Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
Bridge Forward
Larry Wheaton’s past would always haunt him.
Twenty years in prison had cost him his soul.
He’d done things he wasn’t proud of, things he was ashamed of, things he hated himself for doing.
But his survival instinct had kicked in on day five when he’d been beaten by gang members and had almost died.
When he’d come to in the medical ward, he’d realized he’d better learn to defend himself or he’d end up six feet under.
He’d already relinquished his freedom when he confessed to murder, but he’d be damned if he’d go to an early grave.
Being caged had nearly killed his will to live though.
Now he was in this damn halfway house—his parole officer called it an RRC, a residential reentry center—but he knew what it was. A home for ex-cons that still felt like a prison.
Although he didn’t have a toilet in the room like the cell had.
He had to share a bathroom with another ex and the house with three others, all convicted felons who were now supposedly being helped to transition into normal life.
He had no idea what normal was anymore or how to start over at his age, not with his record following him around like a scarlet letter.
Life for the past two decades had been a set routine each day with minimal time outdoors and no contact with people on the outside. Some guys had visitors, but not one single soul had come to see him.
Because everyone he’d known twenty years ago believed he was a ruthless, cold-blooded killer.
His first day he was here, he’d met with a counselor who’d helped him line up a job as a garbage collector. In spite of the stench, which didn’t bother him that much because he’d smelled worse in prison, at least he was outside most of the day and not locked in a six-by-eight box.
Still, his behavior and activities were strictly monitored. He wasn’t allowed a computer although the facility had a computer lab with restricted internet access for educational purposes and job-related searches.
The communal television in the common area was set on the news each night, so after he showered off the foul garbage odor, he joined the other guys to watch.
Things had changed in the two decades he’d been put away.
Cars, clothing, politics and people’s views on sexual orientation.
Technology had changed faster than lightning and left him in the dark.
Two of the other residents were already seated, glued to the TV set where the weather forecast was displayed. In prison, it hadn’t mattered if it rained or shined but with his current job, he hoped for clear days.
“Early winter storms are threatening all over the Southeast,” the meteorologist said. “In the next few days, we may be seeing those in North Georgia with heavy winds, snow and power outages. Gear up for a few days at home, folks.”
“Get on with the news,” a beefy guy with sleeves of tattoos and ham hock-sized thighs and fists, which had earned him the nickname Ham, muttered.
The foulmouthed man rubbed Larry the wrong way.
Although they were all starved for current events, this guy had been incarcerated for hurting a child. Larry had zero tolerance for that.
Judging from the scars crisscrossing Ham’s hands and arms, neither had the inmates he’d served with.
A pretty, dark-haired, coffee-skin reporter named Angelica Gomez appeared.
“This is an update on the latest in the Minnie Benton case. Police have confirmed the young woman’s death, first thought to be a suicide at Midnight Ridge, was a homicide and are searching for any information regarding her death and the disappearance of her toddler daughter, Iris. ”
A photo of a teenager appeared along with a picture of a bubbly little ebony-haired child, and Ham scooted to the edge of his chair for a better look.
Anger shot through Larry, but he forced himself not to react. Trouble here meant a parole violation and he didn’t intend to go back to prison.
“Teams have been combing Midnight Ridge for the little girl for two days now, so please study the photograph. If you or anyone you know has seen her, call your local police or the tip line we’ve established.”
Larry swallowed hard. Midnight Ridge. The place where his own life had fallen apart.
The images that had dogged him in his sleep for twenty years.
The body lying at the bottom of the ridge, bones broken, skull fractured, blood seeping everywhere. Not a day had gone by that he hadn’t had nightmares of her. His dead wife.
Still, over the years he’d questioned the events of that horrific night. He’d not only lost his wife that night but his son.
Had his sacrifice been worth the cost?