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The Light

by Joe Writer Man

Chapter 70

*-* Tuesday, Continued *-*

Previously, Chapter 69:

Then … David's voice said the sweetest words I had ever heard before "I love you."

Then I felt hands, lots of hands; those hands were roughly touching me everywhere … no, no, please no … not there...

The touches were quick and methodical. Matt was right there but that wasn't for long before he was pushed away and led to a picnic table where he was sat down by a person surrounded by EMS workers. I didn't see a face but I saw gray pants, the sleeve of a yellow shirt, black socks and brown shoes – dad's.

I was led to a patrol car but Richard Wright, our attorney, intercepted me and the cops. He said, "Peter, they're taking you downtown. You'll be booked and charged with assault on your father. I'll be down there shortly. We can hopefully get you bailed out. I'll call Peggy. Just do what they say."

"What did I do? I'd never hurt dad... what's wrong? Why is EMS here?" I said, breaking down with tears beginning to stream down my face, muffled sobs, wild with terror and fear, broken hearted.

Richard replied, "I'm afraid you struck your father. Just do what I said to do... be compliant, don't give them any trouble, and don't volunteer any information. Just keep it really simple. And you do not have to say anything without my counsel."

Matt broke loose, ran to me and hugged me tightly despite the searing pain shooting through our bellies because of the surgery.

But I wasn't worried for myself... there was bee line view of dad as the cops led me to the waiting cruiser. Blood was all over his shirt and the front of his pants. He looked up. Our eyes met. He got up and began walking to me but the cops pushed me in before we could meet. As soon as the door was shut I broke down in racking sobs, totally desolate at what I did, perplexed because I could not understand why I did what I did.

The trip downtown was quick. The cops wouldn't say anything when I asked a couple of questions... I don't know what I asked... all I remember is the silence.

After arriving at the police station, I was led into a room where my handcuffs were removed after I gave them a solemn oath on my grave that I would not run or become violent again. I couldn't. The fight in me had completely left my body and soul by that time; extreme remorse, sadness, sorrow and a profound sense of guilt were the only feelings remaining.

Upon arrival at the police station I was taken to a room where the cuffs were removed. I was ordered to strip. After I took off my shirt, which hurt like hell because I had to stretch in a most unnatural position, the guard looked at me expectantly. He paid particular attention to the incision on my belly, but that didn't stop him from ordering, "I said everything, get those faggot underwear off before I take them off you."

Slowly, I removed my bright yellow briefs, briefs that David had picked out. The guard packaged my clothing in a brown paper bag then tossed it to the floor. He then handed me a bar of soap and a towel. Naked, I was led into a shower room. The guard started the water than ordered me to wash with the special soap. The water was ice cold; I mean it was fucking cold water. I finished in short order.

After drying off, the guard sprayed me down with cold green wintergreen smelling liquid. I was not permitted to dry off before he handed over an orange jumpsuit which I put on. He then handed me a pair of socks and my tennis shoes.

Once those were on I was led to a medical examination room and told to strip.

A doctor, Dr. Flynn was on his name tag, entered...

"What is this incision for?" He asked gruffly.

"I donated a kidney to my brother, sir." I replied chastely.

"I see. You have a mixed up attitude toward your family, inmate. Did you have any complications or was it routine?"

"Yes sir, I died. An aneurysm ruptured, sir."

He nodded then performed a physical examination, leaving out nothing. He did spend some time checking out my incision and the muscles beneath it.

"Okay, you're cleared to be incarcerated. I will recommend that you be segregated because of your physical limitations. Understand, it is only my recommendation."

With that he left the room after telling me to get dressed. I did so.

The guard returned then took me to the front desk area where I was fingerprinted, where my picture was taken, and where I was given a number that was affixed to the jumpsuit, front and back. They then took me to a holding cell where I was to await the reading of charges and the arraignment. I'll never forget the clank of the steel door, and the total devastation I felt knowing what I'd done, and the total alone feeling in my heart and mind, and in my soul.

The iron bed had a single thin mattress and no sheets. The room was devoid of any furniture whatsoever. The toilet had no seat on it, nor did it have a handle. I wondered how that worked but I didn't have to wonder long as a wave of nausea hit like the locomotive of a train. I made it just in time, hung my head over and sprayed the insides with a violent twist of my stomach... I thought I was going to die right then and there as the spasms were the worst I'd ever experienced in my 15 years on the planet. Weakened and cramping like I'd never before experienced, my head went down... I found out how the toilet worked... it was one of those automatic flush toilets.

Shaking like a leaf in the wind I crawled to the bed and laid in it and closed my eyes hoping and crying that I would just disappear as the images of dad's face kept passing through my mind. I must have fallen asleep. Sometime later, a jailer rattled the cage, opened the door and then cuffed my wrists, and shackled my ankles together with steel bracelets. He then led me to a very large courtroom and ordered me to be seated in the inmate section, to not say a word to anyone for any reason and to face the judge's bench and to not look around.

When he left, I looked around anyway. I saw dad and Matt in the top row. Matt was crying but when he saw me he waived vigorously. Dad waived too. My throat constricted, my lungs contracted, and my eyes squeezed yet another round of tears, and despite my attempts to not start sobbing I did so anyway, and was unable to stop.

Another guard walked to me, jerked my head up and then physically turned me so that I could not look into the visitors' section. He ordered, "Do not move. I will remove you from the courtroom if you do, inmate."

An hour or so later, my name was called by the bailiff. A guard arrived and escorted me to where I stood in front of the judge's bench. Another set of hands touched my shoulder. I jumped and turned around toward its origin. Those hands belonged to Richard Wright, our attorney.

He whispered in my ear, "The judge, Judge Kendall is a hard sell bad ass but he has to be, but at the same time he's very fair. He adjudicates hard-core crimes, so he's tough, as he should be."

Bailiff: Your honor, case #09-7357, City of Honolulu vs. Peter Scott Blake. Defendant is represented by counsel, Richard Wright, duly licensed for law practice, in good standing, in our state. Defendant is currently in custody awaiting arraignment."

Judge Kendall: State your name and date of birth for the record.

Richard: Peter Scott Blake, age 15, date of birth August 7, 1994.

Judge Kendall:

Count #1: FELONY – Class 1 Aggravated assault

Count #2: FELONY – Class 2 Battery with intent to cause bodily injury

Count #3: FELONY – Evasion from a law enforcement officer

Count #4: FELONY – Resisting arrest

How plead you?

Richard: Not guilty on all counts, your honor.

Judge Kendall: Not guilty pleas accepted on all counts. Please let the record show that defense counsel entered not guilty pleas for the defendant. Thank you.

Mr. Richter (Prosecutor): Sir the State requests no bail. First, the defendant is a flight risk from this island where the alleged crimes were committed. Secondly, the victim is the defendant's father.

Judge Kendall: I'm inclined to grant the motion, Mr. Wright?

Richard: Your honor, the defense requests a change of venue. Foundation is that the defendant and the victim are both residents of Maui. Prosecution and defense of this matter here on Oahu would present great hardships to both parties.

Judge Kendall: Mr. Richter?

Mr. Richter (Prosecutor): Your honor, defense counsel, the crimes occurred in Honolulu, and should be prosecuted here.

Richard: Objection. The charges are States charges, your honor. The change of venue is applicable. The ALLEGED crimes were witnessed by law enforcement. This makes these alleged charges State matters.

Judge: Sustained.

Richard: Your honor, defense requests bail modification. The defendant would no longer be a flight risk from justice.

Judge: Mr. Richter?

Mr. Richter (Prosecutor): Sir, the victim is the defendants' father. Having the defendant residing with and depending on the victim would be reprehensible. The prosecution reiterates that bail should be denied.

Richard: Your honor …

Judge Kendall: This is highly irregular. The court is ready to resolve this matter. We have a busy docket. What is it Mr. Wright?

Richard: Sir, please allow me latitude …

Judge Kendall: You have received a change of venue. Defendant is hereby remanded into the custody of the Municipal Correctional Facility, Juvenile Division, Honolulu, pending transfer to a facility on the island of Maui. At that time a new bail modification motion can be filed in that jurisdiction, meanwhile, the next case please."

Bailiff: Your honor, case #09-7358, City of Honolulu vs. …

All else escaped me … it didn't sound good. I looked at Richard hopefully, questioningly.

It was as though he knew my question before I ever asked it when he said, "Peter, what that was all about is that (1) we got a change of venue meaning you'll be transferred to Maui, which is good, and (2), unfortunately, you'll be spending the night in juvenile detention until your transfer. The transfer will probably happen tomorrow but it might take a couple of days to get the paperwork in place. The judge denied you bail. Under normal circumstances the decision would be a good one... having a defendant in a victim's home is not a good thing. Simply obey orders and be quiet."

Remembering what the doctor said, I said, "The doctor was going to recommend that I be put into protective custody because of my operation."

"What? During booking he said that????" Richard whined.

I nodded. Richard's face went ashen. He looked back to the judge's bench... the judge was hearing another case. Richard said, "His recommendation didn't make it to the judge or to the prosecutor. I'll present an emergency petition just as soon as he finishes this case. It's going to be okay, I promise. It will take you a while to get processed in... so just do as you're told, don't cause a fuss..."

Dad and Matt then walked up. The guard, who was standing at a respectable distance, quickly walked up and blocked them, and another guard took hold of my shoulder and led me back to the booking desk to wait processing in.

*-* Meanwhile back home (as told by Jeremy) *-*

When David got off of the phone during one of our breaks, he came back into the dining room of Alice's house that had been transformed into a classroom. He was crying hysterically. Quickly, he sat down next to me. I pulled him into my arms and said, "What's wrong? David, talk to me."

"Peter's in trouble. Matt said he went ballistic on dad and that he was arrested. I talked to Peter for a second but they took the phone away... I screamed that I loved him but I don't know if he heard me."

David then dissolved into a puddle of tears, inconsolable. Allen, Angel, Andy, Jason and William surrounded my brother David. Alice jumped in and pulled David into her arms and tried to pry out of him what had happened.

I said to Jason, "I'm going home. I've got to get hold of dad."

Jason nodded. I said to David, "I'm going to call dad. You stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can." I then kissed his cheek then tore out toward home as fast as my legs would carry me.

I arrived home to an empty house. I remembered that Peggy was going to pick Maria up for a trip the grocery store and to do other errands.

I went to dad's office, dialed his number but was greeted with a 'not in service' message. "What the fuck?" I exclaimed.

Although I was calm on the outside, my insides were churning wildly. I speed dialed the number for Fugi. He answered on the second ring. I quickly explained what little I knew at that point in time. He had just boarded a flight to LAX.

"I'm all over it Jeremy. Thanks for calling me." Fugi said proficiently, urgently. He then terminated the connection.

I started to break down, my strength and reserves fading quickly but then the break down ceased when I heard the door to the garage open and the sounds of two women laughing and carrying on.

With resignation taking over, I exited dad's office and quickly made my way to the kitchen where mom and Maria were standing talking.

They took one look at me... that's when I lost it. Mom quickly walked over, pulled me into her, rubbed my face with her hand, and then asked me what was wrong...

*-* At the court house in Honolulu *-*

When a guard stopped my progress to Peter, and another one led him away, my heart broke into a million pieces. All sorts of malevolent premonitions began running through my head. I was beside myself, and I got really pissed off at the guard who'd put one hand on my shoulder and the other one on Matt to keep him from moving toward his brother.

I jerked myself away from the guard, and took a step back.

Richard, catching wind of the near altercation, walked away from Peter as he was being led into the bowels of the courthouse, quickly walked over, talked to the guard then led me and Matt to the chairs immediately behind the defense table.

He said, "Peter told me that the doctor recommended that be placed into protective custody. The judge didn't have the paperwork so the altered custody arrangement wasn't ordered. As soon as this case is over, I'm going to verbally petition the court to hear my pleading. Jim, I'm sorry... if the petition isn't heard because of form or if the judge does not permit me to speak then it could be a rough night for your son. There's nothing else I can do. I'm sorry."

"Get it done, Richard." I said leaving no doubt for any compromise whatsoever.

Richard nodded gravely then turned his attentions to the court hearing in progress.

I turned to Matt. The look on his face frightened me more than anything else that had happened that day. He looked haunted, as if he'd been possessed by the devil himself. He wasn't crying, instead he was shaking. I said, "Matt, it's going to be okay, trust me."

"It's too late dad." Matt said very quietly. He looked into my eyes... he suddenly leaned over and puked his guts up. I put my hand on his back and began rubbing little circles in an effort to calm him down but it was of no use but I kept doing it all the same.

I hadn't smoked in over 10 years but when we walked down the courthouse steps, I hailed a gentleman with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and asked him for two. He gave me three. Matt and I walked to the outdoor ash tray. I'd forgotten to get something to light it with... apparently a woman saw my plight and extended her hand and lit my cigarette for me. I took a deep drag and then had a gagging cough attack... but kept on and took another drag and another and another. Eventually, my body acclimated to the assault.

A few minutes later Richard came walking down the steps and stopped in front of me and Matt. The look on his face was that of concern and gravity. My heart sunk in my chest... and he hadn't even said a word yet.

Within 2 seconds he was lit up and then turned to me, "I'm sorry, Jim. The judge wouldn't interrupt the docket to hear my petition. I was afraid that would happen. As soon as I finish this one, I'm going to go in there and start filing writ after writ after writ… I've got several things up my sleeves but I've got to think fast because we are running out of time for today."

Just then a gust of wind came up and blew very hard. Several papers blew out of Richard's file folders. The wind was sustained; we watched the papers go flying quickly and further and further away. Richard said "I have the important papers tucked away, those were not all that important."

As if he were possessed, Matt took off for those papers, walking as fast as he could. But the wind was just too strong... soon the papers were out of sight.

"Well, it's 3:45. The courthouse closes soon so I'd better get busy." Richard said quietly.

"Yeah, we are going to head on home, our flight is at 5pm. See you soon and hope to hear from you even sooner." I said with resignation.

"My flight is at 5pm too. You guys can ride the limo with me if you would like to."

"Oh, okay. Come on Matt let's watch a lawyer earn his living." I said with a trace of levity hopefully in my voice even though I did not feel it.

My little quip passed by unnoticed. That was okay too.

We took off back up the stairs and into the courthouse. Richard took us to an alcove where a bank of computers were set up for attorneys use only, according to the little sign affixed to the front of each monitor. Matt and I just sat down in a chair next to the oblong table that Richard was working on.

After a few minutes of sitting there Matt announced that he needed to hit the men's room. I hadn't even thought of it but my bladder was full too, "I'll go with you. I need to go too."

We went down first one hallway then turned around and headed back the other way when we did not immediately find one. Finally, at the end of another alcove we saw a "Men Only" sign with a universal Male on it along with a wheelchair access available sign.

Matt took off for a stall at the very end of a row. For a brief instant, I experienced a horrific flash of fear that traversed through my entire body from one end to the other and from one side to the next after remembering what had happened the last time we had used a public restroom. Quickly, though, the feelings dissipated just about as quickly as they had arrived. I shook my head clear then went to a urinal where I did the deal.

Seemingly, from out of nowhere, I smiled wanly then chuckled loudly as Matt was being all not too quiet about his duties.

"Sorry dad, it must have been that Anouilh sausage from breakfast this morning." Matt snickered then farted out a very long one. He giggled "Sorry" but I knew that he didn't mean it.

"There it goes, finally. I'll be right out dad, oh that feels so good." Matt said with finality and accomplishment.

Just as he flushed, an old guy who stood at about 6' tall, thin and wiry, with an unkempt beard, with bronzed leathery skin and an old long ago worn and bleached out top hat came walking into the room. As soon as he saw me he smiled broadly with a toothless smile then pulled out some crumpled up papers from his tattered satchel bag then handed them to me but not before pulling the top one off.

He came over then with an old gnarled up hand he stuck out a finger and pointed to a place on the page then said "I ain't no lawyer son, but I've seen these pieces of paper before, I have a bunch of them myself, but anyway …"

Just then Matt walked up to us then turned the water on, washed his hands good, dried them and stood next to me.

"Sorry." Matt said apologetically.

The old guy smiled at Matt then once again pointed to a place on the paper "anyway, this is an important piece of information … and well, it ain't marked mister. That means that none of the rest of this stuff makes any difference."

"Oh Holy fuckin Christ; oh God, Matt, I'm sorry, you didn't hear that. Come on, let's go find Richard. Thank you sir, God bless you a million times plus a million. We've got to go." I said voraciously then without a second thought, pulled him in for a hug, squeezing tightly.

Arriving back inside of the courthouse, we quickly ran to the table where Richard had been working laboriously filing brief after brief after brief just as he said he would be doing, however, he was not there. Matt, excitedly, even though he did not know what he was excited about – yet – took off for the steps then beckoned me with his finger to quickly get there to him. I did. Richard was down smoking a cigarette.

"I'll go get him, you wait right here. We don't want to lose those papers again dad." Off he went. I was giddy with excitement.

*-* Meanwhile back to the booking and holding area *-*

As soon as the deputy got my paperwork cleared at the desk, he led me back into the cellblock after going through some very loud clinks and clanks and clatters of metal on metal. The place was freezing cold, and damp. The stench of vomit and urine and feces was nearly overpowering to my senses; my stomach turned knots … then I puked my guts out. As I heave hoed my head hit the wall which was actually a welcome relief because I could not really hold my head up as wave after wave of nausea, and its subsequent violence overtook my body.

The guard looked at me like I was crazy or something … I was. I knew I was. Then all of the shame and guilt surrounded me like a cold hard vault of concrete. During a lull in my gastric distress, he pushed me along.

The next cellblock smelled somewhat better but still the stench of puke was in my nostrils although I had managed to keep it off of my jailhouse clothes – a little bit of solace goes a long way 'inside' as I was learning to call jail instead of jail.

We began walking down that hallway; I didn't know what else to call it; the wolf whistles, cat calls, and the wild calls of fresh meat, jail bait, hooker, whore, slut, boy toy, along with professions of faith that one or all of them would fuck me raw to the point where I loved it, was even more overpowering.

Amidst all of it, the jailer stopped then took out a key that he used to unlock a cell door. The door automatically, through some automation, clinked and clanked and clattered as it too slid along old rusty rails at the top. My blood ran as cold as ice water when he said "Inmate, this is your new home away from home. I'm sure you will be welcomed with open arms. Turn around and I will remove your bracelets."

My blood ran even colder when he unzipped my jumpsuit and ran his hands down the sides of my chest, waist, then over my butt cheeks, then around front where he grabbed and squeezed my naked cock; they had taken my underwear before the body strip search. When I, thankfully, did not respond to his rough manhandling of my equipment, he then slid his hands back and down inside of my crack then using the oily body shit they had sprayed on me, stuck his finger roughly inside of me in one fast motion. It hurt like hell, and it hurt above and beyond any possible imagination or comprehension. After manhandling my insides, he quickly yanked his fat fucking finger out of my most private of places.

While he was slowly, very slowly zipping the jumpsuit up with one hand, his other hand was jacking my dick and cupping my balls, attempting, I'm sure to get me hard. It didn't work. In fact I felt like my dick was so damn small that it would take a pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass to find it.

The above and beyond occurred when he said, "He's real loose, boys. Have fun with him but save some of it for me."

The guard then began thoroughly licking the finger that he had just taken from my butthole, making sure that I closely observed his exaggerated motions and look of glee upon his fat fucking face. After removing his finger from the ugly pock marked snot locker he calls face, "You have a sweet young taste about you son. Do enjoy your stay here. Remember to save some for me."

That said, he roughly unshackled my feet, removed the handcuffs away from my wrists then pushed me onto rack …

I wished Antoine were there.

"Dear God in heaven. I'm sorry. Please have mercy on my soul. I give it to you now. I understand if you don't accept me though, but please give David a message for me … please – tell him I love him, always have and always will. Thank you. Amen."

*-* Back on the courthouse steps *-*

On the way down the steps, a small crack in the pavement tossed me into the air, and I then landed hard. I heard a most unusual and surreal snap as my body stopped its momentum. Matt and Richard saw me fall. Both came running up the stairs and suddenly stopped. Matt, terror written all over his face, said, "Dad, don't move. You're leg's broken."

Several passerbies stopped to render aid. I didn't feel any pain. I reached into my pants pocket and handed a paper to Richard and said, "Take this Richard. Get Peter out."

Matt knelt down and took my head in his hands, scooted underneath me and held me protectively.

Richard, meanwhile, looked at the paper but didn't see what the old man had shown both Matt and I... until Matt grabbed it and pointed to the box that hadn't been checked...

Richard's eyes went wide open. "I'm on it, Jim." Not saying another word, he got up then headed back into the courthouse.

Meanwhile, sirens were heard off in the distance, and they were coming closer and closer.

Matt, with tears in his eyes, cradled my head protectively and lovingly, then he leaned down, kissed my lips and the put his hands on each side of my face, and whispered, "I love you dad."

And then his face contorted in agony. He screamed "NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!" as loud as his lungs would permit. "DADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY THEIR HURTING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SAVE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He then collapsed across my chest, all he was doing was breathing.

The shards of pain, for the very first time, tore up and through my leg...

*-* In the Jail Cell *-*

During the short period of time that we'd been together, Antoine had taught me how to disjoint from those old memories of long ago, those old memories of being tortured, maimed and stuff being done to me, so that David and I could live in peace and harmony...

I closed my eyes just as a very large native boy of about 16 took his turn. I went to that far away distant place where there was nothing but peace and harmony and well being and happiness. I brought David's face into my consciousness. He was holding me, supporting me, loving me, providing strength and balance between good and bad... and then Matt wrapped his arms around me, held me, strengthened me, and helped me to separate my current awareness to future awareness. I saw a man with white flowing robes running to me, calling my name, and then when he arrived I was engulfed by the senses of total love, endearing to the very fiber of my being, assuring me that all would be okay, that he would heal me, to trust, to just hold on.

All else was obliterated when Matt's spirit joined with mine. Then another boy, smaller than Matt but bigger than me, joined into Matt's spirit. David's spirit intimately joined with mine in a way that I'd never before experienced. Instead of pain I felt joy.

When I looked around... I was not there... yet I was. I saw what I saw. But I no longer felt what they were doing to my life form 'down there' lying on that cold hard steel frame called a bed. The face on the boy looked like mine. He had a surgical scar like mine. His pubes were absent, just like mine. Yet I wasn't there... neither was David, neither was Matt, but there was this boy who WAS there, a boy who I did not know, a boy who I'd never before met.

And then Antoine appeared.

What happened next was nothing short of carnage... a blood bath.

As soon as the EMS personnel arrived, I took off for the courtroom where Judge Kendall was hearing, what I figured would be his last case for the day. Time was of the essence.

The judge's secretary was exiting his office. I grabbed hold of her arm and half dragged her to back to his office, I said, "Give me a piece of paper and a pen. I have to write an emergency petition. It cannot wait."

Clearly upset, with cause of course, she did as I asked. Quickly, I scribbled a writ and a motion for Peter's immediate release and then handed it back to her. She entered it into the database and handed me the printed out version of the scanned document.

I ran into the courtroom just as Judge Kendall banged his gavel for the last time for that day. He was getting up but looked toward the door in time to see me running toward him, waiving the document in the air.

The bailiff nearly intercepted me but I side stepped all the while asking Judge Kendall for a moment of his time. He turned to face me. He could see the terror I was feeling and experiencing.

"Judge, you have to see this. This changes everything. I petition the court to release Peter Scott Blake IMMEDIATELY!" I screamed. The prosecutor, Mr. Richter, looked up from his sheaf of papers and documents.

He snatched it out of my hands, looked at it carefully... his face turned ashen. He stood up then handed the document to the bailiff who was holding me in check. He said, "Your honor, the prosecution requests an emergency stay in the matter of Peter Scott Blake's incarceration."

The bailiff took the document and then walked it to Judge Kendall. Judge Kendall surveyed the forms. If there was ever a time when someone could admirably predict another human being to have a stroke – it would have been the second Judge Kendall read my motion then reviewed Peter's arrest form. He then motioned me and Mr. Richter to follow him into his chambers.

Forgetting all judicial decorum, we both ran neck in neck into the judge's chambers and sat down, even before the judge had the opportunity to be seated first.

Wasting no time, he said, "What the holy fuck bullshit is going on around here? Jesus fucking Christ … this is a basic procedural … and I fucking missed it … the boy was not afforded his Miranda rights for fuck sake!"

"We have no time for pleasantries, your honor. Get that boy out of there, and get him the fuck out of there now!" I commanded.

Mr. Richter looked at me like I'd lost my last set of marbles. I had, no doubt, done just that. But he was pinned up against the wall... he knew it, I knew it, Judge Kendall knew it.

Judge Kendall reached for the phone and a piece of paper simultaneously, and then said, "Fuck this. Follow me."

We raced out of his chambers through the 'back way', down to the holding cellblock with the judge commanding each and every guard we came across to accompany us if they were not doing something otherwise.

The cellblock doors were rapidly opened and closed as fast as they could possibly be until we reached Peter's cell door … but it was too late. We had arrived too late. "Holy mother of God, what have we done?" Judge Kendall said despairingly.

Peter was sitting on the toilet with his prison uniform hanging around his ankles; his eyes were looking straight ahead kind of dead like but not quite dead at all. After the guards decisively secured the scene, that included shackling the guard named Lawrence with his pants down around his ankles, to the cell bar, I went over to Peter then looked into his eyes. He was not home, but the lights were on. He looked up at me then at the judge then back to me again. That look of utter defeat within his eyes will remain in my memory until my dying day.

"Peter, let's go home now." I said softly then took him into my arms. He laid his head on my chest. I kissed him gently on the back of his head. He put his arms around my neck then began weeping very lightly, just enough to be heard. You know how a young teen boy sounds when he is hurting … yes, that sound.

It was more than I could take. Judge Kendall and I looked at each other, then without saying a single audible sound, we made a solemn oath right then and there. An oath to uphold the law is only as good as the meaning behind it; an oath is only as good as the actions that are put behind it; to uphold and protect the truth, to defend the innocent, so help us God.

Randy Bustamante, the biggest and baddest and ugliest motherfucking guard of guards, one of the few good guys left, arrived on scene within a very few very short minutes. Needless to say, he took command of the situation right then and there on the spot, and well let's put it like this: none of the bad guys walked out of that cell on their own volition, or under their own power, and we'll just leave it like that. I do believe in the judicial system after all.

EMS arrived on scene. Somehow, thankfully, they ignored the pieces of shit lying helplessly in pools of their own broken and shattered jawbones, distorted members, vomit and other such disarranged bodily parts.

EMS confiscated Peter's jumpsuit for evidence. Trust me it was tagged and bagged and witnessed completely and correctly strictly adhering to the laws of evidence, and chain of possession – to the letter. I signed it. Judge Kendall signed it. Mr. Richter signed it.

EMS brought in a stretcher... we were going to take Peter to the medical station. Peter, however, refused to get on the stretcher and fought me tooth and nail when I tried to coax him off the toilet.

While Mr. Bustamonte is the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the prison, he was also the gentlest man I'd ever known in my entire life.

True to form, he knelt down in front of Peter, took the boy's face in his hands and then penetrated the boy's spirit like he'd never been penetrated before.

Very gently, very carefully, Mr. Bustamonte lifted Peter from the toilet and then rolled the boy into his chest. Solemnly, reverently, Judge Kendall, Mr. Richter and I draped Peter with a sheet to cover his naked body.

Judge Kendall had another idea so that Peter would not be subjected to the touts, whistles and disparaging remarks well known when a new inmate is paraded through the halls of justice. He communicated his plan to Mr. Bustamonte. Mr. Bustamonte smiled, and then whispered into Peter's ear.

Peter agreed to be placed on the stretcher. Instead of being paraded... we covered Peter completely with a sheet and a blanket from his bed. From all outward appearances, it looked like we were wheeling a body from a cell... which happens occasionally, even amongst the largely youthful population.

Quietly, ceremoniously, reverently, we rolled the stretcher to the medical station. The doctor was present treating a patient. The patient was escorted from the medical station, and all other personnel were dispatched to the cell block where Peter had been removed from, with orders not to return until cleared by Judge Kendall.

Once the area was cleared and secured, the doctor, at Judge Kendall's orders, took samples of blood from Peter's arm veins and from his back side. A chain of custody was established with Judge Kendall at the top of the list. He himself would take the samples to the laboratory to prevent any legal misinterpretation.

Once all samples were taken and cataloged, Mr. Bustamonte, Judge Kendall, Mr. Richter and myself gently as possible, cleaned Peter up and returned a semblance of dignity to him.

There wasn't a dry eye in the place.

When our ministrations were completed, Mr. Bustamonte said, "Leave the room. I must speak with Peter alone."

He then stood. Mr. B., as he likes to be called outside of business, is a towering man, standing at least 6' 5" and weighing in at around 350 pounds... his presence is not easily missed, and he generally maintains law and order... all by himself.

He would later tell me that he was performing an intake on another new inmate which was the reason he wasn't there when Peter was brought in. He never forgave himself. I don't know what happened to him, other than he left juvenile justice. He left no forwarding address, and just sort of disappeared into thin air.

Just as we were walking out the door into the hallway, I heard a sob emanate... and no, it wasn't a boy's voice that was sobbing, it was a deep gutter sob from an adult male. I turned around and ran into the back of Judge Kendall.

The sight that I saw totally and completely swept me off my feet. I looked to Mr. Richter. He turned to me. He had tears flowing freely from his eyes and onto his expensive suit jacket.

Feeling safe, I bowed my head and wept openly. The sight of Peter's hands gently and lovingly cupping Mr. B.'s face was too much for me to take.

Forty five minutes passed before Peter and Mr. B. emerged. Peter's eyes were, while blood shot, a little brighter but at least he looked up from his chest, saw me and the Judge. He nodded slightly, though his facial expression was not more than a twitch.

While he was somewhat better than before he and Mr. B. talked, his demeanor was one that spelled defeat.

Normally, I'm cool, calm, collected and in control of my emotions when working with clients. Sure, I've made mistakes over my career but they hadn't been as bad as what Peter had gone through.

Unable to reel myself in, the moment I saw him walking up the hallway, my throat constricted, my chest became heavy, my eyes welled with tears, my shoulders slumped, and then despite my attempts to quell them, the tears fell and a sob escaped from the depths of my being.

I closed the distance between us by taking a few short steps and stood before him.

He looked into my eyes and said, "It's not your fault, Richard. If I wouldn't have... if I hadn't... if I didn't... you know... to dad then none of this would have happened."

Mr. B. stepped up, so that he, Peter and I were standing in a triangle. He said to Peter, "You have my phone number. Call me anytime. In time you're going to be better than you are right now."

"Mr. Wright, Peter wants to go home to his family. Right now I think that would be the best medicine for him. <Looking to Peter>. Are you ready to go?"

Peter, for the first time since I saw him walking the hall toward us, nodded approvingly, and even the hint of a smile crossed his face.

"Peter, the last flight to Maui left about an hour ago. I'm going to make arrangements for us to stay in the hotel where I stay when I'm here on business overnight. They have video communication systems. We'll catch the first flight out in the morning. I'm sorry, this is the best we can do for tonight."

Mr. B., with his demeanor turning to unbridled determination said, "Mr. Wright, you don't understand. Charter a flight, I'll pay for it."

The judge turned to leave, I assumed he was going to begin making arrangements but Peter stopped him by saying, "Richard, I don't blame you. You did all you could. Things just didn't work out." To Mr. B., Peter said, "You don't have to do that. I'll be okay. <He looked to me>. Richard I'll be okay. As long as I can talk to David, my brothers, dad, and Peggy... it can wait until morning."

Mr. B., with great reluctance slowly nodded. While he was maintaining a strong exterior I could see that he was about to break, in his eyes. His eyes told his story. Gathering inner strength he said to Peter, "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah." Peter replied quietly.

"Okay, then I'll escort you to your location. Judge, I'm finished here for tonight, perhaps I'll not return to my job. I haven't decided."Judge Kendall replied, "I'll notify your superiors. I'll make sure you receive a commendation. I've no doubt that you saved Peter's life tonight."

Mr. B., clearly taken aback, said, "That's not necessary, your honor. In fact, with all due respect, receiving an award for something I didn't do would be an insult to the system, and to me. Come on Peter, let's go." Without another word, without any further acknowledgment both he and Peter headed toward the receiving area, leaving Judge Kendall and myself standing their with our mouths open.

Judge Kendall said, "Richard, file a lawsuit on behalf of the Blake family for no less than twenty five million dollars. I'll make sure it goes through in a timely manner. Mr. Richter, be prepared for judicial review... this should have never happened. Me, I'm pretty sure I'll be impeached, but it's okay, I deserve it, I fucked up."

An unmarked law enforcement vehicle was waiting. Mr. B. and Peter were already inside, waiting for me to enter. Before entering, I said to the judge, "Tomorrow morning I am going to file a motion to have me taken off this case. I am going to admit wrongdoing to the board of commissioners. I'm going to notify my insurance company that I fucked up, and that they should be prepared to receive a lawsuit for an undetermined amount. Money is no object here. While the money will not fix him, perhaps it will enable Peter to have the best care known to man."

With that said, not waiting for a response, I got into the vehicle, closed the door, then told the driver where we were going.

Upon arrival at the hotel, we were, after making arrangements, escorted to the penthouse suit on the top floor, overlooking the ocean.

While Peter said he wasn't hungry, I ordered room service to bring meals for us both.

Peter headed for the balcony, entered, then walked to the wall where he stood quietly looking out over the water.

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