Page 12 of In Death, Love Survives
Nova.
Well, this is very interesting to overhear.
Dr. Khaki Pants with no spine is pleading with the woman doctor in the other room, trying to get her to see him as a good guy. Only he sounds like a wounded animal instead of her superior.
I lightly chuckle.
From the sound of it, this Nova doesn’t care about his opinion of her practices. Witnessing this dynamic is going to give me some entertainment while I’m stuck at Roper State.
Nova.
A powerful name that I believe means something akin to “new.” Maybe like the dawn of a new day. It tastes somewhat dangerous as it rolls through my mind.
The name feels like a treacherous yet warm day that would surely electrocute me if given the opportunity.
Maybe electric is the word I’m looking for to describe it.
It does make this even more interesting.
There’s still some indistinguishable chatter happening between the two of them. I try to get a little closer without making this correctional officer with me concerned.
The sound of a chair screeching backward is loud.
“Dr. Owens, if you don’t respect the prisoners’ time, then how do you expect them to respect you?” she asks.
Touché, Doctor.
If I could give her a slow clap, I would, but I feel like Officer Walls here wouldn’t be a fan of that.
As I continue to wait to meet with this Nova, I can’t help but continue to listen in on this conversation. She’s on a roll.
There’s no doubt in my mind that this correctional officer should be telling the doctor that I’m outside, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s probably just here for a paycheck, like everyone else I encounter in the system, or this is a regular occurrence between the two doctors that he’s used to.
That’s fine.
I’ll be out of here before I know it, all in due time.
When I was told I needed to meet with the head of the psychiatric unit at Roper State, I knew what they were after.
To the staff, I’m the elusive Wolfe Walker who finally got charges to stick to him, and this time, it’s homicide. Not a great look for me, but it did the job that the cops have wanted for a while—to have me locked up.
The problem with this case is that there was no evidence to suggest I was the murderer. Simply a jury of my peers who knew about my long history and the tall tales told about me saying I did it.
The lack of proof is probably the only reason why I wasn’t sentenced to death and, instead, given time in prison. Even more surprisingly, I didn’t get life in prison with no option for parole—I have twenty years with the possibility for parole sooner than that.
None of it fucking adds up if you ask me.
Corruption at its finest.
Twenty goddamn years for a crime I didn’t commit.
That’s not to say I’m not a criminal because I am. Not that I’d be an open book about my history, but hell, I am one.
This just so happened to be the time they got it wrong.
My attorney is working on appealing my case, which means, for now, I have to go through the motions of being a prisoner at Roper State Penitentiary.
Today, I’ve already been through the wringer, but the last person I have to meet with is Dr. Nova Fletcher. I’m a bit surprised to be meeting with her on the day of my arrival. In any other prison where I’ve served time, it’s never been a priority.
