Nearly every inmate professes his innocence and insists the system is faulty, claiming to be the victim of some grave injustice. That’s the norm among convicts. And understandably so. No one wants to do time. Prison life is no day at the beach.
With Ethan however, it was different. He was in fact, not guilty. Although a jury, in a court of law, had convicted him, he was innocent. The murder of which he’d been accused, he hadn’t committed. To make matters worse, the District Attorney, Miss Mariana Clark, had known Ethan wasn’t the killer. Positively known - and not cared. Not only had she failed to vindicate him, as was her duty, but she’d aggressively pursued his prosecution. The only thing important to her was that she chalk up a victory with a conviction. And that she had done. Ethan Rafferty had been sentenced to fifteen years in Granite Hills Correctional Facility, the state penitentiary, for his alleged crimes. His time was up today.
With his debt to society paid, the state, via Granite Hills - affectionately referred to as Gray Rock by the inmates - no longer held claim to him. As of today, April eighth, he was a free man. Almost.
In an impatient laze the dark-haired clean-shaven, forty-year-old Ethan, sat unshackled behind the protective barrier, waiting while the insolent prison guard maneuvered the white transport van through the last gate. Then, the soon to be ex-prisoner breathed a small sigh of relief, he was finally outside the walls of Gray Rock - outside the contemptible confines of the prison. But not yet free to go. Had anyone cared that his momentous occasion had at long last arrived and been there to meet him, the last leg of his journey would not have been necessary. The driver could have let him out once they’d reached the outer grounds of the compound. Sadly, the inmate transfer area was ominously empty, as he’d known it would be. Another illustrative sign of his pathetic life.
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