Broken Marilyns

BAD BLOOD

BAD BLOOD

Unlike many things I’d seen in my life, prison was exactly how I imagined it would be.  Brick, tile, concrete, hard angles and barbed wire - everything about the place made you feel unwelcome and watched.  The moment I stepped inside I felt like a piece of property, like at any given moment a pair of handcuffs could be slapped on me for looking at someone the wrong way.

I’d had a week’s worth of sleepless nights leading up to today to think up what I would say to Mr. Henley, but to this very minute I didn't know what I was going to say when I saw him face to face.

Inside the visiting room, my stomach soured.  Soon I would be inches away from Mr. Henley, separated only by a thin wall of reinforced glass.  Taking a seat, my heart began to thump against my chest so hard that my chiffon shirt fluttered rhythmically.

Soon, a loud buzz sounded and a line of smiling inmates walked in – all except for Mr. Henley.  Mr. Henley sat down slowly and stared at me apprehensively through the glass.  Everything in my body begged to turn around and leave, but Charlie screamed louder.  I shuffled the edges of the pictures nervously against my thumb.

I imagined a grand, dramatic scene reuniting with Mr. Henley.  Now that I was here, it was much simpler - just two confused souls and some hard plastic chairs.

I wasted no time spreading the pictures out on the small ledge in front of me.  For a moment, even I couldn't tell the difference between Charlie's and Julia’s.

I picked up the phone on the wall, and after a few seconds, Mr. Henley followed suit.  "I wanted to show you these," I said sternly.  There were no introductions, I didn't know how.  Within two minutes, my nervousness had managed to erase all thought and most of my ability to breathe.  Mr.  Henley stared invasively into me.  I shifted uncomfortably.

"And what am I lookin’ at?" he asked grittily, scanning the photos.  How could he not know?  The man who’d plead guilty for the very injuries he’d inflicted.

"That's my brother Charlie and a woman named Julia who I met not long ago,” I said pressing both photos up to the glass while I held the phone in place with my chin.

"I remember you.  Grown up but haven't changed much."  I wanted to choke him.  You don't get to examine me; you don't get to pretend to know me.

"Mr. Henley, cut the shit."  We were both surprised by what just came out of my mouth.  "You didn't kill Charlie."

Mr. Henley sat there and rubbed the scruff on his chin.  "What made you come back here, Jenna?  Or do you really think it was your decision?"

The question was answered by the tiny hairs standing up on the back of my neck.

“Who killed Charlie?” Mr. Henley looked at his cuffs and stirred. 

“Wrap it up” an Officer announced, eyeing the clock.  As we stood up, I asked a final question.

“Why did you plead guilty?”

“A father would do anything for his son.”  Son?  Was he talking about Chad?  It was then I learned that difficult questions can have simple answers.  Standing up to hang up the phone and leave, Mr. Henley slammed his hand against the glass, "I might not be a good man but I know evil when I see it.  What do you do when you realize you created evil?" his eyes revealed a man aged past his time by regret.  "I been burying this secret deep down for a long time now.  If that secret came out, who would I be?"

"An honest man, Mr. Henley, that's who you'd be."  Picking up the pictures, I left Julia's on the table last, "Julia could have used an honest man."

            I wrestled with myself a lot that night.  Mr. Henley had admitted that he didn’t kill Charlie, but blaming it on Chad?  I just didn’t see it.  Do I believe a convicted murderer, am I seeing things that don’t exist, is my gut telling me the truth?

*          *          *          *

The next time I met with Mr. Henley, I could tell he’d never expected to see me again.  Truthfully, I didn’t foresee myself coming back to the prison, but an internet search led me to a program that could give Mr. Henley incentive to tell me the truth – all of it.

“Listen, I don’t know what more I can do for you,” Mr. Henley shook his head, gazing at me through the glass, dumbfounded.

“Have you ever heard of Second Chance?” I cut him off.  “It’s a program where they investigate old cases using the latest technology - technology they didn’t have years ago.  They’ve made a lot of changes since Charlie’s murder and in some situations people have been found innocent of their crimes.”  I pushed some informational papers up to the glass. 

“Get those out of here,” Mr. Henley urged, standing up to slap at the glass.  “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he sat back slowly, looking around at the Officers who had begun to take notice.  “This ain’t a movie, Sherlock.  These inmates don’t know what I’m in here for.  You go pokin’ around in my case, they’re gonna find out and if they don’t kill me then, they sure as shit will once they figure out you’re tryin’a get me out.”

“If you’re innocent, you deserve to be set free.”

“No, if I’m innocent that means you’ll get everyone lookin’ for my son.  I’m not dumb, sweetheart.”

            The visit had come to a stalemate; Mr. Henley wasn’t going to say any more and I had nothing else to offer.  “Just think about it,” I stood up and stomped off.