Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Eleven - Alex

After so many months in threadbare cotton shirts and pants, wearing a suit feels almost stifling. It was my father's, fit like a glove little more than three months ago. Now it's tight in the chest, shoulders and arms.

Mama is already in tears beside Sharron in the Defense chamber.

Only they aren't the same as when she held my face and begged me to tell her Javier's death wasn't true. These glitter with love and happiness.

"Mijo!" She wraps her arms around my neck, dragging me down to her diminutive height.

She's always been petite, but this is different. Acclimating to the cement walls, iron bed, thin mattress, and hard bodies of LeCI makes her seem...delicate. Like I might break her if I squeeze too tight.

"Mama," I return, awkwardly hugging her through the handcuffs. "So good to see you."

"Where's mine?" Sharron inquires, arms open.

A flare of panic slams into my chest.

I remember what happened in the council room all too vividly. How I later came to images of her talking legal and riding my cock. I've also released to images of Colt making our display more than just an act. Those strong hands and deep voice...

I'm turning into a sex-crazed madman. Maybe I should speak to mental health.

Sharron doesn't seem perturbed by my hesitance. Instead, we sit and knuckle down. I work to translate for Mama, making it damn difficult to focus on the legal proceedings. I get the main points, however.

Sharron presents my case to the five judges for appeal. I hear a lot of the same information Colt scribbled down: misrepresentation of evidence, undue process, and habeus corpus. The judges listen, shuffle papers. The most senior, fingers steepled, stares directly at me even as Sharron speaks.

"Your client should be on trial for aiding and abetting drug trafficking, not murder," the judge states placidly.

"My client is being wrongly incarcerated," Sharron retorts. "For a crime he didn't commit, for circumstances he was exposed to as a juvenile."

"Mr. Rios," Judge Ballard peers at me over his spectacles.

I stand a little straighter. "Sir."

"Did you kill your brother?"

Sharron moves to speak on my behalf. I raise a hand - well, hands, because cuffs - to pause her. "No, sir."

The frown indicates seriousness, but his eyes are all sympathy. "Did you see who did?"

"Yes, sir."

It's a little easier. Even though I'm exhausted, recalling Javier's death is less painful. Mama squeezes my hands, openly weeping against my shoulder as I recount the details. I force through the knot in my throat, work to keep my voice steady and calm.

It's enough. The appeal goes through with a grim nod from Judge Ballard.

The next few days I spend in and out of jail cells. I speak with officers, investigators, and detectives. A repeat of before. This time I'm less afraid. This time the badges fight for me and my family.

I don't have the name on the other side of that drug deal. Just a face, a crime scene, and an artistry honed from months, weeks, and hours of boredom.

The sketches I provide are enough for an arrest warrant. The hunt is on. Trials will begin anew at a lower-level court.

Before heading back to Lebanon I'm afforded a visit with Mama.

It's much less strict at the county level than the state. Rather than a cement and steel chamber with dozens of other inmates and family members, this is a small room. Mama is permitted to bring in food.

Which she does. All the things I never would have imagined missing until breaks became a delicacy.

"Ay!" She scolds as I inhale the empanadillas and tostones. "Taste it first, mijo."

"It's so good," I moan through a full mouth.

Swallowing, I make an increased effort to slow down. I'm afforded that luxury, now. There's not the rush to finish the entirety of my tray in ten minutes.

Equipped with a couch and TV, we sit and entertain ourselves with the telenovelas. I smile, watching the little woman become so flustered with the decisions of characters. I know Javier would be too.

"I'm sorry, Mama," I blurt suddenly, interrupting her tirade. "I'm sorry for everything."

She stills in her exposition. The fury at Maribel and Juanito's extramarital affair diminishes, replaced with kindness and sympathy.

"Mijo," she murmurs, reaching out and cupping my face. Her thumb grazes along my scruff, warm brown eyes surveying me. "Don't be."

I turn away from her touch, brace my elbows on my thighs. It's a strange combination of guilt and need. I hate what I did to her, the hell I put her through. She shouldn't have to walk this broken road with me.

Yet here she is. Holding my hand, braving the world of laws and regulations neither of us understand. In a language she doesn't fully comprehend.

It's more than I deserve.

"I love you." Mama says, running her fingers through my hair. "I love Javier."

"I miss him," I admit.

"Just because he's gone doesn't mean he's not by our side." Her hand wraps around my fingers, strong and nurturing.

I squeeze back. "Do you blame me? For what happened."

The hand in my hair presses against her heart. "No! Why would you think that?"

I search her eyes, seeking doubt or anger. Finding none, I hiss, "I blame me."

I think that's why I didn't put up much of a fight before being sentenced. Part of me thought it appropriate I be locked away with the murderers and rapists and thieves. If I'd done more, gotten out of the car, hadn't frozen, I'd -

"I would have lost both my sons had anything been different." Mama says emphatically.

I laugh. I've never been good at hiding my thoughts. "Windows to the soul" Mama had said before.

She always remarked on my eyes, the one thing I inherited from my father. Green as grass and out of place with my olive complexion and dark hair.

"You're smart, mijo," Mama presses. "You learn. This will be a hard lesson, but one I know you'll grow from." Another squeeze of my hand. "I know you never met Papa, but you're a lot like him."

Papa died before I was born and Javier wasn't even walking. Massive heart attack at the age of 36. The best anti-cocaine commercial anyone could ask for.

Mama had been alone with us ever since. Worked herself to the bone to keep us fed and clothed.

I smirk at Mama. "What? A raging asshole?"

"Watch your mouth!" She cuffs my ear. Then, "No - resilient. The world beat him down and he kept standing."

"Ay." I protest on a laugh. "That hurts!"

"Good!" She snaps. "Now hush. Or you'll miss Juanito confessing his love for Maribel."

"Claro, Mama."

AN://

Thanks for reading! I appreciate your attention to the story 😊

What did you think of Alex's interaction with his mom?

How do you like Sharron?

What are your thoughts on Alex getting a second chance?

So, I'm an idiot and thought we needed 20k words by February 29th...not 2k. Whoops.

Thoughts, complaints? I'm going to try and go back to nit-pick details. Any comments on pacing or plot holes you see, please let me know. I appreciate any and all feedback, positive or negative 😊