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The room is practicallyempty as we walk in, which only makes the people who are here stand out more. Thankfully, he's not here yet. From what Mr. Trayland told me, they won't bring him in until they're ready to start. After all, he is a convicted felon.
Carter leads me down the aisle toward a couple of seats behind the side of the state, but before I can sit down, a woman turns around and my heart stops.
My mother.
It's been a few years since I've seen her, the last time being when she showed up at my high school graduation just to tell me what a fuck-up I was. As I see her now, the years have not been good to her. I guess that's what happens when you spend almost every day drunk. Her hair is gray and thinning, despite the fact that she's only in her forties. Her clothes are wrinkled, and she looks like her life is holding on by the same thread that is keeping together that blouse.
Sitting next to her is my older brother. His eyes widen as he stares back at me, looking just as shocked to see me as I am to see him. The last time I was around him was the day before I ran away to Davi's. I don't particularly have anything against him, but he always seemed to be the child who could do no wrong, while I was the reason for everything bad in the world. And besides, no one can convince me a part of him didn't suspect something was wrong.
"Tye?" Carter asks, snapping me out of it. "You okay?"
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. "Yeah."
He places his hand on the small of my back as we go sit down on the opposite side of the people who were supposed to be my family. My blood. The people who were supposed to keep me safe, but instead handed me to Satan himself.
A mix of different professionals come in and sit in the front of the room. Some are psychologists, others criminologists. These are the ones who will decide whether he gets out of prison or not. Mr. Trayland emphasized to me that these people are my audience and them alone.
The door on the side opens, and bile rises in my throat as they lead my father into the room. He's got facial hair now that he never had before, but other than that, he looks like the same man he was back then. And even worse, he looks happy.
If I know anything about him, he thinks today is going to go his way. He has all the confidence in the world that they're going to let him out on parole. That he'll go back home to my mom and my brother, and they'll be one big happy family again. The sins he committed against an innocent child will be nothing but a distant memory.
But when his gaze finds mine, the smile drops right off his face. I hold my head high and stay perfectly still, making sure to not to show any sign of weakness. His lawyer nudges him and forces him to look away, and I'm able to relax a little. It's not much, but it's enough to not run for the hills.
Carter places a hand on my thigh. "You've got this."
"I know," I reply, not sure if I'm lying or not.
This is officially the scariest thing I've ever had to do.
THE HEARING BEGINS WITHgoing through his behavior and achievements while incarcerated. His attorney paints this picture of a model citizen. She talks about how other than a solitary incident when he was first imprisoned ten years ago, he hasn't shown any signs of violence or hostility.
It makes me feel sick to my stomach that someone could think that any of this forgives the disgusting crimes he committed. As if anything has the ability to make up for the permanent damage he's caused.
"I would also like to point out to the board that the evidence at the original trial was all circumstantial," his lawyer says, shocking the hell out of me. "My client has maintained his innocence throughout all of his time in prison, stating that the supposed victim simply did not want to move anymore, so she concocted a story that would keep her near her friend."
My jaw drops and Carter moves to grab my hand, squeezing it to silently let me know that he's here and I'm not alone.
"Mr. Morgan, I'm going to address you directly," a man on the board says. "I'd like to hear firsthand why you feel you deserve to get out of prison."
Clearing his throat, my father stands up. "I have spent the last ten years behind bars. It has given me a lot of time to evaluate who I am as a person and who I want to be. While I may not have committed the crimes I was accused of, I have not always been a noble man.
"I have spent my time in incarceration repenting for things that I have done wrong. If you were to grant me parole, I have every intention of making right on those—the most important one being repairing my relationship with my daughter, Mercedez."
Just hearing him say that name brings me back to a time I never wanted to revisit, lying perfectly still in a dark room, hoping that if I act like I'm sleeping, he'll leave me alone for the night. But he never cared whether I was awake, asleep, or even dead. He had a one-track mind, and there was no hope for me.
I jump out of my seat and run for the door. People look at me funny, but I don't care. I can't fucking breathe. A few people lingering in the hallway jump as I hurl myself through the doorway and press my back against the wall. I need something to ground me.
Carter comes out right on my heels. He takes his time getting over to me, knowing I probably need a second to myself. When he gets close enough, he kneels down beside me and wipes a tear from under my eyes.
"He's a monster," I cry. "I hate him, Carter. I fucking hate him."
He gives me a sad smile. "I know, baby."
Running my fingers through my hair, I look up at the ceiling and try to compose myself. There's so much wrong with this. The fact that I have to be here at all. The fact that he honestly believes he's worthy of freedom. That he’s claiming his innocence. It's all such bullshit.
"She was supposed to be here. She was supposed to be around to help me through this." I focus back on Carter, pain etched across my face. "She promised."
He doesn't need to ask to know who I'm talking about. "She is. Just not in the way you imagined."
