The Simpatico Series Box Set (3 books in 1) Page 4

  “Have a beer, have a beer,” Bobby chanted.

  “Have a beer, have a beer,” Tony joined in.

  “Tony, cut it out,” Andrew said as he pushed his hand away.

  “Don’t be rude, just take the beer, bro,” Tony said, pushing Andrew against the door.

  “Yeah, don’t be rude, dude,” Bobby said, joining Tony in pushing Andrew against the door.

  “Knock it off, guys; it’s not funny, okay?” Andrew said, trying to keep his patience.

  “Have a beer, have a beer,” the guys continued, their bodies swaying together, each time pushing Andrew against the door. In his mind’s eye, Andrew saw the door open seconds before it actually did.

  Fiona woke up abruptly from her sleep. Looking panicked, she glanced around the dark room as if looking for clues to her upset. Down in the basement, Simon continued with his chant and ritual.

  As the car door flew open, Andrew quickly tried to grab it but in doing so, he lost his grip on the steering wheel. The truck careered off the road and barreled down a steep ravine at speed. Gathering momentum, the truck collided with a felled dead tree which forced the truck to somersault into the air. Crashing to the ground upside down, the truck turned over and over as it spun wildly down the steep incline. It finally came to rest by smashing into a large stone boulder.

  Simon finished his chant and looking like his work was now done, closed the book. The door opened behind him and Fiona stood in the doorway. “Can’t you sleep?” Simon asked, shielding the altar with his body.

  “What are you doing?” Fiona asked.

  “Just doing some praying,” Simon answered. “I thought we talked about you coming in here; I was deep in meditation,” he said, walking towards her.

  “I woke up,” Fiona said, furtively looking around for clues. “I guess I got scared.”

  “Let’s get you something hot to drink; a hot cocoa, maybe. Would you like that?” he asked kindly as he guided her from the room. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

  “Yeah, yeah, a hot cocoa would be good,” Fiona answered, unsure in her own head about exactly what was going on and what she was intuitively picking up. “Sorry to barge in on you like that.”

  “That’s okay, pumpkin. I know what it’s like to wake up scared and not know where everybody is. You can come to me anytime, you know that,” he said, putting a protective arm around her.

  “Yeah, I know. Thanks, dad,” Fiona answered as they walked slowly to the kitchen.

  The truck was completely trashed, a slowly spinning wheel on the upturned chassis the only movement evident in the semi-dark scene of mangled metal. An eerie silence followed after the horrendous crashing noise of the somersaulting truck. A combination of smoke and dust drifted up past the weak light beam of a still-lit interior light bulb.

  Two bodies lay sprawled and lifeless in the truck, their torsos as twisted and bent and broken as the metal of the pickup truck. Several feet away another body lay motionless but still breathing. His arm was the first part of his body to move and, as the rest of his body came to life, Andrew turned his head to check out his surroundings.

  “Oh my…” he said in shock, not finishing his sentence when he saw the state of the pickup. “Please, God, no,” he then said as he got to his feet and stumbled with difficulty to the wreck. “Nooooo,” he then shouted upon seeing the terminal, lifeless state of his two buddies. “Noooooo,” he cried aloud as he fell to his knees in absolute shock and pain.

  Chapter 3

  His eyes opened but it took Andrew a few seconds to realize that the 6 X 8-foot room with plain brick walls and a solid steel door was his new home. Feeling sore all over, cuts and bruises everywhere, he couldn't remember a time that he had felt so scared and alone. When he heard footsteps coming to his door, he lifted himself up to a seating position. A key turned in the lock and, as the heavy door swung open, an overweight police officer stood in the doorway. “Your lawyer is here,” he said.

  In an adjoining interview room, Angela sat at a desk with the assigned public defender, Victor Delgado. Her eyes puffy from recent crying, Angela looked like she was in shock. “He was never a wild kid, you know,” she said.

  “I know,” Victor responded, looking through the contents of a folder, maybe of a different case. “He’s a good kid and we’re going to do our best,” he said, not looking up from the folder.

  Angela stood up when the door opened. An officer directed Andrew to sit opposite at the desk. “Andy, sweetheart,” she said, fighting the impulse to grab him and latch onto him. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine, mom,” Andrew answered, the intense shame he felt discouraging any meaningful eye contact.

  “Andrew, I’m Victor Delgado,” Victor said, standing up and extending his hand. “I’ll be defending you in court.”

  “Thank you,” Andrew said nervously as he shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “We’re not blaming you for anything, Andy. It was a terrible accident,” his mom said, trying to contain her tears.

  “I’ll get straight to the point,” Victor said like he was in a hurry. “The charge we’re answering here is manslaughter, vehicular manslaughter to be precise. The best we hope to accomplish here is to limit jail time to as little time as possible. Do you understand?”

  “Jail?” Andrew asked, shocked.

  “You’re saying that jail is inevitable?” Angela asked.

  “I’m afraid so, yes,” Ben answered.

  “But he has his whole life ahead of him; it’s the first time he’s ever been in trouble,” Angela pleaded.

  “Angela, I empathize exactly with what you’re saying but you have to understand that two young people lost their lives here. They too had their whole lives in front of them and the reality is that the law says that someone has to do time for that, you understand?” Victor answered.

  “What about community service or something?” Angela asked, sounding desperate and distraught.

  “I’m sorry but no judge in the country would go for that, right now,” he said. “Andrew’s alcohol level was more than twice the legal limit; they had a case of beer in the truck, they were going to drink even more…” he continued, briefly looking at his notes. “The parents of the boys will be looking for a conviction; they lost their sons, forever… you do understand, don’t you?” he said more softly, as if to totally convince Angela of the stark reality of the situation.

  “Yes, of course,” Angela said as she finally gave up on holding back her tears.

  Looking still in shock and emotionally numb, Andrew watched his mom cry and accept a tissue from his attorney, a dude who looked like he’d rather be someplace else. “We’re going to do our very best here, I promise,” he said, Andrew wondering to himself who exactly the “we” was that the man was referring to.

  “How long in jail?” she asked finally, as if it was a hard question to ask. “How long, exactly?”

  “It could go anywhere from one to ten years,” Ben answered.

  “Ten years?” Angela almost shouted.

  Fiona was not allowed to visit Andrew and had to wait until the case went to court before she could see him in person. Sitting in the front row was as close as she could get to seeing him. Encouraged by his willingness to meet her eyes at every opportunity he could get, she wanted to transmit to him with her gaze that she still loved him. She would always love him. She was never going to go away; no matter what seemingly impossible obstacles life threw at them and conspired to part them.

  Instructed to stand while the court read out the verdict, Andrew was so nervous, he could barely keep his knees from buckling beneath him. Then the judge sentenced him.

  “Andrew William Cox,” the elderly judge addressed him as the entire courtroom fell deathly quiet. “You are sentenced to serve four and no less than two years in the state penitentiary…”

  Angela almost fainted at the news and had to be held up from falling. Feeling faint and ill herself, Fiona took a deep breath and urged hersel
f to appear strong and supportive to Andrew.

  “You are required to attend alcohol rehabilitation programs to be defined at a later date,” the judge continued. “The court is dismissed.”

  Hoping to get an exchange of even one word with Andrew, Fiona stood at the courtroom rail as the courtroom emptied. “Andrew!” she yelled as he was being led back to the holding cell. Trying not to cry, Andrew’s eyes were filled with shame and humiliation. He looked at her sadly. Being too far for him to hear, she mouthed the words “I love you!” to him.

  “I love you too,” he mouthed back.

  Fiona felt a pain shoot through her heart as they led him away and out of sight. Only then did she allow her tears to fall.

  “I’m going to do everything I can to appeal this decision,” Victor told Andrew as he signaled for the officers to stop in the corridor.

  “Thanks for everything,” Andrew said resignedly. “We did okay, considering, I guess,” he said.

  “I think we did,” Victor admitted. “But look, you should know this going in,” he said, looking pained. “The prison has different wings for certain types of crimes, certain types of people,” he continued, looking like he had a hard time articulating his thoughts. “The system is so overcrowded they can’t keep everyone apart anymore. You should be going to a softer wing but that’s not guaranteed, you know what I’m saying?”

  “I’m going to live with other killers. Is that it?” Andrew asked.

  “It’s going to be difficult to be left alone, you know? If you do have to take sides, be careful who you take sides with. We want to get you out of there as quickly as possible but still in one piece. I think you know what I’m saying.”

  “In other words, I’m on my own,” Andrew said.

  “Yeah,” Victor said with a sigh. “Where you're going, you are very much on your own. Be safe.”

  For days on end, Fiona didn’t know what to do with herself. Barely leaving the house except to do grocery shopping, she wanted so much to figure out a way to be closer to Andrew. She felt like she couldn't live with him being out of her life for up to four years, which seemed like an eternity. As she lay on her bed, she realized that the solution to her immediate problem—not being able to see her love—might not be too far away. “Of course,” she said to herself and jumped off of the bed and ran out of her room.

  As it was mid-afternoon, her father most likely wouldn’t return till later. Opening the door to the library, she took a peek in, just in case. Glad to see that she had the room to herself, she smiled. With its huge collection of arcane, metaphysical and occult books, she wondered where first to look. Going subject to subject, she scanned the different sections until she came to a subject that got her attention: astral traveling.

  Having come across it in various books that she had previously read, she knew that it might offer a solution. Her understanding was that it was possible for the spirit body to leave the physical body and travel to any destination that it so desired, in this world or the next. Although she had never tried it, she was pretty sure that it was not only possible but would provide a definite solution to her problem.

  As a serious student and practitioner of all things occult, her father only kept books that were reputable and authentic. If any of his books offered a technique, there would be a good chance that it was something she could make work with proper intent, perseverance, and practice. After grabbing several books and minimizing the new spacing with other books, she left the room.

  Andrew stood at the door of the prison cafeteria and watched the other inmates to see what the protocol was. Trying not to look as terrified as he felt, he adopted a demeanor that would signal to others that he belonged. Watching how the other inmates walked and moved gave him valuable clues about how he should conduct himself. I’m a badass, just like you, he hoped his walk would communicate as he made his way to the food line.

  With his tray full of tasteless-looking food he scanned the room for some safe place to eat. Inmates sat on benches before rows of tables that cluttered up the large dining hall. This isn’t high school, he thought to himself, where students sat in cliques ranging from geeks to cheerleaders. In here, people segregated by gang affiliation and ethnic groups did not mix, he noticed. In fact, there was so much tension between each group that without prison guards the place would most certainly break out into a complete riot.

  Sitting down in one of the white gang member's sections, he stood out like a new and shiny model in a line of used cars. Keeping his head down, and deciding not to make eye contact with anybody, he adopted a blank expression on his face. Wincing at the awful taste of what looked like meatloaf, he tried not to show his displeasure. Just eat this crap and get out quick, he thought to himself.

  “Hey,” a scary-looking dude addressed him as he sat down beside him. His fellow gang-members sat opposite as other inmates finished up and left.

  “Hey,” Andrew said, trying to sound both tough and disinterested.

  “You must be new around here,” the tough guy said as the other dudes sniggered.

  “Yeah,” Andrew replied.

  “What’s your name?” the guy asked.

  “Andrew.”

  As if impressed, the scary dude smiled and nodded smugly to his gang.

  “Or Andy,” Andrew corrected himself.

  “Then you don’t mind if we call you shithead?” the dude asked as the others laughed. “And tell me, shithead,” the dude continued, “what act of sin did you commit to get into our privileged club, huh?”

  Acting like he just wanted to be left alone, Andrew remained silent and kept eating the awful tasting food.

  “Did you cheat on your homework?” the dude asked. “You stayed out too late? Stay out past your bedtime, huh?”

  “I’m in for manslaughter,” Andrew answered, acting as tough as he could.

  To the surprise and amusement of the others, they each cheered and applauded him. “Way to go, bro,” one of them said. “All-right,” another said, raising his hand to Andrew for a high-five, which Andrew completed. Feeling more accepted and as if he were now more respected, Andrew smiled. Without warning, Andrew's body stood frozen in pain as he dropped his utensils.

  Acting nonchalant and innocent, beneath the table, the scary dude held a fork to Andrew’s side. The blood stain on Andrew’s orange prison uniform proved that the fork had pierced his skin. “I want your undivided attention for a moment, shithead, because I want to introduce you to your new friends,” the dude said. “We will be taking care of you during your stay with us, won’t we, guys?”

  As the other gang members guffawed like this was great entertainment, Andrew breathed through the pain. He did not want to show his distress. Covertly looking around to see if there are any prison guards about, he spied a couple of guards at the doorway and two on the balcony. None of them, however, seemed aware, interested, or bothered enough to notice his predicament.

  “Over here we have Franco,” the dude continued, pointing out a not-too-bright-looking individual whose face was disfigured by a thin scar that ran down the left side of his face. “Say hello to Franco,” the dude said and jabbed Andrew with the fork.

  “Hello, Franco,” Andrew said and winced with the pain.

  “Aren’t you going to shake his hand?” the dude asked.

  Andrew extended his arm and shook with Franco. “Pleased to meet you,” he said.

  “This is Billy,” the dude continued, pointing out a biker-looking dude. “Say hello to Billy.”

  “Hello, Billy,” Andrew said as he extended his hand which Billy seemed too confused to know what to do with, so he punched Andrew’s hand with his fist.

  “And sitting on the other side of you is Malice,” the dude continued. “Say fuck you to Malice.”

  Malice was a huge, ugly-looking guy with bad skin that was missing a bunch of teeth. He smiled and extended his hand to Andrew. “Fuck you, Malice,” Andrew said as he shook his hand.

  “Fuck you, shithead,” Malice
said with a huge grin on his face.

  As the others continued to show their amusement, the dude finally withdrew his weapon. “Well, that breaks the ice,” he said.

  Andrew relaxed his body and allowed himself to breathe deeper. “You didn’t say your name,” he said to the dude.

  “My name is Duke,” the dude answered.

  “Fuck you, Duke,” Andrew said, looking straight into his eyes and extending his hand. Taking the gathering by surprise, they waited for Duke’s response. Sizing up Andrew, it looked like his reaction could go either way. Staring hard into Andrew’s eyes, Andrew didn’t blink.

  “Don’t push it, shithead,” he said to Andrew, pushing the bloodied fork into Andrew’s extended hand.

  Fiona walked nervously into the prisoner visiting room and took a seat at a long table. As she waited for Andrew to arrive she couldn’t help but notice how scary the prisoners looked. Her heart went out to Andrew having to associate with such people who all looked so violent and rough.

  She perked up when she saw Andrew being led into the room by a prison guard. She had been instructed not to stand up or touch, so she waited excitedly for him to sit. Looking sad and sleep deprived, Andrew still managed a broad smile upon seeing Fiona’s bright and happy face. “I can’t believe they put you in here,” she immediately said when he sat opposite. “How are you? Is it awful?” she asked.

  “It was hard the first few days but you get used to it, I guess,” Andrew answered. “It’s so good to see you,” he said with a smile.

  “I can’t believe they made me wait this long. I’m dying without you, seriously,” she said.

  “I’m dying without you,” he responded. “I’m still not sure how this all happened.”

  “I’ve been trying to come visit you,” she said.

  “You are visiting me,” Andrew said, a bit puzzled. “You mean before?”

  “No, I mean at night. I’ve been trying to come visit you at night.”