By the Book Chapter 18
The first few days after his surgery were the most stress free Bobby could ever remember. He felt safe, no one was attacking him, he had no worries. He actually felt safer than he'd ever felt in his life. There were no inmates here to attack him, there was no crazy mother terrorizing him, no dad to beat him. He had no cases to worry about, he didn't have to be anywhere or do anything. All he had to do was sleep, and let others take care of him for a change. His brain could actually rest for a while. It was a good feeling.
He should have had some worries, like about his upcoming trial, but, right now, he didn't. He had made a few decisions.
One of his decisions was that, no matter what the outcome of his trial, he was never going back to that torture chamber they called prison. They'd probably be sorry that they granted him bail, because if it even started to look like he could lose, he'd be out of there. He'd jump bail, and there'd be no looking back. Bobby was smart enough and clever enough. If anyone could do this and get away with it, it was he. He had it all worked out already.
The down side was that he would be officially declared a fugitive, and would live life on the run forever. Better than being beaten and tortured to death in prison. And he'd miss those in his tight circle of friends, the ones who really mattered, like Alex and Lewis, and the schizophrenic mother who had alternately frightened and adored him. Still better than the alternative. So, with the outcome of his trial having no bearing on his personal safety, Bobby's mind was finally able to relax.
It wasn't that he no longer cared; he did. He wanted his name to be cleared more than anything so he could return to a normal life and a job that he enjoyed more than anything on earth. He really had no desire to run. It would only happen as a last resort.
In the meantime, he continued to be fawned over by the nurses, he was starting to move his jaw and face, and was finally able to speak clearly, although somewhat stiffly. And, he was now ready to start on soft foods. That was a good thing, cause he was hungry for real food. When you're 6'4" and over 200 pounds, broth and Jell-o just didn't cut it. He felt like he'd died and gone to heaven the first time he was given an actual meal menu. Another one of the little things normal people took for granted and he'd been denied while in jail: the pleasant feeling of being satisfied after a meal, to have your stomach comfortably full, without constant hunger pangs. He'd never been so hungry in his life.
Captain Deakins happened to be by the evening he'd been given that first menu, and watched in amusement as Bobby went a tad overboard on his choices. Picking up the little menu, he shook his head. "This all looks pretty good. But remember," he reminded Bobby, "you don't want to put too much in your stomach too quickly. If you get sick, you'll throw up, and throwing up is not something you want to do right now. You'll undo all the work they did on your face, and you'll damn sure re-injure your ribs, again. Besides, I don't think they'll let you have all this."
Bobby looked a little sheepish. "First real meal," he explained.
"Exactly my point. You could delay your release from this joint if you hurt yourself. Tell you what: take it easy at first, and when you're released and able to get around we'll go out to "Pete's" and I'll get you the biggest steak money can buy."
The thought of that was too good. "Jesus! You're killing me! Okay, okay. Deal."
Deakins was getting ready to leave, and stopped at the door and turned around. "Just get better, man. We need you." That was Deakins way of telling Bobby he cared.
Bobby nodded, touched by Deakins concern. "Okay. But remember, you owe me a steak!"
Xxxxx
The following morning both Eames and Deakins were in.
Alex told him. "Got some news for you, Bobby. The kid you were worried about, Luke? The inmate?"
Bobby looked up expectantly. "Yeah?"
"He's gonna make it after all. They were finally able to get the infection under control."
Bobby closed his eyes briefly and exhaled. Alex looked at him strangely. "I still don't get it…"
"He's…he's the reason I'm alive today."
Alex looked at him, not understanding. "What?"
Bobby explained. "They were about to…" he dropped his eyes. "They were about to… do me, when he told the rest of them he wasn't gonna do it, that he never wanted to do that."
"Then why was he there?" Alex seemed almost angry. Now Bobby didn't understand her. Why was she so angry?
"He was there, uh, to rough me up a little."
"Rough you up a little!" Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Not to kill me," Bobby continued. "Or to torture me. If he hadn't protested, they'd have gotten me. And McFadden? He wouldn't have quit. He'd have done it 'till there was nothing left of me. The time they took to hurt Luke is what saved me."
Alex hadn't realized it had come so close, but Deakins knew.
"Don't even tell me you feel guilty," Alex said threateningly. When he didn't say anything Alex lost it.
"Bobby, if you weren't so freakin' beat up already I'd beat the crap out of you myself! Nobody made him go there to beat you, he made that choice himself. And yeah, it's a shame he got hurt, but it's his own fault for being there in the first place! I swear to God--"
"I don't feel guilty! I just feel bad for him."
"Bullshit!"
"Okay you two," Deakins said. "Do I have to separate you?"
At that moment, there was a rapping on the open door. They all looked towards the door, where Asst. Chief of Detectives Mark Connelly stood. To say they were surprised would be an understatement. Deakins and Eames both stood up; Bobby tried to sit up straighter.
"May I come in?" Connelly asked Deakins.
Deakins looked from Connelly to Bobby. "With all due respect, Sir, I think that should be up to Bobby."
"Of course. May I come in, Detective?"
"Yes...of course, come in."
Connelly came in, and stepped closer to Bobby, taking in his still battered features. Bobby's face was still shades of purple, green and yellow, although, thank God, the swelling had gone down. The left side of his face was still stiff, making him still look a little strange, but at least he could be understood now. He was shirtless, and Connelly could see the bruising everywhere that wasn't covered. His ribs were taped, and both arms were in slings. The rest of his body was covered by a sheet, but Connelly could safely assume that was all bruised, too.
After a moment, Connelly finally spoke. "Uh, Bobby…they call you Bobby? I just came by to see how you were doing?"
"Why the hell should you care?" Alex broke in.
Connelly straightened. "Because when one of my detectives is injured or hurt I make a point of checking on them."
"Out of concern, or guilt?" Alex was angry again.
"It's okay, Eames," Bobby said, as Deakins watched. Alex looked a little put out, but Bobby continued. "So which is it? Guilt or concern?"
"Concern, Detective," Connelly answered, getting a little more formal. "I explained my reasons for coming here. You can choose to believe what you want. I would like to know your present condition, how you are coming along in your recovery, and if there is anything I can do it make it any less difficult for you?"
"Yeah!" Alex said. "You can—"
"Alex!" Deakins broke in, starting to get angry himself. "Not now."
Then Bobby said what Alex wanted to say. "Yes. You can bring in the real killer, insuring that I never have to go back to that hellhole again. Do you think you can do that?"
Connelly didn't answer, so Bobby repeated his question, more forcefully. "Do you think you can do that!"
Captain Deakins, ever the diplomat, tried to smooth things over, in his own way.
"Chief Connelly, what Bobby is trying to say here is that, since this began, over four months ago, he's been beaten three times, each one progressively worse the one before. The time before this he was unconscious for two days. This last time he was beaten, tortured, nearly asphyxiated, and was minutes from being sexually assaulted. He's been abused by certain guards while in custody, and continuously threatened, and so far has spent over four months of his life in jail. Time that he can never make up. His reputation is in ruins, and because of that his job is in jeopardy. And for a crime he did not commit!
For some reason, my detectives seem to think that you can help. I don't know why they would think that, but it sure would be great if you could use your influence to assist your detective, which you seem to want to do."
"Well, of course I want to help." He looked at Bobby. "I'll do what I can, Bobby." He would have shook his hand, but since that was impossible, he just put his hand on Bobby's shoulder. Then he left, leaving the three of them staring after him, and Bobby feeling very uneasy.
Xxxxxxx
Arriving home, Mark Connelly sank onto the sofa. He thought about Nicole, the woman who was killed by Jake. He thought about Luke, the young inmate who nearly died in the same attack as Bobby. He thought about the two cops who had been killed in jail. And he thought about Bobby, one of his own detectives, and Bobby's unjust incarceration, the horrible abuse he'd suffered for the last four months and was likely to suffer for the rest of his life if convicted. Lastly he thought about his son, whom he loved dearly but could no longer control, and the havoc his son had caused.
Oh my God! What have I done? And he cried.
tbc