The Lottery

by D. K. Wall

  “Sure.” However, the word came out “shhhhure.”

  Brett hesitated but took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “So you want to tell me what happened today?”

  “I caught my wife in bed with another man. We yelled at each other. I left. End of story.”

  Brett nodded but kept his unblinking eyes on Nathan. “Come on, I think the story is a bit longer, don’t you?”

  Nathan played with the glass on the table. “I hit Hank, but only after he grabbed me.” He hung his head and studied the water rings on the table. “Maybe not exactly grabbed.”

  Brett studied him. “The marks on your neck. Hank do that or your wife?”

  His head popped up. “Hank. Donna never touched me. I swear.”

  “Okay. Hank grabbed you, and you hit him?”

  “Not quite.” He lowered his eyes to his hands and told the story, responding to questions as the officer flushed out details.

  With the tale done, Brett scribbled notes on a pad before looking up. “So no weapons?”

  “Just Hank’s pistol.”

  Brett’s eyebrows shot up. “Pistol?”

  “Yeah. He pointed it at me and told me to get out.”

  “You were still fighting?”

  Nathan shook his head. “No, the fight had stopped.”

  “Interesting. Your stories match up pretty close except Hank left out the pistol.” Brett bit his lip, thinking through what he had heard. “So the stuff between you and Hank. You find him in bed with your wife. He stands up, the two of you exchange words, and he touches you. You hit him. He grabs you. The two of you fight some. The fight ends. He pulls a pistol and tells you to get out. That cover it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is why I like just talking through things. You figure out what’s real.” Brett sighed. “So here’s the deal. I have to swing back to them and ask some follow-up questions, but it sounds like Hank could press assault charges against you. Like you said, you hit him first. But you could probably press charges too. Not so much for grabbing you since that was already in the fight, but for the pistol coming out after. Since the fight was over, he can’t really claim he felt in danger at that point. A judge might rule for him, might rule for you, might rule for both of you, or might throw it all out as mutual combatants. Or maybe neither of you presses charges. That’s up to you two.”

  Brett locked his stare and continued, “But let me be clear. You hitting him first and hitting him as hard as you did—that’s wrong. Pure and simple. You understand me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll write it all up and let you look at it when you’re sober and sign it.”

  “And you don’t arrest me for assault?”

  “Not unless Hank presses charges. If he does, then I have to. And if you press charges for pulling the gun, then I arrest him.”

  “I won’t if he won’t.”

  “Usually the way it works.” Brett twirled the pen in his fingers. “But there’s more, and it’s not as easy.”

  “What?”

  Brett sighed. “How did Donna’s ribs get cracked?”

  Nathan sat up in horror. “They’re cracked? Is she okay?”

  “She’s at the hospital getting checked out, but she’s going to hurt for a while.”

  “Oh God.”

  “So did you do that or did Hank?”

  Nathan whispered, “Me.”

  “You just hit her in anger?”

  Nathan’s eyes flashed. “No, I swear. It was an accident. He was coming at me, and I was going to tackle him. Donna stepped between us to stop the fight. I never meant to hurt her.”

  Brett leaned back, his eyes squinting, and studied Nathan’s face. “Okay, I’ll write up your story just like that.”

  “Does Donna say different?”

  The officer hesitated before replying, “No, she said exactly that. It’s just, sometimes, a wife lies for her husband. I’ve seen it way too much.”

  “I’m not lying, I swear. And Hank could tell you.”

  “Well, that’s the problem. He says it was deliberate.”

  Nathan crumpled back in his chair. “What?”

  “Don’t get worked up about that. Let me do my job. Now that I have your side of the story, I will circle back with them and ask some more questions. Like about that pistol they didn’t mention.”

  Nathan meekly nodded. “Okay, I’ll stay right here.”

  Brett grimaced. “Sorry. Not going to happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Listen to me, and don’t do anything crazy. Remember my partner is watching.”

  “Why would I do anything?”

  “Nathan, I have to arrest you.”

  Nathan’s mouth dropped open. “But I thought you weren’t going to arrest me for hitting Hank?”

  “I’m not. That just goes in the report. The problem is Donna’s injuries.”

  “She wants me in jail?”

  “She doesn’t even know. And she doesn’t have a choice. It’s the law. Period.”

  “Wait. She doesn’t want me arrested?”

  “No. That’s not the way domestic-violence laws work. When there is a fight between husband and wife and there are injuries, we have to make an arrest. She doesn’t have a choice. And I don’t have a choice.”

  “Even if it was an accident?”

  “Arrest and conviction are two totally different things. The judge will hear you out and listen to her and to Hank. And I will tell him what all three of you told me and what I saw. He’ll look at your history, which is clean, and make a decision. If what you said holds up, you stand a good chance with the judge. But that’s not for me to decide.”

  “So you have to arrest me?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Nathan looked at Danny, helpless. “I guess I am going to jail.”

  Danny said, “It’s Friday. Will he be in all weekend? Can I bail him out?”

  Carrington flipped his wrist over and checked his watch. “You’re in luck. I can probably get him booked before the magistrate leaves. Since he’s been cooperative, I’ll do everything I can to make it happen. Bail will be set there, and then you can get him out if you want.”

  “You can’t afford bail, Danny,” Nathan objected.

  “I’ll get it. That’s my problem.”

  Brett looked at Danny. “He can’t go back to his house. Period. You bail him out, you keep him away.”

  “No worries, Officer, he was already going to stay at my place. That’s why we’re here. He was getting away from them. He won’t go near them.”

  The officer nodded and stood up. “Okay, Nathan, can you come with me?”

  “Please not the cuffs in here… please?”

  “No need as long as you continue being good. We’ll walk out to the car, and then I will have to search you and put them on. Just don’t make me regret waiting.”

  Sammy stood behind the bar, arms crossed, and shook his head as they walked out into the sunlight.

  12

  Fingerprints. Mugshots. Wallet, change, keys, phone, and wedding band inventoried and sealed in an envelope. Belt and boots removed, a precaution against hanging by shoelaces, though Nathan couldn’t understand how that could happen when the two holding cells faced the desks the officers used for reports.

  Then, the waiting. A clock hung from the wall above the desks crammed into the workspace. The second hand crept along its face, inch by inch marking the achingly slow passage of time. Phones rang, and conversations chattered until, after an excruciating hour and a half, a grim-faced officer came for him and escorted him sock-footed up the stairs to face the magistrate.

  He expected the trappings of a majestic courtroom with deep-mahogany walls. Rows of wooden benches for spectators, pews in the church of court. An ornate bar protecting the well. Two fashionable tables, one each for the prosecution and the defense, occupied by well-dressed lawyers. A dais for witness testimony and an even higher platform for a judge in a flowing black robe. A jury
box to one side. That was the way it always looked on TV.

  Instead, the magistrate, a loosened tie hanging from his dress shirt, sat behind a metal desk facing two plastic-topped folding tables for the defense and prosecution. A sparse number of spectators were scattered throughout the room, some standing and some seated on a mishmash of metal folding chairs and ancient office side chairs. The sheetrock walls had once been painted white but were covered with scuff marks and crooked pictures, photographs of the town throughout history. The room served multiple purposes and could be quickly rearranged for town-council meetings or public hearings or set up as a training room or conference room.

  The magistrate picked up a file folder and asked Nathan to confirm his name and address and whether he understood what he was charged with. When Nathan attempted to explain what had happened, the magistrate waved his hand and asked a series of questions.

  “Do you have an attorney?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Can you afford an attorney?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Do you understand that you will have to prove that you cannot afford an attorney by filling out an application and disclosing all of your holdings?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Do you want this court to appoint an attorney for you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The magistrate scanned the courtroom, pointed at one the lawyers sitting in the gallery, and motioned him to come forward. The lawyer didn’t glance at Nathan but looked at a folder handed to him by the magistrate.

  “This attorney will represent you only today and may or may not take your case. A permanent attorney will be assigned next week. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His lawyer for the minute looked up, announced that Nathan had no priors except for a speeding ticket, and asked for release on his own recognizance.

  The magistrate shook his head and ordered bail. He stared at Nathan with a stern face. “Do not go to your wife’s house. Do you hear me? I’ll revoke your bail if you do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The lawyer laid the folder back on the magistrate’s desk and turned to Nathan. “Don’t talk anymore to the police until your attorney is assigned.” He returned to his conversation with other lawyers, his back to Nathan.

  A police officer escorted him back down the steps and into his jail cell. The clock had moved only seventeen minutes.

  He settled into the cell, eyes on the clock, where the second hand made a sloth look fast. With his head bowed and eyes closed, he napped until a rapping on the cell door woke him. A glance at the clock showed two hours had passed since his return from the court appearance.

  Standing in front of the door was an intimidating bruiser with a shaved head and scraggly goatee. His T-shirt was stretched across a bulging chest. The sleeves had been cut off, revealing massive, tattoo-covered arms. “I’m Zach.”

  When Nathan looked blank, no recognition on his face, the brute continued, “Triple-A Aaron’s Bail Bonds. Danny Morgan hired me for you.”

  “Where’s Aaron?”

  “Who’s Aaron?”

  “Of Triple-A Aaron’s Bail Bonds.”

  “Oh, I just picked that name to be first in the phone book.” Zach dismissed the conversation with a wave of his hand. “Is your wedding ring here?”

  Startled, Nathan could only point at the sea of desks. “They have it.”

  “Your friend said you don’t need it anymore, so you’ll give it to me as part of your fee.”

  “Part?”

  “He’s arranged a payday loan secured by your truck.”

  “I don’t know if I want to give up my ring.”

  “You got anything else of value?”

  Nathan hesitated. “No.”

  “Then sit here all weekend if you want. Or give me the ring.”

  “Do I get it back?”

  The hulk shrugged, his massive shoulders touching his ears. “Between you and the pawn shop. I’m just going to hock it for cash. You can buy it back from them if you want it.”

  Nathan hesitated and looked at the clock, and the minute hand ticked one spot. “Take the ring.”

  “Deal. Rules are simple. Show up for court anytime they tell you. Don’t be one minute late. You fail to show, the cops and I’ll hunt you down. And you better pray they find you before I do. Got it?”

  Nathan had no other choice. He nodded agreement and watched Zach sign paperwork with the officers. A form was passed through the cell wall to him, and he signed and returned the paper and the pen.

  He settled back onto the metal bench and watched another hour creep by on the clock. Through the glass of the front door, the daylight disappeared, and the black of night fell before his cell door was opened. His personal effects were returned, minus the ring. He walked out the door, stringless boots on his feet, and climbed into Danny’s waiting van.

  As he strung the shoelaces back through his boots, he asked, “How did you survive?”

  Danny looked at him quizzically. “Survive what?”

  “Jail. I was bored out of my mind, and I only had to sit there for a few hours. I can’t imagine doing months of that.”

  “That was the Hilton compared to a real jail.” Danny cranked the engine of his van. “The truth is it wasn’t easy. Day in and day out, monotony. I had days I wasn’t sure I wanted to survive it.”

  Nathan clicked his seat belt on, a habit never broken since that horrible night long before. “I’m not sure I could make it. I always thought the worst part was the other inmates, but I couldn’t believe how slow time moved.”

  “Trust me, the other inmates are the worst part.” Danny guided the van away from the curb. “Good news is I don’t think you’ll ever find out what jail is like. I talked to Brett again. He checked in with Hank and Donna, and they admitted to the pistol. Even better, Donna was insistent you weren’t trying to hit her.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Seems to be. Matt’s with them in the emergency room and is going to drive them home.”

  “They’re still at the hospital? It’s been hours.”

  “When is an emergency room ever fast?”

  “Let’s go.”

  Danny stomped on the brakes and pulled the van over to the side of the road. He threw the vehicle into park and turned in his seat to face Nathan. “Are you nuts? What part of keeping your nose clean did you miss? Didn’t the judge tell you to stay away from her?”

  “He said not to go to her house.”

  “Judges don’t have a sense of humor. You know what he meant.”

  “I just want to see how she is for myself. I feel terrible that she’s hurt.”

  Danny drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he watched the passing traffic. “So how about this? We park in the lot but don’t get out of the van. Just watch them walk out, get in Matt’s car, and leave. You promise not to try and talk to them.”

  “Deal.”

  The mostly empty parking lot of Millerton Community Hospital on a Friday evening reflected the facility’s primary purpose, performing elective surgeries for people who wanted to avoid traveling to a larger hospital. The parking lot, crowded with cars during the week, emptied out for the weekends. Only the small emergency room—more equipped as a large urgent-care center—would be busy as the night wore on. Traffic accidents, drug overdoses, and domestic violence contributed to a steady flow of patients. Those cases started slowly in the early evening and increased with the later hours.

  Danny maneuvered his van through the nearly empty parking lot. Nathan spied the vacant helipad and shivered, memories of the car accident years earlier flashing through his mind. The ambulances had transported them here. The doctors stabilized them and loaded them onto the MAMA helicopters—Mountain Area Medical Airlift—for the flight to the Mission Trauma Center down in Asheville. That flight was the only time Nathan had ever flown, and he didn’t remember it because he had been barely conscious.

  Matt
’s car was parked in the second row of the lot, just beyond the handicapped spaces. Danny slipped the van two rows over, close enough to watch but far enough away to avoid conflict. They settled back for a long wait in the dark parking lot, eyes focused on the sliding glass doors to the hospital’s main entrance.

  Smokers, many of them nurses, sat on the benches under the covered portico, puffing away, unhindered by the large Smoke Free Campus signs posted on the columns. A few people wandered around with cell phones stuck to their ears, hands waving as they talked. An ambulance sat parked by the curb.

  Every time the glass doors swished open, they sat up to see who appeared before settling back down, disappointed again. After a dozen false alerts, Matt appeared with car keys in hand. Walking a few steps behind him, Donna leaned on Hank’s side. With his arm wrapped around her waist, he guided and supported her. Her own arms wrapped lightly around her midsection, hugging herself as she walked gingerly, wincing with each breath.

  A metal splint secured with strips of white tape covered Hank’s face. Packing stuffed his nostrils, and his raccoon eyes were a deep purple.

  Nathan’s body tensed as he examined them, surprised at the amount of damage he had done. “Jesus, they look terrible.” Without thought, he reached for the door handle.

  Danny’s hand grabbed his arm. “Stop. You promised to stay in the van.”

  He hesitated, torn between wanting to comfort his wife and the desire to avoid further conflict. Reluctantly, his grip loosened, and he lowered his hand to his lap. His eyes glistened with tears as he settled back in the seat and watched them walk toward Matt’s car.

  Matt strolled ahead of them and pressed the button on his key fob. The hazard lights of his car blinked in acknowledgment as the sound of the unlocking doors carried across the empty lot. The flash momentarily blinded the van’s occupants, accustomed to the dim light from the overhead poles.

  Matt stopped midstride, his eyes locked on the van, and recognition spread on his face. He turned his head toward Hank and pointed them out.

  “We’ve been spotted. Time to go.” Danny reached to turn the dangling keys in the ignition.

  Nathan’s outstretched hand stopped him. “Too late. They’ve already seen us, and we have to drive right past them to get out of here. We might as well find out what they have to say.” The words came out relaxed, but his body tensed as the trio walked toward them.