Freedom felt good. A good in a way I didn’t expect. The world was at my disposal, and I could do whatever I wanted. I wasn’t forced to follow anyone’s rules or to room with some asshole who cried himself to sleep every night.
The opportunity to start over was almost within reach. If I played my cards right, I could put the past behind me. At least, that’s what my counselor drilled into my brain. I almost believed him.
One problem: I was a twenty-one-year-old convicted killer just released into the wild. Who would hire me? The only option I had was to call Pete and accept a position with his brother’s crew. Or clean motel rooms, but who wanted to mop up someone’s whiskey-laced puke?
There was nothing left for me in the Pass. I’m sure all the critters had been sold off to neighboring farms, and the house had a new family. In my fantasy, the new owners kept all the animals, so they didn’t need to go through the stress of being rehomed. Especially Soloman. For the people’s sake, I hoped my dad wasn’t haunting the barn.
During my stint, I had plenty of time to think about what I would do when I got out. Without any family to speak of, my grandparents lived somewhere in the lower forty-eight—if they were even still alive—but I had never met them. I understood I had nowhere else to go and had to be methodical with my plan.
“Where to, friend?” An Inuit man opened the back door to his taxi.
“I’m not your friend.” I tossed my duffle bag into the back seat and ducked so I wouldn’t hit my head. Release from McLaughlin included five pairs of underwear, two pairs of jeans, two white t-shirts, a parka, my state ID, and five hundred dollars. Barely enough for a month in a shitty motel and some food.Supposedly, it would be enough to last until I could secure a job, then an apartment.
“Cheapest motel around.”
Lucky for him, the taxi driver understood how keeping his mouth shut during the short drive would be better than asking tons of questions. He pulled into the parking lot of a run-down building with three levels.
Two o’clock in the afternoon must be when the crazies came out. Four men stood outside the office door and shared a bottle of something wrapped in a paper bag. Used needles littered the ground and graffiti covered one wall. At the far end of the property, scantily clad women flirted with men walking past. The neon sign was rusted and had long been broken.
Sketchy. I like it.
After negotiating a weekly rate with the hotel attendant, I pushed two hundred dollars into his hand and pursed my lips.Highway robbery.I followed him up cement steps to a blue door with chipped paint. It wasn’t unlike all the other doors.
Dirty carpet covered the floor of my second-story room; the sheets weren’t much better. A faint odor of—what was it? Dirty underwear and spoiled milk?—lingered. The clock beside the bed flashed 12:00 as if it didn’t matter what time it was inside this room. I lifted an eyebrow and chuckled. “Classic.”
Not sure what to do next, I sat on the bed andpondered. A bug escaped from under the TV stand, and I shuttered. At least juvy had been clean. I wondered what the bathroom looked like but decided not to look. When the time came, I would use it and get out. For now, I just wanted to enjoy being on the outside, but it wasn’t easy to do here.
The freebie parka was too heavy and the t-shirt too thin; I needed to get some essentials. The crowd surrounding the bottom of the stairs had been surprisingly helpful when I asked for advice on where to get a jacket.
They pointed towards a secondhand store and, in slurred words, told me the only taxi they had seen in months was the one that dropped me off. I would need to walk if I didn’t have a car.
The Attic was located a few blocks away, down on Gambell Street, so I took off on foot. It’s not like I was in a hurry. Five dollars and sixty minutes later, I had a nice new-to-me spring jacket. It was a little too big and an ugly mix of red and yellow, but it was mine. I bought it with money I had earned by spending time locked in a juvenile detention center.
DRUNKS TURNEDfriends welcomed me into their circle when I couldn’t fall asleep and ventured outside. Nightmares replayed the gun going off and my daddropping to the ground almost every night. Still haunted by my actions, I joined in conversations to redirect my thoughts.
Various bottles of liquor exchanged hands as everyone in the circle took a swig. At first, I was intimidated by the sheer amount of alcohol they consumed, thinking they would pass out and die right there on the steps. Somehow, they all made it to wherever they called “home” after the bottles ran dry.
My next move needed to be strategic. I tapped my chin with one finger as I sat on the steps of the motel. All sorts of dirty, skinny men and women, most likely drug addicts, came and went throughout the night; somehow, I didn’t feel threatened. It worried me that they thought I was one of them.Oh well, at least they didn’t mess with me.
Before my release, my probation officer communicated the rules tied to my freedom. He told me counselor appointments for the upcoming year must be pre-scheduled, so I made it a point to ask for someone in Talkeetna, where Pete offered me a place to stay. I had decided long ago to take him up on his offer but had some business to take care of before leaving the city.
A small envelope, what I referred to as my exit package, included, among other things, bank information. When the release agent handed me the envelope, I had no idea what it contained, but neverimagined a savings account statement.
I don’t know how McLaughlin got ahold of it, but somehow it found its way to me. Leave it to my mom. She promised to always take care of me; this proved it.
Over the weekend, I explored the city. The bank sat in the middle of town, and I made a plan to arrive first thing Monday morning. The statement seemed to burn my fingers each time I studied it. Three pages listed dates of deposits and, most importantly, the account number.
Based on the history, my mom, the smart and slightly cunning planner she had been, opened the bank account in my name years ago. Every week, she deposited a few dollars behind my dad’s back. Just in case. It paid off. By the time I was ready to dip into the savings, it had grown to nearly ten thousand dollars.
The teller who helped me had all kinds of options for what I could do with my money. I wanted to apply for a debit card but didn’t have an address to receive it in the mail. Since I planned to leave, it didn’t make sense to wait for it.
The teller assured me that the bank had branches all over the United States and all my needs could be covered from anywhere. I withdrew some cash and decided to finish my banking business in Talkeetna.
UNABLE TO DIAL long-distance from the motel, I shoved the paper holding Pete’s number in my front pocket and left my room. Payphones didn’t really exist anymore, from what I’d been told, so I needed to ask for help. Not one of my strengths.
“Hey, man. Can I use your phone?” I asked the first person who wandered past. He responded with a scowl and kept walking, so I asked the next person. Another scowl.
One of the regulars who hung out in the parking lot recognized me and lifted his chin. “Ten bucks.”
