Guilty of Sin

Mrs. Coleman took the last few steps and placed three, handwritten pages on the podium in front of her. Her hands trembled so she forced them down by her sides, pulling on her shirt to try and steady them. She cleared her throat and coughed, trying to dislodge the phlegm.

“Thank you, your…” she stopped after hearing her voice in a different register. Mr. Banks, the state prosecutor, handed her a glass of water and she accepted, drinking two big gulps, while placing it to the side of the podium.

There was movement in the old courtroom pews as people adjusted. They all wanted to make sure they were ready for this moment. The city of Lakeum, TX had thought of replacing the old, 1950’s style seating in the courtroom for some modern seats, but the mayor shot it down, instead making sure the municipal golf course had a new sprinkler system. Priorities.

Lakeum was more of a three-stop-light-town than a city. Its high school was bigger than most in the area because other towns sent their kids there, causing a slight overcrowding. The 2019 Lakeum High School Bobcat Graduating class swelled to four hundred and seventy-two kids and is home to three class-4A state football championships since its inception in the early 1980’s.

“Thank you, your honor.” With her throat cleared, Mrs. Coleman purposely turned her body toward Dalton Hawkins, 21 years old, wearing a Texas Department of Criminal Justice jump suit, sitting at the defense table, looking tired and unkept. She lifted her head so she could focus on his dark eyes, even though no one could see them because his head always seemed to be dropped down.

She had dreamed of this confrontation for the last year-and-a-half and now all of the various dreams were rushing together in her brain, as if they were all sprinting toward her trying to get her to say them first. A nightmare for anyone with slight attention deficit. Thank God she remembered her notes.

“My daughter was an amazing young lady. She was loved by a lot of people all over this town, from the cheerleading team to the drug store where she worked in the pharmacy, to the First Baptist Church where she taught Sunday school. All around Lakeum, even as far out as Fort Worth. I’ve had so many people touch base with me these past few months to tell me how amazing she was. But I guess you, Mr. Hawkins, didn’t care about any of that. I guess you decided to take her life, because you’re a sick, selfish, son-of-a-bitch!”

With this last line, the courtroom collectively built up shouts of muffled agreement.

Banging his gavel, the judge admonished, “I will not have these outbursts. You can leave now if you can’t control yourselves!”

As the room settled again, Mrs. Coleman tried to focus.

“I have a few questions to ask you, starting with: How long was she alive while you straddled her with your stinking, hot, fat, sweaty body? You couldn’t get girls the right way, so you had to take one, right? Was she alive for long? Before you killed my baby?”

The courtroom was silent as every eye focused in on Dalton, sitting in his bright orange jumpsuit next to his court appointed attorney. His unshaven face and bald head looked up and around as if to say, ‘Do I answer?’, but she kept going.

“I knew it was you when they brought you in for questioning. You stalked her, didn’t you? Waiting for your chance to pounce. Why? You lazy, shifty, bastard!”

Another murmur, causing the Judge to ‘shoot a look’ and cut it off, quickly.

Dalton lowered his head again and gently shook it, continuing to plead his innocence.

“I’m gonna’ give you one last chance to admit your guilt before I go on. Right here before the whole town and God himself. Will you admit it?”

Again, a pause settled in slowly and quietly like morning dew on the grass, as the whole courtroom stared at Dalton.

He raised his head slowly. “I’m sorry ma’am. I did not do this…”

Mrs. Coleman slams her open palm on the podium, “You’re sorry alright, and so is the rest of your family!”

The Judge banged his gavel, anticipating an explosion of agreement, “Mrs. Coleman, I’m going to have to ask you to tone it down, please.”

She nodded her head and turned a page.

Dalton’s family collectively huddled in the front row behind his table, not to talk, only to try and protect themselves from the seething hatred floating their direction. His mother, Laverne, in her mid-50’s, wiped tears from the corner of her right eye, trying to avoid a mascara run. She couldn’t believe it had all come to this moment. She had always maintained her son’s innocence from day one, but she was of a small minority. She laid her head into his father, George Hawkins’s shoulder. He in a JC Penney suit, with his hair slicked back.

“And when we buried what was left of her rotting bones, all I wanted was to dress her up like she always did. But you had to take your souvenirs. Where’s her class ring? Her ribbon hair ties. Huh? They found her naked and alone. Those things are ours! But you had to take them!” As Mrs. Coleman makes this part of her statement, she gestures to the third row where five girls, in their late teens, sit in red and white Lakeum Bobcat cheerleading suits. Each of the girls with swollen eyes, consoling each other. No doubt, perfect representatives of what Mrs. Coleman’s daughter would look like today.

Dalton shrugged and continued to nod his head. His attorney placed his hand on his back as if to assure him he wasn’t alone.

“I hope you get what you deserve in your new home. I would say rot in hell, but you don’t even deserve that much!”

Dalton begins to cry but drops his head lower to avoid revealing the tears to anyone present.

“Are you crying because you’re caught? Because I know you have no remorse over my beautiful daughter. No sir, you are the reason why this state still believes in killing the ones with no remorse. I only wish it were still a chair and not some, non-violent needle in your arm. My daughter died with you pressing the air out of her, can’t we at least give you the same?”

Dalton refused to look up and took the tongue lashing as if he needed it. He gripped the table in front of him, trying to avoid falling over.

“Her name was, Victoria Annette, but we all called her ‘Dimps’ because of the dimples in her cheeks. Did you know that? Look at me!” she banged the podium again, in three short abrupt spurts; hitting ‘look’, then ‘at’, then ‘me’.

As if his head were lifted by a puppet string, he strained and brought his blood shot eyes up to face her. His lip was bleeding from the self-punishing lip chewing habit he acquired in solitary confinement over the past year.

“Last time you’ll see my face, until you die, hopefully soon. Have fun being someone’s girlfriend. I’m going to pay the biggest bastard in there to bend you over!”

The courtroom erupted as Mrs. Coleman took her papers and walked back to her seat. The judge banged his gavel, but really knew it was all in vein. Truth be told, he would be screaming too if he could.

Dalton’s mom reached up and placed her hand on the middle of his back, patting him and assuring him that she was still there. He jerked around, and mouthed, ‘don’t’. He was finally resolved with the fact that his guilt didn’t matter, he would have to take on this burden. This was his lot in life. In a weird way, he was okay with this. He felt like the whole town was happier because they had someone to hate. Maybe he would keep some marriages and families together because instead of taking life out on each other, they would focus it on him. If he really had a purpose in life, this is probably it.

As the courtroom settled, the excitement was brought down to a realization that there was a final matter to hear.

The Judge shuffled his papers and cleared his throat.

“Mr. Hawkins, please stand.” The judge banged his gavel again and shot some of the rowdier groups a ‘shut-up’ look.

Dalton slowly stood, holding the chain wrapped around his waist and the chain on his ankles. It clanked as if a group of work release prisoners were pounding rocks on the side of the road; and he was just one man.

“Dalton Taylor Hawkins, for the last six-weeks we have heard testimony and seen evidence that points to you as the only man who had the motive and time to murder this child. I have listened to your council and heard your arguments, but they have fallen short. Due to these circumstances, I hereby sentence you to be put to death by the state of Texas, at which time your punishment will be paid in full. May God have mercy on your soul.”

The judge turned so fast in his chair and made an exit so quickly, his robe blew in the wind making him look almost superhero like.

The sheriff deputies took Dalton by each elbow and turned him to face his family. Dalton lowers his head again and looks at the front row shoes. His mother was wearing her Easter Sunday shoes, pink, with light blue tassels, right next to his dad George’s brown, polished loafers.

Suddenly, Dalton glances up to see a red and white Lakeum High hair ribbon nearly falling out of his dad’s front, right pocket, as he pulled his keys out. George quickly shoves the ribbon back down into the same pocket.

Lavern grabs Dalton’s arm and pleads, “Dalton, don’t give up hope. We will be here with you every day we can.”

Dalton then jerks his arm back and his head up, looking to see if anyone else saw what just happened. He quickly catches his father’s eyes, and a slight smirk comes across George’s face.

The sheriff deputies forcibly yank Dalton from behind the table, and lead him toward the side door to exit, as he heads back to his temporary cell.

Dalton turns his head back, straining to see his mother being led out by his dad, turning to avoid direct eye contact with his son.

“Dad?” he gets louder with each call, “Wait! Dad? Dad? Look at me. What was that?”

Dalton jerks out of one of the deputies grasps and tries to run back toward his dad. The deputy quickly grabs him back and resumes taking him out.

“What is he yelling about George? Is he okay?” his mother looks painfully strained as his dad turns her toward the door to head out quickly.

The crowds, still in the courtroom, get louder and shout Dalton down, as George and Laverne, now near panic, escape down the aisle.

“Dad??? Wait! Dad? What was that? Mom!” George and Laverne exit the back door as Dalton screams louder, “Did you see that? Mom? In HIS POCKET!”

Dalton is shoved out the side door and forced down a ramp toward a non-descript white Econovan, labeled ‘State of Texas’. As he is escorted into the van, shouts of “murderer” and “Die!” flood all around him.

The van exits the parking lot, while Dalton strains to see behind him, with his face shoved against the glass, screaming.

On the other side of the parking lot, George, now next to their car, helps his wife into the passenger seat of their 2003 Ford sedan. He then walks around to the driver’s side and lingers for a moment. He checks his clothes and straightens them, making sure the ribbon is shoved all the way down, to the bottom of his pocket.

He smiles and slides into the driver’s seat. “I love you Laverne.” He then leans over and kisses her cheek. “Everything is going to be alright.”

Laverne, looking incredibly pained, blows her nose. “What was Dalton saying? I couldn’t hear anything in that God forsaken courtroom.”

George, ever the loving husband and father, turns the key, then places his hand on his wife’s neck, rubbing it gently. “I’m sure the consequences are all hitting him now. We have to be resolved to the fact that he may very well be guilty of this my darling. Why don’t you close your eyes and I’ll get us home.”

Laverne leans back and does just that, with a tear falling, over the other tears already there.

George pulls out into the courtroom traffic and signals a turn to the right, to get up on Highway 20 and head home.

It’s all over now, he thought. Which brought a look of relief on his face. And now, he’s finally heading home.

Free of sin.