Devil's Cradle, Page 2

  October 4, 2012

  The narrow hallway of the mental ward in this hospital was enough to creep anyone out this time of night. Swenson was on vacation and I was alone to pick up the pieces in the latest Letum crime. I exhaled deeply as the stress of the evening relinquished slightly. I looked down at the clear plastic bags that contained the blood stained evidence from the crime scene. My stomach was in knots at the fact that this death was close to home for me. The victim, Sarah Martinez had been murdered because the killer thought she was the sister Swenson and I had saved eight months earlier. I was not even aware of the fact that there was a twin until tonight when an officer found the bloody picture of Sarah and Samantha. When I turned the picture over I found an inscription that read, "Scapegoat". It was when I saw Samantha and her mother that I realized what he meant. He had killed the wrong girl. This death brought him into custody, but I can't look at it like that small fact reconciles the girl's death. My stomach turned again and I spat bile into a waste can near an out-of-order water fountain.

  I wished that the fountain worked because the taste of my own bile made the nauseous sensation worse. I turned another corner that led into the psychiatric inpatient area. This was where Letum would spend the next few weeks recovering from the gunshot wounds inflicted on him yesterday. "Yes, sir, may I help you," asked the nurse at the nurse’s station. His pale green scrubs were tight against his broad frame. I imagined he worked here for the off chance one of the patients got a little too rowdy.

  "Yes, my name is Detective Jim Wilson with the Chicago Police Department. Last night you had a patient come in named Cason Letum. He should be under police custody in room four."

  "Yes, Detective, room four is right around the corner to your right," he said as he pointed in the direction I needed to go.

  "How is he, if you don't mind me asking?"

  "He's hopped up on pain medication right now. Mostly sedatives so he doesn't try to hurt anybody or himself."

  "Thank you, I appreciate the information."

  "No problem, sir," he said as he sat back down to update the patient records stacked up on his desk. I turned to walk the short distance to room four. As I turned the corner I could see two street cops sitting outside the door. One of them was asleep while the other read a health magazine. Neither of them saw me coming.

  "Gentlemen," I said as I startled both men. Both of them stood up quickly, trying to pretend that I didn't see them derelict their duty.

  "Um, morning, Detective," The one who had been sleeping said.

  "It's not morning yet, kid. Your partner didn't let you sleep that long." Both men looked embarrassed and that tickled my funny bone, just a little. "How's Letum doing?" I asked.

  "Not a peep out of him all night," the other cop said. I looked in through the window and could see the monster laying there hooked up to all kinds of machines. The fact that he was still breathing pissed me off, but the fact that justice couldn't be served otherwise pissed me off even more. It made me question the existence of God to see a fiend like that who got his kicks off killing little kids.

  "Yeah, well if the bastard tries anything you know where to put the bullet, don't you?" both men nodded, but they were probably thinking I meant to shoot him in the head. "You fill that fucker's chest with lead if he tries to escape, you understand?"

  "Yes, sir," he said.

  "Good, keep me posted. Once he's well enough to transfer to county I want his ass loaded up and shipped off." I turned around and headed out of the psych ward. This part of the hospital was the oldest part and was kind of rundown over time. The lights didn't even burn with the same intensity as the new section of the hospital. I didn't know if that was on purpose or not, but it scared the shit out of me. It felt like I held my breath until I was in the spacious lobby that led out of the hospital.

  I walked out into the rainy night towards the dark blue cruiser and opened the door. I sat down in the driver seat and turned on the dome light. I looked at my watch; it was quarter ‘til midnight and I still had a load of paperwork to finish up. I tossed the file along with the evidence onto the passenger seat and placed the key in the ignition. I fired up the engine and turned off the dome light before backing out of the parking space. I was three miles from the precinct when I said to hell with it and took a left at the next intersection to head home. After a couple of days investigating a crime like this, a man needed to see his family.

  June 5, 2015

  "What do you have to prove?" Officer Barr asked me in his heroic sort of way. His buzz cut and aviator sunglasses gave him a distinct military look, though he joined the force with no prior service.

  "Always trying to save the damsel in distress, is that it?" I asked playfully as I stepped into the courthouse.

  "The hell with that, you're no damsel in distress, but I just don't think it's wise to roll into the trial and watch the verdict. You and me both know that son of a bitch is gonna fry. Why put yourself in the position to have to look at him?"

  He was right. I didn't need to be here for the verdict. The death sentence was a lock even without the testimony of every family affected by Cason Letum. It had been three years since I stood on the stand and gave testimony for what had happened to my sister and me. It had been three long, drawn out years without knowing his fate. "I need to be there," I said flatly. He took my shift in mood for what it was and walked beside me quietly. We shuffled in step with one another until we reached the court room at the far end. Barr opened the door for me and I stepped in to see the mass of reporters who aimed to capitalize on the impending sentencing.

  "Crazy how a guy like Letum can attract this much media attention," he said as we sat in the back of the room. I selected an end seat just in case I needed to excuse myself. The rampant chatter reverberated against the tall glossy walls of the court room. The only absorption of the sound came from long curtains along the windows and the American and Illinois flags nestled behind the judge's seat. I exhaled deeply and focused my attention on holding back the tears. I cursed under my breath as I felt that tinge of weakness creep up into my throat. I knew I was stronger than this, I swallowed hard.

  "All rise," the bailiff called as Judge Macer approached the bench. Everyone stood and fell silent as he took his seat.

  "You may be seated," he said with a knock of the gavel. "We are here today to sentence Cason Letum for the murder of seventy three men and women, and for the attempted murder of three officers of the law. Before he comes out I want to explain something to all of you. The weight of his crimes is an enormous burden on the families of the victims. This court room is not a zoo where you throw popcorn to feed a wild beast in a cage. If any of you media types start a ruckus in here I will hold you in contempt. I insist that you recognize the sensitivity of the situation and that you will respect the privacy of the families here today. Bailiff, please escort Mr. Letum into the courtroom."

  The deputy opened the door that allowed Cason Letum to step into the courtroom. He was adorned in an orange jumpsuit with shackles binding his arms to his sides. He shuffled when he walked as two other deputies escorted him to his seat next to the public defender. Cason kept his face down as he walked until he was directly in front of the spectators. That was when he raised his head and looked at the crowd. I stared at him and I could swear that his eyes bore into me a deeply as any other human being could look into another person’s eyes.

  "Before you take your seat, Mr. Letum, I would like to jump right into the sentencing proceedings," Judge Macer said coldly. "The state of Illinois has already found you guilty of murder, seventy-three counts. The minimum sentencing for each of those charges is thirty years without parole. I am sure that your lawyer can do the math for you if you find those numbers to be too staggering.

  "Before I continue, I would like for you to know exactly where you stand, Mr. Letum. I find it extremely difficult to come to terms with the horrors that have befallen my court room over the last three years. The graphic evidence is enough to make me
question my own sanity, much less yours. Still, the state has endowed me with the responsibility to carry out my duties to the best of my judgment, and that is exactly what I plan to do this afternoon. I find no comfort in your punishment, for I believe that the death penalty is too sacred of an entitlement for an animal such as yourself. Personally, I would take much satisfaction in throwing you into a hole in the ground and leaving you to the wolves, but I can't do that. Instead, I will sentence you to thirty years without parole for each charge, to be served continuously. Do you have any questions, Mr. Letum?"

  I watched as the man who killed my sister in cold blood stood quietly as he looked down at his feet. He gently tugged on the chains that drooped from his wrists and it created a slight jingle that could barely be heard despite the utter silence in the room. "Just as I figured, Bailiff," Judge Macer ordered the bailiff to escort Cason Letum to his new home, the state penitentiary.

  September 7, 2016

  The cool winter air was beating against my bare chest as I walked along the fence that bordered the recreation area. I could see my fellow inmates look away each time I looked to acknowledge them. It was humorous how they shied away from who I was. My pale skin and bony frame made me stand out as the proverbial minority amongst the Latin Kings. I liked their kind more so than my own. The closest group who resembled me was the pious skinheads who seemed to hate everyone. At least with the Kings there was a sense of familiarity. I laughed to myself at the thought of familiarity.

  The guards eyed me like a dog everywhere I went. I understood why, but couldn't they see that I was keeping my distance from the common folk, the general population shit pile that I was blessed with sharing my lovely oxygen with? I scoffed at the thought of what utter hell a prison above maximum capacity was like. I turned around and began to walk the other direction, back towards the Kings who were holding down their little corner of the yard. I didn't associate with them in the least, but if any of the filth I shared the yard with were to be tolerated, I would choose who.

  "Hey, Juan, what is that crazy ass dude doing on our turf?" Miguel asked just within earshot. I could tell that the newbie had no idea who I was.

  "Why’re you trippin', bro? You want him to get at that ass or something," one of the others joked.

  "Shut up," Miguel said disgustedly as he turned his attention back to me. "Hey, white boy. Get off our turf." I kept walking with a blank expression. "You hear me, fool?"

  "Ease up, Miguel. That dude's crazy, bro," Juan said trying to urge his minion back into their group. Juan leaned up against the concrete pillar that helped reinforce the fence post in their corner.

  "You hear me, bitch? You better get off our turf." I could see the shank he was preparing to brandish and it pulled at the corners of my mouth. "Why you smiling?" this little thug was very entertaining. I glanced up to see the guards looking down at our situation, but they did nothing else. "I said get the hell off our turf," Miguel spat in my face and I could see some spittle remnants cling to his mustache. He stood before me defiantly, willing for a fight. I kept calm and stared at his eyes, tempting him to strike. He didn't disappoint me as he thrust his right arm towards my stomach with his makeshift knife carved from a toothbrush. I deflected his arm down and used his momentum to bring him crashing onto the ground. I immediately struck him in the back of the head with my foot and ground his face into the dirt.

  Miguel struggled to get up and I pounced onto his back and clamored for the blade. He fought me off unsuccessfully and I grabbed the blade and drove its point into his neck. The dark red blood poured from his jugular and he gasped for air, choking on his own blood. I removed the shank and saw his blood drip from the tip. My compulsion took hold of me and the Kings looked on in horror as I raised it to my lips and licked their brother's blood from it. I then took the shank and scrapped it into the skin on my chest and drew my own blood. This was not a real ritual, because this was self-defense, but once the shank was stained with my own blood and knelt down next to Miguel who was still choking on his own blood. I rolled him over and grabbed his jaw. His mouth hung open as he gasped for air. All was silent as I gripped the shank tightly in my hand and thrust it into his mouth. I could see the tip of the shank protruding out of the back of his neck when I dropped his head back onto the pavement. The gurgling sound was beginning to fade as his life drained from his body.

  Recalled back into reality, I could hear the alarm sounding that alerted the prison of our little battle. I looked at his gang and smiled as I raised my hands up to my head and knelt down onto my knees. Within seconds the guards were in front of me and throwing shackles on me. I stared at Juan knowing that the Latin Kings would not forget the day I killed one of their own. It was not my fault, but that didn't matter. I wasn't concerned though, because for the next thirty days I knew exactly where I would be, back in solitary.

  October, 6 2012

  "As we gather here to lay this child to rest, our hearts are broken. As we look to the future where we shall no longer gaze upon the smile of this precious girl, we see where darkness has moved into the light. It is very tempting to give into the darkness, and to abandon our hope in a brighter tomorrow. I encourage you all hold onto hope, hold on to God. None of us can explain why bad things happen to good people, but perseverance is the key to living out our lives unafraid of what is to come. God is the light; let him light your path. Darkness holds no place in our lives when God is with us," the pastor said the words so elegantly, and I could see the tears welling up in all of the eyes of the people in attendance. I could barely stand to look at them, all I felt was guilt.

  I held the purple bracelet that I had made for Sarah and manipulated it in my hand, pressing against the beads with my thumb. She loved the color purple and often wore the bracelet no matter the occasion. I had made it for our fourteenth birthday party, and she told me afterwards that it was her favorite gift. I squeezed my eyes shut to fight back the tears that threatened to come pouring out of my eyes at the memory.

  "At this time I encourage each of you to pay your final respects to Sarah and place a handful of dirt over the casket. From the earth we were born, and to the earth we return. Amen."

  I kept my seat as the throng of people herded over to the casket and placed a handful of dirt over it. Each person paused for merely a second before dumping the handful of dark soil over my sister's remains. I never understood rituals and traditions. I understood the concept of God even less, despite the utterance of God's light being spoken here today. My mother and father were seated beside me and as I glanced up to see my father I noticed his face was contorted in inconsolable anguish. He held his hands in his lap and I could see his shoulders shake as he fought back the sobs beating against his throat, trying to cry out, but men were not allowed to cry when he was growing up. I could only imagine the torment that conflicted with his emotions and it broke my heart even more.

  I turned away from my father and looked at my mother. Her eyes were red and streaked, but the tears no longer flowed. Her whole body was shaking and she rocked her body back and forth, breathing methodically. I immediately felt uncomfortable in my own skin as I saw how torn apart my parents were. I dried another tear from my cheek with my sleeve and continued fumbling with Sarah's bracelet. The line died down and the pastor came over to my mother.

  "Mrs. Martinez, may I?" He extended his hand as to lead her to the final resting place of her daughter. She hesitated before taking his hand and followed him to the purple casket. My mother placed her hand over it and I watched as the tears fell again; she could not subdue them for long. She gently placed a clump of dirt over her baby and walked away, led by the pastor.

  My father stood up beside me and held out his hand to me. "Let's go, Sam. We can't wait forever," he said quietly. I took my father's hand and walked with him. We stopped at the casket and my father whispered something that was muffled by his tears and dropped the dirt over her like everyone before us had done. I stood there alone as he walked away and caressed the br
acelet in my hand nervously.

  What do you say to someone who has died? If there was a heaven wouldn't they know what you thought, what you wanted to say? If heaven didn't exist then did it matter if you said anything at all? I loved Sarah with all of my heart, but did she love me still after what I had done? I never should have left her alone at the school. We had always walked home together, but it was my negligence that had stripped her of her life. I knew with all of my heart that it should be me in that casket, and the silence left behind in my heart at that notion only confirmed it. My beloved sister was gone and I knew that I would be haunted by her memory for the rest of my life.

  "I'm sorry, Sarah. I love you, and I hope you still love me back," I said through teary eyes. I placed the bracelet on the casket where I thought her hands would be and walked off to join my parents. As I walked over to them I looked to the right and could see a familiar face in the cemetery. It was the police detective named Jim who had saved me less than a year ago. He smiled and nodded at me, but since he was not able to save Sarah I did not respond to his gesture. Instead, I turned away from him and continued to walk past my parents and climbed into our family sedan. Once I closed the door and collapsed onto the seat and cried. This was the only solace I could find in the absence of my sister. Nothing would ever comfort me again, except maybe the death of Cason Letum.

  February 18, 2016

  The white walls that led into the solitary confinement area reminded me of middle school. Our principal had the brilliant idea that removing distraction from the walls would allow students to learn better. I'm sure he had good intentions, but the kid who committed suicide and cited the principal's policy as driving him into depression plagued that principal for years. Needless to say, colorful pictures and posters were placed all over the walls once the truth was revealed, but the scars were already there for people such as me. I had no problem with the white walls until I realized that William Fortner was driven to kill himself because of them. That affected me on a very profound level indeed.