Antonia
“Rogers!”
Antonia jumped up in her bed at the sound of her last name and stumbled to her feet. “Yes?” she asked. She shoved her feet into the shoes that had been provided for her when she was booked at the jail some twelve hours earlier.
“The public defender is here to speak with you,” the guard on duty said. He unlocked her cell and swung the door open so she could step outside. “This way,” the guard said, pointing.
“Thank you,” Antonia said. She felt like she was about to throw up as she headed back towards the main room of the jailhouse. Before she could make it to the end of the hallway, another guard appeared, gesturing for her to follow him into a side door, where the lawyer was waiting for her.
“Hello, Ms. Rogers.” The public defender was a slick-looking man with thick greasy hair and a sleazy smile. “I’m Frank. Nice to meet you.”
Antonia tried to sit down across from the lawyer, but before she could, the guard put a hand on her shoulder, shoving her down into the seat. He pinned her arms down into the cuffs attached to the table. “Jeez, okay, I get it,” Antonia muttered as the guard squeezed her wrists unnecessarily, wordlessly telling her not to start any shit.
“Can I have a moment alone with my client, please?” Frank asked. He pointed towards the door until the guard disappeared back out into the hallway, slamming the heavy door behind him. “So. This is a real pickle that you’re in, isn’t it?”
“I guess,” Antonia said, flexing her fingers from within the handcuffs. She wished her hands were free. Her face really itched and she was too nervous to ask the lawyer to scratch it for her.
“Well, in case there’s any confusion, I want to clear things up for you. We’re going to go for a plea deal. Very common. Very normal. I’ve done it a thousand times, so you’re going to be fine,” Frank said. He rifled through a folder of papers on the table in front of him.
“A plea deal?” Antonia repeated, not comprehending the words right away. “What does that mean?”
“It means that in exchange for a guilty plea, the state will offer…reduced punishment. You won’t have to spend much time in prison, if at all, and maybe if we’re lucky we can get you off with probation, huh? Doesn’t that sound good?” Frank asked, grinning at her like he was telling her that she’d just won the lottery.
“But I didn’t do anything,” Antonia said. A wave of heat flushed its way up from the base of her spine to the back of her neck. “I’m not guilty of anything illegal.”
“Of course you’re not,” Frank said with an insincere smile. Antonia could practically smell the bullshit wafting off him. “But this is the route we have to take.”
“Why?” Antonia asked. “Why can’t I fight it? I’ve been the main caretaker of Daniel for over a year now, and nothing like this has ever happened before. Why can’t I go to the court and explain what happened?”
“Because they won’t believe you,” Frank said firmly. The smile faded from his face as he stared at Antonia with a hard, intense gaze. “They just won’t, honey. No matter how hard you beg and plead and moan in front of the jury, nobody’s going to look at your cop husband and think that he’s the abuser, and you aren’t. Sorry. That’s just the way it is.”
“But I can get proof!” Antonia said, her voice rising as a wave of desperation rose within her chest, her heart pounding furiously. “Daniel will testify. He’ll tell the truth. He’ll say that I never hurt him.”
“He might,” Frank said, “but there’s still the problem of the signed affidavits.”
“What?” Antonia asked, totally confused.
“The affidavits. Signed, notarized statements from trustworthy individuals that attest that they have seen you strike your son while you were angry. I’ve been reliably informed by the prosecution that they have numerous such statements in their possession, and they’re willing to use them if you try to go to court.”
Antonia was silent for a long moment, letting the lawyer’s words sink into her mind, feeling dread pool out from the base of her stomach and fill the rest of her body. “But…but what will happen to Daniel if I plead guilty?” she asked as soon as the ability to speak returned to her.
“He’ll go with his father,” Frank said with a shrug. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. If I work really hard, I might be able to get you visitation rights. Wouldn’t that be nice, having time with your son? I can make it happen if you choose to work with me, Antonia.”
Antonia shook her head. Tangy bile rose up through her throat and filled her mouth as she realized the deep shit she was really in. “So he goes to Paul? Paul, the guy who’s really been hitting him or doing God knows what to make him bruise up and have nightmares? That’s the best case scenario that I have to look forward to?” Antonia asked.
Frank sighed deeply, some semblance of sympathy filling his eyes as he slowly nodded his head. “I know it doesn’t sound great, Antonia, but it’s really the best that I can offer you. If you don’t cooperate with me, the consequences will be far worse. You might not ever be able to see your child ever again. Do you want that?”
“No,” Antonia said in a low whisper, shaking her head. “But I can’t let him go with his father. Not after all of this…”
Frank was quiet, tapping his fingers along the top of the table for a minute as he considered what to say. “Well,” he finally said, getting to his feet, “I’ll leave you to think it over. You let me know tomorrow when I come by again to visit you. Consider everything and make your own decision, all right? But just keep in mind what I said. If you don’t take the plea deal…you might not ever see your son again. Consider if you’re willing to live with that. Goodbye.”
With that, Frank disappeared out into the hallway, the sound of his receding footsteps echoing in Antonia’s brain as she considered his final warning. Fuck. I’m totally fucked.
The guard came back the next moment to usher her out of the meeting room and back into her cell, where her cellmate was still in bed, doodling in a magazine. Antonia went back to sit on her bed. She stared blankly at the grey wall across the room, willing the universe to give her a sign to tell her what to do.
“You got the public defender?” It took Antonia a couple seconds before she realized that she hadn’t imagined the sound of a question aimed in her direction. Her cellmate was now looking over at her, an expectant look in her eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, I did,” Antonia said, clearing her throat and nodding for good measure. She thought it would make her feel better, saying it out loud, but instead she felt more insecure, her body prickling with heat as she thought about the smarmy man who was in control of her fate.
Her cellmate shook her head and scribbled harder on her magazine. “Too bad for you,” she said, rolling over onto her side.
“Why? What do you mean?” Antonia asked. She straightened up on the bed, now fully alert despite the despair that lingered in her chest.
Her cellmate sighed and placed her feet on the ground, slowly adjusting her body so that she was sitting up, facing Antonia head on. “This your first time in the joint?”
Antonia hesitated answering, but then finally she nodded in response to her cellmate’s question.
“Ah, I see,” her cellmate said, shaking her head sadly. “You look richer than most of the people that I see coming in here. Can’t you afford a cheap lawyer? Anybody’s better than the public defender.”
“I—I don’t know,” Antonia said honestly, blowing out her breath in frustration. “I don’t have any money, but there’s a chance that someone in my life will help.” She realized after she said the words out loud that she didn’t really believe them. She was talking about Cal, but they’d only fucked a handful of times, without even talking to each other in the meantime. And anyway, he hadn’t come to see her even though she felt like she’d been in jail for days at this point. Where the hell was he? He must not give a fuck, Antonia thought to herself. Her stomach flopped like a fish trying to escape from her body. He must have given up on me. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe he should just focus on Bobby anyway.
“I know how that goes,” her cellmates said with a wry, wise smile, like she knew exactly what Antonia was thinking. “You know, you should stop waiting for whoever you think is going to show up. Trust me. I’ve been there. They never actually come, no matter how much they promise that they will.”
Antonia’s tongue went dry as a block of wood in her mouth. Somehow this strange woman guessed her deepest, darkest worries. She shook her head, trying to get the negative thoughts out of her mind. “Well, I’ll get out of here soon enough,” she said, more to herself than to the woman sitting across the room.
“Yeah, sure,” her cellmate scoffed out. Then she refocused her attention on the magazine in her lap, scribbling harder, ignoring Antonia.
Antonia sat in silence for a minute, a thousand thoughts turning around and around inside her mind. “Well, I’ve got this boss with a lot of money. He needs me to get out of here so I can take care of his son.”
Her cellmate stopped drawing on her magazine and looked up at her through her eyelashes. “Oh, yeah? He’s rich? What does he do?”
“He’s a physical therapist,” Antonia explained, even though she really didn’t know why she was bothering talking to this person. There was no point making friends here, not if she planned to get out of jail as soon as possible. But still, words spilled out of her mouth, like a train that just wouldn’t stop coming. “Well, he’s something other than a just a physical therapist. I mean, he’s out at all hours. I don’t know what it is, but he’s got a second job. He’s super rich. I live in his house with him, and it’s fucking huge,” she said with a laugh.
“Nice,” her cellmate said dryly, raising her eyebrows skeptically. “It’s weird that you’re even here in the first place if you have such a powerful friend.”
Antonia could tell that her cellmate didn’t exactly believe her. “He really has a lot of money. I’m sure he’ll get me a lawyer,” she protested weakly, even though she didn’t quite believe the words that were coming out of her mouth.
“Sure, sure,” her cellmate said, rolling her eyes. “What’s this magical guy’s name, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Cal,” Antonia said defiantly, without any hesitation. “Cal Amos.”
Her cellmate coughed out a laugh, her eyes going wide as her whole body convulsed with laughter. “Wait, wait, seriously?” she asked in between huge bellowing laughs.
“Yes,” Antonia said. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling her face heat up in response to her cellmate’s laughter.
“Cal Amos? Cal Amos the nurse? Seriously?” the cellmate asked in between chuckles, wiping at the sides of her eyes. “Really, you’re not shitting me?”
“No, I’m not,” Antonia said reflexively, rubbing her own arms to comfort herself when her cellmate collapsed into another fit of wild laughter. “What’s so fucking funny?”
“It’s just so cute,” her cellmate said, wheezing a little as she tried to catch her breath. “You talked about him like he was just any other rich guy.”
“Isn’t he?” Antonia asked.
Her cellmate huffed for breath for a few seconds before shaking her head. “He’s the president of the Bone Breakers, man.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Antonia asked, still not comprehending her cellmate’s statement.
“The Bone Breakers?” her cellmate repeated. “The motorcycle club in the area? The one that runs all the drugs and guns through this state? You heard of them?”
The name sounded a little more familiar now that Antonia thought about it, but she still refused to accept what her cellmate was saying. “No, no, he’s a normal guy. He’s just a normal dude. I mean, he does have a bike and a bunch of tattoos, but…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say. “He’s not…he can’t be.”
“Well, he is, girl,” her cellmate said with a face-splitting grin. She stood and walked over to the toilet in the corner of the room. “Get used to the idea.”
“How do you know?” Antonia asked. “Why should I even believe you? You could be talking out of your ass to freak me out.”
Her cellmate rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her magazine, scribbling random patterns all over the front page. “Whatever. Just telling you what I know, man.”
Antonia stared at her cellmate for a long moment, studying her face to try to determine whether or not she was telling the truth. “Cal…Cal Amos, right? That’s his name? You’re sure?” she asked.
“Yep. One hundred percent sure,” the cellmate said as she began flipping through the pages of her magazine. “I used to hang around that MC, you know, back in the day when they actually had money and power. Now they’re just weak.”
Antonia felt the contents of her stomach churn inside of her gut, rolling like the inside of a volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. “You…you’re serious?” she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the perfect silence of the empty cell around them.
“Yep,” her cellmate said, still not looking up from her magazine. “It’s the truth, kid. Whether or not you believe it, that doesn’t change reality. He’s a motorcycle club leader. Just chew on that.”
Antonia fell silent, her body falling back against her bed, and then rolled up against the hard, grey wall. She reached out to touch the concrete of the wall next to her bed, imaging that it was the soft hair on Daniel’s head, but it wasn’t. She couldn’t fool herself. She was stuck here, and the only hope for salvation was a goddamned motorcycle gang member, somebody who broke the law regularly without even telling her. Goddammit, Cal, she thought to herself, curling in on her body like a small bug. Why couldn’t you just tell me? Why couldn’t you warn me so I would know not to have any hope? Fuck you!
All of her hope was gone, drained from her body like water a burst pipe, spilling out onto the ground all at once. Her savior wasn’t a real savior. He was a criminal. He couldn’t save her from this. She was stuck, forever separated from her child. I want to die, Antonia thought, curling in closer on her own torso. She wrapped her arms as tightly around herself as they could go. I want to fucking die.