Doing Time
written by: Jacqueline Erasin
My lawyer’s face tells me all I need to know; we lost the appeal. Ironically, he probably looks more upset than me. In here, you learn how to disguise your feelings. I reach forward to pat his arm, but I’m stopped by the sudden, harsh jerk of the chain attached to my handcuffs.
‘What now?’ I ask, although I know this was my last chance. Fifteen years I’ve been on death row. There’s only one way out now.
He clears his throat and looks me straight in the eye for a second or two longer than feels comfortable. I duck my head and scratch my forehead with my thumbnail. The circular patterns I draw feel soothing.
‘There’s one thing we could try. But it’s not without risk.’
Something in the tone of his voice makes me straighten up.
‘I’ve recently acquired something…’ He takes from his briefcase a metal disc about the size of his palm with raised circular dials on the face, along with a small fluted metal phial.
I don’t ask how he managed to smuggle them inside. I’ve learned it’s best not to ask too many questions.
‘By turning these dials and pressing this button in the centre,’ he says, his fingers hovering over them, ‘you can set it to a date in the past.’
I shrug. Does he expect me to be impressed?
He leans forward and in a hushed voice explains that by drinking the liquid in the phial, I could be transported back to the date set on the device.
It only lasts for a few hours, he tells me, but even so, this could be the opportunity I need to put things right.
While he’s talking, all I’m thinking is, it sounds like a load of bull, and I hope he didn’t pay too much for it.
Still, I agree to go along with it. What have I got to lose? If the liquid in the phial is poison, I’ll be meeting my maker sooner than expected. And if it’s only water… well, at least I’ll be hydrated.
The silver-coloured disc feels cool in my hand and surprisingly heavy. I turn the dials until the numbers show the date June 27th, 1978. The day of the murder.
My lawyer nods encouragement, and I raise the phial to my lips, knocking back the liquid in one.
Nothing.
Then a burning sensation slowly moves up the back of my throat. My vision blurs and fragments, and I feel nauseous. There’s a buzzing in my ears, and it’s like the walls are closing in. The muscles in my legs start to twitch violently. The pain is unbearable.
‘Oh Fu—’
***
‘Hey, watch it, mister!’ a kid on a chopper bike shouts as he swerves, narrowly missing me.
I step backwards, bumping into someone who shoves me out the way. I’m standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk. I can’t believe it; it actually worked.
With a huge grin, I tip my head back to look at the sky. The air is hot and sticky. It smells of exhaust fumes. It’s wonderful.
With a sudden jolt, I glance down at my clothes, then let out a long breath: no orange jumpsuit. I’m wearing faded blue, flared jeans, a green T-shirt, and brown PVC jacket. I run my fingers down the lapels. I loved that jacket.
Catching sight of someone staring at me in the reflection of a shop window, I turn to confront him, then realise it’s me. The younger me.
That’s when the enormity of my situation hits me. I only have until six o’clock to put things right. But I can’t think. Everything is so fast, so loud; it’s overwhelming. Part of me wants to run and leap into the air while part of me wants to crawl into a corner and hide.
‘Why me?’ I had asked my lawyer.
‘Because I believe in you, David.’ He had run a hand through his greying hair. ‘I became a lawyer because I believed in Justice. But I’ve learned that for some people the odds are stacked too high against them.’
And didn’t I know it.
But now is my chance to change those odds. I just have to figure out how.
The smell of fried onions fills my nostrils, and saliva forms in my mouth. Hotdogs. I reach into my jacket, and when I feel my wallet, I want to laugh with relief. I order a dog with everything. Onions, pickles, mustard, ketchup… The vendor looks at me like I’m crazy. What would he think if I told him I was from the future?
Hmmm, it’s even better than I remember. I force myself to chew slowly, savouring the delicious taste.
Once I’ve finished, I take a cab to Alison’s Diner, where Becky used to work as a waitress. I chuckle to myself when we drive past a poster advertising Jaws 2.
When I enter, there’s Becky standing behind the counter, chatting with a customer as she refills his coffee cup. The sight of her causes a thud in my chest. Alison is wiping down the counter with a dish rag. When she sees me, she raises an eyebrow and moves closer to Becky, murmuring something under her breath.
I notice Becky stiffen slightly, but she doesn’t look over, just continues pouring the coffee. Then she puts down the pot and slowly walks over to where I’m waiting. Her face is like a mask: I can’t tell what she’s thinking. But my God, she looks good. Her yellow uniform with the white trim fits like a glove.
Last time I saw her, she didn’t look too great. It was in the crime scene photos the detective pushed across the table. She was lying in a pool of her own blood. It didn’t matter I was nowhere near her apartment when it happened; the cops stopped looking for the real perp once they had me. Saw my record and figured that was all they needed to know.
I’ll admit I did a lot of things in my past, but I would never hurt a woman. Besides, I loved Becky. I still do. So if I can get her out of the way, then nothing can happen to her. We can have a good life together. I’ll even go straight. Perhaps me and Becky could open a place like this.
‘My God, Becky, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,’ I say.
She smirks and shakes her head, looking over to Alison. ‘Such a smooth talker. You’ve gotta love him.’ She draws a pad and pen from the pocket of her uniform and ushers me to an empty corner booth. ‘Okay,’ she hisses. ‘What the hell is going on?’
I’m shocked by her anger: I was expecting her to fall into my arms. But of course, she doesn’t know I’ve been away fifteen years.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘You leave me a message on my answer machine telling me you’re gonna be out of town for a few days. You gotta lie low. I’m worried, so I go over to your place, and what do I find? The door open, and the place looking like a Force Ten passed through.’
‘What? Did you report it?’
‘Are you kidding? As far as I know, it might’ve been the police.’
I chew my thumbnail, frowning as I mull over what I’ve just heard. It wouldn’t be a long shot to suppose whoever turned over my apartment was the same person responsible for Becky’s death.
‘Are you hungry?’ Becky is watching me, waiting to take down my order.
‘No, I’ve just eaten, thanks.’
She narrows her eyes. ‘You seem different. And when did you start biting your nails?’
I catch sight of a woman in double denim eating a sundae topped with whipped cream. The desire for sugar courses through me.
‘Can I order a strawberry sundae, with extra cream, please?’
Becky sucks her teeth loudly. ‘I’m not sure what’s going on with you, sweetie, but I like the manners.’
When she returns with my order, I want to dive straight in, but I force myself to look at it first. To imprint the image on my memory.
‘When d’you get off?’ I mustn’t get distracted.
She glances at the clock on the wall behind the counter. ‘In an hour.’
‘Great. I’ll wait for you. We need to talk.’
She raises an eyebrow. ‘You bet we do.’
***
I settle into the front seat of Becky’s dusty red Subaru and close my eyes. I’m feeling queasy. It’s been a long time since I ate anything so rich, or had so much dairy.
Becky turns on the engine and Take It to the Limit blasts from the radio. Sitting beside her, the window wound down, music playing, I get caught up in the moment. It feels like any other day, as if we’re simply out for a drive.
‘So?’ Becky interrupts my daydreaming. ‘Are you gonna tell me what’s up?’
I frown and rub my hand across my chin, feeling the rough stubble.
‘What exactly did I say on my message, Becky? I don’t remember.’
‘What d’you mean? It was only last night.’ She shoots me a hard look. ‘Had you taken something?’ She slaps the steering wheel. ‘Of course! That’s why you’re acting so weird.’
‘No, no, I didn’t take anything, I swear. It’s just… it’s… a lot’s happened since then,’ I finish lamely.
Becky shakes her head, her lips pulled in. I can tell she doesn’t believe me.
‘What you said was, you had to go away for a few days. For me not to worry, but that if anyone was to ask, like Jimmy or Pete, I should say I hadn’t heard from you.’
She looks at me, and I see the hurt on her face.
‘How could I not worry, after hearing that?’
The truth of her words hits me. What a jerk I was, I didn’t deserve someone like her. I reach out my hand to lay it over hers on the steering wheel, but she turns up the volume on the radio, saying, ‘Oh, I love this one.’
I lean back in my seat and tap my feet to Stayin’ Alive. ‘Great movie. Have you seen it?’
Instantly, her mood changes.
‘You went to see it without me? Who with? Was it that redhead from your apartment block?’
‘Of course not. I saw it on TV.’
‘On TV? You can’t even be bothered to make up a good lie. How could it be on TV already?’
‘Pull over.’ I can’t believe we’re arguing over a dumb movie.
‘What?’
‘Just stop the car. I need to tell you something.’
Becky pulls over and switches off the engine.
‘Please don’t let us argue, sweetheart. I need to put things right. I don’t have much time.’
Her hand flies to her mouth. ‘You’re sick? What’s—?’
‘I’m not sick.’ I take her hand and kiss it. ‘But I’m—’
‘You’re in trouble,’ she says dryly.
‘I’m not sure what’s going on. Can we go to my apartment? I might find the answer there.’
***
Becky hovers nervously in the doorway. My apartment looks just like she said. There are sofa cushions on the floor, a small table and lamp are overturned, all the cupboards in the tiny kitchenette are open, their contents spilled across the worktop. I go through to the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. They were thorough in here, too.
My heart is beating fast as I push a small chest of drawers to one side and pull up the carpet beneath it. With the knife I always carry in my inside jacket pocket, I prise up the broken floorboard and reach my fingers into the cavity beneath. Empty!
I slump against the side of the bed, chewing my thumbnail and retracing my steps from over fifteen years ago. Of course! I had called Becky last night to say I was leaving, so I would have taken the cash with me already.
‘And?’ Becky asks when I emerge from the bedroom.
I grab her arm and try to hurry her down the stairs, but she’s twisting her body, complaining that she wants to know what’s going on and who’s after me. The woman is infuriating.
I stop on the stairs and shake her, and she gasps, her eyes wide with shock.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but can I explain on the way to your place?’
She wrests her arm from my grasp with a frown and stomps down the stairs ahead of me, making enough noise to alert the whole neighbourhood.
This time, as we drive, the radio is switched off and I’m glad: I can’t afford any more distractions. The small clock on the dashboard tells me it’s already after four.
I take a deep breath. ‘Becky, I’m sorry about back there. It’s just… well, when we get to your place, I want you to pack up your things. I want to take you away from here. A holiday. Somewhere nice.’
She’s staring straight ahead, her lips set. I know what I’m saying doesn’t make sense, but her silence is making me nervous, and I’m babbling.
‘Uh-huh. And where are we going?’
I’m so relieved that she’s talking to me, I don’t pick up the sarcasm in her voice.
‘The Bahamas. You always said you fancied going there.’
She sucks her teeth. ‘You must think I’m a real idiot. A holiday. You must have really done something stupid this time. Is it the cops or—’ She gives a sharp intake of breath. ‘Am I in danger?’
‘No, no, of course not. It’s just… I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, and I couldn’t bear to be away from you, not knowing when I’d see you again. I love you, Becky.’
She blinks rapidly and sniffs. ‘Things must be serious.’ She gives a small laugh. ‘You’ve never said that before.’
Really? All these years I’ve been thinking of how much I loved Becky. Had I really never told her that while I had the chance?
When we reach her apartment, she rummages through drawers and her closet, grabbing items to stuff into her suitcase. She seems to have forgotten about me being in trouble and is all excited about our trip, asking all kinds of questions, like what kind of hotel it is and if it’s near the beach.
I just mumble something vague in response. I’m watching the clock on her radio alarm, and I can feel the sweat gathering at my armpits.
‘Don’t you think you’ve got enough already?’
She turns towards me, holding two dresses in front of her as if wanting me to choose which one.
‘Both,’ I say, grabbing them from her and stuffing them in the case.
‘You’re as nervous as a rooster seeing the henhouse on fire,’ she says, taking out the dresses and folding them.
At last, she has finished. I grab the suitcase and hurry her out.
‘Can I say goodbye to my mom?’ Becky asks as she starts up the engine. ‘Like you said, you don’t know how long we’ll be away.’
‘Of course you can, sweetheart,’ I say, smiling. I’m so happy to have got her away from the scene of her murder that nothing matters anymore.
But on the way, I think of my own mom, who died while I was inside. They didn’t even let me go to her funeral.
As soon as we arrive at her mom’s, I call a cab, telling Becky I have one more thing to sort out. She grabs hold of me, not wanting to let me go, but I promise her I’ll be back within the hour.
Linda is watching us, her arms folded and lips pursed – she never did like me – but I ignore her.
‘You’re my girl,’ I whisper to Becky. ‘I’ll always come back for you.’
***
‘Davy!’
My mom looks so happy to see me, it brings a lump to my throat. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. She feels so thin, like there’s no fat left on her body.
‘If you’d let me know you were coming, I’d have baked something nice.’
When I release her, I notice how frail she looks. The cancer must have already started destroying her body; how had I not noticed?
She asks me what I’ve been doing and how Becky is, then talks about the neighbours and their kids, and the new parish priest. And all I can think is, how much I love her and what a disappointment I must’ve been. I should’ve visited more often.
When I tell her I’m taking Becky somewhere nice and how I mean to ask her to marry me, she cries.
‘Don’t, Mom.’ I can feel the tears pricking my own eyes.
‘I’m just so happy, Davy. Becky’s a lovely girl. I know she’ll take good care of you.’
I hug her tight when I’m leaving and tell her I love her, and that I’m sorry.
‘Why’re you sorry? You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. You’re a wonderful son. Here…’ She pushes a bundle of notes into my hand.
‘Mom, no.’ I try to give it back, but she won’t have it.
‘Get Becky a nice ring,’ she says.
On the way back to Linda’s, I think about how I had two people who really loved me, and I treated them both so bad.
Well, now I have the chance to make things right. I’ve already changed the future by keeping Becky safe. Why not make an even better future?
The money I took is stashed in a luggage locker at the train station. It’s enough for us to get away and buy new identities. Make a fresh start.
When we get to Linda’s, I notice Becky’s car is missing from the driveway.
‘Said she forgot her passport,’ Linda tells me. ‘She should be back any minute, though.’
For an instant, I can’t move or speak. Then I rush from the house shouting for Linda to phone Becky and tell her to leave right now.
I’d left the cab waiting with its engine running, and as I jump in, I tell the driver it’s an emergency and to put his foot down. I want to punch him when he looks at me in the rearview mirror and calmly says, ‘Emergency or not, I ain’t breaking the speed limit.’
It’s not far to Becky’s, but it feels like miles. The clock on the dashboard shows it’s ten minutes to six. My gut is churning and I’m sweating. I haven’t prayed in a long time, but I sure am now. Please, God, let her be safe. The thought comes into my mind that we’re probably passing each other on the road. I keep repeating that to myself like a mantra.
As soon as we pull up, I jump from the cab and race inside. Out the corner of my eye, I see a flash of blue and yellow disappear round the corner of the building. It seems familiar, but I push the feeling aside. When I see the lift is busy, I take the stairs, two at a time.
Becky’s apartment door stands slightly ajar. My heart pounding, I cautiously push it open, my knife at the ready.
Oh God! It’s just like in the photographs. I drop to my knees to check her pulse. Nothing. I cradle her head and stroke her pale cheek. There’s so much blood. My poor baby, she must have put up one hell of a struggle.
‘Hey, what’s going on?’
One of Becky’s neighbours is in the doorway. As I stand up, protesting my innocence, I see how the look on his face changes from concern to fear, before he turns and runs off, and I hear his apartment door slam shut.
I look down at the knife in my hand and the blood on my T-shirt; I could almost laugh at the irony.
Almost.
I take a slow, deep breath to calm myself as I pocket my knife.
Then it comes back to me: the owner of that blue and yellow jacket. And where to find him.
A sudden pain shoots through me, and I stumble, clutching at the door for support. I feel nauseous and there’s a buzzing in my ears growing louder…
***
‘Are you okay, David? What happened?’
I’m lying in a hospital bed. I try to lift my arms, but they’re chained to the bedrails. My lawyer removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. He looks tired. He passes me a plastic cup of water as I struggle to sit up.
‘What happened?’ he asks again. ‘What went wrong?’
I take a long drink of water.
‘Can you get me some more of that stuff? I need to go back.’
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