Then Ben rose from his seat, and wrapped his arms around Dwight. Once the two finally dropped the embrace, Ben stood about two feet from Dwight, looked him directly in the eyes, and said, “Now, it only gets tougher from here.”
Ben still worried how this would look, but knew this was the right thing to do. If Dwight truly did not do it, he deserved Ben’s help. No one else here would defend him, other than a public defender who was forced to, and Ben knew it. And with the public defenders they had in this area and the influence the wrong people had over them, Ben believed Dwight had just as well tie his own noose.
Ben patted Dwight on the back and picked up his briefcase to leave. Dwight walked over to his chair and leaned against it with his arms straight and his hands grasping the back of it firmly. Ben knocked and the officer immediately opened the door, joined by five other officers standing outside the door. Next to them stood the Freeden Tribune editor Preston Hall, a representative from the local television station, and three reporters from newspapers in the surrounding area, all decked out in their company attire, their necks adorned with lanyards featuring their press badges. Ben did not believe the press was usually allowed in this part of the police department, but, sure enough, all of them were present, waiting for anything newsworthy that might come their way.
Dwight could not see the reporters from where he was standing, nor could they see him. Ben looked at them, hesitant to walk out for concern of what they may ask him. He had committed to defending Dwight, but he suddenly felt unready for the stigma that would accompany his defending an accused murderer. This accused murderer.
When Ben took a step forward, Dwight yelled, “Before you go, tell me you truly believe me, Ben.”
Ben had his back to Dwight, and once Dwight asked the question, he stood there in front of the officers, four of whom he knew personally, and the media representatives, realizing he had to say something.
He turned back to Dwight who now sat alone in the dark room. A man who had built his entire career in this community would, as Ben expected, now be shunned by it because of an accusation that would label him guilty no matter what. Ben realized that if he was going to truly give everything in defending Dwight, it had to start now.
Ben turned his head back to Dwight, cameras and recorders now rolling from the reporters, and said to Dwight, “I most certainly do.”
One officer walked forward, shut the door, and the reporters flocked around Ben like vultures on a piece of road kill. Ben avoided them, and continued to walk as they came after him down the hall and ultimately out of the building. The reporters followed him right up to his truck, yelling questions, and he hopped in, locked the door, and drove off, answering none of them.
As he drove home in the early hours of the morning, he realized that life would never be the same again. For Ben, the days of taking a stroll down the sidewalk to 3rd Street Cafe for lunch were likely over. Drinks at David’s were a thing of the past. He feared that he would no longer be welcomed here in Freeden.
Ben had once really loved his hometown, but with the realization that the town was full of people who could not move past old practices and discriminatory ways of life, he knew by morning that Freeden would have already convicted Dwight in the court of public opinion. Dwight was the only openly gay man in Freeden, and Ben believed that most people in town would likely think he was the only person sick enough to do something like this.
He knew the townspeople. He knew Freeden. And he knew they would think the only person who would do something like this was “a gay.”
Freeden would believe it was Dwight.
Dwight the gay.
5: Day of Wrath
Day of wrath
That day will dissolve the Earth in ashes.
The sun rose just as it always had. Saturday mornings were Ben’s favorite. Usually.
He woke up after only a few hours of sleep. Ready and dressed in no more than fifteen minutes, he grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door of his empty house. He needed breakfast before a busy day. He drove to his office, then walked to 3rd Street Café on his usual stroll there for a weekend brunch. On Saturday mornings, no one was ever out unless they were at 3rd Street Café, and this morning proved no exception.
A few cars passed by Ben as he walked along the sidewalk, but they came in spurts and usually one at a time. Some of those who drove by stuck their hand out the window to wave at him, which in the South was almost a more obligatory act than anything else. He didn’t feel like anyone recognized him; they just waved as if they were indebted as genuine Southerners to do so.
Morning birds chirped in harmony on the cool late spring morning that welcomed comfortable temperatures, bringing a peace over Ben that he feared he might not enjoy for long.
Ben walked in the front door of 3rd Street Café to a packed eatery. Outside, Freeden looked like a ghost town. Inside, the café emulated Wall Street. There was a seat at the lunch counter, though, and that’s where Ben went.
“Coffee?” the server asked as he ran around behind the counter, scrambled and disoriented due to piling responsibilities from waiting tables at a traditionally short-staffed venue.
“Black, please,” Ben replied.
The place was loud, but Ben could hear the conversation the three men next to him at the counter were having, and it was clear that they had heard about Dwight.
“They say they found him at the school early yesterday evening,” one said.
“Do they know who did it?”
“That Dwight Kerry, teacher over there at the school.”
“Isn’t he a gay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be damned, that’s what you get for letting queers teach the school children.”
The third of them took a sip of his coffee. “They ought to let a firing squad shoot him dead at the front of the school building.”
“No, no that would be too quick – what they ought to do is have somebody do him the same way he did Dale’s boy.”
“The faggot would like that too much,” the other said.
“It’s a damn shame our police can’t walk into the jailhouse and torture and kill that son of a bitch. What has our world come to, letting these freaks walk around, rapin’ and killin’? What has it come to?”
Indeed, Ben wondered, what has the world come to? What has Freeden come to? It’s a damn shame. How has this place I loved turned into such a hateful, scummy place? Why are people out here letting hearsay rule their opinions before even considering the development of their own? The way he viewed it, the town had become a judgement-spouting megaphone, and hate had its finger on the operating button.
About that time, Aaron walked in.
“What you say, Johnny?” he said to one of them as he walked over, standing behind the three men.
“Me and
