Page 4 of Watch Me Burn
Jokes aside, as we navigated the long, drab hallways, past rows of cells and through steel-clad doors, I mulled over Jones’s advice. Maybe he was right. Trying to prove my innocence to the parole board was a flawed strategy. Maybe they didn’t give a rat’s ass about the truth and the teenage boy from years past—the kid who might’ve had a tough home life but was ultimately an innocently convicted boy who clung to hope and dreamed of college.
We came to a stop before a set of imposing wooden doors. I swallowed hard. Jones rapped on the door and unfastened a latch as one of the ladies inside called for us to enter.
As we walked in, I straightened my suit, then slid into the seat behind a small table, facing a formidable desk that resembled a judge’s bench. Two women and a man gazed back at me, their expressions apathetic. Jones took his place beside me, raising an eyebrow as if to say Your move.
The parole board introduced themselves, their monotone voices running through the standard procedures for both approvals and denials of cases. I struggled to focus, my mind a whirlwind of words and phrases composing two distinct arguments. One pled my innocence, the other feigned remorse for a crime I hadn’t committed.
“Do you have anything you’d like to tell us, Mr. Wayne?” the woman with the magnifying glasses asked, her watery eyes bringing me back to reality. I stood.
“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, umm . . . Thank you for, umm . . . for your time, and for allowing me to speak today. Many years ago, I was just a teenager when I . . .”
I paused, glancing over at Jones who gave me a puzzled look.
When I what? Was falsely convicted?
I cleared my throat and wiped the small beads of sweat dotting my forehead. “Many years ago, I . . . I was just a teenager who . . .” My voice trailed off again.
Damn it.
I couldn’t bear the thought of another month in this place. I was a hollow shell, a tragic echo of the human I used to be.
The board members began murmuring among themselves.
Suddenly, an image of Anna’s smile on that sunny day we saved that injured bird flashed before my eyes. It was a nothing but a blurry memory. One that visited me often.
One I hated with all my heart.
If there was one thing I despised more than this prison, it was the constant flood of memories of Anna. Her sparkling blue eyes, those adorable dimples when we shared our first innocent kiss at thirteen.
Anna.
The girl I once loved.
The same girl who not only watched me burn but also lit the spark that consumed me.
My fists clenched as I thought of her. I once loved her more than life itself. But the same woman had landed me in this hell while she enjoyed her freedom. She was likely married to some fancy big-shot investor, using my story as cocktail party fodder to entertain her snobby guests.
My fists tightened to the point that I could feel my nails dig into my palms.
I had to escape this place, no matter the fucking cost.
Clearing my throat, I straightened my suit once more and met the gaze of the parole board members with a composed, determined expression.
“Excuse me,” I apologized. “Please allow me to start again.”
The women offered me an encouraging smile, while the man looked on with vague disinterest.
“Thank you for your time and for providing me the opportunity to present my case today. I trust your experience and judgment to make the best decision for both my future and the community I hope to rejoin.”
All eyes were now on me. I caught a glimpse of Jones giving a subtle nod.
“Many years ago,” I began again, my voice steady and firm, “I was a kid who had a very rough start and who didn’t have the right people to guide me. That led me down a path where I made the biggest mistake of my life . . . and killed someone.”
Chapter 2
Anna
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