3
Pine Bluff, Alabama
11:18 a.m.
Clint took in the familiar passing landscape like a starving man introduced to an all-you-can-eat buffet for the first time. A hell of a lot had changed in ten years, but the closer they got to Pine Bluff the more things looked the same, as if the hole-in-the-wall that was his hometown had been frozen in time. Equal parts dread and anticipation coagulated low in his belly.
“You listening to me, Clint?”
Clint aimed one of those cold stares that had backed down more trouble than he cared to recall at the driver. “Yeah, sure.”
Three hours on the road and Chief of Police Ray Hale had tried initiating a conversation several times, but Clint had no desire to talk or even to make the effort. The idea that Ray was likely the only friend Clint had should have but didn’t arouse the necessary motivation.
He and Ray hadn’t actually ever been friends, just acquaintances. Ray had graduated from high school the year before Clint. He’d been a green recruit on the Pine Bluff police force a decade ago, but now he was the chief and, truth be told, he was probably the main reason Clint was free.
He was free.
He inhaled deeply. Even the air smelled different outside those damned prison walls. Gone was the heavy stench of days-old sweat and perpetual fear. A shudder rocked through him before he could stop it. He was never going back there.
“I know it isn’t fair, Clint,” Ray went on in spite of the lack of interest from his captive audience, “but the folks around here are going to expect a man filled with remorse and humility. Do you think you can handle that for a little while?”
Like Clint gave one shit what people in this damned town expected. Ray should give it a rest. No way was he going to make Clint feel what he wanted him to feel any more than he could make Clint say what he wanted him to say.
“Mr. Higgins is offering you a job at his repair shop, and your mama’s place is ready to move into.”
Guilt broadsided Clint and he flinched. His mama was dead. Six years now. His request to attend her funeral had been denied by the warden for reasons the bastard had made up. Clint’s fingers fisted into tight balls of contempt. That was one son of a bitch if given the opportunity Clint was pretty sure he could kill and never feel the slightest remorse.
But he couldn’t let anger rule him. He’d done that at first and he’d paid the price. Prison wasn’t the place to go with a chip on your shoulder, especially if you didn’t possess the necessary skills to back it up. What the hell did a nineteen-year-old kid who’d thought he was a tough guy back home know about surviving prison life with hardcore criminals?
Not a damned thing.
“Everything’s pretty much set,” Ray went on, determined not to let the one-sided conversation lull. “Be sure to keep in mind that a job will show your intent to settle in and contribute to the community.”
Clint surprised himself and said, “I’ll talk to Higgins about the job.” His voice sounded rough and unfamiliar, even to his own ears, but then there hadn’t been a lot of need to talk where he’d been.
Ray made the final turn that would take Clint home. The house, weathered barn, and plot of land his mama had owned sat five or so miles outside Pine Bluff proper, surrounded by nothing but woods and mountains and dusty dirt roads going nowhere.
“Start clean from here, Clint. Don’t be looking back,” Ray went on as if he hadn’t said enough already. His gaze shifted to Clint’s as he came to a stop in the driveway. “Looking back will only create problems. There will be folks who don’t agree with the decision the court made. Don’t give them anything to fan that fire. You’ll be the one regretting it if you do.”
The naive police chief had no idea. Regret was something Clint had learned not to feel, along with a host of other emotions. As if to contradict the thought, his heart started that fierce pounding that made him feel out of control. He had to concentrate hard to make the traitorous organ slow. That was the thing about prison; there wasn’t much a man could regulate outside his own emotions. Getting really good at that kind of control had been Clint’s only escape.
But he was home now and with that came baggage he couldn’t hope to dismiss with the usual techniques. Adjustments would need to be made to ensure no one got too close. He couldn’t afford to let that happen. Nothing could interfere with what he had to do.
His gaze settled on the place he’d called home before his life had gone to hell. The aged, peeling paint left the small frame house a ghostly shade of silvery white. The yard was freshly mown, probably Ray’s doing. Even the perennial plants Clint’s mother had cultivated year after year were in bloom. He felt his chest expand with air. He hadn’t realized until then that he’d stopped breathing.
He was back.
“Power’s on,” Ray said. “Well’s working fine. Some of the ladies from church came over and did a little cleaning. I stocked the kitchen so you wouldn’t have to worry about that for a few days.” He propped his elbow in the open window of the driver’s side door. “You’ll need to go into town soon, today if you can, to meet with Lee Brady. He’sthat lawyer I told you about who’s going to help you with things like getting your driver’s license and such. He works with a group called the Exoneration Project and he’ll help you get all the legal stuff done to settle back into everyday life. Other than that, you might want to take some time before running into any unnecessary situations.” He shrugged. “I know it’ll be tough for a while.”
Situations.Ray meant before showing his face around town any more than necessary. Before coming into contact with the folks who had stolen a major portion of his life for a crime he didn’t commit.
Clint shifted his attention from the house to the man sitting behind the wheel. Anger whipped through Clint before he could stop it. “I don’t need your pity or your advice, Ray.” He knew he should have simply said,Thanks, but he didn’t.
Ray let go another of those heavy, exasperated sighs. “That attitude won’t help,” he offered in response to Clint’s edict. “A lot of folks don’t want you back here. But, with time and patience, it’ll all settle down. Give them a chance to get to know you again.”
Clint stared at the house he hadn’t set foot inside in over ten years. “I don’t give a damn what they think.”
“That may be,” Ray countered, “but your anger won’t keep you from feeling the shame. You might think it will, but it won’t.”
