A film of smudge and finger prints plastered the heavy glass doors. Rich scanned the interior looking for the sign indicating a restroom. The odor of hot dogs cooked to the firmness of rubber permeated their senses. Merchandise sat sparsely upon shelves that packed the room, leaving no discernible path. The dirt and scuffs upon the cracked linoleum were the true indicators of foot traffic. Looking to the cashier, Rich noticed the small unsecured cubical. He scanned the glass square for help, but saw only empty chairs. Then he noticed the open drawer of the cash register.
“Dad, I see the sign.” Ryan’s voice cut the thick silent air.
Suddenly, a commotion of racket resonated from the hallway containing the bathrooms. Some moments hang suspended in time as if the electrons slow, protons release their pull, and atoms no longer cement into matter; for example, the second a newborn baby releases its first cry. Some instants occur in a flash; like lightening refusing capture upon film. Others are an amalgamation.
A thick man moved toward them, his face concealed behind a black ski mask. Rich’s first thought, it’s July, why would you wear a ski mask? was only a blimp before the realization of their situation, “Run! Back to the car!” The words cascaded from his lips with alarm and authority.
Preoccupied with the search of her purse, Sarah’s husband’s tone propelled her to flight. She seized her son’s small hand and spun toward the smudged glass door. The echoing pop of gunfire erupted so abruptly she never saw her husband fall and thankfully neither did Ryan. The last thing either of them saw was the shower of red as their blood added another dimension to the filth on the floor and windows.
Months earlier and miles away a business executive chose to close a stamping plant no longer showing profits. That one decision resulted in thousands of unemployed workers. One of which was a father with a sick child and no wife. In a moment of desperation the out of work father decided his only option to pay the mounting medical bills and save his son, was crime. A few robberies later, with money too attractive and too easy, he had a new profession…
There is no limit to what a man can do, or where he can go,
if he does not mind who gets the credit.
- Charles Edward Montague Chapter 1
Looking around his office, Richard Bosley I contemplated his place in history. The stately office reeked of prestige. Impressive bookshelves covered the walls, and his mahogany desk created a platform of regality. The flags of both the United States and Iowa hung conspicuously behind his leather chair. Only fifteen months into his second term as governor, he had so many goals to accomplish. The voters rallied around him after the tragic death of his only son and his family. They put their trust in him, in his ideas, and in his values. Staring at the family photo of him with his son, daughter-in-law, and grandson, he questioned his own values. Perhaps they’d been too lofty. Perhaps if he had stayed out of public office... things would have been different.
The cold March Iowa wind blew outside the window and created a low howl through the insulated panes. Seeing his reflection against the black night sky, Richard Bosley I knew the truth: “perhapses” meant nothing! His family was gone and his third round of chemo would start tomorrow. The second round took his hair and energy. The third may very well take his life. If it didn’t, the cancer surely would. Seeing his gaunt reflection and viewing his hands, he saw the gray pallor. His skin was merely an oversized casing, loosely hanging over his bones. It reminded him how life wasn’t fair. He prayed death would be.
Richard Bosley I would officially resign as governor of Iowa at a press conference scheduled for tomorrow at noon. The lieutenant governor, Sheldon Preston, would immediately be sworn in office for the remaining term. Tonight, alone in the executive office, Governor Bosley chose to make decisions. He had nothing left to lose. To hell with the executive board; tonight the only opinion that mattered was his.
Who can truly say if good done for the wrong reason was still good? Right now, his soul told him to take another look. Do not leave this place of power without knowing you’ve done all that you can do. Easing himself into the splendid leather chair, he decided to do just that. History would write itself.
The stack of petitions for pardon were discussed, debated, and decreased. The news of his impending resignation spurred many requests. The executive board reviewed the multiple petitions for pardon and decided upon ten. Ten applicants now serving time in one of Iowa’s penitentiaries who would soon be free. Ten people, who tomorrow would be informed their verdict was overturned and their sentence was over. Governor Bosley eyed the stack of pages to his left. Within that stack were eleven other people. According to the board of review, these inmates would remain in prison. They would serve out their sentences as handed down by the mighty and lofty judges of this great state.
With trembling hands, more from the chemicals within his veins than emotion, Governor Bosley reviewed the stack of prisoners destined to remain behind bars for the eternity of their sentence.
The lists of offenses varied: rapists, burglars, prostitutes. Somehow through the diseased cells infiltrating his brain, Richard remembered his quest. One more time he leafed through the stack. Finally, he found the name he sought. Yes, she’d been married to Anthony Rawlings. Hell, he attended their wedding. Suddenly, Richard Bosley’s mouth formed a grin. There had been so few reasons to smile lately. The facial muscles would soon tire, but he enjoyed the brief euphoria.
He reread the file: Claire Nichols - no contest plea to the charge of attempted murder, thus not officially found guilty. Good behavior since incarceration. No marks of disobedience. No prior offenses. Sentenced to seven years. Served fourteen months. With the multitude of sins represented by the prisoners already scheduled for pardon, Governor Bosley could question why the executive board allowed this woman to remain in prison. However, he knew. The board consisted of five individuals of political power or at least promise in Iowa, and each served a four year term. Everyone knew, success in Iowa wasn’t found by crossing Anthony Rawlings.
“Dad, I see the sign.” Ryan’s voice cut the thick silent air.
Suddenly, a commotion of racket resonated from the hallway containing the bathrooms. Some moments hang suspended in time as if the electrons slow, protons release their pull, and atoms no longer cement into matter; for example, the second a newborn baby releases its first cry. Some instants occur in a flash; like lightening refusing capture upon film. Others are an amalgamation.
A thick man moved toward them, his face concealed behind a black ski mask. Rich’s first thought, it’s July, why would you wear a ski mask? was only a blimp before the realization of their situation, “Run! Back to the car!” The words cascaded from his lips with alarm and authority.
Preoccupied with the search of her purse, Sarah’s husband’s tone propelled her to flight. She seized her son’s small hand and spun toward the smudged glass door. The echoing pop of gunfire erupted so abruptly she never saw her husband fall and thankfully neither did Ryan. The last thing either of them saw was the shower of red as their blood added another dimension to the filth on the floor and windows.
Months earlier and miles away a business executive chose to close a stamping plant no longer showing profits. That one decision resulted in thousands of unemployed workers. One of which was a father with a sick child and no wife. In a moment of desperation the out of work father decided his only option to pay the mounting medical bills and save his son, was crime. A few robberies later, with money too attractive and too easy, he had a new profession…
There is no limit to what a man can do, or where he can go,
if he does not mind who gets the credit.
- Charles Edward Montague Chapter 1
Looking around his office, Richard Bosley I contemplated his place in history. The stately office reeked of prestige. Impressive bookshelves covered the walls, and his mahogany desk created a platform of regality. The flags of both the United States and Iowa hung conspicuously behind his leather chair. Only fifteen months into his second term as governor, he had so many goals to accomplish. The voters rallied around him after the tragic death of his only son and his family. They put their trust in him, in his ideas, and in his values. Staring at the family photo of him with his son, daughter-in-law, and grandson, he questioned his own values. Perhaps they’d been too lofty. Perhaps if he had stayed out of public office... things would have been different.
The cold March Iowa wind blew outside the window and created a low howl through the insulated panes. Seeing his reflection against the black night sky, Richard Bosley I knew the truth: “perhapses” meant nothing! His family was gone and his third round of chemo would start tomorrow. The second round took his hair and energy. The third may very well take his life. If it didn’t, the cancer surely would. Seeing his gaunt reflection and viewing his hands, he saw the gray pallor. His skin was merely an oversized casing, loosely hanging over his bones. It reminded him how life wasn’t fair. He prayed death would be.
Richard Bosley I would officially resign as governor of Iowa at a press conference scheduled for tomorrow at noon. The lieutenant governor, Sheldon Preston, would immediately be sworn in office for the remaining term. Tonight, alone in the executive office, Governor Bosley chose to make decisions. He had nothing left to lose. To hell with the executive board; tonight the only opinion that mattered was his.
Who can truly say if good done for the wrong reason was still good? Right now, his soul told him to take another look. Do not leave this place of power without knowing you’ve done all that you can do. Easing himself into the splendid leather chair, he decided to do just that. History would write itself.
The stack of petitions for pardon were discussed, debated, and decreased. The news of his impending resignation spurred many requests. The executive board reviewed the multiple petitions for pardon and decided upon ten. Ten applicants now serving time in one of Iowa’s penitentiaries who would soon be free. Ten people, who tomorrow would be informed their verdict was overturned and their sentence was over. Governor Bosley eyed the stack of pages to his left. Within that stack were eleven other people. According to the board of review, these inmates would remain in prison. They would serve out their sentences as handed down by the mighty and lofty judges of this great state.
With trembling hands, more from the chemicals within his veins than emotion, Governor Bosley reviewed the stack of prisoners destined to remain behind bars for the eternity of their sentence.
The lists of offenses varied: rapists, burglars, prostitutes. Somehow through the diseased cells infiltrating his brain, Richard remembered his quest. One more time he leafed through the stack. Finally, he found the name he sought. Yes, she’d been married to Anthony Rawlings. Hell, he attended their wedding. Suddenly, Richard Bosley’s mouth formed a grin. There had been so few reasons to smile lately. The facial muscles would soon tire, but he enjoyed the brief euphoria.
He reread the file: Claire Nichols - no contest plea to the charge of attempted murder, thus not officially found guilty. Good behavior since incarceration. No marks of disobedience. No prior offenses. Sentenced to seven years. Served fourteen months. With the multitude of sins represented by the prisoners already scheduled for pardon, Governor Bosley could question why the executive board allowed this woman to remain in prison. However, he knew. The board consisted of five individuals of political power or at least promise in Iowa, and each served a four year term. Everyone knew, success in Iowa wasn’t found by crossing Anthony Rawlings.
