The Wrong Kind of Love

She settles behind the bench, and the room has a seat. Her gaze moves from me to the jury. "Have the jurors reached a decision?"

A woman in a floral dress rises. "We have."

"Proceed with the sentencing, please."

"On count two of kidnapping, we the jury found the defendant guilty. On count three of rape, we the jury find the defendant guilty.” A sob breaks from the corner of the room where Tor is, and the foreman hesitates before continuing. “On count four of money laundering, we the jury find the defendant guilty. On count five of murder in the first degree, we, the jury, find the defendant guilty. Due to the nature of these crimes, we, the jury, therefore, unanimously recommend the sentence of death. And that is signed by all twelve jurors."

An unsettling heat washes over me as Tor’s tear-filled gaze meets mine. She grabs onto the seat in front of her and goes to rise, but her face washes white, and she crumples to the floor.

I rush from where I stand, the shackles around my ankles tripping me seconds before I’m tackled to the ground. There’s a crowd of people helping Tor to her feet.

The judge slams her gavel over the stand. "Bailiff, get Mr. Pearson out of here and get Miss Deveaux some medical attention, please."

The officer drags me toward the exit, bypassing Tor. This is the last time I will likely ever see her. I’m sentenced to death, and goddammit, I will tell her goodbye. I fight and manage to struggle out of the officer’s hold, jumping across the chairs and grabbing onto Tor. Panic ensues around us. Hands latch onto my shoulders, attempting to pry me away from her, but I hold on—we both do—and I bury my face in her neck. “I love you, and I’m sorry. I love you so fucking much. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I don’t want you to die,” she whispers between sobs as I’m finally pulled away.

The thing she doesn't understand is if I can't have my freedom, if I can't be with her, I'm fucking dead anyway.

______

A thick pane of glass separates me from Marney. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since my arrest a week ago, and damn, the scruffy, gray beard covering his face makes him look like he’s aged ten years. He grabs the phone and presses it to his ear at the same time as I pick up my receiver.

“Well, orange ain't really a good look for you, boy.”

"Not fucking funny.” I glance over my shoulder at the guard and lower my voice. “You make sure she's taken care of. Make sure she has all the assets she needs."

"Yeah, I'll make sure I find a way to help her out. Use some of my retirement money if I need to." It’s bullshit, part of the show for the guards to make sure Marney’s not implicated in anything. I’m still certain the only reason he got out of any of this is thanks to the network of underground connections I was able to use in prison and Gabe pulling some strings with crooked feds that owed him.

"What a shock it was to me that you got yourself all tangled up in this mess." His lips strain against a smile. "Boy, you were brought up in church. What the hell got into you? The devil?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm an asshole, I know. Sorry to let you down, old man.” I pause for a moment, debating whether or not to ask him. "Have you heard from her since the trial?"

"Nope.” His face crumples, and he taps a finger over the counter. “Most likely not going to...Most likely not going to.”

We sit in silence for a moment. There's not much more to say at this point. Our lives are completely fucked. "Marney, please, make sure she has what she needs for her and the baby.”

"It’s a little girl. She told me outside the courtroom last week.”

Something inside me softens and breaks all at the same time. A little girl. I’ll have a daughter I’ll never meet. I can only hope she’s as strong as her mother. “A little girl…” I smile.

“I think she’s tried to mail you, but they aren’t gonna give them to you. Kidnapping and all…”

I twist the cord around my finger. A daughter. I wonder whether she’ll have blue eyes like Tor or green eyes like my mom. Maybe dark eyes like my brother. An entire life, I’ll never know. My chest tightens as the reality really sets in, hardening like concrete. I’ll never know what Tor looks like holding our daughter. I’ll never know what my little girl’s laugh sounds like—I’ll never give her piggyback rides the way my father did Grace. There’s an entire life I’ll miss—Two lives I’ll miss.

I refuse to accept this as my plot in life. I’ll sell out every motherfucker I know if it will get me out of here. Every last one.