Elegy - Chapter 25

The next morning my alarm went off early. Well, it’s not exactly fair to say it was very early since I had set it for seven-thirty in the morning, which was later than my usual time to get up for school. However, considering the emotional strain I had been under, and the lack of sleep, I hadn’t gotten much rest during the previous week. After showering and eating the night before, I had only stayed up for another hour before going to bed and crashing hard. I was completely exhausted. Apparently, I still hadn’t gotten enough sleep because I felt incredibly groggy when I woke up, finding it hard to shake myself awake.

I had also decided not to go back to school this week. Although I guess I was within my rights as an emancipated minor to make that kind of decision, I still had wanted to run it by Mr. Eaves, Chef, and Mrs. Philips, just to be sure. They all agreed that it was okay. For one, I still needed to recover from the ordeal I had been through, and I had my mom’s funeral which was set for Friday. It had already been a week since … since everything had happened, and I didn’t want to delay it any longer. Additionally, I still needed to deal with the conditions of the pretrial release and find out everything I was required to do, and not allowed to do, while I was out on bail. I didn’t realize it until I was being processed out the day before, but there are as many, if not more, conditions for someone out on bail as there are for people on parole, and the judge is allowed to add as many conditions as they see fit.

It was after their office hours when I was released the previous day, but I still had to contact my pretrial case worker within twenty-four hours of my release, and it was up to me to make sure I reached out to them. I had been worried that I might have to try multiple times, which is why my alarm was set so that I would be up and ready to call them at eight when their office opened.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to try a lot of times to get my case worker, maybe because I called just as she was getting into the office.

“Karen Dubinsky,” a voice said when I called.

“Ms. Dubinsky, this is Charlie Nelson. I was released from jail late yesterday, and they said I needed to call your office within twenty-four hours.”

“One second,” she said, and I could hear the clacking of a keyboard, which was probably her looking me up. “You’re calling to register your pretrial address?”

“Yes, and I was told I also needed to get my conditions for pretrial release.”

“Are you still at this address?” she asked, and read out Mrs. Philips’ address, which was the one that had been on my booking sheet.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you live there alone?”

“No, ma’am. The house is owned by the family of a friend. Currently, my friend’s mother, Jennifer Philips, lives here, as well as a seventeen-year-old currently placed in her care by Child Protective Services.”

“And you’re also a minor, correct?”

“No, ma’am. I was emancipated late last year, just before Christmas.”

“I see,” she said, followed by more clacking.

“And you still attend high school, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay. I’m going to read off your conditions for pretrial release. If you have complaints about these restrictions or wish to change these restrictions, you will have to take that up with the judges and clerks for the court where your case is being held. This office is solely a monitoring agency that reports to both the prosecuting attorney and the judge in this case on your adherence to your required guidelines, and as such, has no ability to alter, waive, or extend your pretrial conditions. If you violate any of these conditions, those violations will be reported to the court, and the district attorney, and can result in your return to pretrial confinement while you are awaiting trial. Do you understand these stipulations as I have read them to you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said again.

Considering the district attorney in my case and his demand that I be held without bail, I had no doubt he wanted me to end up back in jail if anything happened. I was just thankful Sheriff Gibbs wasn’t in his pocket. Otherwise, I also had no doubt he would be going out of his way to make sure I did something, or was accused of doing something, to get my bail revoked.

She continued in a monotonous drone, “You are not permitted to carry any firearms or weapons. You must avoid any notable contact with police, such as being subject to investigation where law enforcement has probable cause that a crime has taken place. This does not include talking to law enforcement outside of their duties, nor interactions with them at established places you are required to visit, such as the courthouse, unless those interactions include the law enforcement officer having probable cause to suspect you of committing a crime.”

That was a lot of “in the case of,” “unless,” and “ifs,” but since this was clearly written down somewhere and she was just reading it to me it was probably drafted by a lawyer to be thorough rather than easily understandable.

“No use of intoxicants, including alcohol, is allowed. You will be subject to periodic and random drug screenings. If you fail these screenings or fail to comply within a twenty-four-hour period, you will be considered in violation of your pretrial release, which will be reported to the court and the district attorney. You will also not be allowed within any premises that primarily sell alcohol. This would exclude restaurants without bars and stores that have, but do not primarily sell alcohol, such as grocery stores. This does include restaurants with bars, standalone venues that sell alcohol, and stores where their primary or majority product is alcohol, such as liquor stores. You are not allowed to consort with known criminals or anyone with a criminal record, not including simple moving violations.”

My head was spinning as I tried to process it all. When they’d said restrictions, I was assuming a somewhat shorter list, and she wasn’t even done yet.

“Finally, you must make all court-mandated appearances, and you are restricted from traveling out of state. Should you violate any of these conditions, your pretrial release could be revoked, and you will be returned to custody until your hearing. Do you understand these conditions as I have given them to you?”

“I do, but I have some concerns about these restrictions in regards to my career and livelihood. I’m an independent musician, and playing shows at venues that primarily sell alcohol, as well as some travel, are key parts of how I support myself.”

She made a noncommittal noise and then said, “I understand this may present difficulties, Mr. Nelson. However, the terms of your pretrial release were set by the court, and this office has no ability to alter them. We can only monitor your compliance with the conditions as they have been ordered.”

I closed my eyes and lay back on the bed, trying to keep from sighing or doing something else she might construe as me not cooperating. Complaining to her wasn’t going to get the terms changed, since she’d already made it clear she couldn’t change my release conditions, but it could result in her reporting my non-compliance to the court, and me being thrown back into jail.

“I understand.”

“If you move, are unable to meet any of the conditions of your release, or any of the information on file with this office changes, you are required to notify us within twenty-four hours. You are not currently on home monitoring and can move about freely as long as you adhere to the other conditions of your release. You must check in with this office once every seven days while awaiting trial to re-confirm your information with this office.”

She paused long enough that I thought maybe she was waiting for a response.

“Okay,” I said.

“Do you have any questions for me at this time?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then have a nice day,” she said and hung up.

I lay there for a few minutes, just staring at the ceiling, trying not to freak out. Most of the conditions were no big deal, but if I couldn’t get these changed, it was going to kill my music career, especially if it was a year before I actually went to trial, which Mr. Eaves had said was a possibility.

Worse, the band made their livelihood from these gigs as well. It was going to screw them just as hard and might result in the band breaking up while I wait to go to trial.

I was well and truly screwed.

The only real option was to call Mr. Eaves and see if there was some way he could help fix this. I picked up the phone and dialed, wondering how long I’d have to sit on hold waiting for him. To my surprise, his secretary put me directly through. I guess having an active trial pushed me to the top of his list.

“Charlie, I was just about to call you. How are you holding up?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

“As well as can be expected, I guess, except I have a problem. I just spoke with my case worker. They gave me a list of restrictions a mile long.”

I paused, trying to find a way to explain my problem without whining, which I guess he took as me being finished.

“Yes, that can happen. They haven’t sent a copy of your release conditions to me yet, but I’m betting it’s not that long. I’ve had clients with lists five and six pages long before. It’s important you follow all of those conditions because the court will not hesitate to send you back to jail.”

“That’s the problem. One of those conditions is I’m not allowed inside any establishment with a bar, which would include the Blue Ridge. I’m also not allowed to travel out of state, and I have a show in a week and a half in Philadelphia and a tour in Georgia and Florida in, like, three weeks. This means I can’t work, and my band can’t work if I can’t work. It’s going to completely destroy me.”

“I understand the problem, and I can tell you that the conditions are not normally that restrictive. While most pretrial release conditions I’ve seen have included provisions restricting the person from entering establishments that sell alcohol, for obvious reasons, provisions are usually also included to allow the individual to continue working in those establishments. I haven’t had a chance to read your conditions, but I assume they didn’t say anything about that kind of exception.”

“No. Is it possible they just made a mistake? That there is an exception allowing me to work in a place that sells alcohol?”

“I’ll check, but they’re usually pretty thorough, so I doubt it. If I had to guess, I’d bet this was something specifically added by the district attorney, who knows you work at the Blue Ridge on weekends. Considering what you’ve told me about him and his actions so far, I wouldn’t put it past him, since he’s clearly trying to hurt you personally, and not just doing his job.”

“That can’t be legal, right? Is there anything we can do?”

“If we could prove he added the provision to hurt you specifically, then no, it wouldn’t be legal. However, I’m not sure we could prove that. We’ve already established that you don’t have any hard evidence to prove he’s done anything outside of his mandate, and he’s had explanations for the times he’s overreached in the past. What I can do is call the court and see if I can get the conditions of your pretrial release altered. The problem is, while you’re an emancipated minor, you’re still a minor, so the court may not see the urgency of lifting these restrictions or ensuring your ability to work. They tend to not be that flexible when it comes to non-standard conditions.”

“I’m assuming the out-of-state thing is impossible to change too? I’m not sure what’s going to happen to my record contract if I have to cancel all of those bookings.”

“Again, I can petition the court for an exemption for your work, but there’s no guarantee they’ll do anything to change it.”

“This is going to destroy me,” I said. “Everything I’ve been working towards is gone.”

“I understand your frustration, Charlie, but right now our top priority has to be to keep you out of prison. If convicted, you’re facing twenty to twenty-five years. You have a better chance to recover from the fallout from the pretrial conditions than you will after spending a quarter of your life in prison.”

“I guess,” I said grudgingly. “This feels like a personal attack. He’s angry I got bail, so Aaron’s dad is doing everything he can to make sure I’m still as screwed as possible.”

“Probably, but you have to keep that in mind. He will be watching you closely for any violation, so he has an excuse to haul you back to jail. You must follow each condition carefully, Charlie, even if they seem unreasonable.”

“Yeah,” I said, defeated.

“It’s only your first day out. Give me a few days to see what I can do about getting the conditions changed. I’m also working on some motions that I think might speed everything up and maybe even get your case dismissed, but it’s going to take several weeks or a month to get us a hearing. If we do everything right, I think we have a good shot at this, so it’s very important we don’t mess it up. You really need to make sure you follow all of the conditions they gave you until then, no matter how inconvenient or how much it damages your career. You have to keep your eye on the prize. Got it?”

“Yeah,” I said, and then something else occurred to me. “I have another question.”

“Sure.”

“While I was in jail, I was attacked by some guys, and I had to defend myself. I think I hurt some of them pretty badly, and they threw me in solitary until Chef bailed me out. I’d assumed they would, I don’t know, press more charges on me or something, or at least bring it up when I was released. I can’t imagine Aaron’s father not trying to use that to keep me in jail.”

“Really? I haven’t heard anything about that. The jail didn’t say anything when they notified me that you were being released.”

“They didn’t?”

“I’ll make some calls discreetly, but unless someone says something or new charges are filed, keep all of that to yourself. The jail is run by a private company, and they’ve had a bunch of incidents over the last several years. They tend to be very secretive when it comes to problems with inmates, especially injuries, which I know has frustrated both the courts and the legislatures. I’m betting there’s a good chance it got swept under the rug. There’s a bill floating around the state legislature to revoke their contract and bring the prisons back under the Department of Corrections, so they’d be even more reticent for word of injuries or violence to get out now.”

“So it just … never happened?”

“Pretty much. You’d be surprised how often that happens. The only time we hear about problems inside the prisons is when a family starts making a huge deal out of it. Prosecutors and a whole lot of sheriffs get pretty significant donations from the private prison companies, so most would rather just not talk about it if they don’t have to.”

“That’s wild,” I said.

“It is. There’s an old saying, ‘You never want to see how laws or sausages are made.’ For now, just don’t say anything. I’ll see if I can confirm there won’t be any additional charges without getting District Attorney Campbell’s attention. You just stick to your pretrial release conditions and try to stay out of trouble until we get a hearing for our motions.”

“I’ll try,” I said, and he hung up.

I just lay there. I guess I should feel lucky I wasn’t getting assault charges or anything for what happened to those guys, but mostly all I could think about was how I was about to lose everything. Aaron’s father had won.

I was screwed.