Date: Sat, 30 Dec 2000 18:16:22 -0500 From: Charlie Subject: Andy-revised 28 The following story is total fiction. Any relationship to persons living or dead is purely accidental. This story depicts sexual acts between people of the same sex (male), some of whom are under age. If you find this concept distasteful, or if it is illegal where you live, or if you are underage, please stop reading now. XXVIII Coping and Adjusting When Karen returned to the empty courtroom after her meeting with Andy and Charlie, she found Dennis, Paul and Christopher all sitting together, all crying their eyes out. "What's all this?" she demanded. "I'm sorry, honey," Dennis sobbed, "It's just..." "I'm sorry too, Dennis!" she said angrily, "Does this mean you've giving up on Charlie again?" "Of course not!" he exclaimed, "But... I mean, he looked so small, and walking out of here with his ankles and wrists in chains..." "Let me tell you something about your son," Karen said angrily. "I thought after we went through all that cancer business you'd know this, but evidently not. We just left him, and watched as he was led, still in chains, into a patrol car. Tomorrow he's getting up at 5 and being taken to the other end of the state to begin his sentence behind bars. No one has given him any reason to believe he'll ever get out, Dennis! And he looked me in the eye and told me it was ok, he was ready. There were no tears, no fear. He wanted me to give his love to everyone, and he asked me to tell y'all that you've still got a farm and a family to run. Then I come back here and find you like this! Dennis, I have to ask you..." "Not here, Karen. Christopher and Paul..." "Christopher and Paul need to hear this too. They're a part of our family now, and they need to know what kind of a family they're in. So in front of your sons, I'm asking you: Do you believe Charlie is innocent?" "Karen, I can't believe you'd ask such a thing!" "Well, if it's such a stupid question, the answer must be pretty easy. What is the answer, Dennis?" "Yes! Of course I believe him!" "Then show it! Don't sit there like a blubbering mass! Show our sons that you believe in Charlie, because we've got a fight on our hands. And I for one intend to win!" "You're right, Honey," Dennis said as he regained his composure. "As usual, you're right. I'm sorry. C'mon, boys, let's go get on with our lives." "Where's Billy?" Karen asked as she looked around. "He said he'd get the car and bring it around." "Good. We've got to have a family meeting, and he needs to be there too. We might as well have it in the car going home." Karen's family meetings were legendary. It was at these meetings that the Conner family discussed the problems with Garth and what to do about it. It was at a family meeting that they discussed how to handle Andy's adoption; Charlie's illness and possible death; the expansion of the farm. Nothing important was done or decided without first having a family meeting. And this, Karen announced as they all settled in the car for the long drive home, was probably the most important meeting of them all! Charlie was out of his dress suit and back in his orange coveralls, and back in his cell by four pm. That was important, the deputy told him, because he needed his supper tonight. "In the morning," he told his young charge as he slammed the cell door shut, "you'll be up and out of here long before there's any breakfast served, so the next time you eat will probably be tomorrow afternoon." Charlie didn't see where that made much difference. He knew if he ate anything tonight he'd lose it, but he let the deputy have his fun. Mark Stevens had promised he'd be in to see him in the evening, and if humanly possible he was going to try to delay Charlie's departure for Western Youth. Charlie was so numb he didn't know what he wanted, but a very large part of him was beginning to think that the sooner he could get out of here and into what was to be his new home, the sooner he could get used to whatever comes next. As promised, Mark showed up at about 6:30. "You ok, Charlie?" he asked as soon as they were settled in an interview room. "Yes, sir," Charlie answered. "I'm doin' ok I guess, under the circumstances." "I was concerned after that sentence," Mark said. "No one, not even the prosecutor, dreamed it would be that harsh." "Doesn't make much difference, does it?" Charlie replied. "I mean, what's the difference really between forty years and twenty?" "I suppose from your viewpoint, you're right, Charlie. But I'd like to go over a few things if I may. I want to get that appeal going as soon as I can, and there are a lot of things I don't understand." Charlie laughed nervously. "There are things YOU don't understand?" he said. "Damn! Where does that put me?" "I don't know, Charlie. But before we start, I need you to look me in the eye and answer this: Did you do those robberies?" "No, sir." "Did you plot to kill your brother, or try and set it up?" "No sir! If I'd known what he had planned..." "Ok, Charlie, it doesn't matter what you might have done. So do you think your brother tried to set you up?" "No sir, I don't. The last thing he said to me was good wishes, an' I think he meant them." "Then who? Obviously someone did a pretty good job." "I don't know, sir." The drive home took a little over an hour. Karen spent the first fifteen minutes trying to convince two small, very confused little boys that things were going to be all right. It certainly didn't seem all right to them, with Charlie locked up, possibly forever, for what everyone believed he hadn't done. How could this happen? And in the United States? "That's precisely my point!" Karen said. "This whole thing is so incredible, there has to be a reason why it's happening - a reason we can't see. That's why we have to just keep on with life. We should be thankful that for reasons we don't see or understand, Charlie has been chosen and put in a place where he can do something he couldn't otherwise do." "Do you really believe that, Mom?" Andy demanded. "There's no other explanation, Andy. We know Charlie's not capable of doing those things, there was no really conclusive evidence against him, but there he is anyway, locked up for the rest of his life. That has to be the answer!" "So we just go home and forget about him? I don't think I can do that." "That isn't what I said. What I said was that we remember that famous prayer: that we pray for help to change the things we can, accept the things we can't, and that we have the wisdom to know the difference. And right now we can't do a thing about Charlie except what we're already doing. But there are things we can do at home, things that need doing no matter what else is going on." "But Charlie is leaving in the morning..." "I know that. So one thing we can do, and I will as soon as we get home, is to find out exactly where he's going, what's going to happen to him, and set up a visiting schedule. I think it's important that he knows we're still here, still love him. Aside from that, and making contact at the prison to make them aware that we're here for Charlie, there's nothing we can do. Mark is working on an appeal, and is probably talking with Charlie right now." Billy had volunteered to drive so the rest of the family could discuss the situation. He was totally astonished at the way the conversation was going. How in the world could Karen believe such nonsense? There was obviously some sort of conspiracy going on here, and the entire family, even Charlie himself, seemed to be buying into it! As he listened, he began forming some conclusions, making some plans; and those plans were directed towards Andy. He listened to Andy speak, what he said, the way he said it. And he wondered. "Hi, Honey!" Karen exclaimed when she answered the phone. "Are you ok?" It was 10 PM, and Mark had arranged for Charlie to call home and Charlie had jumped at the chance. "I'm fine, mom," Charlie answered, "Mr. Stevens talked them into letting me call tonight 'cause I'll be leaving early in the morning." "I thought he was gonna try and talk them into waiting," Karen observed. "He did, but I guess they want to be rid of me, now that I'm part of the state prison system." "He warned me that would probably happen. Is there anything you need?" "Not really, except..." "What, Charlie? What is it?" "Well, Mark said that I'd be allowed to wear anything I want for the drive up there tomorrow, so I'd kinda like to wear something besides these orange coveralls. I'd really like a pair of slacks and a T-shirt. He said I might not get another chance for a long time, that I'll be in prison uniform once I get there. But it's so late..." "We'll have a nice outfit for you at the jail by morning. Is there anything else?" Charlie spoke to everyone in the house, assuring each of them that he was ok, that in a way it was almost like a new adventure to him. Each formed his own conclusion about this positive attitude. Karen and Dennis thought that the cold hard facts hadn't yet settled in his brain. Billy suspected that he had put up a shelter and refused to face facts. Andy saw nothing unusual; to him it was just the same old same old with Charlie: always positive, always looking for the good in whatever situation he found himself. Paul and Christopher had already discussed it between themselves and concluded that as soon as everyone learned the truth, Charlie would be home, and that would take, at the very most, a few days. His positive attitude when they spoke to him merely confirmed their belief. It was after eleven when everyone had finished speaking with Charlie and the phone was finally hung up. Karen busied herself gathering up a change of clothes for Charlie, which Dennis insisted on delivering to the jail himself. On his way, he said, he would stop at an ATM and withdraw three hundred dollars for Charlie to take with him. He'd been told that Charlie could not have cash money, but that an account would be set up for him in something called a "cashless canteen," where he could buy toiletries, candy bars, soft drinks, and other snacks. He would not be allowed visitors or other contact for at least a month, they said, so Dennis wanted to make sure he had everything he needed from the start. "I'll go with you," Karen said. "Andy, you and Billy look out for the little ones please? I don't want them to be alone, and I certainly don't want your father driving half the night alone." "Yeah, Mom," Andy said. "After y'all get Charlie's things delivered, just check in a motel. We'll be ok here." "Whadda ya think?" Christopher said when he and Paul were in bed. "Think about what?" Paul questioned. "Charlie, of course! You think we're ever gonna see him again?" "Sure we will. He told me he'd be home before we knew it. He said he didn't do anything wrong, and it was all just a mixup and it would soon get all sorted out." "But... what if it doesn't?" "That mean you don't want to stay here unless Charlie is here?" "No, I didn't mean that. But maybe they won't want us." "That's silly, Christopher. Besides, I thought it was Andy that you liked better anyway." "No, Paul, it's not Andy, and it's not Charlie either. It's YOU! I thought you knew that. Andy already told me he couldn't do that stuff with me." "Christopher," Paul said, "there's a lot more to liking someone than that. I mean, you can like someone, or love someone, without doin' that!" "Not right now I can't. I mean, I know you like to do it, an' I love you for that, but I'd love you anyway. Please, you're not gonna say no are ya?" "No, lil brother, I'm not gonna say no. I kinda like it too. And tonight, I need to be close to you. I mean, REALLY close!" Christopher and Paul made love, real love, for the first time. They had experimented before, but it was just that: experimentation, exploring, making each other feel good. Tonight they made love. They couldn't begin to explain what they were feeling, but they knew without question that it was a need that could only be satisfied by the most intimate touching, nuzzling, kissing. "Billy?" Andy whispered as he tapped lightly on the door and opened it a crack. "You awake?" "Yeah, Andy," Billy answered. "C'mon in." "Can... can I sleep with you tonight? I kinda don't want to be alone." "You shoulda thought about that earlier, Andy. Yeah, c'mon, crawl in." Andy did crawl in, then peered at Billy in the darkness. "What did you mean by that?" he asked. "Andy," Billy said, "I really don't want to get into it. I'm feeling kinda awkward here, and it certainly isn't my place to say anything." "You've already said it!" Andy said as his entire body bristled. "It sounded a lot to me as if you think I had something to do with Charlie not being here tonight." "Well? Didn't you? Someone certainly stacked the deck against him. And you have certainly done well here. Seems to me you might do even better if Charlie weren't here." "Let me tell you something," Andy said as he got out of bed, "you arrogant Texas college boy, you don't know anything! The only thing that's stopping me right now from wiping the floor with you is that we've got two little boys in the next room that are pretty upset, and I'm not gonna do anything to upset them any more. But if I catch you alone in a field tomorrow, you'd better be ready to defend yourself." "You really think you're up for a job like that?" "I think I can make a good showing, and you need to learn a lesson. You also need to learn that no one, NO ONE, says anything against Charlie! And NO ONE accuses me of what you just did. NO ONE!!!" "Andy, I just..." "You just are so full of shit.... Never mind, I'm goin' in with Paul and Christopher where I know I'm wanted." "Ok now, Karen?" Dennis said as they drove. "Ok what?" "Ok if I cry now? There's no one here, and you said..." "Go ahead if you want to, Dennis, but please do it quietly. I've got to think." "Damn, you ruin everything, even a good cry! What's to think about?" "You know as well as I do, Dennis. That happened so quick, it had to be set up. But who would do such a thing? I mean, it was as if everyone in the world was trying to get Charlie into prison. Why? And what do we do now?" "I think we do exactly what you said earlier. We wait and see. We stand behind Charlie, and we let him know we're here for him. And we see to it that when he comes home, his home will be better than when he left." "But Dennis, what... uhhh what if he doesn't come home?" "Okay, sunshine," the cheerful deputy said as he clanged his keys on the cell bars, "time to rise and shine. You get to move into your new home today." "What time is it?" Charlie asked sleepily. "Five AM. We should be on the road already. C'mon, up and at 'em." "Yes, sir, I'm coming." By five thirty, Charlie was showered and dressed, ankles and wrists chained, and settled in the back seat of a patrol car. "It's a long drive to Morganton," the deputy told him. "I'll undo the handcuffs if you'll give me your word you're not gonna try anything funny." "I won't, sir," Charlie answered. "I'm not that stupid." Of course there was little Charlie could do anyway. He knew the back doors only opened from the outside, and there was bulletproof glass between the seats. But still he appreciated the gesture. In addition to his clothes and money, Karen had left his portable CD player and fresh batteries, three of his favorite CD's, and two books she knew he'd never read. So after the handcuffs had been removed, he settled down to sleep until daylight. As the car sped along Interstate 40, Charlie began to nod. He knew he should be upset, but he wasn't. Why, he had no idea; but the fact of the matter was, he was almost excited about the whole adventure. His last thought as he finally dozed off was "I wonder how many kids will be in my dorm?" Charlie found it difficult to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. The deputy seemed to want to talk incessantly, and Charlie was his victim. "I was going through your papers this morning," he babbled, "making sure all your records were there when I realized, it's your birthday today!" "Yeah," Charlie said vacantly, "happy birthday to me." Charlie was somewhat amused to realize that this deputy knew all there was about Charlie, but Charlie didn't even know his name. He thought of asking, but he really didn't care, so he kept quiet. "You're fourteen today, aren't you?" the cop asked. "Yes, sir." Charlie remembered for the first time that his family had all wished him a happy birthday last night, had told him they had cards and gifts that he wasn't allowed to have, so they would just keep them all until he got home. Home? He'd thought, but I'm not coming home, ever! Were you not in court today? Are you hearing impaired? I got sentenced to life! He remembered opening his mouth to say the words, then thinking better of it. Then he realized that he was thinking of these things as a simple string of facts. There was no emotion, no regret, no wishing this nightmare was over, if indeed it was a nightmare at all. What in the world was happening to him? The deputy rattled on about this and that, most of which Charlie didn't even hear. He gazed out the window, taking note of the various farming activities he saw as they drove along. In mid morning they pulled off the Interstate, the deputy saying that he was hungry and would find a drive-through. "I can't leave you in the car alone," he droned on, "and I seriously doubt that you'd enjoy walking into McDonald's in manacles." "Don't matter to me," Charlie answered. "I'm not trying to impress anybody." "Well, it matters to me! I guess I must be one of them modern cops. I'm not gonna embarrass you to add to your problems. We'll go through a drive- through. You want anything? I'm buying, and it might be the last Egg McMuffin you get for a long time." "That's ok by me," Charlie answered, "I hate those things! But I could use a large orange juice, please." Charlie had no way of knowing, but saying "please" for his drink really got his escort's attention. He ordered a full breakfast for Charlie and one for himself, then drove to a secluded parking lot and stopped to eat. "I really wish you hadn't," Charlie protested. "I'm really not hungry." "It might be a while before you get another chance to eat, so I'd like you to try, ok?" Charlie did, and discovered that he did indeed have an appetite. "Why'd you do it?" the cop asked as they ate, "I mean, why did you really do it? You musta known you'd get caught. You're a bright kid, and everybody thought you were a great kid. So how could someone like you screw up so bad?" "I didn't." Charlie answered nonchalantly. "Come on," the cop said, "I'm not gonna repeat anything you say. I'm studying criminology part time, and I'm just interested in what would motivate a great kid with a great home to do something like that. I'm not gonna turn you in, not that it would make any difference anyway. You're already convicted." "I told you," Charlie repeated somewhat impatiently, "I didn't do it. I didn't do the robberies, and I certainly didn't plot to have my brother killed. I loved my brother! He was all messed up, but it wasn't his fault. He had some kinda sickness that no one could understand, but he was still my brother. I loved him!" When Charlie started to cry, the young deputy wondered. "But if you're innocent," he argued, "why aren't you screaming your head off, raising hell, cussing me out for putting you in jail when you don't belong there?" "Cause my mom and dad taught me better than that," Charlie answered. "You're just doing your job, taking me to prison. What are you gonna do, refuse? They'd only get someone else. And besides, what good would it do for me to raise a fuss?" Dennis allowed all four boys to sleep in the morning after the sentence was handed down. It had been two thirty AM when he and Karen finally got to bed after delivering Charlie's things to the sheriff's office, and another two hours before they slept. He and his wife had made love.... and somehow he knew the boys had done the same. Only when he got up at six to check on everyone did he realize that Billy had slept alone. Andy, Christopher and Paul were all in Paul's bed, wrapped together so tightly that there was still room for at least one more. All were still asleep, so he went back to his own room and back to bed. The next time he awoke it was eight thirty. He knew that Charlie would be gone by now, and he finally allowed himself to cry. Charlie slept an hour, then read for two, then dozed again. All the time the deputy kept chattering endlessly about God only knows what. Eventually Charlie just ignored him. He knew that wasn't polite, but on the other hand this cop's insistence on yakking Charlie's leg off wasn't exactly considerate either. When the patrol car finally pulled off the interstate again, Charlie was wide awake. "Almost there!" the deputy exclaimed. They drove two or three miles down a state road on the outskirts of Morganton, made a turn, drove some more, then made another turn. Now they were on a country road not unlike the one where Charlie had lived his first fourteen years. There were small working farms, pastures, fields of hay and soy beans. Soon they emerged into a pretty little valley. Charlie estimated it to be possibly four or five miles long and perhaps three wide. It looked to him as if it might be the setting for a country club, a resort, a weekend getaway for rich businessmen. It certainly didn't remind Charlie of the setting for a prison. There before him was a massive chain link fence topped with several rolls of razor wire. "That's Foothills," the deputy explained. " It's only a few years old. That's where you can expect to graduate to when you're 18. Till then you'll be caged up in the high rise, up ahead." Sure enough, they drove past the Foothills prison, heading straight for what appeared to be a high rise apartment building. The patrol car rolled past the parking lot in front, then pulled up directly in front of the glass front doors, and stopped. "Last stop!" the deputy called cheerily. Charlie still didn't know his name, and that bugged him. "One fifteen." he said as he opened the rear door and secured Charlie's manacles. "Not bad. I should get you dropped off in fifteen minutes or so, then I'll be home nice and early tonight." The deputy put his hand on Charlie's shoulder. "You ready, son?" he said. The tone of his voice and the hand on the shoulder really got Charlie's attention. For the first time since they'd left the jail, this guy seemed to have some feeling. It was almost fatherly. He seemed to say he really didn't want to be here, really didn't want to be doing this. The tone of his voice was distinctly apologetic. "Yes, sir," Charlie answered. "I'm ready." The heat was stifling. Neither Charlie nor the deputy, sitting in the air conditioned car all day, realized how hot it was; but as they walked the fifty feet from the brown patrol car to the front doors of the prison building, sweat poured off both of them. Was it just the heat, or was something else working here? Charlie could hear voices of teenage boys coming from the windows above. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were unmistakably adolescent. Odd, he thought, that the windows would be open on such a hot day. It had never occurred to him that his new home would not be air conditioned. Inside the front lobby, Charlie still thought it looked a lot like the lobby of an apartment building, except that if he walked straight ahead, passage was blocked by a large sliding door made of painted steel bars. He didn't walk straight ahead though, he was guided to turn right, down a long corridor, and then he found himself in a large wood paneled office. "My name is Superintendent Booth." the man behind the desk said as he offered his hand to the deputy, then to Charlie. "Hello, sir." Charlie replied as he took the hand offered, "I'm Charlie Conner." "Yes," the superintendent said, "I know. We only had one new inmate today, and that's you. The Sargent will take you up to the sixteenth floor and get your processing started. We have an unusual arrangement here, Conner. You will start today on the sixteenth floor and begin working your way down. If you ever get to live on the fifth floor, which is the lowest floor we have beds, you'll have one foot out the door. But I wouldn't plan on that happening any time soon. I hope you can make the best of your time here. I can't say I'm pleased to see you because I'm never pleased to see a new resident of our hotel here. But you're here, so I advise you to make the best of it." "Yes, sir," Charlie replied. "I plan to do exactly that." Charlie was escorted back to the lobby, then through the steel door. After it was closed his chains were removed and handed through the bars to the waiting deputy. "If you'll wait ten minutes," the Sargent said, we'll have him out of his clothes and you can take them with you." The deputy agreed to wait, so Charlie and his escort boarded the elevator and the officer requested floor 16 through the intercom. "The elevator is remote controlled," he explained to Charlie on the way up. "That way, no one goes where we don't want them going. By the way, I'm Sargent Brady. You'll be seeing a lot of me for the next while." "Yes, sir," Charlie answered. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond, but the officer accepted the hand offered him, and Charlie thought perhaps he'd found a friend. On the sixteenth floor, Charlie was ushered into a room where he was instructed to strip. Sargent Brady took his clothes, stuffed them into a paper bag, and handed them to an officer with instructions to take them to the waiting deputy in the lobby. He instructed Charlie to take a shower, then handed him a pair of prison issue white boxers and his first uniform. "It's gonna be a little big on you," he said. "We weren't expecting you to be so small. But you'll be getting a change in the morning anyway, and we need you dressed and clean so we can cut your hair and take your picture." "My hair?" Charlie questioned. "Do I have to get my hair cut?" "You can't wear it that long, and you won't be able to care for it like you're used to anyway. My advice is to cut it short. But go ahead and have your shower, then come out and we'll discuss it." Before six that afternoon Charlie dressed and undressed at least four times. He first stripped for his haircut, then dressed for his picture. Stripped again for his physical, then dressed for an interview with his counselor. Another undressing so a second doctor could examine his lack of testicles. Charlie had thought the entire world knew he was a eunuch, but the fact had somehow come as a surprise to the prison personnel. After dressing again, he was instructed to remove his clothes for the fourth time because they'd found a smaller outfit, one that fit him better. "You'll get your picture id in the morning." Sargent Brady told him as he took him to his cell. "You'll be sleeping here on the sixteenth floor for a while until you're oriented, then you'll move to your permanent home on fourteen. Starting right now you are not to be out of your cell without your picture id. It will identify you, and it will also be your cashless canteen card, like an ATM card. Because you don't have your id you won't be able to go down for supper, so you get room service tonight. Starting tomorrow at breakfast, you eat with your colleagues in the cafeteria on the second floor." Now Charlie was alone. He'd been allowed to keep his two books, but his CD player had been confiscated. He could have it, he was told, once he was settled and had earned the privilege. He was dressed in his "prison browns," which in his eyes weren't brown at all, but gray. But the uniform was comfortable enough: washable cotton pants and a cotton shirt, with white boxers underneath. A white T-shirt could be worn under or instead of the gray/brown shirt, thermal long johns would be available in winter. No belts were allowed, he was told, because they could be used as a weapon. He slipped out of his sneakers, the only item of clothing now that was his own choice, then lay full out on his cot to read, waiting for his supper. There was a pleasant summer breeze coming in the window. After lights out, Charlie found himself more or less alone on the sixteenth floor. There were other people around, but no one in the block of fifteen or so cells that housed him. He could hear the elevator coming and going, and the occasional muffled voice from time to time. Aside from that, he was alone. He wasn't the least sleepy, which didn't surprise him. He also wasn't the least upset, lonely, or depressed; and that did surprise him. He was almost enjoying the solitude. Charlie hardly noticed when the breeze coming in the window intensified. Before he knew it, there was a cold wind blowing in the window. He got up to close it in time to see a giant flash of lightning illuminate the entire valley. It was followed instantly by a loud crash of thunder, then another flash, then the most violent storm he had ever witnessed. From his window Charlie could see the whole valley. Twice he thought he saw lightning strike the fence surrounding the Foothills prison, which caused the entire fence to glow like some giant Christmas ornament. It was the most beautiful, and the most impressive spectacle Charlie had ever witnessed. Then as quickly as it had come, the storm was gone. Charlie slipped under the blanket on his cot, and in seconds fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. That storm had had a comforting, soothing effect on Charlie. It was almost as if he'd received some sort of message through the violent beauty. For the next week it was very difficult for Dennis to get any work out of anyone. Finally he called everyone into the kitchen for another family meeting. He had to somehow impress upon everyone that everything that could be done was being done, and that their job was to get back to normal as quickly as possible. "I know exactly how y'all feel," he began when everyone was assembled. "I feel the same way. Every day Charlie spends in that prison is a day lost to all of us forever. We're all thinking there must be something that can be done, something that someone can say, someone who can be contacted; but we're paying Mark Stevens a lot of money to do all that. He knows how, we don't. He has contacts, knows how the system works, we don't. What we do know is how to farm, and we've still got a lot of that to do. Actually we can look at it this way: We could have some pretty big legal bills before this is over, so we're gonna need every last peanut, every sweet potato we can grow. Everything we produce means money, and we might be needing a lot more than we have, especially after all we've spent in the past year. So how about it? Can I count on my sons?" "Yeah, dad!" they all chorused. "Billy? Has anything changed with you?" "Just one thing," Billy answered. "Instead of paying me all that money, just consider me one of the family, pay me an allowance so I can buy fuel for my truck and clothes now and then. There's lots of time to make my fortune after we've got Charlie back." "Very noble of you!" Andy said sarcastically. "Yes," Karen agreed, "it is noble of him, Andy. But what's wrong with you?" "Oh, nothing much. Just that Mr. Big-shot here told me last night he thought this whole mess is my fault." "That's not what I said, Andy..." "That's exactly what you said! You didn't use those words, but that's what you said." "Andy," Billy pleaded, "this isn't the time. I mean, we've got to pull together." "Pull together all you like, just stay outa my way." "Andy," Dennis scolded, "that's enough!" "Sorry, Dad, but he thinks..." Dennis didn't wait for Andy to finish. He was very close himself to losing it and didn't want it to show, so it was important to him to end this meeting as quickly as possible. "If anyone here has any doubts about anyone else's intentions," he said evenly and firmly, "I want them brought up before the whole family. And if anyone has any problem with the way we're doing things, I want to hear that too. We've enough work to go around, and now we've got the added burden of a trip to Morganton every week or two. We have to work out a visiting schedule for Charlie, and we've got to work together or things are going to start falling apart." "Does that mean we can go see Charlie now?" Christopher chirped brightly. "We'll discuss that in a minute, son. First I want everyone's agreement to what I just said. Ok, Billy?" "Yes, sir." "Andy?" "Yes, sir." Dennis went around the room, demanding everyone's confirmation that they understood what he'd said and were committed to it. He told Andy and Billy that if they wanted to get together in the back field to sort things out, read that beat the snot out of each other, then so be it. But on the farm, with the family, they were to be united. "Now for visitation." Dennis said. "I've been in contact with the Superintendent at Western Youth." "Superintendent?" Andy questioned. "That's right, I guess warden is no longer politically correct. Anyway, he told me that visiting is a privilege the inmates have to earn. If they are allowed visitors, the hours are Sunday afternoons. Charlie will be in segregation for at least a month, and during that time he can not have visitors nor phone us. After that he's allowed a fifteen minute phone call every week, and a visit if he's earned it." "What does he have to do to earn visits?" Billy asked. "It's evidently very complicated. There is a complex merit system based on behavior, performance at school, attitude, all sorts of things. I suspect that once Charlie learns how the system works he'll have no problems with it. If he does have a problem it'll be the first time." "It's his first time in prison too," Andy reminded everyone. "That's true," Dennis agreed. "But I'm going to plan on visiting every Sunday. We have four drivers, so at least two of us will go every Sunday as soon as we hear that we'll be allowed in." "Did the man tell you how Charlie is doing?" Paul asked. "Nothing specific," Dennis answered. "Only that he seems to be fitting in well. For the first few weeks he's in a cell by himself, is taking all sorts of medical and psychological tests, so he is really not in with all the other boys yet. But Mr. Booth said that so far the reports he's been getting are all good, that Charlie seems to be settling in well." The inevitable happened two weeks later. Billy and Andy had avoided each other as much as humanly possible, but when Andy's tractor, Big John No. 2, broke down in a field almost two miles from the house, only Billy was available to rescue him. Paul was in a field on the other end of the farm with Ole John, Christopher and Dennis had taken the truck and two additional hands to check out a large warehouse. The crops were looking good and they needed additional space for all those peanuts. So Billy fired up his big Ford pickup, loaded up some tools, and went to assist Andy. "What happened?" Billy asked as he drove up. "I dunno exactly," Andy answered. "All I know is all of a sudden there was hydraulic oil everywhere." "Prob'ly blew a hose." "Oh, thanks, Aggie big shot! I never woulda thought of that. You think I'm stupid? I already checked the hoses!" "I'm sorry, Andy, I didn't mean..." "You didn't mean what? That you think I'm stupid? Just 'cause I didn't go to a high class school? Or grow up in Texas?" "C'mon, Andy, let's just get this tractor going, ok? Have you checked the safety valve?" Andy looked at Billy blankly. "S-safety valve?" he echoed. "There's a safety valve?" "Usually. Otherwise if a line gets plugged you could do some real damage. Those pumps build up a lot of pressure. Yeah, this is it, I think. See? The oil is still running out a little. All we gotta do it find out why it popped. I got a feeling all we have to do is reset it, at least to get the tractor home." Billy poked at the offending valve with his pocket knife, then tapped it lightly with a wrench. There was a loud CLICK! The oil stopped flowing. "Okay, Andy," Billy instructed, "try starting her up to see if it'll hold." "Who you think you're ordering around?" Andy challenged. "No one, Andy. Never mind, I'll do it myself." "Get the hell off my tractor, hot shot!" "Andy," Billy said, "somebody's gotta start that tractor. It isn't gonna start itself. Please, can't we just..." Billy had made the mistake of walking toward Andy as he talked. When he started to raise his hands, Andy assumed... well... assumed something; right or wrong Andy's fist connected with Billy's chin and he found himself on the ground. "Andy," he said angrily, "that's enough! If you want a fight, I'm gettin' to the point..." "What point? You gettin' ready to hightail it back to Texas?" "I've got a job to do here, Andy, an' I'm gonna do it with our without your cooperation. Now quit being so stupid!" "Stupid?" Andy screamed. He swung again as Billy stood. This time Billy was expecting it and ducked. Andy swung again; Billy deflected the punch. "Okay," Billy sighed as he lunged, "I guess there's only one way to finish this." They rolled around on the ground a while, first one then the other getting a slight advantage. But Billy was heavier by almost fifty pounds. Eventually Andy found himself flat on his back with Billy on top, pinning both his hands. Andy kicked wildly, but he couldn't connect. He flailed and rolled, kicked, tried to wriggle free, but he couldn't move. "I'll let you up," Billy said, "soon as you settle down." "Never!" Andy screamed. But to Andy's horror and Billy's surprise, the screams were changing. What had been almost a war cry was fast becoming simply a cry. The tears started, and soon Andy was a weeping, blubbering mass. "It's ok!" Billy soothed as his hands moved from pinning his adversary to embracing him. Billy's lips found Andy's and kissed him. "It's ok, Andy," he said again, "I know. You need to cry, so cry! Cry it out!" He kissed Andy again. Andy's arms wrapped around Billy's neck so tightly it was painful. "I miss him so much!" Andy moaned. "I'm so scared! What if the appeal..." "Forget the appeal, Andy. There's something goin' on. I don't know what, but there's something going on here. I thought it was you; now I realize just how stupid that was." "Wha... what do you mean, something going on?" "I wish I knew. But think about it, Andy. There's not a kid in the state with a more squeaky clean record. There's no one who has more friends, no one who has more people who love him. And yet he's been tried and convicted of murder. Murder! That is so incredible it's laughable." "I'm certainly not laughing." "I know, Andy. But I need your help. We've got to find out what's going on. I think that appeal is just gonna go on and on. I don't have any confidence at all that it's gonna get Charlie out of there." "Billy?" Andy said as the words sank in and he started to cry again, "please don't leave me? Please?" "Andy," Billy said, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm as committed as you are to getting Charlie out of there. And I'm also pretty committed to finding who put him there, and when I do it ain't gonna be pretty." * * * I sincerely hope you enjoy my writing efforts. If you do, or for that matter if you don't, I would appreciate if you would write to me. My email address is charlieje@mindspring.com.