has been an endless slew of moving in and out of my cell. Between the visits from my father, Ratchet, my attorney, and the investigating detectives, I have hardly slept. It’s almost as bad as being admitted to the hospital with the constant round checks.

“What now?” I groan.

“Doctor is here to see you,” she offers, opening up my cell yet again.

I want to ask her again to make sure that I heard her correctly, but I don’t. Why would the guards call a doctor for me? I wasn’t sick or injured. The guard leads me down a different hallway into a regular room, instead of being placed into one of the interview rooms. No windows, no mirrors. Just a table and chairs.

“Hello, Mrs. Azzo,” Dr. Matthews voice rings from inside. I nearly jump for joy at the sight of her. If anyone would believe my story, it will be her. I hope.

I immediately place myself in the seat across from her, and send the guard on her way. As soon as the door closes behind her, I sob.

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