At Light's Edge - Chapter 1: Welcome to Life

Part I - Eclipsing the Darkness

One
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Welcome to Life

“Now, for your blatant disregard for the laws of your country, state and city,” the Honorable Ms. Crenshaw leaned forward to address the young man standing before her in the silent courtroom, “and for your disrespect for the basics of human dignity, based on your guilty conviction as founded upon the decision of a jury of your peers, I sentence you to twenty-five years to life.”

“But, I didn’t--” fear gripped the defendant.

Judge Crenshaw addressed the youth’s counsel to keep his client in control. Continuing her oratory she informed the young man, Renwick Stone, that he would be serving his time in the recently opened maximum security prison for criminal youth, Youth Maximum Security Detention Facility, commonly referred to simply as Y-MAX.

As the disheartening sentence proclamation rolled off of the lips of the well experienced judge, Renwick’s mother cried out, “Oh, no, Lord Jesus, no Jesus,” all the while kissing the silver cross hanging so gently upon her necklace. The convicted’s sister, Jasmine, stared into nothingness in amazement; that nothingness that would be her brother’s new way of life for time’s untold future.

A pair of uniformed officers escorted the young offender from the courtroom while his mother and sister cried; the family of the victim sighed with sounds of relief while attorneys packed up their briefcases; the judge exited the hallowed courtroom for her chambers while janitors slowly entered to clean before the day’s end.

On the steps of the courthouse where the cool breeze of fall blew its wintery chill, the family’s attorney gave his heartfelt condolences to the plaintiff’s mother, “I am so sorry Mrs. Stone.”

“Call me Edith, please.”

“Edith,” the stately dressed lawyer adjusted his collar higher in a feeble attempt to block out the chill of the wind, “We will appeal this, be assured.”

This mother needed more than assurance, more than an appeal, but the numbness of the day’s events, preceded by the draining stress of the trial, had taken its toll on her and her family.

“We can discuss this another time, if you please, Mr. Braithwaite.”

“Of course, ma’am. Just give my office a ring when you feel like talking and setting up an appointment.”

Gerald Braithwaite, Attorney at Law; a man dedicated to give the best defense that taxpayers’ money could buy; the best defense that a pro bono publico luck-of-the-office-draw counsel could produce; the best defense any poor family could afford.

“Oh, my dear, poor Renwick,” Mrs. Stone lamented over and over during the long bus trip home. Praying without ceasing, she rocked forward and backward as her daughter sat next to her listening in lonely silence. “God, how could this happen to my son?” she questioned. “Why?”

On another bus a few hours later, things were quite different…

“Inmate Stone,” the words hit the good looking youth hard as he realized that he may carry this new title for the rest of his life, a name without distinction, a name to be identified only by a photograph on an inmate identification card. The Correctional Sergeant continued as she prepared to loop the stationary prison bus chains through Renwick’s belly chains and leg irons, “Sit here and be still.”

Renwick felt that he had transgressed beyond the point of no return. He cried inside as the weight of the chains was added to the weight of his criminal conviction.

The bus smelled like stale body odor recently washed in old used motor oil from an automotive shop. The diesel fumes permeating the aged bus’s interior added to the experience like a poison oak rash would to a flu sufferer with measles. “This sucks!” someone behind Renwick shouted. Another complained in vulgarities one only hears in seafaring movies, modern gangster flicks and some European wanna-be chef competitions.

“I’ll have it quiet in my bus,” a mean looking sergeant shouted from the forward caged security area. Since he carried a shotgun the three youthful inmates complied.

“So, more meat for the wolves,” the three youths heard one of the three correctional staff mumble. The rest of the conversation was far too low for the nervous young inmates to make out, but they knew there was nothing friendly about the words being exchanged.

“Anybody for some hot berry pie with vanilla ice cream?” the mean looking sergeant questioned the criminal boys before continuing, “Wish we had some.”

The staff laughed and the boys knew it would be a long time, if ever, before they would have the pleasure of tasting a delicacy like pie again.

Mom’s pies, Renwick remembered how his mother graciously baked pie for his birthdays instead of cake. He did not like cake so much. No more birthday pies, his sorrowful thoughts pained him.

The hours rolled by almost as slowly as the electric poles that lined the dreary desert highway. One can only count so many.

The female sergeant announced, “About half an hour more and we’ll be home. Home sweet home.”

The harshness of life was nothing unfamiliar to two of the youths on this ride to never-neverville, but for Renwick, he had enjoyed the pleasure of a good home life and decent schooling. At least until that day when the lights metaphorically just went out and the darkness of crime’s night encroached upon him like a dense fog in the forest.

One evening, approximately one year before his first court appearance last May, Renwick had accepted a ride from an older youth from his school, or who used to attend his school before the youth had all but dropped out. Renwick felt uneasy after entering the vehicle, but it was far too late to change his mind once he sat in the backseat with two other tough looking boys and the car sped off. It was not five minutes before they were being pursued by two siren-blasting police units. The boy to Renie’s left, Renie is what his friends call him, leaned out of the window with a pistol and started shooting at the police. A bystander was shot and subsequently died as a result of the shooting, the rest is now history; a history Renie wished he could rewrite, a history that remains to this day just a blur like a bad dream is in the next morning’s memories.

After the bus entered the prison grounds it was thoroughly searched by both human and canine personnel. Round pads of some sort were used to dab things and then the pads were placed into a device to check for various types of explosives' residue.

“All clear,” one of the searching staff members yelled.

“Welcome to life!” the sarcastic comment came from another correctional officer standing outside the bus as the trio exited.

Inmate Renwick Stone felt an unbelievable heaviness overwhelm him, that feeling that his life was over, finished and all was lost. He was on a journey to a place where those chained in the confines of hell would not dare to be released or pardoned to, a place where demons reign within the imaginations of evil minds. The smell of the desert sagebrush and the warm air was far more pleasant than the polluted aroma found in the cities Renie knew. The early evening sky was a beautiful clear blue.

“This way,” the officer ordered. “Single file.”

The female transportation sergeant informed the trio that the term R&R for Receiving and Release, was not in use at this facility. The institution used the term IRU instead, “Intake/Release Unit is a place you may only visit one time, two if you are lucky.” All three understood what she meant.

Sounds of yelling could be heard as the youths walked toward the IRU entrance. “Sissy, punk, I want you!”, “Come to papa, honey!”, and a score of other vulgarities echoed from the concrete walls around them. Renwick felt fear envelop him.

“No wonder the circus never comes to my town,” one of the two other boys commented, “All of the clowns are in here.”

“And now you’re one of them,” the second youth mumbled.

 Next Chapter...
Chapter Two: New Duds