If We Dare to Dream (12 page)

Then he was charged.

The nightmares returned with a vengeance after his arrest. While his anxiety and depression had served him well during his initial days in prison, his uncontrollable anger and silent but deadly reaction times had earned him the nickname of “Ghost”. His tenuous hold on his temper worked its magic when he first entered, as did his fighting skills. The other inmates learned rather quickly that he was unpredictable and angry; luckily not one to be messed with.

Which did not mean he was not initiated. He had been busted up within his first few days for not affiliating himself with his kind. While he had wanted to ignore the racial tensions in the prison altogether, keeping to himself was not an option. Racial identity was never forgotten. There were the Chicanos, the Woods, the Chiefs and the Kinfolk, each depicting a different race and each race sticking with one another. Prison life was highly structured in this way, and he learned the hard way with a trip to medical to recover after being attacked by two Woods.

He still preferred to remain alone, but he had taken his side once he was released as a means of survival. The only other option was to be ‘rolled up’ and sent to the hole. That idea he shelved rather quickly, for remaining locked in his cell in solitary confinement for all but one hour a day for the rest of his life was too unbearable to think of. But he had not forgotten, and he had timed his revenge carefully. Shock and awe. When he sent the two that had ambushed him off to medical, his skills in silent but deadly hand to hand combat had been spread via whispers among the rest of the population granting him a reputation. The nickname and the fear that went with it was the only thing he had been proud to claim during his time in. He still moved in silence when he wanted to, and his hands were still able to slice a throat in one swipe if necessary. Those skills he would never forget. He was, after all, a well-trained assassin.

His highly tuned survival instincts and abilities served him after his initiation, and his career in the military had taught him well. He had learned to blend, to fit in and to disappear among the locals. Instead of sporting a beard and long hair, wearing casual clothes and blending with Afghanis, he was now disappearing among the gangs in the prison. He kept his mouth shut and did what he was told, granting his voice to only two or three people in his block that he almost trusted.

Almost.

One of those was a kid who made a big mistake that had caused a teenage girl to lose her life. On his 24
^th
birthday, following two prior DUI arrests, Billy “Smack” Zak drank a case of beer and got behind the wheel. He drove like an Indy car driver down a Phoenix street, topping out at speeds over 90 MPH before hitting a seventeen-year-old girl walking home from a bus stop after work. Due to his prior arrests, he was promptly found guilty and sentenced to 27 years. Before he was completely sober, he was Andrew’s bunkmate.

Smack was a tall, thin kid, with two front teeth lost in a fight during his first week in prison. He had entered the cell with plenty of bluster that first day, but Andrew had ignored him and gone back to sleep. As their cell grew dark, Andrew heard the soft sniffling from the kid for most of the night. Those first nights of sheer terror and desperation were not unfamiliar, and after a week of allowing the kid the privacy of expressing his fear he finally spoke.

Three words were all he said. “It gets easier.”

He had never let on that he heard Smack’s night crying. He never gave the kid any indication that he knew how tormented and guilty the kid felt inside. Not until the seventh night, when he thought he would go mad by the muffled sounds of grief. Those three words were the beginning of what was to become a hero worship on behalf of Smack for Andrew. Over the following months, Andrew took the kid under his wing and shared his story with him. He also taught him as much as he could about how to survive.

Smack was waiting in their cell when he returned, but one look at Andrew’s face caused him to look away respectfully. He returned his attention to the letter in his hands while Andrew was un-cuffed and released back into the cell. His face remained averted as Andrew sank heavily on his bunk and began his deep-breathing meditation exercises to regain control. Once he felt a little more human, he slipped from the bunk and started his yoga sequence. The series of twenty-five to thirty poses did not eliminate his anxiety, but it did prevent him from losing complete control. The meditation helped him clear his mind, and Smack had seen it enough times to know when to keep his mouth shut.

Andrew’s mind was still numb with shock. The shock to his system was as strong as a blast from an IED, and the adrenalin rush he experienced when he heard Darren speak was comparable to coming under heavy fire yards away from his unit. At the moment he needed to clear his thoughts and regain control. He did all thirty poses before he was feeling a little more human.

But he still did not speak.

Smack had re-read his letter over and over again during the hour that Andrew concentrated. He wisely remained quiet in his bunk, respecting Andrew’s need for silence and focus. He had learned well after only having one run-in with Andrew’s rage. It was a scene Andrew knew he did not want to repeat.

Following his final pose, he came to his feet and went to the sink, washing his face with cupped hands held under the tap. Small rivulets of water dripped down his cheeks and chin, sliding down his neck and staining the top of his shirt. Still ignoring Smack, Andrew returned to his bunk and lay down, resting his head on his cupped hands and staring wide eyed at the ceiling.

After another hour of silence, Smack finally sat up and faced Andrew. “You okay?”

Andrew did not look at him. “Yeah.”

“What did your lawyer tell you? You looked like hell coming in.”

“Not now,” Andrew growled.

Smack nodded his narrow head and lay back down on his cot, reaching for a book lying open beside him. As he began reading again, Andrew closed his eyes. While granted a temporary reprieve from the questions, he knew that Smack would not let it go. One thing about the kid was that he was tenacious and curious, two very dangerous qualities in their current abode. Smack was lucky he was more patient than most.

Now he wondered if his renowned patience would finally pay off.

After a sleepless night, Andrew rose in the morning with a large chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face. He completed his work, intent on returning to his bunk and crashing for the afternoon. Unfortunately, Smack was there, bouncing like a tweaker ready for his next fix.

“Ready yet?”

Knowing that he would not relent until he was given at least some information, Andrew sighed heavily. Sometimes sharing the close quarters with an immature kid was more of a trial than being bunked up with a gang member. “Not really.”

“At least tell me everything’s cool.”

“I don’t know yet.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Smack moved to the small bench in the cell, a frown expressed on his entire face. His brow wrinkled, and his nose flared as his lips turned down. Smack had one of the most expressive faces he had ever seen, so similar to his own before he schooled a very private and closed countenance. Now he held his tongue and maintained his silence, keeping to a code he had honored for years.

“So what happened?”

Andrew sighed again. Though Smack knew the details of his story and was probably one of those who did not believe him, he was hesitant to elaborate. It was his own fear to verbalize what had occurred that stopped him. Voicing it aloud would make it real, and he was not yet prepared emotionally for that possibility. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and let it out in a rush before facing his cellmate or ‘cellie’.

“My witness is back in the Valley. She came forward.”

Smack jumped up from his seat as though a fire had been lit under the chair. He began dancing nervously around the cell. “Man, she’s real?”

Andrew sent Smack a scowl. “Of course she’s real.”

“Well, you know what I mean. I mean, everyone here says that there was someone else who did it and that they’re in here wrongfully. I just…”

“I know.”

Smack colored when he heard the resignation in Andrew’s voice. “She’s the hot chick that you hit on that night, right?”

“You could put it that way,” Andrew said wryly.

Thinking about it, Andrew decided that Smack had summed it up rather well actually. Jamie had been a beautiful girl, and he had spent many nights wondering what could have happened if she had been a little intoxicated and not engaged at the time. Hell, he was only human.

“Don’t you think it’s every guy’s fantasy in here to have some hot chick come forward and save his ass?”

Though he was not in a smiling mood, Andrew did feel the corner of his mouth deepen. Leave it to Smack to state the obvious.

“I suppose. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Damn, dude. For someone so smart, educated and experienced, you really are a dumbass.”

Andrew again sent him a foreboding look, but Smack continued. He was pumped up, still dancing around the room like a tweaker again. Excitement made his face glow. “How are you upset about this? Isn’t this good news?”

Having been his cellmate for three years, Smack knew a lot about Andrew. That included his nightmares and anxiety. He had seen Andrew at his lowest on several occasions and had stuck to his bunk with his back turned in an effort to give Andrew the same privacy he had afforded the kid when he had first arrived. Though he respectfully did not mention Andrew’s periodic spells, the unspoken question remained between them.

“It was a shock I wasn’t prepared for.”

Nodding in understanding, the kid grinned widely. “This is your chance, dude. You’re gonna get out of here.”

Those were not words he wanted to hear. He had long ago decided against believing that would ever come true. “Don’t say that,” he warned tightly.

“But your lawyer’s gonna to file an appeal, right?”

“He wants to.”

“That means you’re gonna get a new trial.”

“Doubt it.”

“How can you doubt that? If she’s for real, your time here’s limited.”

Shaking his head, Andrew turned to Smack full on for the first time since the meeting. He pierced the kid with his pale gaze in a serious look that made the young man flinch. “I can’t believe that, Smack. I just can’t.”

How many times had he dreamed that this day would come? How many times had he gone over the scenario in his mind that Jamie would come forward and tell the truth? Her face and smile had imprinted itself in his brain. She was the last woman he had spoken to before his arrest, and the last woman he had felt an attraction to in a long time. However, in the years that had passed so much had changed.

In his heart, he really did not believe freedom was possible and even more frightening for him was the idea that he did not believe he could take the continued strain without breaking.

He was no longer strong enough.

Chapter 6

Spring 2011

The high court’s decision was promising and frightening at the same time. Eventually the decision was made, and the court found enough new evidence to grant a new trial. Darren was jubilant when he passed on the news to Jamie. While that meant that she would now be called to testify, she was more confident than ever that what she was doing was right. They believed her. They felt that there was enough information to reinvestigate the evidence against him, and that proved in her mind that he
had
to be innocent. No man should be unjustly accused and convicted, especially when that meant that the real man responsible for Kit’s death was still out there, perhaps at risk of doing it again.

With these galvanizing thoughts to support her decision, she went through the motions and prepared to speak aloud what she knew. Darren and Ted had warned her that it would not be an easy thing, for her or for the rest of the parties involved. However, Darren promised that he would be there with her, a friendly face in the crowd. The enthusiasm and excitement he expressed whenever she spoke to him gave her courage.

Surely if his defense attorney felt so strongly that his client was innocent, Andrew had to be. She would speak what she knew and then it would then fall to a new jury to decide whether he was guilty or innocent a second time around. With the increasing belief that he was innocent came a crippling fear. How would she feel if they found him guilty again? Could she retain any faith in humanity? Darren promised her all would be fine, but Jamie was worried.

In the months that had passed since Grady had accompanied her to see Darren Walters, she had learned a lot more about the man who was serving time for the murder of Kit Romano. Darren was very forthcoming about his client, his achievements, and his overwhelming fear to believe in the miracle that was Jamie.

A life sentence. A life stolen. A good life at that from what she was hearing, and in her mind he had grown from the man that had charmingly hit on her to a true American hero who was stoically paying the price for another man’s crime.

Raised by his grandparents with one younger brother, Andrew Sheehan was a decorated Special Forces sergeant with time served in Afghanistan. After high school he had attended college on a football scholarship, obtaining a degree in structural engineering. While he had planned to continue on and obtain his master’s, he ended off going to war instead after the tragedy of September 11
^th
. When Jamie told Darren that it was his scar that confirmed his identity in her mind, Darren casually mentioned Andrew had decided to remain in the military until an IED explosion nearly killed him and put him out on a medical discharge during his second tour. Andrew Sheehan never had a speeding ticket. The guy was as straight laced as could be, which made the tragedy even worse for Jamie to bear.