JUSTIFIED

by Danielle James

  JUSTIFIED

  By Danielle James

  Justified is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. Any similarities between the characters, places, or situations contained within this title and any real person or place is strictly coincidental.

  The unauthorized reproduction of this work is prohibited.

  Enjoy.

  ONE

  The color grey was beginning to grow on Sarah Hayden.

  She studied her eight-by-ten cell. It looked exactly the same as it had everyday for the preceding two years. Plain grey walls, a plain grey bunk covered with a rough, plain grey cover, and a so-called pillow. To tell anyone that it was actually a pillow would be a lie. It was nothing more than a slip of fabric with some lumpy, bunched up cotton sewn into it. Sarah doubted that there was even a scrap of foam in it and the cotton was probably nothing more than a bag of cosmetic cotton balls. Or at least that’s what it felt like to sleep on. There was a stainless steel sink and a stainless steel toilet that graced the far corner. No seat on the aforementioned toilet, though. The mirror on the wall above the sink was plastic with the reflective sticker on the front. Its edges were fraying and the black spots on the face were growing every day. Other than the sheet Sarah kept draped from the ceiling in an attempt to provide some privacy in her makeshift bathroom, there were no decorations of any kind. The sink had only a bar of generic soap, a toothbrush, and some gritty toothpaste on the ledge.

  After two years, Sarah still had not collected any personal clutter. She had no TV, no cards, and no games. The only possessions she had were her books and journals, and those were stowed away neatly under her bunk. Her prize possession, her only real possession, was a four by six photo that was tucked neatly into one of those journals.

  Sarah stared at her reflection in the crappy mirror. She had her long brown hair tied back with a rubber band as always. Her eyes were sullen and she sported some dark rings underneath. Sleep was something Sarah did without on a regular basis. Her cheeks were even beginning to show shadow. Sarah looked like she had aged ten years in only two.

  She thought that maybe a bit of makeup could make her appearance a little better, but she didn’t have any. She didn’t care for it anyway. There was no one Sarah felt the need to impress, no one that would merit the painting of her face or even a second of primping. Who was she going to impress? The parole board? Certainly not. Sarah remembered the last time she had stood in front of the infamous panel of character judges. They had asked her all kinds of questions as she did her best to hold her head high. Do you know what you did? Yes. Do you know why it was wrong? Yes. If you were given the chance, would you have done things differently? Ah, now that was a good question. Sarah had told them yes. When they asked Sarah to elaborate, well… they weren’t pleased with her answer. And so it was that she remained locked in her tiny cell, cut off from the world.

  Right where she belonged.

  Her attorney had been furious with her. “Why couldn’t you just lie? Tell them you feel remorse?” he had shouted at her after the denial while power walking the length of her cell.

  “Lying was never my strong point,” she replied emotionlessly.

  “But no one would blame you,” he said, “You could be free! No one thinks you’re guilty. All you have to do is answer the damned questions right! Do you want to stay in prison?”

  “I killed a man, with my own hands,” she said flatly. “I broke the law. I committed premeditated murder. In cold blood. I willingly accept the consequences of my actions.”

  “I don’t think I will ever understand you,” he huffed, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.

  “There is nothing for me out there anymore,” she whispered. Her eyes were trained on a stain on the cement floor. “Everything I had is lost.”

  But being locked up was boring, Sarah had decided. She was running out of books to read, even though she had full access to the library. The guards were kind to her, as were the other prisoners. Many had tried to befriend her, but friendship wasn’t something Sarah wanted. She wanted to be left alone. And alone was getting harder and harder to achieve. Many of the women on her wing of the prison thought of Sarah as a hero; someone who did what so many wished they could have had the guts to do themselves. At least her unwillingness to start a hero party had stopped most of the inmates from approaching her.

  But Sarah did not kill that man for anyone else. She never wanted to be a hero; she never wanted the attention that she got. All she wanted to do was read her books and write her stories. Short stories had been a favorite pastime for Sarah before it happened, but now, her journals were filled with her own life story.

  Her attorney, Jonathan P. Wellington, had given her the first journal right after she was moved from the county jail to the women’s prison in Tulsa. That and an armload of books to read. He suggested that she put her talents to work writing a non-fiction book about her own life experience. He said it would help her deal with her grief and anger. Sarah didn’t know about all that, but it did certainly help pass the time.

  She sat on her bunk and opened the first journal, there, on the first page, she had written about what was supposed to have been the happiest day of her life.

  Justified, a true story, written by Sarah Jane Hayden

  The wedding ceremony took place on a warm, sunny day in August. The flowers were in bloom, filling the air with the sweet, fragrant aroma that only roses and tulips can. It was a small event, only the nearest and dearest family and friends were in attendance. Even though they were standing in a crowded back yard, Sarah felt an overwhelming surge of joy that no church or large banquet hall could have provided. It was intimate. It was perfect, and she was happy.

  The sun was beating down on the grass and pavement, not to mention all the guests and people had to wipe the sweat from their brows. But no one seemed to mind. Sarah certainly didn’t. She was marrying the man she loved. He was the man who took her for what she was, the man who accepted her two year old son, Jamie, as his own. He worked hard every day at his job and provided for Sarah and her child. Yes, it would seem that William Hayden was the perfect man. Not only was he accepting and kind to her, but he was easy on the eyes as well. Dark hair that was cut short at his nape, brown eyes that were the color of milk chocolate, and a smile that could stop traffic.

  Sarah sighed to herself when she saw him standing with his father and the Justice of the Peace. She needed no encouragement to grasp her father’s hand and walk the short distance to meet her soon to be husband.

  They exchanged their vows and kissed under the glare of the August sun. Applause and congratulations met them both as their friends and family hugged them and wished the best for the new couple. William took her hand in his and led her to the car. With a wave to their family, they were off for pictures, then a small reception at a local park. In the car, Sarah heard the low rumble of thunder in the distance.

  Bang, bang, bang!

  The pounding on her cell door interrupted Sarah’s reading. She glanced at her clock and realized it was time for dinner. She had spent more than an hour with her nose in that journal. In two minutes, her cell door would open and she would be allowed to eat in the cafeteria with the other low-risk women. Sarah shoved her journal under her bunk and quickly put on her sandals.

  She glared at the pitiful excuse for shoes on her feet. They were too big, too ugly, and too uncomfortable. But Sarah took comfort in knowing that everyone else had to wear the same monstrosities as well. Heaven forbid anyone get their hands on a pair of shoes with laces. It would be a tragedy if someone was to use the laces for anything other than shoes. Like strangling someone. Or themselves. Not that Sarah had thought about it. Much. She felt the same way for the pea green jumpsuit she wore. Ick. But this was the
life she chose when she committed her crime. There was no going back. She couldn’t change the past, nor did she want to. The price was worth it. And she would do it again, if she could have.

  Sarah kissed the picture of her son and quickly left her cell when the heavy door opened. She was hungry and wanted to get to the cafeteria as soon as possible. The sooner she got there, the sooner she could leave.

  TWO

  The cafeteria was crowded by the time Sarah arrived. The air was alive with the mindless chatter of the other inmates. But just like the first day she arrived, Sarah felt the room quiet when she walked in. It was as if they all stopped talking to look at her, to see if she would say or do something different than the day before. She felt every eye on her as she walked up to the serving line. She grudgingly got herself a tray and waited in line like everyone else. It was all she could do not to drag her clunky sandals along the filthy floor. She didn’t talk to anyone, and no one spoke to her. It had been months since any of her fellow inmates tried to strike up a conversation with Sarah. Once in a while, a new prisoner would try to talk to her, but eventually she would give up, just as all the others had done. Sarah had been locked up for more than a year before her persistent silence finally got the message across that she didn’t want to be friends. Still, every now and then, someone would try.

  Sarah held her tray out in front of herself as the cook slopped the food on it. There was something pasty and white, probably mashed potatoes, peas, (which were a strange neon color,) some kind of mystery meat, and chocolate pudding. Sarah wondered what that meat was. Could it be meatloaf? Maybe. Perhaps it was Salisbury steak. Oh, oh maybe it was chopped sirloin! If she tried hard enough to convince herself that it was delicious, sometimes it was actually edible. Not always. With a sigh she sat at the first available bench and resigned herself to eat the slop as quickly as possible.

  “That’s Sarah Hayden,” she heard a woman say. She must have been talking to a new prisoner.

  “Isn’t she the one who,” the new girl said, trailing off.

  “That’s the one. She won’t talk to anyone, so don’t bother to try. I think she’s crazy.”

  “Did she really cut it off and shove it down his throat?” the new girl asked.

  “I can’t say for sure, but if she did, he deserved it. I heard she sliced him from collar to his pubic bone and yanked out all his innards.”

  Sarah smiled to herself as she listened to the newest gossip about her. No, that’s not how it went, although, it was a good idea. That horrible excuse for a man deserved everything he got and more. She silently wished she had thought of it herself. With a sense of pride that sickened her, she lifted her fork to her mouth and tasted the potatoes. Yuck. It tasted like plaster of Paris. It was grainy and bland and would have been better fitting to seal holes in the drywall. She tried her alleged meat. It was no better. She ate her peas and then her pudding, knowing she had to have some food in her system. The last thing she needed was a hunger headache.

  Sarah ate quickly, dumped her tray, and jogged back to her cell. It was Friday, after all. Jon, her attorney, would come to visit. He visited her every Friday after he finished with his work. At first, he came to discuss her case and how he would keep her out of jail. Then, as time wore on and he realized that Sarah had no real interest in defending herself, he came to see that she had whatever she needed and that she was treated well. When Sarah was moved from the county jail to the prison, he came each week to trade out her personal books and to bring her more journals. He brought a new journal every other week, because that was how long it took for Sarah to fill them. She didn’t know if it was his idea, or something brought about by her family or her therapist. In the end, it didn’t matter. Her books were all that kept her sane. Or, at least, as sane as a cold blooded killer could be.

  She plopped down on her bunk and fetched one of those filled journals from under it. She opened it up to a page at random and began to read.

  When a person learns to drive a car, one of the first things they are taught is how to recognize the various road signs. Pedestrian crossing. Deer crossing. No Parking. Caution. There are many different types of Caution signs. The same holds true in life. If only one is able to recognize the signs.

  The first Caution sign came to Sarah mere months after she and William were wed. She had been out with her girlfriends at a local club. They had a few drinks and Sarah was late getting home. She could have driven herself home earlier, but she refused to risk the possibility of getting arrested for drinking and driving. So she had waited until she was sure the alcohol had dissipated from her system before heading home.

  When she arrived, William was drunk and parked in front of the TV. When she closed the front door, he stood up and glared at her. He was livid. He had been drinking more and more often since they were married, and Sarah didn’t like it one bit. He was different when he would drink. He wasn’t different like most people were when they were tipsy… no it was like living with Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded of her just as she was taking off her coat.

  “I told you, I was with Jenny and Crystal,” Sarah replied, a little annoyed. She dropped her purse on the end table and turned to face William.

  “Oh, is that all?” he said sarcastically. “Did you meet your new boyfriend?”

  Sarah’s stomach clenched at his sharp remark. She could hardly believe that he was accusing her of being anything less than faithful. It just wasn’t the way Sarah was. “Seriously?” she asked with a shake of her head. Not only was he being completely ridiculous, but that sing-song voice was mocking her, making her feel like a child.

  “Well I don’t know what you were out doing! I’ve been sitting here all night worrying and wondering what you were up to.”

  Sarah looked at him in disbelief. She had never given him any reason not to trust her, and yet there was definite accusation in his eyes. He really thought she was out finding herself a new man. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I went out dancing with my friends. You know better than to think I would ever cheat on you.”

  “Do I?” he snapped back at her. He leaned closer to her and sniffed her neck. Sarah stiffened but did not move away. “You smell like a man. Who was all over you?”

  Sarah had seen a man at the club. He was an old friend from high school, and Sarah had hugged him. Naturally, he wore way too much cologne and the smell had rubbed off a bit on Sarah when he embraced her. “I did see Sean tonight. You remember him, from high school?” she admitted. His reaction was not what Sarah had expected. She thought her husband would remember the man and know instantly that Sarah had never and would never be interested in him. She was very wrong.

  “You whore!” he shouted, slapping Sarah across the face so hard that she heard her jaw pop out of place. The side of her face instantly began to burn and Sarah knew there would be a mark. She immediately raised her hand to cover her jaw and bit back a cry of pain. The blow stung not only in her jaw but in her heart. Her husband had struck her! It was something he vowed to never do. As far as Sarah was concerned, no one should ever strike someone they love out of anger. Apparently, William felt differently.

  Sarah wanted to cry. She wanted to shout. She wanted to hit him back. Instead, using her hand still covering her jaw, she popped it back into place and steeled her nerves. In a voice that was far more calm and collected than Sarah actually felt, she told him just what she thought. “That is the only one you will ever get. I did nothing wrong, and if you accuse me of it again, or if you ever dare to strike me again, I swear on all that is holy I will beat the living shit out of you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  William stood in front of her, his mouth hanging open, stunned by her reaction. Sarah knew it was not what he had expected. Was she supposed to cry? Drop down to her knees and beg forgiveness for something she didn’t do? Did he want her to fight back? To Sarah, it didn’t matter what he wanted. She took a small amount of satisfaction in knowi
ng whatever he expected, she had done the opposite. “I’m going to bed now. Don’t follow me,” she snapped as she turned her back to her husband and walked away. She felt his eyes boring a hole in her back the entire way, burning right through her skin and fraying her nerves. But Sarah did not falter. Her pace was steady and her back straight even as she closed the bedroom door.

  That was her first caution light. It was blinking in her mind like a beacon in the night as she lay in bed trying to go to sleep. It was trying to warn her of the danger to come ahead, but Sarah did not heed it. She pushed the warning from her mind and settled in for the night. She refused to succumb to the aching in her heart. The last thing she wanted was to let him know how much he hurt her. To admit that meant to let him know he had power over her. While she did not understand it then, she knew that was something she could not allow.

  Sarah wiped a tear from her eye when she looked up from the notebook. That had been a particularly hard day for her. That was the day that she realized her Prince Charming had chinks in his armor. If only she had listened to her instincts then. She should have left him that night; just packed hers and Jamie’s belongings and run for the hills, marriage be damned. Instead, she blamed his actions on the huge amounts of alcohol he had consumed. She was glad that Jamie had not been there to witness it. Alcohol could do horrible things to the person drinking it. Especially if that person was inclined to over do it. Sarah had been worried that things were getting out of hand. It was that night that Sarah decided to go on birth control.