| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted May 17, 2011 |
  |
Character sketch for potential book
Atmore Prison
by bhogg
Jake Dunson knew it was sunrise. It was biological clock knowledge, not sensory feedback. There were no windows in cell 1134 on the A block of Holman Prison, outside of Atmore, Alabama. This was the time of day his mind raced. He still found it hard to believe that he was actually in prison.
Jake asked a question, just assuming that his roommate, Marcus Poole, was awake. "I didn't mean to kill the guy. Don't you think that should count for something?"
Marcus, on the bottom bunk, stretched before replying. "Jake, you been in prison now for three months, and you done asked me that question a thousand times. The answer is gonna be the same. Nope, it don't mean squat."
Jake was quiet as he relived the moment in time that resulted in his being in prison. As a twenty-one year old college student, he had never been in trouble. A speeding ticket in Lee County, Alabama didn't count; it was a notorious area for speed traps. His day started out normally enough. Marci Horne, a girl in his economics class invited him to a party that night. He liked Marci, and had been talking her up in class, trying to get a date. This looked like a break through. Technically, she had no right to invite Jake. The party was at the DKE house, one of the larger fraternities on campus.
Jake didn't belong to a fraternity, and found it frustrating that campus life and even dating, seemed to revolve around the fraternity and sorority scene. Between school work and his part time job, he wouldn't have had time to belong to one anyhow. What started as a hobby for Jake in the eighth grade, allowed him to work a flexible work schedule at a local Dojo. He was a third degree black belt in Tae Kwan Do, and was classified as a senpai, or senior student. As such, he was allowed to teach others. The class he most often worked was a self defense class for women. On a college campus, it was pretty popular.
At 10:00 that night, Jake walked into the fraternity house. As he looked at the stares from guys there, he thought, so much for warm and fuzzy. He helped himself to a beer from a keg and strolled through the house looking for Marci. He was stopped mid-stride by a firm grip on his shoulder. Turning slowly, he found him himself looking up to a huge person. As a potential football all-American, everyone on campus knew Doc Morgan. Standing six and a half feet tall and weighing over three hundred pounds, he was hard to miss.
Morgan stumbled slightly as he addressed Jake. "I don't know you, but I know for sure you aren't a member of this fraternity. What are you doing here?" He grabbed Jake's shoulder again, this time from the front.
Removing Morgan's hand, Jake smiled and said. "I was invited by friends, so I was looking for them."
"And who would your friends be?"
Still smiling, Jake responded, "I would really rather not say."
Morgan moved closer as he almost yelled, "That's just a smart ass answer for saying you are crashing this party. We have a rule here that we throw crashers out on their ass." With that, Morgan tried to quickly shove Jake's chest. Jake had already assumed a basic defense stance, so a simple middle block deflected the shove.
Jake backed away saying, "Hey man, you don't have to help me leave. It's pretty obvious that I'm not welcome, so I'll just leave."
"It's too late for that, Karate Kid. I'm going to kick your ass now."
Morgan tried pushing again, but it was obvious to Jake that he was drunk. It was fairly simple to block as he kept trying to back out of the area. All of a sudden, strong hands grabbed him from behind. The person had moved so close, his breath warmed the back of Jake's neck. In a reflexive move, Jake did a simple backward head butt. What happened next would be something that would stay with him for life. The hands gripping him loosened and he heard the person fall, crashing into a table.
He turned and looked down. A person he later learned was Gil Danforth was lying on the ground. His head caught the edge of a solid wood coffee table on the way down. Bleeding profusely from the nose, there was also an obvious indention in the side of his head. Danforth wasn't moving. A girl leaned down and felt for a pulse. Looking up, she wailed, "He's dead." The police were called. Jake was arrested and taken to jail.
The next few weeks were a daze. The only family Jake had left was a brother, but he was active duty Army, stationed in Iraq. With no money, he was working with a court appointed attorney. Jake didn't think the guy was much older than himself, but he seemed to talk a good game. A Grand Jury heard his case and Jake pled not guilty. The Grand Jury felt that there was enough evidence to go to trial. Since that time, Jake found out that Gil Danforth was the son of John Danforth, the person that many thought would be the next Governor of Alabama.
Jake's attorney suggested a plea bargain. "I think you should plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter. The District Attorney wants murder, but it really isn't there. He may be responding to pressure from John Danforth. With a clean record, it is quite possible that you'll get no jail time at all."
"I don't know why I have to plead guilty. I didn't do anything but try and get out of that room. Everything I did was defensive."
"Well, Jake, there's the rub. The DA made a point of mentioning your martial arts skill. Even the papers ran with that BS of your hands should have been registered as weapons. We can plead not guilty, but I believe our best chance is the plea bargain."
The trial date came and Jake took the advice. It was clear that the Danforth family wanted an outcome of murder, but involuntary manslaughter was the end result. Instead of no time, Jake was given the maximum sentence of twelve years. As incredulous as this was, Jake still tried to apologize to Gil Danforth's mother. The picture of her spitting in his face made the national news.
The memories faded, and Jake was right back to his current home, cell 1134. Talking again to Marcus, Jake lamented, "Not a day goes by that I don't think about Gil Danforth. He'll never graduate from college, get married or have children. I took all of that away from him."
Marcus grunted. "You may be sorry he's gone, but he was going to hold your arms while that other boy beat the shit out of you. You did what you thought you had to do. You ain't like me Jake, you don't belong here, but here you are, so you just got to make the best of it."
Marcus was one of the few inmates that Jake met who admitted his guilt. The common pattern was to deny everything. He was a black man, one of the largest human beings that Jake ever knew. Jake thought back to Doc Morgan, the all-American football player. Marcus was even bigger. In one of the ironies of the prison system, Marcus lifted weights every day, and if possible, was getting larger. He was in prison for murder, having walked in on his wife having sex with another man. Manslaughter might have been in the cards for Marcus except for his closing statement to the jury, "Yeah, I killed the bastard and my only regret wasn't killing that bitch too."
Jake had to think how much prison had changed him. Marcus was a murderer by his own admission, and yet to Jake, he was the most genuine and caring person he had ever met. In fact, being assigned as his roommate was a recent occurrence. Jake was attacked in the laundry room by three black inmates. He handled two of them quite easily, but never saw the third who hit him in the back of the head with a pipe. Marcus hit the third man in the back with his flat hand, cleanly breaking his shoulder blade.
Flipping over on his stomach, Jake leaned over the top bunk and asked Marcus, "Okay, just tell me so I can understand? I am sorry I killed that kid, God knows I didn't mean to. It seems to me that guys are walking the street who actually committed big time crimes, so my question is simple, why me?"
As he looked, Marcus pulled a toothpick from between the upper bunk springs before replying. "Well, Jake, to me it is pretty simple. It's what I call the wrong hole theory."
"The wrong hole theory? What the hell is that?"
"Jake, it is so simple, you're going to whack yourself in the head. Mr. Gil Danforth was born out of the right hole and you wasn't."
Jake Dunson knew it was sunrise. It was biological clock knowledge, not sensory feedback. There were no windows in cell 1134 on the A block of Holman Prison, outside of Atmore, Alabama. This was the time of day his mind raced. He still found it hard to believe that he was actually in prison.
Jake asked a question, just assuming that his roommate, Marcus Poole, was awake. "I didn't mean to kill the guy. Don't you think that should count for something?"
Marcus, on the bottom bunk, stretched before replying. "Jake, you been in prison now for three months, and you done asked me that question a thousand times. The answer is gonna be the same. Nope, it don't mean squat."
Jake was quiet as he relived the moment in time that resulted in his being in prison. As a twenty-one year old college student, he had never been in trouble. A speeding ticket in Lee County, Alabama didn't count; it was a notorious area for speed traps. His day started out normally enough. Marci Horne, a girl in his economics class invited him to a party that night. He liked Marci, and had been talking her up in class, trying to get a date. This looked like a break through. Technically, she had no right to invite Jake. The party was at the DKE house, one of the larger fraternities on campus.
Jake didn't belong to a fraternity, and found it frustrating that campus life and even dating, seemed to revolve around the fraternity and sorority scene. Between school work and his part time job, he wouldn't have had time to belong to one anyhow. What started as a hobby for Jake in the eighth grade, allowed him to work a flexible work schedule at a local Dojo. He was a third degree black belt in Tae Kwan Do, and was classified as a senpai, or senior student. As such, he was allowed to teach others. The class he most often worked was a self defense class for women. On a college campus, it was pretty popular.
At 10:00 that night, Jake walked into the fraternity house. As he looked at the stares from guys there, he thought, so much for warm and fuzzy. He helped himself to a beer from a keg and strolled through the house looking for Marci. He was stopped mid-stride by a firm grip on his shoulder. Turning slowly, he found him himself looking up to a huge person. As a potential football all-American, everyone on campus knew Doc Morgan. Standing six and a half feet tall and weighing over three hundred pounds, he was hard to miss.
Morgan stumbled slightly as he addressed Jake. "I don't know you, but I know for sure you aren't a member of this fraternity. What are you doing here?" He grabbed Jake's shoulder again, this time from the front.
Removing Morgan's hand, Jake smiled and said. "I was invited by friends, so I was looking for them."
"And who would your friends be?"
Still smiling, Jake responded, "I would really rather not say."
Morgan moved closer as he almost yelled, "That's just a smart ass answer for saying you are crashing this party. We have a rule here that we throw crashers out on their ass." With that, Morgan tried to quickly shove Jake's chest. Jake had already assumed a basic defense stance, so a simple middle block deflected the shove.
Jake backed away saying, "Hey man, you don't have to help me leave. It's pretty obvious that I'm not welcome, so I'll just leave."
"It's too late for that, Karate Kid. I'm going to kick your ass now."
Morgan tried pushing again, but it was obvious to Jake that he was drunk. It was fairly simple to block as he kept trying to back out of the area. All of a sudden, strong hands grabbed him from behind. The person had moved so close, his breath warmed the back of Jake's neck. In a reflexive move, Jake did a simple backward head butt. What happened next would be something that would stay with him for life. The hands gripping him loosened and he heard the person fall, crashing into a table.
He turned and looked down. A person he later learned was Gil Danforth was lying on the ground. His head caught the edge of a solid wood coffee table on the way down. Bleeding profusely from the nose, there was also an obvious indention in the side of his head. Danforth wasn't moving. A girl leaned down and felt for a pulse. Looking up, she wailed, "He's dead." The police were called. Jake was arrested and taken to jail.
The next few weeks were a daze. The only family Jake had left was a brother, but he was active duty Army, stationed in Iraq. With no money, he was working with a court appointed attorney. Jake didn't think the guy was much older than himself, but he seemed to talk a good game. A Grand Jury heard his case and Jake pled not guilty. The Grand Jury felt that there was enough evidence to go to trial. Since that time, Jake found out that Gil Danforth was the son of John Danforth, the person that many thought would be the next Governor of Alabama.
Jake's attorney suggested a plea bargain. "I think you should plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter. The District Attorney wants murder, but it really isn't there. He may be responding to pressure from John Danforth. With a clean record, it is quite possible that you'll get no jail time at all."
"I don't know why I have to plead guilty. I didn't do anything but try and get out of that room. Everything I did was defensive."
"Well, Jake, there's the rub. The DA made a point of mentioning your martial arts skill. Even the papers ran with that BS of your hands should have been registered as weapons. We can plead not guilty, but I believe our best chance is the plea bargain."
The trial date came and Jake took the advice. It was clear that the Danforth family wanted an outcome of murder, but involuntary manslaughter was the end result. Instead of no time, Jake was given the maximum sentence of twelve years. As incredulous as this was, Jake still tried to apologize to Gil Danforth's mother. The picture of her spitting in his face made the national news.
The memories faded, and Jake was right back to his current home, cell 1134. Talking again to Marcus, Jake lamented, "Not a day goes by that I don't think about Gil Danforth. He'll never graduate from college, get married or have children. I took all of that away from him."
Marcus grunted. "You may be sorry he's gone, but he was going to hold your arms while that other boy beat the shit out of you. You did what you thought you had to do. You ain't like me Jake, you don't belong here, but here you are, so you just got to make the best of it."
Marcus was one of the few inmates that Jake met who admitted his guilt. The common pattern was to deny everything. He was a black man, one of the largest human beings that Jake ever knew. Jake thought back to Doc Morgan, the all-American football player. Marcus was even bigger. In one of the ironies of the prison system, Marcus lifted weights every day, and if possible, was getting larger. He was in prison for murder, having walked in on his wife having sex with another man. Manslaughter might have been in the cards for Marcus except for his closing statement to the jury, "Yeah, I killed the bastard and my only regret wasn't killing that bitch too."
Jake had to think how much prison had changed him. Marcus was a murderer by his own admission, and yet to Jake, he was the most genuine and caring person he had ever met. In fact, being assigned as his roommate was a recent occurrence. Jake was attacked in the laundry room by three black inmates. He handled two of them quite easily, but never saw the third who hit him in the back of the head with a pipe. Marcus hit the third man in the back with his flat hand, cleanly breaking his shoulder blade.
Flipping over on his stomach, Jake leaned over the top bunk and asked Marcus, "Okay, just tell me so I can understand? I am sorry I killed that kid, God knows I didn't mean to. It seems to me that guys are walking the street who actually committed big time crimes, so my question is simple, why me?"
As he looked, Marcus pulled a toothpick from between the upper bunk springs before replying. "Well, Jake, to me it is pretty simple. It's what I call the wrong hole theory."
"The wrong hole theory? What the hell is that?"
"Jake, it is so simple, you're going to whack yourself in the head. Mr. Gil Danforth was born out of the right hole and you wasn't."
Jake asked a question, just assuming that his roommate, Marcus Poole, was awake. "I didn't mean to kill the guy. Don't you think that should count for something?"
Marcus, on the bottom bunk, stretched before replying. "Jake, you been in prison now for three months, and you done asked me that question a thousand times. The answer is gonna be the same. Nope, it don't mean squat."
Jake was quiet as he relived the moment in time that resulted in his being in prison. As a twenty-one year old college student, he had never been in trouble. A speeding ticket in Lee County, Alabama didn't count; it was a notorious area for speed traps. His day started out normally enough. Marci Horne, a girl in his economics class invited him to a party that night. He liked Marci, and had been talking her up in class, trying to get a date. This looked like a break through. Technically, she had no right to invite Jake. The party was at the DKE house, one of the larger fraternities on campus.
Jake didn't belong to a fraternity, and found it frustrating that campus life and even dating, seemed to revolve around the fraternity and sorority scene. Between school work and his part time job, he wouldn't have had time to belong to one anyhow. What started as a hobby for Jake in the eighth grade, allowed him to work a flexible work schedule at a local Dojo. He was a third degree black belt in Tae Kwan Do, and was classified as a senpai, or senior student. As such, he was allowed to teach others. The class he most often worked was a self defense class for women. On a college campus, it was pretty popular.
At 10:00 that night, Jake walked into the fraternity house. As he looked at the stares from guys there, he thought, so much for warm and fuzzy. He helped himself to a beer from a keg and strolled through the house looking for Marci. He was stopped mid-stride by a firm grip on his shoulder. Turning slowly, he found him himself looking up to a huge person. As a potential football all-American, everyone on campus knew Doc Morgan. Standing six and a half feet tall and weighing over three hundred pounds, he was hard to miss.
Morgan stumbled slightly as he addressed Jake. "I don't know you, but I know for sure you aren't a member of this fraternity. What are you doing here?" He grabbed Jake's shoulder again, this time from the front.
Removing Morgan's hand, Jake smiled and said. "I was invited by friends, so I was looking for them."
"And who would your friends be?"
Still smiling, Jake responded, "I would really rather not say."
Morgan moved closer as he almost yelled, "That's just a smart ass answer for saying you are crashing this party. We have a rule here that we throw crashers out on their ass." With that, Morgan tried to quickly shove Jake's chest. Jake had already assumed a basic defense stance, so a simple middle block deflected the shove.
Jake backed away saying, "Hey man, you don't have to help me leave. It's pretty obvious that I'm not welcome, so I'll just leave."
"It's too late for that, Karate Kid. I'm going to kick your ass now."
Morgan tried pushing again, but it was obvious to Jake that he was drunk. It was fairly simple to block as he kept trying to back out of the area. All of a sudden, strong hands grabbed him from behind. The person had moved so close, his breath warmed the back of Jake's neck. In a reflexive move, Jake did a simple backward head butt. What happened next would be something that would stay with him for life. The hands gripping him loosened and he heard the person fall, crashing into a table.
He turned and looked down. A person he later learned was Gil Danforth was lying on the ground. His head caught the edge of a solid wood coffee table on the way down. Bleeding profusely from the nose, there was also an obvious indention in the side of his head. Danforth wasn't moving. A girl leaned down and felt for a pulse. Looking up, she wailed, "He's dead." The police were called. Jake was arrested and taken to jail.
The next few weeks were a daze. The only family Jake had left was a brother, but he was active duty Army, stationed in Iraq. With no money, he was working with a court appointed attorney. Jake didn't think the guy was much older than himself, but he seemed to talk a good game. A Grand Jury heard his case and Jake pled not guilty. The Grand Jury felt that there was enough evidence to go to trial. Since that time, Jake found out that Gil Danforth was the son of John Danforth, the person that many thought would be the next Governor of Alabama.
Jake's attorney suggested a plea bargain. "I think you should plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter. The District Attorney wants murder, but it really isn't there. He may be responding to pressure from John Danforth. With a clean record, it is quite possible that you'll get no jail time at all."
"I don't know why I have to plead guilty. I didn't do anything but try and get out of that room. Everything I did was defensive."
"Well, Jake, there's the rub. The DA made a point of mentioning your martial arts skill. Even the papers ran with that BS of your hands should have been registered as weapons. We can plead not guilty, but I believe our best chance is the plea bargain."
The trial date came and Jake took the advice. It was clear that the Danforth family wanted an outcome of murder, but involuntary manslaughter was the end result. Instead of no time, Jake was given the maximum sentence of twelve years. As incredulous as this was, Jake still tried to apologize to Gil Danforth's mother. The picture of her spitting in his face made the national news.
The memories faded, and Jake was right back to his current home, cell 1134. Talking again to Marcus, Jake lamented, "Not a day goes by that I don't think about Gil Danforth. He'll never graduate from college, get married or have children. I took all of that away from him."
Marcus grunted. "You may be sorry he's gone, but he was going to hold your arms while that other boy beat the shit out of you. You did what you thought you had to do. You ain't like me Jake, you don't belong here, but here you are, so you just got to make the best of it."
Marcus was one of the few inmates that Jake met who admitted his guilt. The common pattern was to deny everything. He was a black man, one of the largest human beings that Jake ever knew. Jake thought back to Doc Morgan, the all-American football player. Marcus was even bigger. In one of the ironies of the prison system, Marcus lifted weights every day, and if possible, was getting larger. He was in prison for murder, having walked in on his wife having sex with another man. Manslaughter might have been in the cards for Marcus except for his closing statement to the jury, "Yeah, I killed the bastard and my only regret wasn't killing that bitch too."
Jake had to think how much prison had changed him. Marcus was a murderer by his own admission, and yet to Jake, he was the most genuine and caring person he had ever met. In fact, being assigned as his roommate was a recent occurrence. Jake was attacked in the laundry room by three black inmates. He handled two of them quite easily, but never saw the third who hit him in the back of the head with a pipe. Marcus hit the third man in the back with his flat hand, cleanly breaking his shoulder blade.
Flipping over on his stomach, Jake leaned over the top bunk and asked Marcus, "Okay, just tell me so I can understand? I am sorry I killed that kid, God knows I didn't mean to. It seems to me that guys are walking the street who actually committed big time crimes, so my question is simple, why me?"
As he looked, Marcus pulled a toothpick from between the upper bunk springs before replying. "Well, Jake, to me it is pretty simple. It's what I call the wrong hole theory."
"The wrong hole theory? What the hell is that?"
"Jake, it is so simple, you're going to whack yourself in the head. Mr. Gil Danforth was born out of the right hole and you wasn't."
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I've outlined a longer story / potential novel and am positioning a character sketch. I would love your input.
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