51. Brogan
“Sinclair, up and on your goddamn ass,” I heard through the door.
I was already sitting, so I glared at the guards.
The newest one on this block had been gunning for me the last couple of days, but I hadn’t displayed any sort of rage as he’d wanted me to show.
Instead, all he got was apathy. The truth was that I could be angry I was in this hell hole for something I’d not done, but I refused to give them the satisfaction.
All my life, I'd been able to school my emotions regardless of what was going on inside. It’d be why during the most riotous of times, I remained calm, cool, and collected.
My therapists over the years had labeled me a psychopath, and maybe I was one, but I didn't give a damn.
My life as I knew it was over, at least for the next couple of years, or however long it took to go to trial.
My lawyer had asked if I’d given any thoughts to a potential plea, but I refused to plead guilty to something I didn't do.
If it meant I had to spend the rest of my life in here, then so be it.
I'd never cower in fear for a lighter sentence.
In fact, any sentence was too much unless it was to secure my complete freedom.
But even then, I'd simply plead the same “not guilty” I’d previously done.
I didn’t have remorse before because I’d truly believed that I hadn’t done anything to the woman.
Now, I knew better. And regardless of what Declan had done, I wouldn't reveal anyone who’d helped me.
I certainly would never mention anything about Declan being the one to give Layla the money.
I didn't even think the prosecution knew about that. If somehow they found out, I’d just play stupid.
After all, that was the role that Declan had made me play all these months.
He'd made me look goddamn foolish as he’d pretended to give a damn about helping me.
His actions hadn't been out of love. They’d been out of guilt, and maybe even shame, but definitely not love or loyalty.
Perhaps his intentions had been good, but the fact that he’d kept it from me was what I couldn't forgive.
“Sinclair,” I heard again, and I let out a sharp exhale before I moved to the door and put my wrists through the metal square.
The cuffs were tightened down on them before I pulled my hands back.
Once done, the doors opened, and I'd almost expected them to have chains and shackles, but instead, a guard looked at me with disgust.
“Looks like today's your lucky day, Sinclair. You're going home.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The court dismissed your charges, so you're eligible for release.”
“What do you mean they've been dismissed?”
Had my father finally stopped playing around and come through for me?
While I was thrilled to be getting out of this place, the thought of having to show gratitude toward him, or be indebted in any way, made me want to just stay here, but I wouldn't. I wasn't a foolish man, and I wouldn't look this gift horse in the mouth. If he thought this meant I’d cower and give in to his every whim, he’d soon realize how mistaken he was. I’d always been my own man, and I would continue to do so.
“I don't know what the fuck happened, but god damn you're lucky. I thought we were going to see your ass in here for at least a year or so.”
My lip quirked upward as I smirked. “It’s your lucky day too.”
“Just move it,” the guard said as he pushed me roughly in the back.
I followed him and the other guy as I was moved from the housing area over to a holding cell where a few other inmates were also waiting.
They were all dressed in their normal street clothes, and when they looked over at me, one or two stared a little longer as if they’d recognized me.
Just as quickly, though, they returned to talking amongst each other.
“I’ll bring your clothes to you in just a minute,” the other guard said, while the one with a hard-on for me just glared in disgust.
“Just know if you end up back in here, your life’s going to be much different,” he warned as he leaned in close to my ear.
I yanked my head away. “I don't plan to come back here.”
“Good,” he replied, and anything else he might’ve wanted to say ended there when the other guard arrived with the clothes I’d been wearing the day of my arrest. As the cuffs were removed from my wrist and the clothes thrust into my arms, I was pointed over to a bathroom where I could change.
Once I got inside, I couldn't wait to remove this prison garb.
I quickly dressed in the suit that I’d been wearing, and as I stared at myself in the mirror, the events of that day came rushing back in vivid clarity.
I’d just had a fight with Declan, and not the normal type of fights we'd had over the years, but one there was no coming back from. And after being cuffed, I’d been slammed against the police car, then stuffed inside as Declan’s bewildered face stared at me.
I took a few minutes to splash some cool water onto my face.
While it felt great to be getting out of here, something still lingered in my head.
Ever since that dream a few nights ago, I’d doubted I was innocent as I’d vehemently believed before.
After that dream, I’d convinced myself that I might be guilty.
I might’ve killed her, but if I had, then what had I done with her body?
Although I wasn’t in the right state of mind that night, surely I would’ve remembered more.
Since I didn't, I’d eventually chalked it up as nothing more than a terrible fucking nightmare.
It’d been what I’d filed it under as I maintained my innocence.
Now, I felt vindicated as I stepped out of the bathroom, tossed my prison uniform into the hamper, then moved over to the bench to sit down.
The next few hours went by in a blur. I’d been sent to do a medical and wellness screening and listened to them talk about the community resources available to me, including those which would help me reacclimate to society.
I'd only been in here a couple of weeks, so it wasn’t as if I’d served hard time.
This brief stay here would end up being just an inconvenient blip on my radar as I returned to my old life, and one which promised to be a lot emptier now than it’d been before.
There was no Declan… No Enslee… It was just me, and maybe for the first time in my entire miserable existence, I'd have to learn how to depend and rely on just myself. Maybe during that time, I might even find a way to like myself. I let out a sarcastic chuckle at that. I’d always hated myself, but not for the reasons my own father hated me.
Mine revolved more around my acceptance of those things I couldn’t change.
I'd been the good soldier for him, except when it came to giving up my lover like he’d wanted me to do.
Still, I’d kept him a secret so I could hold on to my position at Sinclair Pharmaceuticals.
I’d even agreed to marry a woman I disliked and allow her to carry my children just to keep my name.
I'd done all this, and it had gotten me nowhere.
I’d been sure after the last fight with my father that he wouldn't lift a finger to help me, but he evidently had. There was no way the charges were just dismissed. I’d wanted to ask anyone about what happened, but when advised that my attorney would pick me up, I knew I'd find out everything then.
Not long after the screenings and everything were completed, I became a free man.
All my personal items were returned, although the cash I’d had on me at the time was returned via a check.
Everything else was exactly as it had been.
My jewelry, my wallet, and my cell phone.
As they led me away, I turned back one more time before the door fully closed, then I headed to the secure parking area where my attorney was already waiting.
“It's good to see you, Brogan. You don't look any worse for wear.”
“Yeah, I'm ready to get out of here. Can we just fucking go?”
“Sure. Get in, and I'll bring you home.”
As soon as we were in the car, Rikers Island became nothing but an image that grew smaller and smaller as I glanced out the side mirror. I finally turned to him. “So, what the hell happened?”
“I guess you were right all along.”
“About?”
“The courts deemed you innocent.”
“That's it? I didn't even have my day in court.”
“And you won’t because everything's been handled. While you’re curious as to why, just be thankful for once that things have worked out for you.
With everything that’d happened today, the investigation is officially over, so you won't have to worry about being arrested again for Layla’s disappearance. ”
“But why and how?”
“The why and how doesn’t matter. Just be grateful.”
I sucked in a deep breath, then slowly let it out as I glanced at the city as it came into view.
It was funny how I'd been on vacations longer than my time in jail, yet seeing the tall buildings, holiday decorations, waterways, and everything else in Manhattan was like seeing the place for the very first time.
It was like coming home after a lengthy absence.
“Are you sure it's over?”
“Yes, Brogan. It’s done.”
“Thank you,” I said to him.
“No thanks are necessary,” he said, and it wasn't long before we arrived in front of the building where I lived.
News of my release must not have circulated yet because there were no press vehicles around or photographers wanting to be the first to catch a glimpse of me.
Even before my arrest, I’d sometimes see the press hanging around my place.
It’d been another reason I’d always loved going to Declan’s Staten Island house.
After I thanked my attorney once more, I got out and walked through the front door of the building. The doorman smiled at me. “Welcome home, Mr. Sinclair.”