Chapter 1: Losing Everything

As I was walking home, I was thinking about some upcoming tests for school. It wasn’t easy working part-time at the hardware store and studying engineering with a minor in art at the same time. Though my mom tried her best to support us and get me through college, we were always strapped for money. I tried to help her out the best I could and didn’t have time for hobbies or going out with friends. Not that I had close friends to begin with anyway. My only hobby was drawing pictures of people and scenery.

It was already dark as I paid close attention to my surroundings, this neighborhood wasn’t a nice one and muggings or worse happened all the time here. The cops didn’t patrol a lot either, so we had to rely on ourselves to keep safe. I don’t mean that I was carrying a weapon or anything. I was more a kind of guy to run away but in a pinch, I could use some martial arts moves that I had learned and practiced all the time.

With just one more block to go, I noticed a police car coming my way and I thought, ‘Hey look, there’s one of the few patrols in these parts. Usually they have ‘more important’ things to do.’

The car then sped up and screeched to a halt, blocking my way. The officers got out in a hurry and yelled, “Freeze, you’re under arrest!”

I raised my hands in fear and asked, “What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything!”

“Shut up, nigger and put your hands on your head!” One of the men, a heavy-set man with red hair, replied.

I fumed at being called a ‘nigger’. True, I looked like a black man, but I am a mix of African American and Asian. It’s what they call Blasian. But even if I was African American, there are laws against discrimination like calling them nigger. Meanwhile, I put my hands on my head. The red-haired cop commanded, “On your knees and interlock your ankles.”

I did as he ordered, still fuming at the treatment, but resigning myself. I wouldn’t be the first black man getting shot for resisting arrest. The second cop, a wiry guy with a goatee, holstered his gun and pulled out handcuffs. ‘They really are going to arrest me and take me in?’ I thought to myself. Moments later I was cuffed behind my back and guided into the police car.

“Why am I being arrested, what is my crime? Walking home from work?” I asked the officers and the red-haired cop that had called me a nigger, said gruffly, “You know what you did! Don’t play innocent. You’re all scum and should be put down like the vermin you are.”

The wiry cop said, “Stop with that kind of talk, Weldon, you’re getting yourself in trouble again.”

“Sorry, but that’s just how I see it. They killed my pop and ma, you know?”

The second cop sighed, “Yeah, I know. But tone it down a bit.”

After that they kept quiet, even though I kept asking why they were arresting me.

A short while later, we got to the station and the car parked in the underground garage. I was taken out and manhandled into a reception area. Here another cop, a really fat guy with a big mustache, was waiting for us. He asked, “So, you’ve got the S.O.B. already?” At their nod he came to me and asked, “What’s your name, boy?”

I took a dislike to him immediately, but answered in a quivering voice, “Ash!”

He bellowed, “Full name, address and birthdate, Now!”

My voice skipped as I answered hesitantly, “Ashley Davis” and paused for a moment.

At his stare, I added my address in Hamilton Heights and my birth date.

The man entered it all into the system and proceeded to take my fingerprints and mugshots.

In the meantime, the wiry cop from the car asked me if I had any sharp objects and I said, “Only my Swiss army knife.” He took it out of my pocket and searched all my other pockets and my person for anything else.

Soon enough I was taken to a room where four other black men, mostly about my size and build, waited. I got a card with the number four on it shoved into my hands. We waited for a moment there before having to walk through another door into a well-lit room facing a mirror. I had seen enough movies to know that this was a line up and the victim along with police officers were on the other side.

A voice called out of a speaker, “Number four, step forward.”

I hesitated, then I remembered that I had the number four and stepped a single step forward. I was really anxious and thought, ‘What is happening? Why am I here?’

The voice again sounded, “Number four, step back. Number two, step forward.”

I stepped back feeling a bit relieved, ‘Maybe it is just a misunderstanding, they must be after that guy with the number two.’

Then we got taken out again and the fat cop that I disliked took me to a small room with another mirror. He told me to sit down at a table.

I waited for a while, getting bored and anxious again. ‘I should be home already; my mom will be home soon and I’m not there to make dinner for her.’ Then a man and a woman came into the room wearing normal clothes instead of uniforms. But I just knew they were police detectives. The woman stood in a corner as the man sat down across the table from me.

He started, “So, Ashley Davis. Why don’t you tell me why you robbed those old ladies with a knife!”

I looked at him bewildered, “What ladies, what knife? I didn’t rob anyone. Why should I threaten anyone with a knife? I was just walking home from work.”

The woman interrupted, “You can stop with the innocent routine. They identified you in the line-up and we found the knife you tossed aside with your prints on it.”

I was even more confused, “What knife? I haven’t tossed a knife or seen any old ladies. I worked at the hardware store, had a drink and went home. I should be home right now; my mom will be home soon, and I haven’t even started dinner yet.”

The man said, “Nice touch Ashley. But you shouldn’t rob old ladies at knifepoint and then run away supposedly to go home to fix dinner for your mom.”

“I keep telling you, I didn’t rob anyone. I worked at the hardware store and went home when two policemen stopped me and arrested me out of the blue. One of them even called me nigger, which I resent as I’m part Asian.”

The two detectives kept asking me questions about the robbery and how I had filled my day. Then they had enough and left, but soon after another pair of detectives came in and it all started again.

Several hours later my throat was getting dry from saying that I didn’t know anything about the robbery. One detective said, “Just admit to the robbery and I’ll get you a drink and you can have a rest.”

I really wanted a drink, but I wasn’t about to confess to something I hadn’t done.

Finally, the detectives gave up, and took me out of the room. There they handed me over to a uniformed cop who took me to a holding cell, where several other men were sitting or standing, waiting for God knows what. I heard a wolf whistle which gave me a really bad feeling.

“I don’t want to be put into that cage,” I said to the uniformed cop. “It feels like putting Tweety Bird into a cage of Sylvesters.”

The cop didn’t react and just opened the cell then shoved me in.

“Please, don’t leave me in here!” I pleaded. But the cop just laughed and closed the cell door and locked it.

As soon as the cop had left, a few men approached me.

“What’s your name, cupcake?” One of them, a big beefy guy with tattoos on his arms, growled.

“Ash,” I replied with a grunt.

Another man laughed, “They named you burnt dirt?”

Scowling, I replied to him, “It’s Ashley.”

Tattoo-guy laughed out loud. “Figures that a bitch like you would have such a girly name.”

I scowled even more, “Ashley was a boy name long before people started using it for girls. I looked it up. Maybe that is something you should do, if you knew how to read.”

They weren’t very quick in thinking as it took them a few moments to realize that I just insulted them. Maybe that wasn’t a good idea, but it slipped out before I could think.

When they did get it, one of them growled, “Why you rotten bitch. For that, I’ll fuck you till your ass is wide enough for a truck to enter.”

He lunged at me while he said that, but I ducked and swiped my hand against his throat. He made a sound like “Urk” and clutched his throat, while falling to the ground. Another man was about to grab me but halted seeing that I was ready to defend myself. He stayed back, threatening to grab me, when I felt large arms from someone on my back, grabbing me tight and lifting me off the ground. I was frantic at that point and afraid that they would rip my clothes off and rape me right there.

I jerked my head backward, hitting the man behind me on his nose. He started to swear, but I heard that his indented nose was already blocking the flow of air. The guy in front was now closing in with hands out ready to grab, so I kicked my feet violently towards him and with luck, I kicked him in his face making his nose and mouth into a bloody mess. He howled from pain and outrage, inciting the others to approach me with caution. I knew I couldn’t hold them off for long, but I was determined to inflict as much damage as I could.

I had no leverage, as the man behind me was still lifting me into the air, so I just flailed around and tried to hit someone whilst also trying to avoid getting hit myself. I failed miserably in that, as a big Hispanic guy with gang tattoos jumped forward and connected with his fist to my right temple. I was seeing stars and nearly lost my consciousness. But even in my dazed state, I saw another guy closing in, so I swung my legs wildly in his direction.

Luck was with me as my left foot hit something. A high howling sound escaped from that guy, and I guess I kicked him in his privates. The ruckus had now alerted the cops and they came to the holding cell to see what was going on.

“Break it up!” The first cop that arrived said. “Let that man go and stand back.”

I thought, ‘Finally some help arrives.’ How mistaken I was again.

The big Hispanic guy said, “We had to hold him, he was attacking us! Look at what he did. Russell here had his throat hit viciously. I think he needs to see a doc. You can see what a mess Bill is in, with blood all over his face and Carl needs to see a doc as well, that bastard kicked his balls.”

Another cop entered the cell, “All right, who started it? Don’t tell me that you big guys were losing against a scrawny boy.”

Some Hispanic guy yelled, “He must have serious fight training, he just started fighting for no reason.” Some others grunted, “Yeah, that’s right! We all saw it. That scrawny kid went off like a rocket.”

Before I could even say something, I got lifted from the floor and dragged out of the cell. I tried to say something, but only managed to utter, “About time you got me out of there.”

Then I got a whack with a nightstick on my head and a cop said, “Shut up, you lowlife. You’ll go into the hole. Let’s see how you like that.”

I wanted to ask for a doctor to check for any concussion from the hit to my head. But I didn’t want another whack on my head from these cops. Then we arrived at a steel door with a locked-looking hatch in it. They opened it up and I got literally thrown in. The door slammed shut behind me and I found myself in a pitch-black room.

I felt around and identified through touch a bed without a mattress, just a solid piece of wood and a little further down a toilet and a sink.

I sat down on the wooden bed and pulled my knees up against my chin. Quietly I pondered my situation. A short time later it started to feel cold inside the room, so I started shivering. I wrapped myself tighter to keep as much warmth inside me as possible, but I was losing heat rapidly.

What felt like hours or even days later, I didn’t have a watch anymore, nor a light to see the time if I did, the door squeaked open, and two cops came in to pull me out.

I was shivering violently now and just let them drag me towards wherever, just as long as it was warm. It turned out that I was being taken to my arraignment hearing. Just before entering the courtroom, the cops cleaned me up a bit and put me in a Plexiglas booth. A young-looking man walked up to me and said, “We don’t have much time. You’re here for assault with a deadly weapon and robbery. I must tell you that you have been identified and the police tell me that they found the knife you tossed whilst on the run. So just take my advice, plead guilty and get a lighter sentence.”

I was still shivering and wanted to get done with it and get warm again. But I would die before saying I was guilty of something that I didn’t do. So I shook my head and hissed, “Never!”

Just before the judge entered the courtroom, some late comers stepped into the courtroom and I was surprised, frightened and elated all at the same time to see my mom. She wanted to rush towards me, but the Judge entered, and everyone was ordered to sit.

There were three of us being arraigned. First, a beefy fat guy was asked how he plead to the charge of manslaughter. Apparently, he had hit a neighbor with a four-by-four. He pleaded guilty and a sentencing hearing was scheduled.

Then it was my turn. “Ashley Davis, you’re accused of assaulting and robbing two elderly women with a deadly weapon, the weapon in question being a butchering knife. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor.”

The judge replied, “Very well, we’ll set a trial date as soon as possible. Does the prosecution allow the defendant bail?”

A woman in a smart business suit stood up and said, “Your honor we request for bail to be denied. Apparently, this young man is extremely violent. As soon as he was put into a holding cell, he started a fight and injured four men, without any apparent injury to himself.”

I was about to say something, when my lawyer quietly said to me. “Shut up and don’t say a word.” Then to the judge, he said, “Your honor, my client has no prior record and I believe he felt threatened in the holding cell and defended himself in response.”

The judge looked at me and said, “He doesn’t look like a big fighter, but appearances can be deceiving. Bail is denied, the defendant will remain in custody.”

I had to say something. “Excuse me, your honor.”

“Yes, Mr. Davis?”

“Can I request at least a place a bit warmer? I’m still so cold from my last cell.”

The whole courtroom reacted in shock with gasps and blank stares from several people.

My mom stood up and said in a clear voice. “It’s an outrage, my son never attacked anyone and now he’s accused of assaulting old women and a majority of criminals? Not to mention that he’s shivering from the cold of his incarceration. Shame on you and this justice system.”

The judge hammered away with his gavel. “Quiet everyone. Madam, if you can’t be quiet, I’ll have you removed from this courtroom.”

Mom yelled back, “You call this a court room, it’s more like a lynching.”

Several people reacted either affirmatively or disapprovingly. The judge hammered again and said. “Order! Order! Bailiff, take that woman out of my courtroom.”

I yelled, “Mom! I didn’t do it. Please, Mom. Don’t hurt my mom!”

The judge yelled again, “Bailiff, escort Mr. Davis back to jail!”

Two uniformed men dragged me out of the booth and manhandled my struggling body to a different exit than my mom. I tried to see what happened to her, but I only caught a few glimpses.

This time I was locked in a much nicer cell, with light and warmth. Unfortunately, I also had a cellmate. The third guy at the arraignment hearing was with me. He looked menacing with arms twice the size of mine and his weight was almost twice mine as well. After we were left alone, he said quietly, “So, you’re such a fighter?”

I scowled; I would get a reputation that I didn’t even want. “I got in a few lucky punches and kicks. They were going to rape me in there. I was lucky to get out as I did. Although the fight got blamed on me, as I was alone against the word of all those rapist assholes in there.”

My cellmate said, “I hear you, man. I don’t have to fight much with my looks. But you’d be meat for the grinder. I’m Charlie Johnson. CJ for my friends.” He then held his hand out to me.

“Ashley Davis.” As I shook his hand.

“With a name like that, you’re very lucky that you got out of that cell still walking.”

I grimaced, “Tell me about it. The thing is, Ashley used to be a boy’s name only. Nowadays people associate it more with a girl, though I don’t know why.”

“Movies I guess,” Charlie said. Then he lay down on the bed and said, “Better get some shuteye while you can. I’ve been in here before, so I know.”

The next day my lawyer from the courtroom, by name of Sean Harrington, visited me in a small room inside jail. He seemed rushed and went over things very quickly. He didn’t ask for particulars about the arrest procedure. I did tell him that the arresting officer was a racist, who called me nigger and just as soon wanted to shoot me on sight. He did tell me to plead guilty but at my vehemence that I wouldn’t, he merely said, “Look, you can plead ‘not guilty’, lots of people do that. Then the prosecution comes out with lots of evidence and sworn statements and wins the case. The judge thinks that you were lying and sentences you to long prison-time. Now, if you plead guilty and throw yourself at the mercy of the court, the judge will most likely be lenient, and seeing as this is your first offense, you’ll do little time.”

“But I’ll be convicted of a felony and lose my job, my enrollment at college and have a record.”

Harrington replied, “Yes, you will. But you’ll have a record anyway. The prosecution has so much evidence against you. The victims identified you as their attacker. The knife that was used came from the store where you worked. You were near the spot where it happened and don’t have a good alibi for the time coming from the store until you were arrested. Trust me, a guilty plea will save you a lot of prison-time.”

“I’ll think it over, can you get my mom to visit me? I would like to talk to her.”

Harrington seemed genuinely concerned for me and said, “Sure, I’ll see what I can do.”

Later that day, my mom visited me and spoke with me from behind the Plexiglas divider.

“How are you holding up, son?” She asked, concerned.

“As well as can be expected. I don’t really know why they arrested me. I mean I don’t do that kind of thing and I haven’t even seen two old women. At least now they are treating me a bit better. I don’t have to fear getting raped in the holding cell and this time it is warm enough. The food still sucks, but I won’t starve. Now my lawyer says that I should plead guilty. He says that if I do that I will get a reduced sentence and be out soon again. I really don’t know. I am not guilty, but that doesn’t matter as the prosecution has tons of evidence against me.”

Mom smiled at me. “I know you didn’t do it. It really is up to you. If you feel that you’d be better off pleading guilty then you should do it. I will always know the truth.”

I smiled at her. “Thank you, Mom. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Back in my cell, I had a talk with CJ about what to do. He said, “Your lawyer might be right. Being innocent doesn’t always matter. What matters is what you can prove. If the D.A. has such overwhelming evidence against you, then the judge will go along and throw the book at you; because you’ll be seen as arrogant and without remorse. Then again, pleading guilty does not always pan out. I had a friend who pleaded guilty, and he did get a sentence less than what he would have, had he been found guilty, but it still was quite a stretch.”

“Well, thanks for the advice, CJ. Say what did you do and how did you plead?”

CJ smiled a sad smile. “I’m a career criminal, of course I plead guilty. I’ll do my time and be out in a few years. Whatever happens to you, if you’re out and in my neighborhood, look me up. You can ask me for a favor any time.”

It didn’t register with me until much later, that he didn’t answer what he had done. But I decided that it was his business. If he didn’t want to talk about it, so be it.

Days later my lawyer had me dressed in a cheap suit, which made me look at least a bit presentable, but I still looked like a bum in my opinion. I was led to a table where Harrington was already sitting. Mom was sitting right behind him on the first row behind a fence. She smiled at me, but I didn’t like how she looked. She looked ragged and unhealthy. This trial wasn’t good for her health. Even worse, a prison sentence would damage her health even more.

Before I could say anything to her, someone shouted, “All rise, Judge Harding presiding.” I turned to see the same judge as before walk into the courtroom and as he sat down, he said, “Be seated.”

A guy on the left said, “Court is now in session, the people versus Ashley Davis, on account of assault with a deadly weapon and robbery.”

The judge asked, “Mr. Davis, how do you plead?”

I stood up and looked first at Harrington and then at my mom. Both nodded assuring back at me. “After consideration, I change my plea to guilty and throw myself at mercy of the court, your honor,” I said with a trembling voice.

“Very well, seeing as this is your first offense I am leaning to leniency in my sentence. However, you did use a deadly weapon, which I personally find offensive, and you have shown a great aptitude for violence after being arrested. Therefore, I sentence you to a time of imprisonment of no less than ten years without parole.”

My mom yelled, “What? Are you out of your mind?”

I was also shouting, “I’m not violent! I was defending myself!”

The judge hammered loudly with his gavel. “Quiet, or I’ll find you in contempt of court.”

I fumed, “You are already in contempt. This is an outrage!”

To my lawyer, I yelled, “You said we had a deal, a guilty plea for a reduced sentence.”

The woman prosecutor said with disdain, “He never talked to us about such a deal and he can’t offer such a thing to you anyway.”

Then I heard a commotion on the seats behind me and turned around. Mom was clutching her chest and falling down in her chair. I thought, ‘Oh no, she’s having a heart attack.’ I knew she took some medication for her heart. I yelled, “Someone call an ambulance, she’s having a heart attack!”

I tried to get to her, but the bailiffs held me back and I couldn’t get close. Another bailiff started CPR and kept it up until help arrived. They did let me stay in the courtroom till the paramedics came and took mom away. They had shocked her back to life, but her prognosis wasn’t good, they said.

Before I was led away, the judge had one last axe to grind with me. “Mr. Davis, since you plainly can’t control your temper, I’m adding some extra time to your sentence. Because of your mother’s condition, I won’t add five years like I planned, but you’re getting another two years prison-time. You are hereby sentenced to a minimum of twelve years imprisonment. Case closed; bailiff, take Mr. Davis out of here.”

As I was dragged out of the room I yelled, “You’ll all get what’s coming to you, even if it kills me!”

Shortly after being dragged from the courtroom, I had to undress and put on an orange jumpsuit with big letters ‘DOJ’ on the back. Directly afterward I was led out to a prison bus that was already half full of other inmates. As I looked for a free spot, I heard the rumors fly around.

“Why are they putting a girl in here with us.”

“That’s not a woman, that guy killed three or four guys in lockup, in just one minute after getting locked up. He’s dangerous, man.”

“He sure looks girly.”

“I wouldn’t say that in front of him. Unless you have a death wish.”

I thought, ‘Great, some think I’m a woman, others think I’m a stone hard killer psychopath.’

The drive to the state prison didn’t take long and though the other inmates kept saying things about me, it was over soon enough. Good thing too, as the stories kept going from mostly reputable to insanely ridiculous. They unloaded us into the prison courtyard, and we had to stand in line. The warden came out to inspect us. “I’m warden Pozier and I have a few rules here. Keep yourself out of trouble and we’ll get along well enough. But step out of line and you’ll see why I am considered a hardliner.”

Then a guard started calling out names and cell numbers. Halfway through he said, “Ashley Davis, C11.”

Some inmates started whispering among them, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. The guards threatened with their nightsticks, “Quiet, the lot of you.”

Inside the prison building, we got our bedding and hygiene supplies and were escorted to our cells. The guard with me as we neared Cell 11, C-block said, “Ty, your new bunkmate has arrived.”

A low rumbling voice said, “Okay, come on in.”

As I stepped inside, I saw the biggest and blackest African American I had ever seen. My step faltered for a moment, and he rumbled on, “Now, don’t be shy, I don’t bite ... much!”

“I’ll let you get acquainted,” the guard said as he went on with another inmate to show him to his cell.

The big black man rumbled again, “Tyrone Kinney.”

“I’m Ash. So, what do I call you? Tyrone? Ty? Mr. Kinney?”

“Ty is fine. I thought your name was Ashley Davis.”

This raised some alarm bells in my mind. ‘How would he know my name?’

Another guard came by at that moment. “Davis, the warden wants to see you urgently. Let’s go.”

Through the maze inside the prison, and several locked doors that had to be opened remotely, I was led to the warden’s office. The warden looked at me as I came in and then turned to look outside again. “Please sit down, Mr. Davis.”

As I sat down, he turned to me again and sat down himself at his desk, a cheap plywood and plastic piece of furniture. He picked up a file and leafed through it, though I suspected he already knew everything that was in it. He was just observing me. I did the same and shamelessly looked at him. He was corpulent but stayed in shape. His suit was cheap like the desk, and it looked rumpled.

Suddenly he said, “So, Ashley Davis. Your file says that you’re a violent man. I can’t say that you look the part.”

I just sat there still and watched him. He continued, “I didn’t ask you here for that though. I’m afraid I have bad news for you.”

Now I perked up and fear was showing in my eyes. I already expected bad news, but to have it confirmed wasn’t good at all. He continued, “Your mother died on the way to hospital. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Tears were threatening to leak from my eyes, but I pushed them back with all the willpower I had. The judge, prosecutor and my lawyer, they all were responsible for the death of my mom.

But the warden hadn’t finished yet. He handed me an already opened letter. “This letter was forwarded to here, and standard practice is to open it.”

I took the paper from the envelope and read it. It was from the bank, apparently mom was behind on the mortgage payment and since she died and I was in prison, they foreclosed on the mortgage and are selling the house.

I looked up at the warden. “What about our possessions, mementos, pictures and furniture?”

The warden turned away from my gaze. “Probably sold what was worth something and the rest thrown away.”

Now I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. Society hadn’t been satisfied with taking away my job, my college education and my mom. Now it also took away my home and everything I had to remember her by. I lost my self-control. I bellowed a primal scream and banged my fists hard enough on the desk that the wood and plastic cracked and showed serious damage. The warden jumped up from his chair, clearly afraid that I would hurt him. He yelled, “Guards! Guards!”

Two guards came into the office and seeing me in a rage, panting before a cracked desk, restrained me and pulled me back away from the warden. He yelled, “Put him in solitary confinement. That’ll cool him off.”

Quickly the two guards dragged me to the solitary confinement cell block and threw me into the cell. I looked around and thought, ‘Well, at least this one has a light in it. There is even a mattress on the bed. It’s a very thin one, but still. And it’s warm enough here.’

After two days alone in solitary, days that I filled with exercising, I was released and shown the way back to ‘General Population’ as they call it.

As I entered the cell that I shared with Tyrone, the guard that had followed me there went on to a control booth. Tyrone’s bass voice boomed, “So, you’re back? Well, I must say you set a new record. You’re the first to get into Solitary within an hour of getting into prison. Are you going to set a new record for your first escape attempt as well? You should know that they have already started betting on that.”

Defeated, I dropped on my bunk, “I have no intention of escaping. Where would I go? I don’t have anything outside anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mom died after hearing my sentence. The bank foreclosed and took the house. I don’t have any living relatives and everything I ever owned is gone. I don’t have my job anymore, and the college is gone as well. Even the hope of getting a job is gone as I won’t be able to get one with my record.”