BEYOND JUSTICE

by Joshua Graham

  Walden sat at his table, made no arguments, never looked in my direction. He spent the entire hearing scribbling on a legal pad. Probably playing tic-tac-toe with himself.

  The entire hearing wrapped up in about an hour. Judge Schermerhorn turned my way and spoke.

  "Will the defendant please rise."

  I stood, fastening the top button of my jacket. I'd heard of exonerations going afoul at the last moment, kicking the case back into an endless appellate loop. Three years at Salton flashed before me—Bishop, Possum, Butch. I wasn't afraid of that place. It wasn't prison that caused my heart to thunder like a herd of mustangs. It was the thought of not being able to fight for Aaron. Time was running out.

  I didn't move, didn't breathe.

  Schermerhorn scowled and read from a paper in his hand. "Having heard the new evidence which is clearly exculpatory in nature, it is the court's decision to vacate Samuel Hudson's convictions on all counts." The entire room rumbled with a crescendo of murmurs. "This case is hereby dismissed with prejudice."

  He struck the sound block with his gavel and I started breathing again. The noise in the courtroom grew so loud I could barely hear myself think—a juxtaposition of cheers, jeers, sighs of relief, and murmurs of indignation.

  Rachel turned to me, a look of overwhelming relief on her face. I tried to speak but ended up like a goldfish flipping about the kitchen floor. She rushed over and embraced me. My arms floated up, wrapped around her. "Thank God," she said quietly. "Thank God."

  For the past three years the thought of dying in prison—or surviving long enough to be executed—dangled over my head. And though I saw this exoneration coming from the moment I learned of Stringer's confessions, I couldn't believe it was finally happening.

  "I'm free."

  PART III

  "He is no fool that gives what he cannot keep

  to gain that which he cannot lose."

  — Jim Elliot

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  IT'S NOT UNTIL YOU HAVE THEM TAKEN AWAY that you realize just how precious the simple things in life are. Walking on the sidewalk without a guard, without chains. Rachel and I pushed past a multitude of reporters offering them a brief statement too numb for bitterness, just gratitude.

  I would have gone straight to Aaron, but the restraining order—the most difficult part of my newfound freedom, would not be lifted until next week. So my first act as a free man was to visit Jenn and Bethie's graves. Rachel and I exchanged scarcely a word on the trip up to the cemetery. Riding at freeway speeds on the 805 was surreal. Completely alien and at the same time, completely familiar.

  Grey clouds obscured the afternoon sun. A brisk gust carried the sweetness from a wall of Jasmines that lined the cemetery's boundaries. Their graves had been lovingly maintained. Fresh flowers stood in urns attached to the sides of their headstones. Rachel stayed back, affording me privacy.

  I laid bouquets of red and white carnations and stargazers wrapped in greens with baby's breath on each of their graves. "How are my favorite ladies?" I said, trying to smile through my tears. I knelt between both graves and rested my hands on their headstones, then lowered my head. What started as words constricted my throat and soon turned into sobs. I wiped my face and I tried to regain some semblance of composure. "I've missed you both so much," I said with my head hung. I failed to protect you. Please forgive me.

  Heavy teardrops rapped against the cellophane bouquet wrapping. A white dove cooed in a branch above me. The sun had nuzzled its way through a small fissure in the clouds, its beams shone down and warmed my face. Rachel came to my side and knelt silently. She reached out, hesitated, and then pulled her hand back. "It's okay." I took hold of it.

  Once again, the dove cooed in the pale branches of the camphor tree. She tilted her white head to one side. We remained motionless. Then a sense of peace beyond understanding filled me. The air had warmed and a gentle breeze caressed my face, ran through my hair lovingly, like Jenn's fingers once had.

  Rachel's head was bowed, solemnity enshrouding her. With a deep breath, I looked back at the dove, who hadn't taken her eyes off of me. Then she cooed one last time and in an elegant flurry of white, she flew off.

  "I'm ready," I said and wiped a tear from my eye. Rachel took my hand and squeezed it. I knelt and kissed Jenn's headstone. "I will live to honor you. Whatever it takes."

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  In all the rush to prepare for my hearing, and not wanting to count my proverbial eggs prematurely, I had neglected several details pertaining to my reintegration into society. Not the least of which was where I would spend my first night as a free man. No job, no home. Nothing. Rachel had plans, though. I spent the ride from the cemetery blindfolded, in compliance with her, "Trust me."

  I didn't dare imagine where she was taking me. Being deprived of sight only enhanced my other senses. I became acutely aware of the honey timbre of Rachel's voice, the delicate distance from one digit to the next on her soft fingers.

  "Almost there."

  "The suspense—come on, just one hint."

  "Nope."

  "Please?" I felt her shove my shoulder. We laughed. Sighed. Stayed quiet for a few minutes.

  "I didn't know Jenn or Bethie well," she said.

  "It's a big congregation." My blindfold started slipping. I pulled it back up.

  "I wish I had. I can tell they were really special."

  "Yeah."

  "Especially Jenn," she added and slipped her hand behind my neck and began to massage it. "Never mind. I'm sorry..."

  "No, it's okay. What's on your mind?"

  "It's nothing." The silence grew less comfortable. Something was troubling her.

  "If you want to talk about Jenn, I'm okay with it," I said.

  Really."

  "She was, I don't know, so..." Her voice faded.

  "What?" The roar of a truck went past my right ear.

  "She was perfect, Sam."

  "Nobody is."

  "Still, I wonder—" she huffed. "This is crazy. One kiss and—I'm way ahead of myself."

  "Rachel, relax. And for the record, I'm the one who kissed you."

  "But what about Jenn?"

  "I'll always love her. But she and I talked about this many times. You know, if one of us should ever go first, what we'd want for the other."

  "I don't know."

  "I've had almost three years to come to grips with this. I know she'd bless this. If it were the other way around, I'd want her to find love again."

  "So have you?" Rachel said.

  "Have I what?"

  "Found it?"

  I took a moment to weigh all the implications, lest I toss out a careless answer. "With you, I have." The next thing I knew, Rachel's warm lips were upon mine, her arms wrapped around me. I returned the kiss with equal fervor. But the realization hit me like a sledgehammer. I pushed back. "The car!"

  Anticipating a seventy mile and hour collision into the back of a semi, I ripped the blindfold off. Rachel grabbed my face and kissed me again.

  "Welcome home, Sam."

  She had parked up on the driveway of my former house in Rancho Carmelita.

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  "It's not exactly the way I'd planned your homecoming," said Rachel, taking me by the hand to the door. "But when you freaked out behind the blindfold, I just couldn't resist."

  My heart continued to pummel my rib cage.

  "I had no idea you could be so—"

  "Impish?" She handed me a key.

  "Among other things. What's going on?" I held the key up and examined it.

  "Sam, I really meant it, back there in the car."

  "This prank kind of killed the mood."

  "I'm sorry."

  "No you're not."

  "Yeah, you're right. But the look on your face? Priceless. Are you going to open the door or not?"

  Strange. Prior to selling, I was able do this with my eyes closed. Now, I could barely get the key in. I just couldn't steady my h
ands.

  "Here," she said and took my hand. I could just guess what awaited inside: a welcoming party, people from church, old acquaintances as well as people I'd never met, but had been praying for me. I'd have to act surprised.

  The door creaked open.

  Dark.

  I braced myself. The surprise came when flipped on the light.

  Empty. Quiet.

  Good.

  The house had minimal furniture, none of which I recognized. Just about everything I'd kept in storage seemed to be here. All six cardboard boxes, a couple of them open. Photos, paintings, and other memorabilia festooned the walls in a close approximation to where they'd originally hung.

  "Rachel," I said, gazing in wonder. "How?"

  She snaked her arm around mine and led me to the dining room. "Monsieur." She pulled out a padded folding chair—the kind you can buy at Costco. I sat at a card table adorned with a white table cloth. A yellow rose in an alabaster vase stood in the center of two settings of fine paper flatware and plastic utensils.

  "This is really nice," I said. "But how'd you manage to—?"

  "Be right back," she said, patting my back and vanishing into the butler's pantry. She hummed a tune to the accompaniment of a microwave's beeps and droning. Despite her best efforts to recreate my home, the walls were still devoid of the beauty of Jenn's touch. But they did seem to echo the laughter of my children, Bethie's violin playing, the late night keyboard clicks of Jenn's writing. I shut my eyes, recalled memories that would live on in perpetuity whenever I set foot in this house.

  "Dinner is served." Rachel returned with a tray full of steaming take out containers. "Hope you like Chinese."

  "I like you, don't I?"

  "I mean Jumbo Shrimp in Black Bean Sauce, Kung Pao Chicken, Szechuan Beef. How's that sound?"

  "Ever try prison food?" Tendrils of aromatic steam rose from the containers and tempted my appetite. So many questions, but they could wait. Rachel had been so thoughtful, why spoil things with an interrogation? We gave thanks and dug in.

  My greatest challenge was not making a complete swine of myself. Reheated take-out from Golden Wok struck me as the finest cuisine I'd had for a very long time. We exchanged few words, too busy eating. Prioritization was paramount. Finally, I pushed back from the table, wiped my chin and asked, "What are we doing here?"

  "Pigging out?" Rachel said, wiping the corner of her mouth.

  "You know what I mean."

  "Do you have an objection?"

  "No, I just want to know how I can be sitting here in this house. How'd you get the key?"

  Rachel put her chopsticks down and slid her chair closer. "The buyers backed out while the house was still in escrow."

  "Why?"

  "California Real Estate laws require that the seller's agent disclose just about everything, including deaths on the property. Guess it was too much for them."

  "So who finally bought it?"

  "City on a Hill."

  "Your church owns this house now?"

  "They hold the title, yes. A bunch of members anonymously pitched in and paid for it in cash. Some of the proceeds helped pay for a good part of Aaron's hospital bills."

  "I can't believe it."

  "We haven't stopped praying for you since. Oh, and the deacons board felt led to keep your house off the market."

  "Why?"

  "Because they had faith you'd come home one day."

  I stood up and walked over to the dining room window and gazed at the darkened window of Dave's house. I recalled how during the months leading up to and during my trial, I would stare out at my house like one banished from his homeland. Sometimes, living next door to the house I was forced to sell seemed more difficult than If I had left town altogether.

  "I can't afford to buy it back." I slid open the window and wished the lights were on next door. It would have been nice to see Dave right now. But he was away again with a team in Mexico on a short term mission trip.

  "In time, you'll be back up on your feet," said Rachel. "They're not looking to make a profit."

  "I will buy it back. Just as soon as I can."

  "Until then, consider yourself home," she said, coming to join me. She wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her face into my back.

  I turned around and held her close. "I've been to hell and back. And now I'm home. I'm actually home."

  We stayed up until about 11:00, talking about everything from legal strategy in Aaron's case to the Padres' recent losing streak. The thermostat hadn't yet been set so it was getting chilly, as it often did on March nights in North County inland. Rather than turn on the forced air heat, I found a zippo in the kitchen and lit up the fire place.

  Rachel snuggled up with me at the hearth. She removed her glasses looked at me with her deep brown eyes. Amber flames reflected in those glimmering pools, her moistened lips, parted in anticipation. We began to kiss with such intesity that we could only stop long enough to breathe. It had been so long.

  Her fingers raked through my hair, pulling me closer, deeper into the kiss. Our passion swelled with the inevitability of a runaway train. She pulled the shirttails out of my pants and she began exploring my chest with her fingers. I sensed she would welcome my reciprocation. But just as I reached for her buttons, we both stopped.

  Simultaneously, we pushed back, released each other with reluctance.

  Took a deep breath. Smiled.

  Spoke at the same time.

  "I'm sorry."

  "I shouldn't have—"

  Half-turned, I put my arm around her. "I don't know what I was...well, I wasn't really thinking."

  "No, it was mutual," she said.

  "I was married, the last time I did this."

  "That makes one of us." I pulled back and gave her an incredulous look. She thumped me in the chest and giggled. "Meaning, I've never."

  "Been married or made love?"

  "Neither."

  "No way. Someone as smart and sexy as you?"

  "Believe it or not, there still are adult virgins in this world." It hadn't occurred to me that my newfound faith considered premarital sex wrong. The issue had honestly never crossed my mind while in prison.

  Leaning into my shoulder and nuzzling me with feline affection, she said, "I'm every bit as guilty. If we kept going..."

  "We should wait, shouldn't we?"

  "For a number of reasons."

  I couldn't help but apologize again.

  "It's okay, Sam. I've waited three years for you—actually, much longer if you think about it—there's no rush." We both exhaled. She checked her watch. "I'd better get going. I've got an 8AM depo tomorrow."

  I walked her to the door, gave her a hug and kiss on the forehead.

  "You're disappointed," she said.

  "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't." Another kiss on the lips. "But yeah, I think we'd better take it really slow. Besides, with the Stringer case, and Aaron—we've got a lot to deal with."

  "We'll win this, Sam. I promise, I'm going to do everything I can."

  "I know you will."

  Rachel pulled out of the driveway, waved, and blew me a kiss. I waved back and shut the door. With my exoneration, one huge battle had been won. But even as I prepared to retire for the night, another war, more profound than could be imagined, was mounting.

  Chapter Ninety

  The fireplace continued to burn. I sat on the sofa staring at the flames refracting crimson beams through the glass of brandy I had poured myself. My eyelids grew heavy.

  I should get some sleep.

  But I wasn't ready to go up to the bedroom. That could wait. Besides, the sofa which the good folks at City on a Hill probably bought from Ikea, actually felt quite comfortable. I grabbed one of the throw pillows and pulled the blanket that had been draped over the sofa over me and drifted off.

  Her cries for help fade. I fly up the stairs, nearly stumbling on the way.

  Oh God, it's happening.

  Why didn't I come hom
e earlier? Should never have left.

  A long blade of light slashes the darkness though the crack in the door. I swing it open. The sheets are in disarray, filled with blood.

  "Jenn!"

  She gasps for breath in my arms, her very life bleeding out of her.

  "The children..."

  "I'm sorry, honey," I cry. "I should never have—"

  Her eyes turn blood red. Her pupils become pointed diamonds.

  "It's your fault!" she hisses.

  "No, Jenn. Please!"

  She bares her teeth, serpent-like fangs. "You've killed us. You're responsible!"

  "No…"

  "And now, you're going to hop in bed with that Asian whore! You lecherous pig!" She lifts her hands. The long, curved fingernails, rotted black-talons of an infernal dragon. She sinks them into my neck and squeezes with inhuman strength.

  "You faithless, worthless excuse for a human being!" she gurgles. Maggots squirm from the open wounds in her arms, her neck. "What did Jenn ever see in you!"

  I try to scream but nothing comes out. I try to move but I'm utterly paralyzed. The creature clutching my throat decomposes before my very eyes. The foul smell of death makes me queasy.

  "You deserve to die!" it shouts. Its mouth is open so wide its jaw dislodges, its breath like rotting meat. My life drains out. "It should have been you, Sam!"

  In my heart I call out to God, "Help me!"

  The creature's maniacal laugh echoes.

  "Your God!" it scoffs. "He's dead!"

  "Lord!"

  "I killed him two millennia ago!"

  And then I understand. Nothing has changed. Not for two thousand years. "In the name of Jesus!" The creature convulses. Its claws tremble in my bleeding neck. "In the name of Jesus and His blood!"