A Determined Paul Begins to See the Light

Breakfast today is eggs again. Never over-easy, just scrambled.

Like all the people in here.

Junior slides the tray under the door, like usual, and taps on one of the bars.

“You with me, Mr. Wilson? You awake?”

I decide against being coy, since I already know what’s coming.

“Are they here already?” I ask.

“Yep,” Junior says. “Shower’s awaitin’, Mr. Wilson.”

I pull myself up from the bed and listen as the sound of his polished boots echo as they hit the floor and grow further and further away.

The shower is the usual shower, a hosedown really. Got the whole place to myself this morning, so I spend a little more time. The water is actually hot for a change. 

I return to my cell where a fresh jumpsuit is lying on my bed. I sit down as the reality hits me.

This is it.

The Good Doc is going to hear me out and, after today, make her recommendation that yes, in fact, I can stand trial, and then they’ll send me away to where, I don’t know, but probably Albany. I think that’s what I remember hearing. Five hours from here, maybe more. Not something Trish would drive, and not likely something Stacey would either.

I put the jumpsuit on and call out for the guard.

“Junior!”

I take the delay as an invitation to eat breakfast quickly, so I scarf the eggs. I am finishing as I hear Junior’s boots approaching.

“Mr. Wilson?”

“Let’s go.”

–

Junior walks me into the interrogation room yet again. I’m the first of us here. He removes the cuffs and asks if I want water, but I don’t. I just want to get on with this. I can’t imagine what’s keeping them.

“I’ll be right outside if you need anything,” the kid says. “Right there.”

I nod. 

“Good luck, Mr. Wilson … Sheriff, sir.”

Just as Junior steps out, a surge of emotion wells up in my chest.

What have I done? What have I done? Who have I put into danger?

Suddenly, as if turning a switch on or off, I realize … I’m going to have to fight – fight to bring everything back. Fight until my last breath. Fight to make people understand. Fight to show that I really am the man that everyone thought me to be – decent, upstanding, not a genius of course, but not a horrible person.

They may not think so now, I think to myself, but they will. And I know exactly who to ask for help.

–

The door opens and in walks Dr. Menchy and Silas.

“Back again, Sir?” I ask him.

He smiles, then nods. “Yes, you remember the doctor?”

I look toward the doctor and nod in her direction, the emotion too great for me to speak let alone breathe.

“Can … can I ask a question before we get started?” I ask as they sit down.

“Sure,” Silas says, leaning forward in his chair and crossing his hands.

“Are you .. are you shipping me to Albany?”

Silas smiles and leans back. “No, Paul. You’re not going to Albany. Not unless we need some beds here. You’re fine. You’ll wait it out here.”

I nod. “Good. Worried about the family, that’s all.”

I notice Theodora leaning back in her chair, her arms folded. She has a thoughtful look on her face.

“Doctor?” I ask.

She leans forward. “Paul, I have only one question to ask you today.”

“Only one?” I ask.

“Only one,” she says. “Are you remorseful?”

I sit back and let the tears wash over me again, this time at the thought of all I have missed, all I will miss – all because of Mick, Armand, and a vice I didn’t know I had.

I nod. “Yes,” I say. “Every day.”

Dr. Menchy inhales and turns toward Silas. “I think we’re done here.”

“Wait,” I say. “You didn’t open your folder this time.”

She shakes her head. “No, I have all I need. You’re going to trial. You’re staying here. You want a piece of free advice?”

I nod. “Sure.”

“Get a good lawyer. Take up a collection if you have to,” she says. “Armand manipulated you, and your regret is palpable. I think you have a good shot with a jury, particularly a jury here. I don’t think most people want you to be gone for life, and I don’t think you want to be either.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t.”

She nods. “Good luck, Mr. Wilson. Silas?” She extends her hand and they shake, leaving me alone with Silas. He sits down.

“Did you hear what she said?” 

“Yes.”

Silas is grinning slightly. “Good, because I think she’s right and I’m going to help you.”

Silas pulls his own file folder from his briefcase. 

“You know I worked in Albany for most of my career?” he asks.

I nod. Everyone knows that.

“So the truth is … I know a few lawyers. And I know just who to ask for help.”