Page 5 of In Death, Love Survives

“My father, before he passed away. Every evening, whether I was at home or not, he would find a way to talk to me and tell me the same thing.”

“What was that?” I find myself asking.

“To look up.”

“What was he hoping you’d see?”

“The beauty that surrounds us.”

“Do you still do that?”

“Yes. It helps, even in the darkest of hours.”

A truth from the doctor.

“Were you close?”

“Yes. We were.”

A small smile appears as she waits for me to go next. A few awkward seconds go by.

“Your turn.”

As she waits for me to speak, I realize I want to give her a truth of mine. Something small after what she just freely shared.

“My motorcycle.”

The smile grows wider as she writes it down on a yellow notepad.

“What about it?”

“It’s still at my home in the northern part of Montana. I love taking it out for long rides. A lot of my favorite memories are on my bike.”

“Tell me more,” she asks.

I settle back in the chair as best as I can, letting my longer hair flow around the side of my face.

“Back home, as soon as the snow is gone, I uncover her and take her out for a ride along the main highways.”

“Never the mountains?” she asks teasingly.

I chuckle at the idea.

“Sometimes, but nothing too wild. I don’t have a death wish.”

Her smile tightens as she writes that down.

Right . Doctor of psychiatry or some shit. She’s going to write down anything to do with death.

“Go on, please,” she says.

Fine, I’ll give her what she wants while I’m in here today.

“It’s my home away from all the shit.”

She stops writing and peers up.

“All the shit?” she asks.

“Like this.”

Dr. Fletcher waits for me to explain what I mean.

“I don’t belong here.”

She tilts her head to the side, trying to decipher what I’m getting at.

“I’m not guilty. But I don’t have the kind of time to try and convince you of that.”

“I’m not here to tell you if you’re innocent or guilty. I’m here to evaluate, diagnose, and, most importantly, help you.”

I huff gruffly.

“I am,” she insists.

“I believe you, Doc, but it doesn’t mean I trust you as far as I can throw you.”

She cocks her head to the opposite side and tightens her hold on the pen.

“Why are you here?”

“You got it all right in front of you,” I say while gesturing to my file.

“I want it from you. If you’d be open to sharing.”

Why does it feel like this is one gigantic overstep of a conversation that I shouldn’t be having with this woman?

I’ll take the bait this time.

“I didn’t do it. That’s all there is to it.”

“Your jury questioned whether or not you did as well but ultimately convicted you of second-degree murder.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they did.”

“And you’re appealing it.”

“I am.”

“The truth always prevails.”

“Dollface, the truth rarely fucking does.”

She rears her head back at my abrasive tone.

“It will,” she calmly answers.

“Maybe for you.”

“For everyone.”

“I guess we’ll see one way or another. In my case, anyhow.”

Irritation prickles my skin, and I realize this woman has gotten what she wanted this whole time. I’m opening up in some way, talking to her about my problems.

“What’s the deal here? Why am I even meeting with you like this? Aren’t you supposed to get to the basics and deem me okay to move on?”

Dr. Fletcher folds pieces of paper back over on her notebook until it’s straightened out and then closes my file folder. She places the notebook gently on top of my file folder before setting her hands together on top.

“Mr. Walker. I’m here to help. But I won’t force help upon you.”

“Good.”

I settle back into the chair as we both stare at one another.

“You’re free to go. Thank you for your time today,” she says as she pushes a button on her side of the table.

Dr. Fletcher stands and stretches her arm out for me to go right as Officer Walls comes into the room.

“Let’s go, Walker. Time to get you into your cell,” Walls says.

Pushing back my chair, I get up and stand tall. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in my frame. She hadn’t been paying much attention to me when I came in.

“Good night, Dr. Fletcher,” I rasp.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Walker.”

A hint of something flares in her eyes. I smirk as I walk toward Walls and disappear from Dr. Fletcher’s presence.

“Wolfe Walker. Toby Richman.” Toby introduces himself to me in the chow hall.

I pause eating as I take in the person standing in my space.

Toby Richman. Why does that name sound familiar?

Oh, that’s right.

“Toby. You know Caleb.”

“I do.”

“What do you get by helping me in here?” I ask while taking a bite of the slop we’re served.

Evidently, it’s some type of hamburger, but it sure as fuck isn’t that.

“I never thought about it like that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“You’re right. I have.”

I size Toby up. He’s thin, with defining tattoos that run up his neck and onto his face. Bad move, easily identifiable when it comes to crimes.

“Get to it then. You know who I am outside of here. What do you want?”

“I want in.”

I scoff.

“Into the Saddle Creek Road Riders?”

“Yeah, man. I know you’re the pres. And let me say it’s a fucking honor to be in your presence.”

Toby takes the empty seat across from me.

“You don’t have to wipe my ass too. Get on with it.”

“I told Caleb that I’d do whatever it takes to join your club. To be in when I get out.”

“You know joining the brotherhood doesn’t work like this, right? It’s a whole fucking process to get initiated. I can’t just let you waltz in.”

“I understand.”

I take another bite of the food and set my utensils down.

“Okay. If that’s the case, what does that make you right now? Let’s say I tell you fuck no. Where do you stand? You’re either a friend or foe, and I’ll tell you right now, you don’t want me to become your enemy.”

“Friend. I want your trust.”

“My trust,” I repeat.

“Yeah, man. Trust.”

I scoff at the concept.

“Trust has to be earned.”

“I want to earn it. However I can in here so I get a shot out there.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, and, believe it or not, I’m a friend to most in this place.”

“Typical Caleb,” I mutter before taking another bite.

“What’s that?”

Holding onto my utensil, I flippantly wave it around.

“Setting me up with the likes of you in here. Trying to become a Road Rider while I’m rotting in prison. On day two.”

“I get out soon. I want an opportunity when that happens. I’m here to help you until then.”

I pause mid-bite and look back up at Toby.

“You want in when you’re out?”

“Yessir.”

“Fine. Do your part in here. Then we’ll go from there.”

“Deal.”

Toby gives someone in the distance a nod, and for my second day in prison, I don’t have to peacock to prove that no one wants to fuck with Wolfe Walker here.