The End of Marking Time (10 page)

They walked me across the street and I got to see the inside of that black SUV with the tinted windows.

I’d never seen Wendell Cummings mad until then. I really hadn’t given him that much credit. He was a flimsy guy, hair hanging down, glasses hiding his eyes. Five minutes in my old neighborhood and he would have been stripped clean of anything worth taking. Here in the courthouse, people bowed their heads as he passed like he was a rock star or something. Everyone in a suit knew Wendell Cummings. Half of them stopped to shake his hand and congratulate him on this or that. I really didn’t understand what was going on. I just followed him down the long hall and watched dozens of people fawn over him.

When no one was looking, Wendell glared at me through narrowed eyes. His jaw clenched so tight it was hard for him to speak. “You say nothing in there, understand?”

At that point I didn’t know what was happening. I thought I’d been arrested in the bank for trying to open my own safe deposit box, which seemed ridiculous. Not knowing what I’d done, I just breezed along, but soon I’d find out that my visit was far more serious than I imagined. The court didn’t take nonconformance lightly. Wendell less so.

What could they really do to me? No matter what they couldn’t send me to prison. There was no capital punishment in Massachusetts. What were they going to do? Sentence me to extra videos?

I’d already gotten the worst I could expect from the baton, or so I thought. Unfortunately, I’d completely underestimated Wendell’s creativity and that of his colleagues. Punishment helped society work. I was thumbing my nose at authority like so many on their way to the gallows. I couldn’t know the danger I was flirting with. If I had, I would have acted much differently.

When I followed Wendell to the courtroom door I realized my cuffs had been removed and no one but Wendell really cared where I was going. I could have turned and ran out the front, but there were sixty police officers swarming around. I wouldn’t have gotten far, and standing here in front of you, I can say I’m really glad I didn’t run.

All the courtrooms I’d been in up to that point were large enough to hold a basketball game. This room was tiny. The judge sat behind a desk, not raised up on a platform to be worshipped. There was no jury and only a few rows for an audience. Two people sat behind the prosecution table. One was the officer who hit me with the baton. The other wore a dark suit and a smug expression.

I knew how these things went. This would be a pre-trial hearing. We wouldn’t accomplish much. We’d talk about a trial date and the charges, and in about a month we’d select a jury and spend the day arguing. Between now and then I planned to figure out how to get out of this mess. I relaxed behind the defense table and wondered what maneuvers Wendell would use to get me off.

The judge motioned with his finger and the prosecutor went to the front of the room. Wendell didn’t move to join them. I’d been in court. I’d watched trials on TV. Never had I seen the prosecutor talk to the judge without the defense listening. I wanted to ask Wendell why he wasn’t up there, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. He glared until the men broke up their hushed conversation. The prosecutor laughed. Both men shook their heads in my direction, openly ridiculing me. I had no idea what I could have done that was so funny, but their mockery intensified Wendell’s scowl.

“It seems your client has escaped his leash,” the judge boomed.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Wendell said humbly.

“Recommend we proceed to phase two,” the prosecutor suggested.

“Objection,” Wendell shouted from his seat.

“I’ll hear it.”

“It’s only our first day on the outside with Mr. O’Connor, sir. It seems he’s a little fuzzy on the ground rules and I’d like more time to get him accustomed to his new circumstances.”

“That’s ridiculous,” the prosecutor hollered.

The judge waved him off and Wendell continued. “Mr. O’Connor has some extenuating circumstances, Your Honor. He’s been in a coma for four years and has not had time to fully absorb the new rules.”

The judge pondered this.

As I watched, it slowly hit me that my guilt had already been settled. We’d been in court four minutes. Wendell had barely said anything in my defense and they were already talking about sentencing. I was surprised, but what did it matter? They couldn’t really do anything to me. Whatever phase two was, it would be an inconvenience and nothing more. I told myself I shouldn’t be nervous about being ordered to watch more DVDs, but I was starting to feel queasy. I was annoyed at being caught for whatever I’d done. Even more annoyed that no one would tell me what that was, but at least I had the good sense to sit there and be quiet.

“Move to have this event stricken from Mr. O’Connor’s record.”

The prosecutor jumped from his seat. “Objection. We’re already playing catch and release here. Don’t take away my net, Your Honor.”

“Denied. You may keep the relearner at phase one, but you must readmit.”

“It’s been one day, Your Honor,” Wendell begged.

The judge pointed to a computer station at the front of his desk. Wendell walked sullenly forward, clicked several times on the keys, and scanned his thumbprint to sign for my release.

The judge banged his gavel and everyone stood. I was caught by surprise and rose last.

The prosecutor chuckled as he left the room. “This one’s a winner.”

Wendell was too angry to respond. He led me out of the room and to his car. He didn’t say a word as we got in and drove through heavy traffic back to my apartment. Somewhere during the trip I remembered that he’d said, “My trouble was his trouble,” or something like that. I felt it now.

When we were inside, he closed the door behind us.

The television was off. Holographic Wendell appeared. “Glad you decided to rejoin us.”

Life-sized Wendell removed something that looked like a remote for a car door lock, clicked it, and holographic Wendell disappeared.

“Where is it?” Wendell yelled louder than I thought possible.

Maybe I was being thick, but I had no idea what he meant.

His eyes found my ankle bracelet sitting on the stack of magazines where I’d left it. He snatched it, threw the magazines fluttering across the room, and waved the bracelet in my face. “What are you trying to do to me?” His red face was inches from mine. He was even smaller than me. I wasn’t afraid of what he could do physically. Then it really hit home. Wendell Cummings really cared about what happened to me. It wasn’t because he liked me or even knew me. The system would reward him if I behaved and punish him, probably monetarily, if I didn’t. All the counseling and the DVDs and the lectures were designed to earn Wendell his bonus. For a few seconds my world made sense.

“What’s the big deal?”

“This bracelet signals to the world that you are obeying the rules. If you don’t have it on, you are breaking the law. That reflects on you and, more important, that reflects on me.”

I took the stupid thing from him, pulled my sneaker off, and slipped the bracelet back on.

“Happy?”

“Listen to me you useless little punk. I know you’ve never worked a day in your life. I know you’ve never been anything but trouble. I also have an idea why. I’m here to help you. If you take what I have to offer, you can have a better life than you ever imagined, but if you screw up, you’re screwing up for both of us. I won’t let you do that to me, Michael. I won’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My program helps people. I’ve spent the last ten years of my life trying to help convicts get back on track. The new laws finally gave me my chance. I’ve taught tens of thousands of people to read. I’ve helped them understand what happened to them when they were younger and how to rise above it. I’ve helped them understand that violence is wrong. But you, Michael, are putting that all at risk and I won’t let you.”

His eyes went wild behind the glasses when he talked about helping people. This was his crusade. He thought he was an electronically enhanced savior, rehabilitating wrongdoers by the stadium full.

“What did I do?”

“Can’t you understand simple rules? You may not move three feet from that bracelet at any time. If you do, you are breaking the law.”

“How was I supposed to know they’d catch me? Without the stupid thing on, I look like everyone else.”

He wanted to tell me something then, but he didn’t. Didn’t or couldn’t, I’ll never know.

Going to the bank might have been a mistake. Maybe they knew I was a convict when I scanned my thumb. Maybe Morris told them who I was. If I had known how futile it was to try and hide by taking my ankle bracelet off, I never would have done it again.

“You have a lot to learn.” He grabbed my chin and looked me straight in the eyes. The little guy was threatening me and if he hadn’t just saved me in the courtroom, I would have slugged him. “Follow the rules. Keep the anklet on. Watch the DVDs. Do what you’re told.”

Even then I was thinking of ways to get my anklet to watch the DVDs for me while I slept.

“I know what you’re thinking Michael, and you can forget it. The people won’t stand for lawlessness. You’ll have to pay and so will I.”

That was the second time he told me how important my behavior was to him. If he had explained it all to me then, I might have been able to help him, but he didn’t trust me with that information, not yet.

All night long Wendell’s angry face crowded my dreams. The next morning I crawled out of bed feeling sorry for the trouble I’d caused him. I should have been worried about my own trouble, but I didn’t realize you could fail reeducation. I hadn’t considered the consequences of my escape when I turned on the television and restarted the DVD from the beginning. I just wanted to make it up to Wendell in some small way.

I paid strict attention from the couch as mini Michael and mini Wendell showed me how to operate the remote control and the wireless keyboard. I’d never had a computer of my own but the system mostly ran itself.

When they finished teaching me how to interact, several six-year-old boys appeared on a school playground. They did a pretty good job acting out a story about bullying. One kid harassed another. The other little kids stood by and watched until they went back into the classroom. I’d had enough when the teacher started through the alphabet one letter a minute. I guessed it was a subtle way to reinforce lots of things, but I was pretty comfortable with the alphabet and more than a little hungry. It was a stupid decision, but I slipped off the ankle bracelet, propped it up on the magazines, and headed out the door. The teacher made K sounds as I left.

There was no sinister plan in me slipping out the second time. I already knew the alphabet even if I wasn’t the strongest reader. Wendell might disagree, but I didn’t need the review. I was insulted and I was hungry. I’d get a donut and coffee and be back in fifteen minutes, long enough to miss the alphabet and the crap about Johnnie losing his baseball cards.

I trotted down the sidewalk. I don’t know why I was in such a rush. Maybe I was self-conscious knowing how angry Wendell had been when I got caught without my ankle bracelet. Maybe I was worried about being spotted. Mostly I felt guilty that I wasn’t watching the silly movie, but I’d be back there fast and I wouldn’t go anywhere near the bank.

When I opened the door to the donut shop and stepped in, I heard the same loud tone I’d heard before. I waited for the second, louder signal to play, but before it did, a man at a nearby table stood up and stepped quickly to the door. The crowd tensed in alert, then two different tones played, one high and one low. The tones let the pressure out of the whole place. The people in front of me in line had looked ready to scatter, but when they heard the low note, they turned forward and concerned themselves with items behind the counter, the speed of the cashier, and wherever they were going next.

I stood in the doorway trying to understand what had happened, then three fingers clamped down on my elbow. It must have been some kind of pressure point, because the pain from the claw grip was intense. The fingers pulled me to a table where I faced the man who’d gotten up when I came in.

“Sit,” he ordered and he let go.

“I don’t know what you want with me, buddy,” I said loud enough to attract attention. The guy seated across from looked like he’d been through his share of trouble. Whatever he wanted from me, I wasn’t getting involved. I had enough trouble and I wanted everyone in the restaurant to know.

“Quiet,” he whispered urgently. “Cut the crap.”

I stared back at him.

He pulled up his jeans and showed me the ankle bracelet with the familiar red light glowing. “Whatever you’ve got planned, wait ‘till I’m gone. I’ve got enough trouble. I just want to finish my course and move on.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You come in here without your leash. I know what you’re up to. I don’t know how you can be that stupid, but leave me out of it.”

“I just want a donut.”

“Bullshit.”

“I left my ankle bracelet up there to fool the black box. I just needed—”

“You are an idiot, aren’t you?”