Zelphur — Episode 5

11

Uncle Jeb told Clarissa, Trevor, and Kimba about my arrest. They were shocked and told Uncle Jeb that Deanna was telling a lie and that I would never do anything like that.

When Uncle Jeb told Greg of the misfortune that had fallen upon me and how it would be a great help having an older brother testify to his younger brother’s integrity should the need arise, Greg snickered. “Oh, the perfect little man is in trouble, is he? How do I know this woman is not lying? After all, no one was there but the two of them.”

“I know you have your issues with us, but can you forget about yourself for a while and think about your brother?” Uncle Jeb said to him.

“Well, since he is so smart he should have figured out how not to let this type of thing happen,” Greg answered smartly.

“Well, would you be willing to support your brother by testifying on his behalf?” Uncle Jeb asked Greg again.

“I don’t know. I mean we really don’t know what took place; it’s her word against his,” Greg replied smiling to himself.

“Will you at least stay home more to be an encouragement to your younger siblings at least until Zelphur has his day in court?” Uncle Jeb pleaded. “The younger ones need you to be there for them,” Uncle Jeb continued.

“I guess I can,” he said. “But don’t hold me to that.”

Our neighbors, Mister Bixley and his wife, Dorothy, came over to check on the children. They assured Uncle Jeb they would help him watch over them until things cleared up.

I was placed in a holding cell with five other inmates who were being held for petty crimes.

On my first evening in prison, a heavy set man, Cole Franklin, and a rather austere looking man who said his name was Brogan Crocker, struck up a conversation with me as we sat down to eat our evening meal.

“Are you sure you’re supposed to be here?” Brogan asked in a deep hoarse voice. “You look out of place. You’re nothing but a kid. What did you do wrong? Steal your sister’s Twinkies?”

He chuckled and I could not help but laugh.

“Leave the kid alone,” Cole said. “Give him time to adjust before you pick on him.”

“Seriously, what are you in here for?” Brogan asked.

I pushed my tray aside. My mind was on my younger siblings and how they were faring. “False charge of rape,” I replied.

“You don’t say,” Brogan said leaning back as far as he could on the backless bench. “You don’t look like you could hurt a fly much less a woman. What happened?”

He kept eying my plate as I talked. After hearing my story, Cole said, “Don’t worry. Things will work out. Are you going to eat?”

“No. I’m not hungry. You can have it.”

“Wanna share this with me, Brogan?” Cole asked as he reached for my dinner roll. Turning back to me, he said, “I hope the system treats you better than it has treated me. I’ve been in here for a few weeks. I don’t have a lawyer. I miss my wife and children. I lost my job and things got tight and I needed to feed my family. I stole some food from the corner store. I’ve been waiting for my day in court.”

“Oh, really!” I said fearing the worst for myself.

“Petty thievery? At least you have a chance of getting out,” Brogan said to Cole. “Me. I’m in here for killing someone. It was self-defense, I swear. It was after twelve midnight and I was waiting for the bus so I could go home. There wasn’t but one other shady-looking person waiting at the bus stop. Well, I was attacked by two boys and I wrestled the gun from one of them and I fired; it was either me or them. All I know is I was not going down without a fight. By the time the police got there, I had shot one of them. I was still holding the gun in my hand. The police had to go by what they saw. Seeing the gun in my hand they automatically thought I had committed murder. My only witness — the other person who was waiting at the bus stop — disappeared. I’ve been in here about the same time Cole has. I have no lawyer and I have no hopes of getting out.” He seemed to take his anger out on his piece of chicken as he devoured it.

“Don’t worry; things have a way of working themselves out.” I said this more to comfort myself.

“Are you sure you don’t want your food? This chicken’s mighty good even if it’s prison food,” Cole said.

I shook my head. He divided the rest of the food between him and Brogan. Cole ate slowly glancing at me every now and then. “You don’t seem too worried about being here. Why not?”

“I wouldn’t say worried; but I am anxious to know what will take place. I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “Plus my faith is in God.”

“Yeah, right,” Brogan said. “I have been asking God to get me out of here ever since I’ve been here, because like I just told you I did not do anything wrong. I just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time. You figure that one out.”

12

I had not heard from Uncle Jeb by the time the lights were turned out. As I laid on my cot, I tried not to question God, but could not understand why He would let this happen to me as I had tried to do the right thing each day. I thought about Psalm 70 until I fell off to sleep:

Make haste, O God, to deliver me; make haste to help me, O Lord.

Let them be ashamed and confounded that seek after my soul:

let them be turned backward, and put to confusion, that desire my hurt.

Let them be turned back for a reward of their shame that say, Aha, aha…

…make haste unto me, O God: thou art my help and my deliverer;

O Lord, make no tarrying.

Cole stayed close to me throughout the next day. “What kind of family are you from?” Cole asked.

I told them a little about myself and the family.

Cole seemed to think over all I shared with him. “Do you really believe God will get you out of here? I don’t know if God will get me out of here, because I’m not innocent like you say you are.”

“Why don’t we begin praying for God to help you get out of here soon so you can return to your wife and children? Sometimes, God just wants to see how long we will trust Him before He answers our prayers.”

“If you think God will hear you, pray for me too, I guess,” Brogan said.

We prayed at least two other times together that evening. I was just as much of an encouragement to Cole as he was to me. Brogan only listened when we spoke about God and to God.

I heard from Uncle Jeb in the afternoon. He had spoken with someone at the prison and Deanna was still pressing charges; that’s why I was still in jail. I spent the rest of the day encouraging my fellow inmates, especially Cole. “Just have faith in God,” I repeated to him throughout the day; but I think I was mostly trying to keep my own spirits up.

On my third day in prison, I didn’t see Cole when I awoke or for half the day. I got worried. “He’s having a hearing with the judge and a court lawyer,” Brogan told me when I asked about him.

When Cole returned he had the biggest grin on his face that I had ever seen. “Great news,” he said. “For some reason the judge was looking over my case and they are talking about letting me go within two more days. That’s where I’ve been this morning — talking with one of the court lawyers and the judge. I don’t know what’s going on. Things are happening so fast.”

I smiled as Cole gave me a firm handshake. “That is a miracle. Thanks for renewing my hope in God again, Zelphur. You’re a good man.”

“God still answers prayer,” I said as I remembered my mother’s words: “God may have you here for such a time as this.”

I was informed a couple hours later that my court date was set for ten in the morning the following Monday.

Brogan listened quietly as I shared the news with him and Cole over dinner.

“I’ll be praying that God will grant you the same favor He’s granted me,” Cole said. “… and to you too, Brogan.”

“Just promise me this: that you will not forget the God we prayed to for your release,” I said.

“After what He just did for me! No, son, I will never forget God. I’ll be in church somewhere my first Sunday out of this place and I’m going to bring my family with me,” Cole said.

I watched as my friend left the prison for good two days later. “You and your wife will be in my prayers each day,” I assured him.

Things were not going well for Brogan. The judge looked over his case also, but he did not receive good news like Cole did. Brogan was going to prison.

I spoke with Uncle Jeb the night before I was scheduled to go to court.

He shared with me how he and Trevor stumbled into Walter one day when they had gone to the store. “He was a mess. He looked like a homeless person. He had a couple packs of beer in his hands. Alcohol has taken over his life. I begged him to come home,” Uncle Jeb said. “I told him how much we loved him and missed him, but he would not listen. He only pointed a finger at me and said, ‘I blame you. You could have overridden Greg and given Wilkinson’s over to me.’ With that he turned his back on us and walked off. I did not even bother to tell him that you were in prison.”

“Oh, don’t worry about him, Uncle Jeb. He’ll come around.”

Rheba should have returned home months ago, but according to a letter she sent that week, “Doors are opening up in modeling big time.”

“What do you think will happen?” I asked Uncle Jeb.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. ‘God sees and knows the truth but He always waits.’ I have been working on some things behind the scenes,” he said with a chuckle.

“Thanks, Uncle Jeb. Did you secure a lawyer?”

“No need for a lawyer,” Uncle Jeb said. “Our lawyer is Jesus Christ. Me and the children have been doing a whole lot of praying; I hope you have been praying as well.”

“That’s all I can do behind bars,” I chuckled.

13

The rest of the family spent much time in prayer about this false charge. On the court date, Uncle Jeb, my siblings, and two workers from Wilkinson’s arrived early at the courthouse. Deanna, two of her friends, and a man were sitting in the second row off to the left. She glanced up at me when I walked into the courtroom between two officers. A smug look crossed her face as she followed me with her eyes as I took my seat between the two officers.

A tap on the shoulder caused me to turn around. Deanna turned around also. Her eyes almost popped out of her head when she saw Mr. Costello, Raynaldo, and Michael taking their seats behind me. There were others in the room also, some with issues of their own to be resolved; others were just spectators as the hearing was opened to the public.

When our case, St. Clair vs. Wilkinson, was called, Deanna was the first to take the stand. She gave her version of what had taken place on that night. She gave a very moving but somewhat disjointed story. She even pulled the clothes, now torn, that she had been wearing on the night of the altercation out of the bag she had with her as evidence to support her claim. “He left so quickly after the assault that he left his jacket,” she said wiping tears from her eyes. “The police should have it.”

Judge Maynard asked for the jacket as evidence.

Her sister testified on her behalf. “Your Honor, Deanna’s a good person, very kind, always thinking of others, and I know she would not lie about something so serious. I do not know her to be a person to put herself in these types of situations. As far as I know, she always carries herself in a ladylike manner. Now I do not know this man and therefore I can not accuse him of anything, but if he did indeed harm my sister in any way, I want to see him brought to justice.” A close friend of hers, a former co-worker, also testified in her favor.

The police officers who filed the report were called to the stand. They told what they saw and identified the jacket presented as the one Deanna gave them.

“Do you have a doctor’s report, Ms. St. Clair?” Judge Maynard asked.

Deanna’s eyes flew wide open. “I … I … was given one when I went down to the hospital the same night,” she said while fishing around in her pocketbook for the doctor’s report.

My heart started to beat faster. What kind of a report is she going to show to the judge.

Deanna confidently handed a sealed envelope to Judge Maynard. He opened it up and read its contents. I tried to read the expression on his face, but he held a blank look. Deanna looked straight ahead.

“Ms. St. Clair, I’m having difficulty reading your doctor’s signature. Can you make that out?” Judge Maynard said handing the letter to the bailiff to give back to Deanna.

Deanna, without looking at the report, answered, “Abimbola Okafor. Dr. Abimbola Okafor. He was the one to examine me.”

“And what hospital was that?” Judge Maynard asked.

“The Medical Center. It should be on the letterhead.”

“Are you sure this is the official letterhead of the Medical Center? This just looks typed on,” Judge Maynard asked as he peered at Deanna.

There was a ripple of whispers in the room as others cleared their throats.

Deanna kept looking straight ahead.

“Do you mind if I call Dr. Abimbola Okafor to verify this report?” Without waiting for a reply, Judge Maynard handed the report to the bailiff to make the call. He used the phone on the wall.

Deanna shifted her eyes quickly back and forth and then looked straight back at the judge and said emphatically, “The report’s right there. There is no need to disturb Dr. Okafor. He’s probably in the operating room. He’s a really busy doctor. It was just a miracle he was on call that night.” I noticed her voice trembling as she spoke. She blinked hard and rapidly as if trying to hold back tears. She reached up and wiped her eyes and sniffled a few times. “Why have victims go through the embarrassment of getting a doctor’s report and then not believe them when they turn the report in.”

“Ms. St. Clair, please only speak when given permission to speak in my courtroom,” Judge Maynard said.

I heard more whispers behind me.

When the bailiff got off the phone, he exchanged a few words with Judge Maynard before returning to his original position.

“Ms. St. Clair,” Judge Maynard said, “we just called down to the hospital and there is no Dr. … How do you say his name? … Dr. Abimbola Okafor on staff there. He probably does not even exist. In fact, the hospital has no record of you getting examined or even coming there. We will have to toss this out of court until you can produce a valid report. I must remind you that you are under oath. You may leave the witness stand now.”

Next, I was called to the stand. I stated what really happened that night.

“Yes, Your Honor, that is my jacket.”

“Yes, sir, I was alone in the building while my co-workers went out to get all of us something to eat.”

“No, sir, I did not touch Ms. St. Clair. In fact, I did not know she was in the building. She did stop by my office at closing time to let me know she was leaving, and she did offer to stay behind and help, but I told her that her help was not needed, and that I already had some help from others. My two co-workers who were with me that night are sitting over there in the first row.

“I have no idea how she got back in the building. She must not have left when she said good bye; she probably hid somewhere. While my co-workers were gone, I did hear a cough when I stopped by the water fountain to get some water. I did not think about it then because I was talking on the phone with my sister and thought someone from the house coughed in the background.”

I saw Deanna lean forward in her seat with an angry expression on her face. I paid her no attention. She looked like she would spring out of her seat any moment.

“No, sir, I did not touch Ms. St. Clair and I definitely did not rip her buttons off her blouse.”

“Yes, sir, I left so fast I did not think to take my jacket.”

“Your Honor, others on the job have told me to stay away from Ms. St. Clair, which I have politely tried to do…. They have told me that she is a fast woman.”

“That is not true! He’s lying,” Deanna said springing out her seat. “He took advantage of me. He asked me to come by and help,” she said hysterically. “But obviously his idea of help is different from my idea of help!”

“Ms. St. Clair, I will not have you disrupt the proceedings of this court. You are out of order! Another outburst like that and I will have you arrested for contempt of court. You have had your say. If you wish to say more, you will have your lawyer speak for you. Now have a seat before I just dismiss the whole case right now.”

Deanna reluctantly sat down glaring angrily at me.

Copyright 2014. Torch Legacy Publications. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except for brief quotations included in a review of the book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Originally published at christianserials.com on October 25, 2014.