Below is a new chapter from my new book. The character Jacob is a lawyer in Utah Valley, Utah and he has just married a wonderful woman, Carly who is an author of Young Adult Romance books. However, Carly comes to the marriage with two sons, the youngest, Dylan is a bit wild and gets into some trouble after moving in with Jacob and Carly. Jacob is forced to deal with Dylan's D.U.I. ***Copyright by Carol Anne Malone***
(This gorgeous hunk on the left is my vision of Jacob who is actually 'Matt Bomer'. Cute isn't he?)
It was the usual disgusting scene in the courthouse drunk tank. Five sullied masses of humanity huddled together amidst the pungent, rank smells of alcohol, urine and vomit. The repulsive, noxious smells were enough to turn Jacob’s stomach. Among the usual drunk and disorderly Jacob saw Dylan. His arms hung loose at his sides, his eyes were closed, and he looked like hell. He was slumped back against the cell wall; his long, shaggy hair was smashed to the side of his face and looked like he hadn’t washed it in a week. He was wearing a death metal shirt that had a brutal image of the dying Christ on it, his head encased with the bloody thorny crown and sculls peaking out from under his long scraggly beard. The image was vulgar and extremely offensive. Dylan’s jeans were caked with something that looked like he hadn’t quite made the toilet to vomit and he was bare footed.Sometimes the jailers often took away inmates shoes when booking them especially those that might be considered suicide risks. Jacob wanted to walk away and keep on walking, but then the image of Carly’s sweet face invaded his thoughts. He couldn’t let see her youngest son like this. He could spare her that image.
The jailer approached. “You find him?”
Jacob took a deep breath between his teeth. “Yeah, he’s that one with the black t-shirt.”
“Sorry,” the officer whispered.
“Yeah, me too.”
After the cell was unlocked and Dylan roused from his drunken, drug induced stupor, Jacob had to fairly drag him out the cell door to the front desk.
“Hey, man,” Dylan slurred. “How’s s'it goin’ Jacob?”
Jacob propped him up against the counter, his hands not wanting to touch the sodden, putrid smelling clothing. “Just be quiet while I get your things and sign you out.”
“You…you can’t talk to me that way.”
“Watch me,” Jacob ordered, those brilliant eyes flashing angrily.
Even stoned, Dylan knew enough not to push Jacob too far.
After Jacob received the arrest papers and Dylan’s trial date, he pulled the kid out the main door.
“Hey, no rough stuff. I’ve had a h-hard night.”
Just as they stepped outside the courthouse, Jacob grabbed Dylan by the shirt collar, dragging him up on his toes and slamming him back against the courthouse wall. Dylan’s breath could have lit the Las Vegas Strip, let alone most breathalyzers. "Look, you worthless, contemptible snot, I'm not here as your parent. I'm an officer of the court and a lawyer who knows what a deep mess you've put yourself in because of your stupid, smart mouth and your addictions and recklessness. Whether you realize it or not, you are in some serious stuff..."
"Don't get all righteous on me," Dylan flashed and swayed a bit his head throbbed off his shoulders.
"Shut up and listen to me or I'll take you back inside and have you placed in custody again."
"You can't do that."
"The hell I can't. My brother is a County Judge and my brother-in-law is a Superior Court Judge. I can do anything I damn well please. It would do you a world of good to leave your butt sitting in jail for a while."
"Yeah, that'd make my mother real happy."
Jacob pulled the kid’s face closer to his and regretted the rank smell. "What would you know about making your mother happy, you selfish punk. You've done nothing but hurt and disappointed your mother for years. I couldn't even bring myself to tell her about your latest fiasco and subsequent arrest because of the physical pain that it will cause her. Luckily for you, you ungrateful, miserable wretch, she doesn't know anything about this--now." Jacob took a breath. It was hard to catch any clean air being this close to Dylan. "Do you know how close you came to being put away permanently?If you would have hit that young family instead of the light standard, you'd be facing a criminal homicide charges right about now and facing hard time at Point of the Mountain instead of standing free. But that's where I think you might just belong."
"Go ahead. Send me there."
Jacob's eyes flashed hot and fiery. "Don't tempt me. And don't try your manipulative crap on me. It won't work. I've seen too many people like you. Sorry messes that creep time and time back into the bottle or to pills to escape reality then let others clean up their mess. Not this time, Dylan. You're on your own."
"Go to hell."
"I just might for what I'm thinking about doing to you. But then your mother would be devasted and I love her enough to spare her that pain."
"My mom’s pretty hot. I know you only married her to get some."
The slap snapped Dylan's head back sharply and the sharp crack reverberated off the building. When he swung his head back to face Jacob, his eyes mirrored the surprise at the jarring shock.
Jacob stepped back, placed his hands at his side and forced his breathing to slow as two uniformed officers approached.
"Any problems, Counselor?" The officer smiled at Jacob, but his fresh-from-the academy partner looked nervous and concerned.
"It’s okay, Matt. I got this."
Officer Matt Davidson had been a long time friend of Jacob's and a member of his stake. Besides that, he'd appeared numerous times as a witness against some of Jacob’s clients. They were familiar with one another and had mutual respect for the law and each other. "Do you need us to help you rough him up some more?"
"No, Matt. My client and I are just having a bit of a disagreement."
"Alright. Carry on."
When the two officers began to walk away, Dylan cried out, "You're not going to leave me out here with him, are you?"
The officers looked over at the obviously drunk or stoned boy, with the unruly, shaggy hair, wearing a disgusting heavy metal t-shirt and mangled jeans and laughed. "Looks like you're in good hands to us, boy." Then they disappeared inside the court house.
"Nobody's coming to your rescue this time Dylan. You're on your own and the way I see it, you have several choices."
Dylan rubbed his sore jaw and raw and aching cheek. Man! That guy could hit. "Yeah. And?"
"Number one: I check you into a rehab, today..."
"Not gonna happen."
"Okay. Option two: you check yourself into a rehab today."
Dylan laughed, but when Jacob's eyes burned into his, he quit.
"I know several programs that teach job skills after you detoxed and get straight. Not doing anything is NOT an option. And, the car is mine."
"The hell it is," Dylan shouted. "You have no right to take my car."
"You didn't pay for it, did you?"
Dylan's defiant eyes jerked to the ground. "No."
"Who paid for your car and who buys your insurance and who suffers for your stupidity?"
Jacob grabbed Dylan by the shirt front again and jerked him around to face him. "Who?"
"My mom! Okay. She bought my car after dad...after my old man passed away and she pays my insurance because the car isn't in my name."
"Alight Dylan. This is how this is going to play out. You have the rest of the day to decide. I'm even going to give you one more option. And I'm being very generous with this one. You will go through several days of intense detox and can get yourself clean,” he went on quickly when Dylan started to sputter a refusal. “But you will remain in my custody. After that you will be with me every moment of the day and spend the nights in a program home. You will not go out with friends. You won’t even be allowed to talk to your friends as the cell phone is mine as well. You will not be allowed drugs or alcohol, period. You will work for me in my office so that I can keep an eye on you. Now, you may take option one or two you may do nothing. I'll have my paralegal pick up your car from impound and take it to our house where it will stay until you can earn it back or make enough money to buy your own car."
(Rehab now or this later!)
"Maybe I'll just kill myself and end everyone's problems."
Jacob's eyes flashed hotly, but he controlled his rising temper, barely. "That's your choice, Dylan. But I'm telling you right now, your problems will not end with death. They’ll only escalate. What you screw up here will rise with you in the next life."
"So testified Sherem and many others. But as God is my witness and I know a thing or two about witnesses and how that whole things works, you will answer for your problems in the next life and believe me when I say that that judge will not be very lenient. If you really are that selfish, that stupid to take the permanent solution to a very temporary problem, then I suggest you make that choice, but remember that it will probably put your mother in the grave as well. You think about that for a moment, you selfish moron. Think about someone besides yourself for once in your pitiful life.
When Dylan opened his mouth, Jacob shocked him to silence him. "Next, you will follow all the rules. I will not use my influence to get you a lighter sentence. I will however, stand as your lawyer and whatever sentence is handed down, you will abide by it."
"But..." Dylan sobbed. "What if I'm sentenced to do time?"
"Then you'll do time. More than likely you'll probably get a suspended sentence with probation and community service because this is your first screw up in the state of Utah and nobody was hurt in the accident. And what will really help is if you’re already enrolled in a qualified detox program and getting job training. That will go a long ways to swaying the judge’s sentencing, but if you screw that up, I can't help you anymore." (Dylan, as a drunk.)
The effects of the fifth of Smirnoff and the multiple valium pills were beginning to wear off and the depth of the consequences of his actions were beginning to slam into Dylan's stupefied brain. "Oh, God what have I done. I'm scum, I'm lower than scum. I don't deserve to live. I'm so damned stupid. I let myself be talked into doing some Valium and some vodka then driving. I can't believe I did that. What's wrong with me?"
Though Dylan might have sounded contrite, Jacob recognized and understood that under those very convincing statements the kid had mastered manipulating strategies. He’d seen them so many times before and he wasn't drawn in by them. Dylan must be a master at pulling Carly's strings. Well no more. "Dylan, I'm not your father, but I know exactly what he'd tell you if he were alive. He'd say it was time for you to 'man up', to face your problems and take the steps to overcome them. You've had too many warnings and this time it must stick or there will be no help in the future."
Dylan jerked away from Jacob. "You don't know anything about my father. He was never...he left...he died...oh, God." Dylan broke down and would have fallen to the sidewalk had Jacob not supported his weight. He managed to drag Dylan to a bench just outside the court house and kept his arm around him until he could push him down on the bench. For some reason, this act didn't seem like an act and perhaps this was the crux of the problem. There had been no man in Carly's life to back her up, no one to stand strong when the boy needed a firm hand. But from what Carly had told him the boy's relationship with his father, there had always been a strain there.
Now it seemed Jacob had slipped from the role of law enforcer to physiological counselor. "What did he not do, Dylan?"
"You w-wouldn't . . . understand," he chocked. "You've got the perfect family."
Jacob chuckled. He'd never thought of his hardheaded brothers and sisters and boisterous, opinionated parents as perfect. He had to smile. Perhaps to the outside world they were exactly that. Perfect. There trials and problems weren't the kind that would cause serious harm or malice to another. They were just stubborn and willful and Jacob loved them all.
"No, they're not perfect, perhaps just different. So tell me."
Dylan rubbed dirty hands across his face, embarrassed as having shown weakness. "Hey, don't sweat it, The old man's gone so no biggy."
"It is a big deal Dylan. He left when you were very young. He left without warning and without coming back for you. He didn't even give you the courtesy of waiting until you could apologize to him, did he? He died when you were eighteen, right?"
"Yeah, right. Don't mean nuthin'."
"Yes, it does. To you it means everything. You were angry at him for leaving and for deserting you and your mother. You saw your brother as not caring one way or another or just couldn't understand why he wasn't more upset like you. Am I right?"
Dylan blinked away tears from his eyes and wiped his nose on his grimy sleeve. "You a psychologist now?"
"When I have to be."
"Yeah, I admit I was pissed when my old man...er...my dad passed away. I wasn't finished being mad at him and then he got so sick and I couldn't do nothin' for him but watch him suffer and then h-he was gone,” he blubbered. “Why would God do that to me?"
"He didn't just do it, as you say, to you. He also took your father from your mother. Did you ever stop to see how that must have affected her? How did she deal with that tragic loss, the separation from the man," Jacob stopped, swallowed hard before continuing, that jealous pain twisting in his gut. "The man your mother loved with her whole heart?"
Dylan looked down at his filthy hands which he twisted in his lap. "No. I never thought...or considered mom. She seemed so strong."
"She was being strong for you and your brother. She had to be. If she let down and let lose, there would be no way she could have held it together. You and your brother are the reasons she went on. Didn't you ever once stop to think about your mother in all of this? Not once?"(What could have happened.)
Shamed to the core, Dylan closed his eyes and took deep breaths. He'd never thought of anyone but himself. Of getting high, loaded, looped and bailing out of society—that was his only goal, to forget it all by escaping into, as Jacob said, a bottle or a mess of pills. It was so easy and so available and his friends, hah, his friends, they had been so willing to give him pills, weed, hash, coke, meth and now where were they? Now that he was taking the wrap for drinking and driving and drugs and his mother would cry. He couldn't stand to see his mother cry. "I guess not."
"Well it's time you did."
"I don't know how to start doing anything good."
"You'll figure it out or you'll spend the rest of your miserable life in jail. It's in your hands now, Dylan. It's your time to become a man. I admit up front that this will not be easy and it may take many years for you to free yourself from this bondage you've put yourself under. But I know it will be worth it. You're mother needs you, Dylan. She needs you sober and she needs you alive. But that choice is up to you."
Dylan shuffled to his feet. He was still wearing the lousy shoes the cops handed him. He didn’t know where his were. They probably took them off his feet so he wouldn’t kill himself with his own shoelaces. "But I don't know how to change."
"You'll figure that out too. Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."
Dylan looked up at Jacob with hope in his eyes. "You're letting me come home?"
"Until you're cleaned up, then you'll have to decide which of the three options you're going to go with. Or you can choose door number four, but that’s up to you. And as of right now, you're mine."
***Copyright - - Property of Carol Anne Malone***
Tired of Talking to Former Mormons
4 days ago