Uncuffed

"I visited Jim today," I mentioned as Keith and I made dinner together.

"I wish you would stop," he replied, “Honey, I’m worried. Don’t get invested in him. He’s caused you so much heartache.”

I nodded, “He’s clean now.” I paused and said the obvious, “He detoxed in jail. He’s got nobody right now.”

“Whose fault is that?” Keith asked rhetorically.

“Yep, he’s in jail due to all the bad choices he made,” I consented. “I have not forgetten that.” I stopped and let silence reinforce my point. “He can’t steal from me in jail. I have not given him money for the commissary. He’s got nothing.” I paused again. “This is a powerful wakeup call for him. He's still my brother,” I said quietly as I felt raw emotion swell in me.

I held my breath waiting for the usual argument to start. Jim is incarcerated at the Mayville County Jail. He had a drinking problem, which led to a drug problem, which led to a theft problem. I'm happy he is in jail--the alternative was death--I don't see other options working for him, and I don't think he did either. At this point, he's only had a preliminary hearing, he was charged with grand larceny and criminal possession of dangerous drugs. He was advised to plead not guilty by his court-appointed attorney--that was eight months ago. Now he sits in jail waiting for his next hearing. 

I thought if Keith came with me to visit, he'd see Jim in a different light, not the drug addict and criminal, he was for the past 10 years. The brutal jail detox program recovered the guy I grew up with, my funny, sweet brother--not the strung-out guy who stole from every family member within reach. I thought about posting Bond but I knew I'd never convince Keith. However, I can not give up on Jim.

I visited Jim twice a week. It was only a 30-minute drive and no one else in my family has gone to see him. They are holding a lot of anger still, maybe like Keith worried about, protecting themselves from pain. I got it, my parents gave Jim so many chances. Jim's first rehab program was one of those military-style boot camps for troubled kids in a survival setting. Jim came back clean and mean. He dropped out of school and started couch surfing, stealing, and scamming his way through his teen years into his twenties with his older, manipulative girlfriend, Sally, by his side. 

Sally aged out of the foster care system and was selling drugs at high school parties. She met Jim when he was a sophomore. Jim was drifting aimlessly. He thought he was railing against the system. He wanted to forge his own path--like many teenagers do in high school. Sally found a boy that she could mold and control with sex and drugs. A boy that liked her kind of attention but didn't realize how dangerous it was. 

Today Jim told me his attorney brought him a plea-bargain deal--seven years for a guilty plea and testimony against his cohort in crime. Sally had an arsenal in her backpack when she was apprehended. She also resisted arrest. Sally was able to wrangle her uncuffed wrist loose when the cop was attempting to get her handcuffed. She swung her right cuffed wrist at the cop's head. The unsecured open metal handcuff slammed into the temple of the officer. Sally turned and ran as the cop bent over in pain while blood streamed down his face. She was easily recaptured and re-cuffed, this time with study plastic zip tie-style cuffs--bucking and kicking as she was pressed into the back seat of the cruiser.

                       ###

“I don’t know Kelly,” Jim’s head is down, he rubbed his finger on the shiny tabletop, “Sally saved me in high school,” he said.

I don’t let my exasperation at this statement show when I replied. “Jim, even if you believe that you are getting an offer not given to everyone. The fact is Sally was caught selling drugs to kids—not just high school kids—she was arrested outside of Mayville Elementary.”

Jim moved his head in an unconscious nod; he knew what I said was true. He just replied, “Yeah.” I saw Jim was still thinking about it, but he changed the subject and asked how my kids were doing. Jim always asked after Keith and the kids. 

                          ###

Sally sits at the defense table all cleaned up, hair pulled back in a stylish bun, slim black pencil skirt, white blouse with a petite bow at the top of the long row of tiny pearlized buttons, and matching box-cut black jacket. Black leather boots adorn her slim legs. Her tattoos are all covered up, at least she had the good sense not to get face tatts. I see now that during her stint in jail, she grew out her garish pink punk rock hairstyle she was sporting when she was sleeping in Jim's car strung out on booze and drugs. Not clad in the county jail orange jumpsuit, you'd have trouble discerning who's the lawyer and who is the criminal at the defense table. No one sits behind her in the defense gallery.

I see the male jurors give her an admiring once-over every day. She also seems to somehow have ingratiated herself to female jurors, of which I notice there are only three out of 12. I see tears trickle down her cheeks at the appropriate time, when her attorney tells of the horror of her foster care childhood in her closing argument. Tales that I can see pull at the heartstrings of the jurors. It's hard to know if the foster care system made her a sociopath or if she was born evil. I think the latter. The demure sprite sitting at the defense table now is not the same manipulative shedevil that placed her spell on my brother in high school with sex, booze, and drugs.

The prosecution and defense wrap up their case presentations in three days. 

The jurors deliberate for two days. 

The verdict comes back guilty. Guilty on all charges.

The judge thanks the jury and confers with Sally's lawyer on a sentencing date.

Sally slumps down at the defense table and begins sobbing. 

I can see Jim feels guilty. I reach inside my purse to hand Jim a tissue; as he makes a rash decision and heads over to the empty seats behind the defense. 

I know Jim thinks maybe he shouldn't have cut a deal to testify against Sally. I can see a lump collecting in his throat.

Sally’s lawyer sits down beside her and rubs her back, whispering in her ear. 

Sally runs her hands rhythmically up and down along the outside of her black boots, gaining control of her sobs. 

Jim catches Sally's eye, he moves quickly before they both have handcuffs reapplied to their wrists. 

Sally stands and turns to hug Jim.

Leaning over the chair height barrier to the gallery, she embraces Jim with her left arm and raises her right hand swiftly in a sharp upward movement into Jim's chest.

Jim gasps as the modified sharpened end of a toothbrush plunges into his heart.

“I love you, Sally,” Jim says as he falls to the gallery floor.

The courtroom guards scramble to the defense table tackling Sally to the ground. Her court-appointed attorney’s face is awash in shock.