Released

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The drone of the van's engine pushed Clarence's rage to exploding point. His knuckles turned white against the restraints. Kill mode.

The van pulled away from the prison. He yanked at the shackles encasing his wrists and ankles. Even Dirk couldn't have escaped.

He scanned the inside of the van.

Clean.

Except for his bag. Socks, underwear, a change of clothes—courtesy of the prison. All he had in the world was in that bag.

He winced, remembering the last moments in prison. Tears threatened to break from his eyes as he squeezed them shut. He blew out a deep breath and shook his head.

A couple hours later, Randy pulled into a gas station and shut off the engine. "Clarence, we're gonna fill up."

"Why is it taking so long? We passed three old people's homes just now." Clarence leaned forward. "Where are we going?"

Randy glanced at Clarence in the rearview mirror. "They didn't tell you? Your hometown. Osceola, Nebraska."

Clarence gasped.

Randy pulled a credit card from his wallet. "That's why it's so far. Chicago to Osceola. I thought you knew."

He hopped out, swiped his card at the pump and started gassing up. He walked around the front of the van.

Clarence bounced back and forth on the bench seat, fingers splayed. "No! No! Not Osceola!"

The side door opened. "Sorry about the shackles. But man, you're strong. You gave us no choice." Randy reached down to unlock an ankle.

"Not Osceola. I can't go back there."

"Easy." Randy straightened and tilted his head, hand on his thigh. "It's your hometown."

"I can't go back there," Clarence said. "Those people ... they're the reason I got stuck in prison in the first place."

"I'm surprised they didn't tell you." He bent again to undo a buckle.

Clarence tensed. Poised.

Randy hesitated, grimaced and looked up at Clarence. "You're not. Not again. Listen Clarence, I've known you a long time. Longer than most of the inmates and staff. You can either ride here like an animal, all locked up, or act like a mature—"

Clarence flinched.

Randy flexed his arm muscles, his hands still on the shackles, brown eyes snapping. "Yeah, you're eighty. Act your age. Or at least act like someone ... never mind. Nobody in that prison acts like they have any brains. Including you." Randy slammed the door.

"No. No. Please." Clarence hung his head. He locked eyes with Randy through the window.

Randy folded his arms across his chest, his eyes piercing. He finally opened the door. "What'd you say?"

"I said please," Clarence whispered.

Randy raised his head, eyes squinted. He slowly climbed in the van. "Just one stupid—"

"There won't be any."

Randy held his stance.

Clarence focused on the shackles. "I mean it. I'm done." He held his breath, braced himself as Randy bent and unlocked one ankle.

Clarence kicked him in the shin. "Not Osceola!"

"Arggh. Fool! You ... are not only stupid ... but a liar." Randy struggled to restrain Clarence's leg. He whipped his stick around and delivered a blow to Clarence's knee. Then locked him down.

"Ow. Ow. F-n asshole."

Randy slammed the door so hard it shook the van. He limped to the gas pump and rubbed his shin.

Clarence fumed and cussed. He rocked the van right and left against the restraints.

Randy kicked the tires and pounded on the van. The gas pump clicked off. He replaced the nozzle and jumped back in. Started up the van and squealed into traffic.

His eyes bored straight ahead, face beet-red. He glanced back at Clarence through the mirror. "You can make this easy, Clarence," Randy yelled, "or make it hard. You decide. Either way, I am delivering you to that nursing home and you don't have a thing to say about it."

Clarence hung his head and stretched to reach his knee with his fingers. "I don't want to go back there."

"What'd you say?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," he muttered. He stared out the window then closed his eyes.

Memories flashed.

He found himself in the backseat of Sheriff Faeller's 1950 Ford Fairlane patrol car.

Shackled then.

Shackles ...

He jolted awake and blinked. Green lawns beautifully manicured in subdivisions. Church steeples. He closed his eyes again.

"Damn!" Randy slammed on the brakes. "Sorry, Clarence. Sorry to wake you. Traffic is terrible."

Car dealerships—rows and rows of cars lined the concrete.

Hotels, construction, truck stops.

Then fields. Brown grass, trees still bare of leaves that scattered around the corners of farm buildings and houses.

All a blur.

Feeling the van stop, Clarence opened his eyes. He stared at a sign introducing the kingdom of fast food. A statue of a man with red hair and clown costume greeted him with a grand wave. Cars filled the parking lot. Kids bounced in a play area, scooting down a ceiling to floor slide—round and round.

Randy peered into the rearview mirror. "Gonna buy some food." He shifted into park and stared at Clarence in the mirror. "These are your choices: shackles or no shackles. You decide."

Clarence growled and straightened, leaned against the restraints.

"I mean it, Clarence." He pointed to the building. "This is a public place. Little kids. Mommies. Real people. If you aren't gonna behave, you can stay in here, and I'll bring you food." Randy looked out the window. "If you have to use the bathroom, then it's shackles."

Clarence glanced outside, then back at Randy. "I'm not a total jerk."

"Prove it."

Clarence's stomach tightened. "I'll behave."

"I didn't hear you."

Clarence cleared his throat. "I said, I'll behave. I'll do whatever you say." He looked into the mirror. "I give you my word."

Randy stared back, one eyebrow c****d for a full minute. He stared into the restaurant so long, Clarence thought he'd fallen asleep. The driver's door clicked open, then the side door and Randy slowly unlocked each shackle, all without a word. Then stood next to the van. "I think you know the procedure. No—"

"I gave you my word." Clarence stared him down.

Randy nodded, then motioned for Clarence to climb out. "What do you want to eat? Burger, fries, pop? My treat."

Clarence raised his bushy eyebrows.

"No government funds today. I want to buy you lunch."

"Yeah, burger, fries—whatever you said." Clarence shoved out of the van and tested his legs.

A man and woman squeezed past.

A little boy about eight years old, followed by a man, bumped into Clarence. "S'cuze me." High-pitched voice with a lisp. Hair sticking up on top. Focused on a small flat device. So little.

People walked into the building, while others exited, toting bags of food and sodas. No prison jumpsuits. No handcuffs. All free.

He walked up the sidewalk and into the restaurant.

"Got a little limp there, Clarence?"

"Nah, just need to stretch my legs."

Inside, voices echoed off the walls. Children shrieked and laughed as they romped in the play area. Bright colors startled him. A sickening mix of hamburgers, fries, and old grease combined to make his already agitated stomach lurch.

Totally overwhelmed, he spun around. People and colors and smells blurred. He was free. But free to do what? Free to go where?

He found the restroom, rushed into a stall, and the power of that thought overwhelmed him. "Oh God, let me die in here."

Trash littering the floor and missed shots on the toilet made him change his mind.

He finished his business and limped into the restaurant.

Randy waited in a booth close by. The table was spread with a fast food smorgasbord: giant drinks, boxes of fries, wrapped burgers, and single serve pies.

Clarence stood over the table, clenching his fists, stomach churning.

Randy looked up, a fry dangling out of his mouth. He chewed it in. "What? You gonna run away?" He pushed at Clarence's food. "Sit, Clarence. This'll work out. You'll see."

Clarence stood firm.

Randy patted the table.

Clarence sat, coat still buttoned, scarf wound around his neck and stared at the food. He raised his eyes to Randy's. "So this is fast food. Kinda like prison food."

Randy choked, covered his mouth with a napkin, then laughed out loud. "Yeah, I guess it is. I should have gotten you the kids meal. You get a toy with that. Kinda makes the food taste better." He jumped up. "I'll get you one." He raced off.

Clarence picked up a fry and took a bite, watching Randy return with the kid's meal. "Thanks ... for this."

Randy laughed again. "Guess I should have bought you a steak and all the trimmings, huh. Go ahead. Open it."

Clarence read the games on the box then flipped it open. He looked up at Randy. "There's food in here. Like a lunch box." He drew out a brightly-colored cellophane bag. "This the toy?" He held it up. "What is it?"

Randy grinned. "Well, it's ... I don't know. It's a toy."

Clarence set it down and unwrapped the mini-burger. He took a bite. "It does taste better."

"Told you." Randy smiled and studied Clarence's face for a minute. "I get why you acted out back there. This can't be easy. You've done more than your time. Fifty—what—sixty years?"

"Sixty. Every board turned me down for parole. Every one of those bastards."

"You deserve a chance at some life on the outside."

"I don't deserve anything." He lifted the little burger to his mouth but put it down without taking another bite.

"Still carrying the guilt around?" Randy tapped a fry against the container. "You paid your dues, man. And look what you accomplished in prison—getting your law degree and all. Hell, that's a lot more than I've done with my life. You've helped a lot of people."

Clarence's eyes stung with tears he wouldn't let fall. "If you only knew." He picked up his hamburger and bit into it, squeezing mustard, ketchup and onion bits out onto the wrapper. Vision blurred. He fumbled for his napkin and wiped his chin, but not his eyes.

Not here.

Not anywhere.

Not ever.

He hadn't cried yet. All these years. Not once. And he wouldn't start now.

Randy dripped ketchup onto the front of his uniform. It landed right next to the pudding stain on his mountain of a stomach. He chattered on, oblivious.

As Clarence continued to glare, a mass of reddish-blond ringlets rose just above the back of Randy's booth seat.

"So, you can understand why ... " Randy continued.

Clarence leaned closer to Randy but let his line of sight drift to the hair. Then to Randy. Clarence nodded and nibbled on his sandwich.

Slowly the curls shifted higher, shadowing clear smooth skin.

Something stirred in Clarence—something he hadn't felt for so long—something like humor, laughter. Joy.

Randy reached for the pies. "Apple or cherry?" He held them out to Clarence.

Clarence shrugged.

"Okay. I'll take cherry." He shoved the apple pie over to Clarence. "We should have it figured out by then, but ... "

Eyes appeared, shining clear blue and full of mischief. The child hid her face in her arms then peeked with a shy grin.

Clarence shivered. She reminded him of someone. He looked away, out the window.

Someone long ago. Or—

"You're not eating, Clarence. Finish up and we'll be on our way. We still have a long way to go."

Clarence folded the meal into the wrapper and dumped it onto the tray.

Randy glanced up. "Something I said?"

Clarence slid to the edge of the bench and pushed himself up.

Randy blinked. "Uh ... I guess we're ready. Hey, thanks for listening."

Clarence frowned. "What?"

"Thanks for letting me rant. You've been there. You know how it is. You have a perspective on it that most don't." Randy pushed the table away, gathered up his trash and slid out of the booth. "And now you're free."

Clarence scowled at Randy and turned away. Free? No. He was headed for a nursing home. Just another prison.

"Uh, I'll hit the head." Randy stopped. "You'll be here when I come back."

Clarence stepped toward the child's booth.

No child.

He looked up and down the aisle. Searched under the table. Only a tiny mitten remained.

He stretched to pick it up. As he lifted it to his face, a whiff of something so fresh, so real, expanded him into another realm. Another dimension. His feet still planted on earthly soil, but for nanoseconds, his mind and emotions were drawn to another place.

Goosebumps.

Until Randy tapped him on the shoulder. He was buttoning a plaid shirt and carrying a backpack.

"Where's your uniform?"

"Figured I'd change shirts before we got to the nursing home." Randy shrugged. "They don't need to know you came from prison."

Fair enough. Clarence stuffed the mitten into his pocket and dropped the kids meal toy on the table.

Outside, a hawk circled high above, as they walked to the van. It screeched as it hovered, floated down to the next air current, then soared high.

Freedom.

Clarence climbed onto the front passenger seat, the hollow slam of the door adding the final note to the day.

Locked away.

Free for a minute.

Then bound forever.