Full Circle - Part 2
#2 of Full Circle
Part two.
The last 24 hours were a blur for Andy. He didn't know how he ended up there.
He sat in a corner of his cell, slumped against the wall. He was in an orange jumpsuit, a large number where his name would normally be on his uniform. He had cuffs on his hand that made it difficult for him to sit without them cutting into his hands.
Nobody had talked to him about what was going on. He wondered what the officer had told the detective; what would change his mind so drastically?
Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching his cell. An officer stood behind a weasel in a suit holding a briefcase.
"I'm Ronald Wright, I'll be your lawyer." Ronald nodded to the officer and he unlocked the cell door. Ronald stepped in. "They tell me you have some questions," said Ronald as he sat on the bunk in the cell.
"Why am I here?" asked Andy in a deep, hoarse voice.
"I think we all know why you're here, Andy," replied Ronald. Andy looked up at him.
"They were going to let me go, then something changed. What happened?"
Ronald sighed.
"A witness came forward. They said they saw you leaving the residence with blood on you." Andy felt a rush of emotions come over him as Ronald told him this.
"That isn't true. Ask my other service calls for that day, I left her house and she was fine." Ronald looked at him again.
"Unfortunately, you are going to need more than word of mouth if you want to get out of here." Andy sat silent for a while before finally turning away; he stared out the cell window silently. After a moment Ronald signaled the officer to open the cell again. He left with the officer and Andy was alone again.
Andy couldn't understand why any of this was happening. He wished more than anything that he could be back home.
He had lost all sense of time in jail; seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours. A guard occasionally walked by his cell with echoed footsteps. He wanted to be angry at the guards, but he knew he couldn't; it wasn't their fault. Suddenly one unlocked his cell.
"You have a call, come on." Andy stared at the guard for a few seconds before finally standing up. He wondered who would be calling him, and why they would let him answer it.
The guard lead him down a hall to a wall-phone and cuffed him to a bar next to it. Andy picked it up. He instantly recognized the voice on the other end.
"Andy... How are you doing?" It was Sandy. She sounded worried; who could blame her. She continued on the phone. "My brother-in-law works as a guard there, I called in a favor. You can thank him for this call." Andy looked over at the guard. The guard's stare was unchanged.
"Why are you calling?" Andy said with a monotone voice. There was a moment of silence on the phone.
"I want you to know that I believe it wasn't you," Sandy said, her voice troubled.
There was another moment of silence between the two of them.
"I have to go now," Sandy said, "just hang in there. I'm sure this will be cleared up soon enough." The line went dead. Andy looked over to the guard and he came and re-cuffed both of his hands. The guard was a fox, like Sandy. He never met Sandy's husband, not that he wanted to. Sandy and Andy were close at one point of time, almost family. She was always kind and patient; always thoughtful of others. Their relationship gradually lost what made it special, but they both remained friends; Sandy understood why. Shortly after that Sandy met her husband, and a year later they were married.
The guard opened the cell again and pushed Andy into the cell. Andy walked over and slumped back down into the corner. Sandy calling should have given him hope, knowing someone believed him. It gave him nothing. He sat in the corner of the cell, void of any emotion. He felt numbed by the last two days.
It had been a week now; there had been no news about the case. Andy still sat in the county jail cell; he was set to transfer to a prison that day. He looked out the window as the sun started to light up the land outside. He felt emotion again as a tear rolled down his face. He didn't understand how he got here, but he did know he shouldn't be.
Suddenly an officer appeared at the cell door; Andy knew why he was there.
"Time to go," said the officer, stepping into the cell. Andy stood up instantly this time.
This officer wasn't large like the ones before; he was a small coyote. Andy read the name on his uniform. Sergeant Waterman. The officer grabbed Andy's arm and lead him out of the cell and down the hall.
After what seemed like an endless amount of buzzing doors, the bright sunlight hit Andy's face as he was led outside. Even though he had a window, he had become accustomed to only artificial light inside his cell. As his eyes adjusted to the light he saw a large bus with two guards outside of it. There was nobody else on the bus; it was here just for him.
This jail wasn't equipped for high-profile criminals; there weren't any fences or guard towers. As the officer led Andy to the bus, he suddenly saw his chance. If he managed to break free from the officer, he could run into the woods to the left of them; they would have a hard time tracking him through there. Suddenly Andy stopped walking. The officer looked Andy up and down.
"What are you doing?" said the officer, pushing Andy forward, "keep walking!"
As the officer pushed him Andy smashed his handcuffed fists into the officer's side. The officer crumpled over from the pain. Andy started to run as fast as he could towards the woods. He heard the guards yelling. They tried to get more officers on the radio, but they wouldn't make it there soon enough to be useful. Andy made it to the woods as a shot echoed from behind him. He dodged left and right through the trees. As he ran, he heard a familiar sound in the distance in front of him. It was the blare of a train horn. He ran even faster, now with a target in mind. As he finally reached the train, he located an open car.
Andy looked behind him and saw no one, but he could still hear the search party. He backed up a little ways from the train and tried to time a jump into the car. It was going slow enough that he could keep up with it. He made the jump and threw himself into the car, landing on his hands. He tried to make himself upright to relieve the pain of his weight on the handcuffs and his hands. Turning his head, he saw blood on his fur where the cuffs had cut his hands.
Andy's attention then turned to his blood soaked side. He didn't know where the blood came from until he inspected himself closer. He had a bullet wound on his left side and was bleeding out. He looked around frantically and saw an iron hinge protruding from the side of the car. He managed to rock his way to it. He turned his back towards it and slammed the chain of the chain of the handcuffs against it.
Nothing.
He tried again, harder.
Nothing.
His hands started to sting as the cuffs cut into them.
He lifted his hands as high as he could behind him and slammed them down with all of his strength. The chain broke with a shower of sparks.
Andy brought his hands to his front and inspected them. They were cut from the cuffs that were still on his hands but would be okay. His attention then turned to his bullet wound. He took off his orange shirt and tore a section out of it; he then tied it around his abdomen in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He leaned back against a wall of the car, panting. He closed his eyes to rest, but faded out of consciousness.