Page 17 of Into These Eyes
“You think, after sixteen years, she’s gonna listen ta you, nod her head, and thank ya? That, my friend, is fuckin’ delusional. As in,insane.”
“It’s my only chance,” I remind him. Again.
“If that intelligent brain can absorb anythin’ through that thick skull of yours, it’s this … She doesn’t give a fuck about the truth. All she wants is ta know the cunt who killed her mother has paid the price and he’s sorry. You don’t act all remorseful when ya in that room with her, she’s gonna walk away hurt and gunnin’ for ya at your next parole hearin’.”
“I know. You’ve told me all this before, remember?”
“I’m tellin’ ya again, because even though ya got your degree in that psycho-babble-bullshit, ya still don’t fuckin’ get it.”
“I’m not letting this opportunity go to waste. I never got to tell my side on the stand. No one’s ever heard it. Today,she’sgoing to hear it. And I don’t give a shit whether she likes it or not. The truth isn’t about how it makes us feel.” I don’t usually lie to Benny, but now I’ve just told him two lies in one breath.
I do care about her reaction to the truth.
And I know the truth can really fuck shit up.
“You don’t wanna get outta here, is that it?” Benny presses.
“Of course I fucking do. But she needs to know what really happened. She’s living a lie. The real killer got away with it. Why wouldn’t she want to know that?”
“Cause all she wants is closure. She didn’t request this Restorative Justice crap ta listen to your side of things. She requested it soshe’dfeel better, not you. Why the fuck can’t ya see that?”
As I open my mouth to argue with him, I slam it shut. Deep inside, I know he’s right. Trying to convince her of the truth will probably sentence me to another year, but I don’t think I can live with the truth locked away any longer. If I follow Benny’s advice and show remorse, I might gain my freedom, but will I really be free if everyone still believes I’m guilty?
“Let’s go, Lake.” Raising my head, I find Janson, one of the friendlier correctional officers, standing in the doorway.
I rise and look the best man I’ve ever known in the eye. “The truth’s about to come out.”
As I skirt around him, Benny grabs my bicep and squeezes. A little too fucking hard.
“Don’t do it, Gav. Ya deserve ta get outta here. Tell her you’re sorry, you regret it, you’re as remorseful as fuck. Stick to the plan.”
The plan.
The fucking plan I’ve lied to him about for years. But I can’t let him know that.
I wrench out of his grasp, take a step back and shake my head. When I walk out of the cell, he yells after me, “When have I ever steered ya wrong?”
Never.
Fucking arsehole. Just has to rub it in, doesn’t he?
Following Janson down the metal steps and through the prison, a war rages within me. I know Benny’s right. But I alsoknow, as insane as it is, I need to do this for my own sanity, my own integrity.
A year ago, I applied for my first parole hearing. I refused to admit I committed the murder I’d been charged with. Which in turn meant I refused to accept responsibility. On top of that, a statement from an anonymous victim of the crime demanded I remain incarcerated.
I’m certain that anonymous victim was Jamie Evans.
I never saw the same passionate hatred in her father’s eyes the few times he showed up at my trial. I’m pretty certain he wouldn’t make an effort to keep me in here.
It was her.
After Janson leads me into the room, I greet Chris, the counsellor I became close with while studying for my degree, and take a seat so I’m facing the door. He’s already briefed me on how these meetings usually go. He’ll only get involved if things get heated, otherwise, he’ll simply sit and listen. He has no idea what I’m about to tell Jamie Evans. Though he’s a great guy, I’m sure he’d never allow this meeting to take place if he knew. He doesn’t believe I’m innocent either.
But I’ve made up my mind. Even if it means failing my upcoming parole hearing, I’m going to blast her with the truth and pray that she can find it somewhere within herself to believe me.
When I hear the door unlock with a loud clack, my pulse goes haywire. As my breathing accelerates, sweat prickles my skin, my mouth desperate to spit out my story.
I sit up straight and run a hand over my bald head, suddenly remembering I don’t look like the nineteen-year-old kid she stared daggers at in a courtroom long ago.
