Ted Barnett walked along the empty hall. Next to him was a guard, one of the ‘goon squad’ as they were known. Goons were interior guards, as opposed to the tower guards who never worked inside. This was his last walk down this hall. He passed the sign indicating the way to ‘North Seg,’ a wing housing condemned prisoners. There were actually four death rows at San Quentin State Prison, but ‘North Seg’ was the most popular, because it had the best living conditions. All of the rest of the death rows got progressively worse and progressively more constrained.
On they walked, and Ted let his gaze wander around the corridor as they approached the fateful elevator. The one that took condemned men on their last ride to the basement where the gas chamber and lethal injection rooms were both located. You had to choose to be gassed, since the state of California had outlawed the involuntary use of the gas chamber in the mid 1990s. It was beyond the reasoning of Ted why anyone would choose gas over lethal injection, but apparently some did.
Fortunately for Ted when he was convicted in 1974, he wasn’t sentenced to death. Back then all they used was the gas chamber; from the stories he had heard, he wanted no part of that. In fact, he didn’t want to die at all, and through good fortune it appeared he wasn’t going to, at least not in San Quentin.
Finally, they reached the registration cage. Ted hadn’t been here for thirty years. At that time he was coming in, but now he was going out. He had served his time and was soon to be a free man once again. He had been a young and vigorous man when first incarcerated, and now, though in better shape than some, he was old, much older than his fifty years, in both mind and body. Today, though, he had something to be thankful for after all these years. He had survived San Quentin.
There wasn’t much to be done at the registration desk. Ted picked up the personal belongings he had brought in with him, and that wasn’t much. Still accompanied by the guard, he crossed the open area from the administration building to the sally port. Once cleared, he left it for another open area. At this point he was actually outside the prison walls. The tower guards were looking the opposite direction from him for the first time in thirty years. The guard had left him at the sally port. Ted was now free. It only remained for him to walk out the main gate. A gate not even guarded.
Standing outside, he took several deep breaths of the ocean air that was gently blowing in off the Pacific Ocean. He let his eyes wander around the horizon, scanning the San Francisco Bay and the ocean beyond. These were his first breaths of air free from the stone prison that had become his home. For several minutes he let his eyes wander over the far horizons; he had not been in a position to look so far without seeing a wall or guard in what seemed an eternity. Ted was content to stand and look out over the horizon forever, but it was not to be.
“Hey, I get paid to give you a ride into town, not sit here and wait all day. I get a flat rate from the state for these cab rides. Let’s go, huh? I got better fares I could be picking up,” a voice said from behind him. Ted turned to see a man dressed in blue jeans and a tee shirt with ‘Checker Cab Company’ emblazoned on its front in yellow letters.
“Sure thing, mister,” Ted replied. This was his free ride to town, but from there he was on his own.
Ted climbed into the back of the cab and was content to sit silently and watch as the scenery flew by the car window. He had arrived at San Quentin in the middle of the night, on a bus, thirty years ago and saw only lights with no recognizable features. Now, in the daytime, it was a grand site to behold. His eyes took in the Golden Gate Bridge, the San Francisco Bay and the shipyards off to the east. Glancing to the west he saw a couple of huge freighters out quite a distance from the shore, plying their trade along the coast.
Turning now, he glanced out the back window of the cab to see San Quentin Penitentiary disappearing in the distance. He half expected to see someone pursuing him. Someone coming to reclaim him at the last minute and tell him it was all a mistake. That he had more time to serve, but no one was there. Ted had so long yearned for this day that it all seemed like a dream to him. It would be a while before he could let himself believe that after all these years he was in fact a free man again. Ted had a few dollars they had given him or rather, that he had earned, working in the prison library. It wasn’t much, but it would get him a bus ticket to Monterey.
~ * ~
Pete slowly climbed the slight grade up to the practice tee area and, once on top, lightly tossed his handful of clubs on the ground, setting the wire basket full of range balls at his feet. He picked up his five-iron, tipped the bucket of balls over with the end of the club and stepped back. With the clubface, he dragged a ball in front of him, placed it between his feet and rolled it onto a patch of fluffy grass. Already he was beginning to shake slightly and his knees felt weak. He felt perspiration running down his forehead, and he stopped to wipe the palms of his hands on his pants.
With great concentration he gripped the five-iron, placed the face of the club behind the ball and stopped. Out of the corner of his left eye he saw three golfers walking along the seventeenth fairway that ran behind the far end of the practice range. Off to the right he saw two more walking up the eighteenth fairway, which paralleled the right side of the practice area. Closing his eyes for several seconds, he reopened them and tried to make himself begin his back swing.
His palms were still sweating and his knees became even weaker. His legs began to shake and he could no longer control his thoughts. The grass below his feet and the trees along the sides of the practice range all began to spin. He should not have come here, not today, not at this time of day. This place was bringing back too many memories better left alone. He had thought it would be okay, that it had been long enough, but the feelings were still there, the fear, the dread and the guilt. The feelings were overwhelming him now. He had to be gone. He had to get out of here, quickly.
Bending over now and hastily grabbing his other three clubs, he ignored the bucket of balls and spun quickly to the rear of the practice tee. The entire world was spinning now, and sweat dripped from his face. Blindly he stumbled down the incline of the tee and ran square into a woman coming up.
~ * ~
Hannah Petrowski had been paying little attention to her surroundings. She was intent on the golf lessons she had received and the one she was about to receive. She paid no mind to the man occupying the far end of the practice tee area, until he suddenly turned and came racing down the hill, directly in her path. Awareness of what was happening didn’t hit her until the man had already run headlong into her. She was knocked backwards, she dropped the bag of clubs she had been carrying by the handle in her right hand and the basket of balls in her left hand went flying. She stumbled and tripped over the dropped bag. Before she knew it, she was flat on her back, looking up at a man with an expression of abject terror in his eyes and with sweat pouring from his face. The man hesitated, stared down at her while she stared up at him in confusion. She saw his lips move and thought she heard some sounds, but it was nothing intelligible. Then, before she could even gather her thoughts, the man turned and practically ran from the practice area to the adjacent parking lot.
Still on the ground, she watched, partly in disgust and partly in embarrassment as the man reached a white car, tore open the rear door and tossed his clubs inside. In a flash, without looking back, the man leapt into the car and in seconds she heard the squeal of tires as it backed out of the parking spot and sped away toward the entrance drive.
“Are you okay?” she heard a deep male voice inquire from behind her, as a shadow moved over her.
Turning her head slightly to her left, she saw a tall man with dark hair leaning over her and extending his hands. Shocked and embarrassed, she held out her hands and the man helped her to her feet.
“Thank you. Yes, I guess so. Thank you,” she stammered, as she steadied herself and mentally questioned her legs and arms to see if she really was feeling okay.
“That was extremely rude,” the man now said.
Looking off toward the parking lot, she watched as the offending man and his vehicle departed down the entrance drive and were soon lost in the trees lining the course.
“Rude is putting it mildly,” Hannah said, as she brushed herself off and turned back to the man who had assisted her. “That man is crazy. Did you see his face?”
“No, why?”
“His eyes, they looked wild. He was sweating profusely, and I think he was scared out of his wits. I’ve half a notion to call the police. He may be on drugs or something. He certainly is in no condition to drive, he may kill someone.”
“Maybe, but by the time you called and they got here, he would be long gone,” the man now answered, in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Yes, I suppose you are right,” Hannah agreed.
On they walked, and Ted let his gaze wander around the corridor as they approached the fateful elevator. The one that took condemned men on their last ride to the basement where the gas chamber and lethal injection rooms were both located. You had to choose to be gassed, since the state of California had outlawed the involuntary use of the gas chamber in the mid 1990s. It was beyond the reasoning of Ted why anyone would choose gas over lethal injection, but apparently some did.
Fortunately for Ted when he was convicted in 1974, he wasn’t sentenced to death. Back then all they used was the gas chamber; from the stories he had heard, he wanted no part of that. In fact, he didn’t want to die at all, and through good fortune it appeared he wasn’t going to, at least not in San Quentin.
Finally, they reached the registration cage. Ted hadn’t been here for thirty years. At that time he was coming in, but now he was going out. He had served his time and was soon to be a free man once again. He had been a young and vigorous man when first incarcerated, and now, though in better shape than some, he was old, much older than his fifty years, in both mind and body. Today, though, he had something to be thankful for after all these years. He had survived San Quentin.
There wasn’t much to be done at the registration desk. Ted picked up the personal belongings he had brought in with him, and that wasn’t much. Still accompanied by the guard, he crossed the open area from the administration building to the sally port. Once cleared, he left it for another open area. At this point he was actually outside the prison walls. The tower guards were looking the opposite direction from him for the first time in thirty years. The guard had left him at the sally port. Ted was now free. It only remained for him to walk out the main gate. A gate not even guarded.
Standing outside, he took several deep breaths of the ocean air that was gently blowing in off the Pacific Ocean. He let his eyes wander around the horizon, scanning the San Francisco Bay and the ocean beyond. These were his first breaths of air free from the stone prison that had become his home. For several minutes he let his eyes wander over the far horizons; he had not been in a position to look so far without seeing a wall or guard in what seemed an eternity. Ted was content to stand and look out over the horizon forever, but it was not to be.
“Hey, I get paid to give you a ride into town, not sit here and wait all day. I get a flat rate from the state for these cab rides. Let’s go, huh? I got better fares I could be picking up,” a voice said from behind him. Ted turned to see a man dressed in blue jeans and a tee shirt with ‘Checker Cab Company’ emblazoned on its front in yellow letters.
“Sure thing, mister,” Ted replied. This was his free ride to town, but from there he was on his own.
Ted climbed into the back of the cab and was content to sit silently and watch as the scenery flew by the car window. He had arrived at San Quentin in the middle of the night, on a bus, thirty years ago and saw only lights with no recognizable features. Now, in the daytime, it was a grand site to behold. His eyes took in the Golden Gate Bridge, the San Francisco Bay and the shipyards off to the east. Glancing to the west he saw a couple of huge freighters out quite a distance from the shore, plying their trade along the coast.
Turning now, he glanced out the back window of the cab to see San Quentin Penitentiary disappearing in the distance. He half expected to see someone pursuing him. Someone coming to reclaim him at the last minute and tell him it was all a mistake. That he had more time to serve, but no one was there. Ted had so long yearned for this day that it all seemed like a dream to him. It would be a while before he could let himself believe that after all these years he was in fact a free man again. Ted had a few dollars they had given him or rather, that he had earned, working in the prison library. It wasn’t much, but it would get him a bus ticket to Monterey.
~ * ~
Pete slowly climbed the slight grade up to the practice tee area and, once on top, lightly tossed his handful of clubs on the ground, setting the wire basket full of range balls at his feet. He picked up his five-iron, tipped the bucket of balls over with the end of the club and stepped back. With the clubface, he dragged a ball in front of him, placed it between his feet and rolled it onto a patch of fluffy grass. Already he was beginning to shake slightly and his knees felt weak. He felt perspiration running down his forehead, and he stopped to wipe the palms of his hands on his pants.
With great concentration he gripped the five-iron, placed the face of the club behind the ball and stopped. Out of the corner of his left eye he saw three golfers walking along the seventeenth fairway that ran behind the far end of the practice range. Off to the right he saw two more walking up the eighteenth fairway, which paralleled the right side of the practice area. Closing his eyes for several seconds, he reopened them and tried to make himself begin his back swing.
His palms were still sweating and his knees became even weaker. His legs began to shake and he could no longer control his thoughts. The grass below his feet and the trees along the sides of the practice range all began to spin. He should not have come here, not today, not at this time of day. This place was bringing back too many memories better left alone. He had thought it would be okay, that it had been long enough, but the feelings were still there, the fear, the dread and the guilt. The feelings were overwhelming him now. He had to be gone. He had to get out of here, quickly.
Bending over now and hastily grabbing his other three clubs, he ignored the bucket of balls and spun quickly to the rear of the practice tee. The entire world was spinning now, and sweat dripped from his face. Blindly he stumbled down the incline of the tee and ran square into a woman coming up.
~ * ~
Hannah Petrowski had been paying little attention to her surroundings. She was intent on the golf lessons she had received and the one she was about to receive. She paid no mind to the man occupying the far end of the practice tee area, until he suddenly turned and came racing down the hill, directly in her path. Awareness of what was happening didn’t hit her until the man had already run headlong into her. She was knocked backwards, she dropped the bag of clubs she had been carrying by the handle in her right hand and the basket of balls in her left hand went flying. She stumbled and tripped over the dropped bag. Before she knew it, she was flat on her back, looking up at a man with an expression of abject terror in his eyes and with sweat pouring from his face. The man hesitated, stared down at her while she stared up at him in confusion. She saw his lips move and thought she heard some sounds, but it was nothing intelligible. Then, before she could even gather her thoughts, the man turned and practically ran from the practice area to the adjacent parking lot.
Still on the ground, she watched, partly in disgust and partly in embarrassment as the man reached a white car, tore open the rear door and tossed his clubs inside. In a flash, without looking back, the man leapt into the car and in seconds she heard the squeal of tires as it backed out of the parking spot and sped away toward the entrance drive.
“Are you okay?” she heard a deep male voice inquire from behind her, as a shadow moved over her.
Turning her head slightly to her left, she saw a tall man with dark hair leaning over her and extending his hands. Shocked and embarrassed, she held out her hands and the man helped her to her feet.
“Thank you. Yes, I guess so. Thank you,” she stammered, as she steadied herself and mentally questioned her legs and arms to see if she really was feeling okay.
“That was extremely rude,” the man now said.
Looking off toward the parking lot, she watched as the offending man and his vehicle departed down the entrance drive and were soon lost in the trees lining the course.
“Rude is putting it mildly,” Hannah said, as she brushed herself off and turned back to the man who had assisted her. “That man is crazy. Did you see his face?”
“No, why?”
“His eyes, they looked wild. He was sweating profusely, and I think he was scared out of his wits. I’ve half a notion to call the police. He may be on drugs or something. He certainly is in no condition to drive, he may kill someone.”
“Maybe, but by the time you called and they got here, he would be long gone,” the man now answered, in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Yes, I suppose you are right,” Hannah agreed.
