by Blair Aaron
“Whatever motivations Jaidon had that night are irrelevant to his demise. This man Stetson Carthswaite committed a crime, through and through. I trust you'll show him the same mercy Stetson himself showed Jaidon. No two wrongs equal a right. I rest my case.”
Missing from the jury conspicuously was the Latino mechanic, Edgar Rodriguez. Presley Watkins made sure he would pose no threat to justice served. In fact, Watkins had a hand in picking new jury members, who he was positive would provide the Stetson deserved.
Later that day, as Carter sat in the pew, imprisoned by the social decorum, he stared across the room at Stetson, quiet, stern, and stoic, sitting stone-faced in the crowded courtroom. Throughout the proceedings, several voices from the town verbally echoed the sentiment Carter could feel physically.
_Murderer!_
_Liar!_
_Queer!_
None of this Carter could fight, but he held in his hand the single talisman to keep the hateful townspeople and their scornful judgments at bay, a single piece of incriminating evidence on Jamie Simmons. Yes, Carter thought, he would toss his own brother to the wolves for what he did, if it meant Carter could make right what had gone wrong.
“The prosecution calls to the stand, Carter S. Simmons!”
With a big gulp, Carter stood up and walked to his moment of truth. When the defense lawyer approached Carter, his smile indicated the secret they both shared about the tape.
“Mr. Simmons, you mentioned you have some evidence you'd like to show the jury. A confession of sorts?”
“Yes.”
“Who's confessing?”
“My brother Jamie.”
“What's he confessing?”
“Stetson is innocent. He was just trying to save me. He admits he was working with Jaidon to get us both killed.”
The judge looked up from his notepad. “Bring forth this evidence immediately. Let it be known it's the responsibility of the defense to formally submit evidence to the jury in advance of court proceedings.”
Presley Watkins puffed out his chest and stood. It was his turn to give Carter the beating. The prosecution quizzed him left and right about what happened that night at the dinosaur dig. Watkins cunningly glossed over all the communication they had been in with Stetson in the hours prior to the murder.
“Mr. Simmons, what's your relationship with Mr. Carthswaite?”
“I'm not sure what you mean.”
“Are you 'friends?' How did you come to know each other? And why was Mr. Carthswaite so intent on saving you upon your disappearance?”
“We're friends. That's all.”
“Well the funny thing about that, Mr. Simmons, is that I too have videographic evidence that you and Stetson are more than friends. The footage was provided to me by the local prison administration, where Mr. Carthswaite is being held.” He pulled out a small television and popped in a VHS of their sexual relations the day prior. Blood rushed to Carter's face and tears welled up in his eyes. The cat was out of the bag, after all, and it was as horrible as he thought it would be.
The audience gasped in disgust and confusion. “Jury members: don't you think this is a conflict of interest?”
“Well--” Carter opened his mouth, his forehead hot with rage. “I--I have a tape myself.”
“Did your brother know you were recording him?”
“No he didn't.”
“Oh, I'm sorry, but unfortunately that isn't evidence admissible in court, sir.”
“That's--bullshit. It's proof he was in on it!” Carter screamed and pointed across the room at his brother, who sat with death-like stare, yet saying nothing.
The court adjourned early for the turn of events, where the judge decided whether he would allow the tape. Carter made the silly mistake of leaving the tape in a brown envelope on a pew outside the restroom, in an effort to see Stetson on the break, as he was taken out of the courtroom. As soon as he had left the room, he realized his mistake and came back promptly, to find the envelope sitting where he remembered it. The judge decided he would allow the jury to hear the tape. Presley Watkins took it upon himself to approach the bench and take the tape from the judge's hands. Then he walked over deliberately to the tape player, hitting PLAY.
There was silence for several moments, and Carter's heartbeat sped up. Something was wrong. The audience heard crackling on the tape and then static and then:
“They say we're young and we don't know.”
Tears welled up in Carter's eyes.
“We won't find out until we grow,” the tape continued. Carter looked over at his brother, who smiled and shot evil looks over at him.
“Well I don't know if all that's true
'Cause you got me, and baby I got you--
Babe
I got you babe
I got you babe--”
The judge frowned and looked at Carter like he was kid who just interrupted something terribly important with inane shenanigans. “Mr. Simmons, I want to thank you for wasting our time. Congratulations that I'm in a good mood today, because otherwise you'd be held in contempt of court. Now get off my bench. You've wasted our time.” Carter tried to say something but he couldn't summon the energy, so he just slid off the bench and re-entered the audience.
Carter looked across the room at his brother, who smiled the way he always did when he played Carter for a fool. The court dismissed the tape as evidence and dismissed Carter as a fool in love with a cowboy. Carter was crestfallen in the hours leading up to the verdict.
The jury filed into the courtroom, the entire room quiet with a death-like stillness. A black lady, whose face was permanently fixed in an angry expression, opened a type letter next to a microphone.
“We the jury find the defendant Stetson Carthswaite guilty of first degree murder. We sentence him to death by electric chair.” The guards took Stetson in cuffs back to prison. The courtroom cheered so loudly that the walls shook, and as intense as the cheering was, Carter sat motionless in the chair by himself, staring out through the wall of the court, into the beyond, where all his hope drained away.
The Sentencing
I
Stetson was on lock down from the moment the jury had sentenced him to death, and he supposed shock prevented him from losing his cool in those hours after the jury announced the verdict. But days blurred together in his cell, as he kept his mind in an alternate reality, continually focused on the present. He sat in the cafeteria, eating slop, by himself, his hunting instincts picking up on the violent vibrations sent his way from the other prisoners. He figured what Carter said was true--the Nash Gibson gang was alive and well. Those particular prisoners had access to television so they without a doubt knew what the court had convicted Stetson with. They knew Stetson killed their hero Jaidon Marsh; it was clear too they planned to avenge him, and it was more than likely Stetson's imposing physique, which had kept the boys at bay as long as it had.
Stetson kept his gaze focused on the table, careful not to look anyone in the eye. A man sat his tray down next to him. The man was Native American, nearly as large and imposing as Stetson.
“Those boys over there, behind you are planning on stabbing you in the ribs after lunch today,” he told Stetson.
“Yup. I figured.”
“What you plan on doing about that?”
“I plan on using that metal tray to bash them in the head lots. Then I'm going to take the sharp end and stab them.”
“They'll fry you for that.”
“I'm already going to fry. Don't you know what I did?”
“I know you didn't do it the way they say.”
“How come?”
“I know things. And people.” The Indian wrapped his long black hair around into a ponytail, revealing a gnarled scar on his cheek. Stetson refused to stare, but there was something mysterious about this man and Stetson's own instincts hinted at the mysticism to come.
“Let me give you a hint,” he said. “Don't kill them.” Just then, the Indian looked up to
see a tall, lanky, violent man rearing back to bash Stetson's brains in. Stetson could feel him coming and dodged the blow, turning around to punch the guy in the nose. The tall man fell back, stunned, but not before three more men tackled Stetson, one of whom stabbed him in the ribs. The pain was sharp and keen, but he had to survive. He picked the guy up and threw him across the room like a rag doll.
II
“You have to do something. The execution has been expedited to a week from now.”
“There's nothing I can do,” Michael Ingram said.
“How do I get any help around here!? What do you people want? He's innocent. The jury was rigged!” Carter screamed at the top of his lungs.
“Calm down, kid! Come into my office, and maybe I can help you,” Ingram said. In the office, Ingram took out his pistol and placed it on the table, removing his jacket and tie. Carter could anticipate what was coming. “Listen kid. I know your guy is innocent.”
“How do you know?”
“I can just tell. He's an honest man. So are you. Just tryna do what's right. I get it. But you have to understand where you are.” Ingram ran his hand through his thick black hair. His chest was so large it bulged through the crisp white dress shirt he wore under his suit. Carter looked up and down his body, taking in the thickness of his thighs and obvious bulge between his legs. Ingram could see Carter's gaze on his crotch and got up from the table, walking around the chair that Carter sat in, leaning against the edge of the desk.
Carter looked up at the man pleadingly. He could see in Michael Ingram's neon blue eyes a kindness and compassion missing from his more ambitious partner, Presley Watkins. Carter was desperate, as his only hope of helping the second person he loved was ripped from his grasp, just like it seemed every good thing to happen to Carter was taken from him. Though he never stopped to articulate it to himself, Carter figured he refrained from fighting because he had an implicit understanding of his own goodness, and he knew fighting would work to destroy that. But Carter could not wait any longer to do something to get Stetson out of jail and away from the drooling executioners. He had to do something, no matter what, no matter how, to save Stetson. After all it was Stetson who outed himself in order to save him. It was Stetson who hunted down Jaidon and killed him to save him. It was Stetson who rescued him from the maw of death over and over again. It was time that Carter returned the favor.
Carter took a deep breath. “You could help me. I know the jury was rigged. I just know it. Do you have information that could help me, maybe about the prosecutor?” Carter asked, placing his shaking hand on Ingram's knee.
Mike Ingram did in fact know something major about Presley Watkins. Despite what Ingram to his partner, he felt a nagging violation in own conscience about helping Watkins rig the jury, and he knew divulging that information to the world, through a newspaper perhaps, would be more than enough to demand a retrial in Stetson's appeal. But revealing Watkins for the persecutor he was would put Ingram himself in danger, not just for his job but also for his life and the woman he was married to. And yet there was something so pitiful about Carter, how the entire society of Baggs, Wyoming treated him, how they shunned him, vilified him, trivialized his suffering and loneliness.
Ingram turned to the window of his office and closed the blinds, then locked the door.
“What are you doing?” Carter said, his voice cracking.
Ingram pulled up the chair beside Carter and leaned into his face. “What if I told you that I did know something that would help you? What if, I told you that helping you would basically destroy my life and everything I've worked to build? What would you say to that?”
Carter looked away, silent. If there was anything he had more experience in than most people did, he was sure it was suffering. No one suffered more than Carter did.
“I would say,” Carter said, “that I would do anything to help my friend get out of jail.” Carter reached up and touched Ingram on his face, hesitating to do more. Ingram put his hand on Carter and closed his eyes, then grabbed Carter's head and moved closer to put his lips softly on his. Carter was weak and submissive, and Ingram could sense reluctance on his part.
“I want to know you, Carter.” Ingram began kissing Carter along the side of his neck, his dick getting hard in the process, excited because he was finally close to the guy and getting closer. Carter could feel the warmth of someone who loved him for just one instant, even though the feelings were not returned. The experience was electrifying yet somber, as Carter's glands and heart overjoyed in received affection, while his mind shamed him for breaking Stetson's trust. But, as he said, Carter would do anything to save Stetson, even if it meant he would lose him. Carter put Stetson into this mess, and it was only fair that Carter got him out.
Carter placed his hands on Ingram's white shirt, using his fingers to feel along the front to unbutton him. Beneath the shirt was a white tank top, through which Ingram's massive chest and tanned skin showed through. As he ran his hand along the hardness of his body, the shallower, baser side of his personality rejoicing in the adventure of getting this close to straight, professional policeman. He could tell Ingram didn't do this often, but was overcome with passion and longing.
Ingram continued kissing along his neck and down his front, where Ingram too unbuttoned Carter's plaid green shirt, revealing soft, white, unblemished skin. Ingram was forceful like Stetson, not pliant like Maddox, his very first true love. He started sucking on Carter's stomach, tickling him down below and then unzipping his pants. For a second Carter got scared and wanted to stop. His nerves, combined with the stress of finding a way to help Stetson, worked against him.
“You okay, man?” Ingram asked, himself somewhat on edge, although he did a good job of hiding it. This was his first time with a guy, but he assumed it wouldn't be categorically different from his relations with women. You like someone, you get close to them in any way you can. It's that simple, he figured.
“I'm okay.”
Carter reached over the back of Ingram and untucked his shirt, and he could see down into his pants at his ass. He ran his hands up through Ingram's back and pulled the shirt off, revealing the man in all his glory. He had gigantic shoulders, even bigger than his chest, but the thing most perfect about him (other than his eyes and lips) were the sculpted wrists, the area of the arm that met the hand. His wrists were strong but proportionate to the rest of him, and Carter squeezed them in the heat of the moment, letting out a sigh. Ingram took his long, rectangular fingers and dug through Carter's pants, revealing his erect penis. Standing over him, Carter looked down at Ingram kind of embarrassed but still managing to smile. Ingram took him in his mouth and sucked him as firmly as he had other parts of him. Despite Carter's worry, he could still recognize a part of him that would simply enjoy having sex with Ingram for only physical reasons. The man could make love, that much was sure. Carter placed his hand on the back of Ingram's head, as he had Stetson, imagining for a moment the man performing fellatio was his real love. But Ingram pulled away.
“Don't force me. It's demeaning.”
Carter didn't say anything but apologized instead with his eyes. Ingram immediately felt bad about getting angry and stood up, unbuckling his belt. He instructed Carter to stand up and drop his pants, turning him around like he would a tiny dancer, against the back window of his office. Carter could see through the slits in the blinds the outside world, two policemen walking to their cars after work. They were clearly joking about something as they shook hands and headed off to their vehicles. The sun was setting beyond the trees and the clouds moved visibly across the orange ball of light in the sky. Carter traced the clouds against the outline of the sun as Ingram rubbed Carter's tummy from behind, telling him with his hands it was time to relax and let him enter him. He could hear Ingram unzip his pants and almost immediately, he could feel the man's erection wag between Carter's cheeks. In anticipation, Carter reached around to feel Mike Ingram's erection, throbbing and tumescent, and he ran his hand
up and down his dick, feeling the shape to imagine just how big it was in his mind. He took his other hand and pulled Ingram closer by his waist. The guy was wide, Carter could tell from what he felt with his hands.
“I've never done this,” Ingram said from behind Carter. “Don't we need lube?”
“If you could.”
Ingram grabbed a bottle of aloe vera from the shelf next to Carter. “This might work.”
“That's fine,” Carter said. He then felt cold fingers rubbing around his anal canal and then pushing their way into him. He was still nervous, in spite of Ingram's warm caresses, so it was little longer before Ingram could push himself into him. But the feeling was pure ecstasy in his body when Ingram succeeded. Watching the sunset he couldn't stop thinking about Stetson, it was true, but his body was enjoying the sex for sure. This gave the experience a dual-sidedness for Carter.
Ingram was whole, though. He thought not of his wife, whom he suspected was probably cheating on him, but of the connection he was sharing with this boy physically. He could feel the softness of his ass squeeze on his dick, and every thrust brought him closer to heaven. Carter flooded his thoughts--Carter's blond hair, Carter's frail frame, Carter's sad eyes, Carter, Carter, Carter.
He was fused with this kid physically and spinning out of control. He lost a little bit of himself in the moment and replaced it was Carter. He could no longer figure out where he stopped and Carter began. But this wasn't something that he could tell him aloud. This kind was already going through enough without having to deal with another straight guy falling for him. But Michael Ingram couldn't help himself. He was in love, and as anyone who's ever felt the emotion in an authentic setting, the heart has its reasons invisible to the mind. He rose higher and higher until he was practically levitating in the room, suspended in the air, free of all nature's laws. He felt nothing but communion as he ejaculated inside the boy with a soft grunt.
