Redemption

By Raymond Franklin

Redemption is a story about an ex deathrow inmate's life story and how he helps a condemned man find redemption. It explores themes of grief, forgiveness, faith and the death penalty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raymond Franklin
• Release date: Jan 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224239054

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ilet out a long breath and turned off the engine of my old Chevy pickup. I closed my eyes and slowly allowed them to open. There was the tall fences strung with row after row of razor wire stretched out in both directions. They looked the same, though now they were all electrically charged.

The guard towers seemed the same too, but there was no guard inside. Everything had been changed to motion detectors and A.I. programs. The old prison also seemed the same, although my memories were developed looking from the inside out. I let out another long breath. The memories were just too much, how on earth had I allowed myself to be talked into coming here?

It was a good cause. A man was likely to be put to death inside these walls before the week was over. A caring father had sent preachers, and priest of all kinds to talk to his son Chuck Roberson, all of them had been turned away. Chuck was having none of it. He believed his crimes were unforgivable so why should he bother? However, because of constant pressure from his father. Chuck had finally agreed to talk to me.

I too was under pressure from his father, though the main pressure I was feeling came from a much higher source. I opened the truck door and gingerly stepped out. The old bones protested and I had to hold on to the door to steady myself. As I caught my breath I studied the entrance. Big bold letters proclaimed Georgia Diagnostics and Classification Center. At least I was entering the front gate this time.

I glanced at the long buildings and easily located G and H Buildings. Fifty five years ago, wrapped in chains, I had been delivered to those drab, stark buildings, commonly referred to as Death Row.

I leaned into the truck and picked up my book. I reached for my cane, but had second thoughts. I wouldn't be able to get it past the check-in desk anyway. I closed the door and slowly shuffled toward the gates. I pressed the button expecting to hear a loud buzz. Instead, a soft feminine voice sounded through a speaker, Please look at the screen, then state your name and purpose of your visit.

Ugh! I'm Ray Franklyn, from the Open Door Community. I have a scheduled visit with inmate Chuck Roberson. Seconds later the buzz I'd expected sounded and the gate slid open. I gritted my teeth and stepped through. Oh how I hated that sound.

I went into the lobby and made my way over to the desk. I laid my book on the counter. The guard picked up the well worn thing and ran it through a scanner. He then pushed forward the papers I had to fill out. Once finished, I turned over my drivers license, emptied my pockets and slipped off my shoes. The metal detector didn't make a sound.

I put my shoes back on and was led through another sliding gate by a young female guard. She couldn't have been long out of high school, her belly jiggled as she walked. There was nothing attractive about her, but behind these walls, she wouldn't want for attention. The inmates would whistle and tell her how fine she was. Odds were, she'd eat it up and soon be fired for personal dealings.

I took a seat in the waiting area. Looking around, I saw that there wasn't that many people ahead of me, but it wasn't a regular visiting day. Still, I didn't have to imagine what Chuck was going through or how long I would have to wait. My visit had been approved through the highest levels. Everyone knew what time I was to arrive, but the guards back in G building wouldn't have been ordered to bring Chuck up until after I'd sighed in.

There was a lot of gates that he would have to go through, then a long walk through halls teaming with general population inmates. Who would be shooed to the side of the wall by shouts from the guards, Dangerous man walking.

Thirty minutes later my name was called and slowly I pushed myself to my feet. The actual visiting room was a long narrow room that was split in half lengthwise by a line of shallow booths. A metal grate separated the seats. I would have to talk to Chuck through those. He wouldn't be allowed contact visits until the last twenty four hours.

Things had changed since my days. Back then a death row inmate was allowed contact visits. We'd used the same room, but was allowed to sit on the same side of the grating. No one else was using this room so I took a seat about halfway down. A few minutes later I heard the door on the other side open. Memory is a strange thing. I actually remembered the sound of that door. It was one that swung open on hinges instead of sliding. Seems like someone would've oiled it by now.

Chuck walked over and sat down. He wore the white uniform with the blue stripe down the side of the pants, a blue collar and stripe down the center of the shirt. The same exact uniform I'd worn over a half century ago. Some things never change. Still, Chuck's was clean and well taken care of. He wore it about as well as anybody can wear prison garb.

He was a handsome guy, about six feet tall and two hundred pounds. His hair was dark, as was his eyes. He looked younger than the thirty nine years I knew him to be. Only the look in his eyes looked old, not from age, but from internal suffering. I knew the look well. I'd studied it in the mirror most all my life.

I didn't speak. Just sat there and waited for Chuck to start the conversation. He looked at me with something akin to hatred. I knew he didn't hate me. We'd never met. His thought of what I represented is what he struggled against. When he realized I wasn't going to speak first, he actually smiled. It lit up his face and eased the pain in his eyes. It made me feel better too.

So, what's up preacher man, my father said you wanted to talk to me about some of that God forgiveness bull?

I'm not a preacher. Your father told me you needed to talk to someone who could relate to your situation.

Chuck glanced down at the Bible laying beside my arm, then looked back at me. If you're not a preacher, what are you and how did you get in to see me?

I'm just a man like you. With many years of study, it wasn't hard to get a little piece of paper declaring me an ordained minister.

So you conned your way in here.

It's no con. I really am an ordained minister and I find it ridiculous that I need a piece of paper to be qualified to discuss ones personal relationship with God.

That's all any of you want to talk about! What if I don't want to talk about God?

Well, that's up to you. Your Father asked me to come talk to you, he didn't specify what we were to talk about. Though I'm afraid if you talk to me for very long, God will find a way to get into the conversation. I just want you to know I'm not here to force my beliefs on you.

Really. What's your angle? What do you get out of this?

I chuckled. "I almost didn't come. I really don't like getting into situations where I have to talk about my past. But I guess you could say I get to avoid feeling... unchristian and would probably feel pretty good if you were to find some comfort in something I say.

Man, that don't make any sense. I know you christians get a kick out of thinking you helped someone see the light so to speak. But me, I don't believe in any light and even if I did there's no way I could be forgiven after what I did. How could anything you say comfort me?

I straightened up my spine, placed my elbows on the little counter and leaned forward toward the grating that separated us. Hmm, comfort was probably the wrong word. How about if I could help you better understand some of the things you're dealing with?

Ha! How do you expect to do that preacher man. I killed two people and they plan to execute me for it Friday night.

I told you, I'm not a preacher. I've never stood up in front of a congregation and gave a sermon in my life. I don't plan on it either. If I have to be something to you, you could say I'm more like a counselor, just not like those idiots you have to deal with in here. Someone you can really talk to about things that are bothering you. But I'd much rather you accept me as one of the few road dogs who got lucky and got out. You see, I've sat right where you are now. I've had the same thoughts you are dealing with. The only difference is that I killed one person. Not that what you did is any worse because of the number of people. Any number is too many.

Chuck studied me. A little more interest in his eyes. Okay Pop, my Dad said that you were here once, but got your case overturned or something. I didn't really believe him, he's sent everyone but the Pope down here to save my soul.

Cut the Pop moniker too. Just call me Ray, or if you want to keep it more formal you can use Mr. Franklyn. I prefer to call you Chuck and you to call me Ray. We can just kick it as if we were both back on the block. I'm older, but as you know, that don't really mean much back there.

Okay Ray, I don't have a whole lot going on back on the block anyway. So convince me that you have some idea of what's really going on in my mind. But first, tell me what you did and how you beat it?

Oh, I didn't exactly beat it. I got the death sentence reversed because of a jury charge concerning intent. It was a close thing, the U.S. Supreme Court's vote was five to four. One swing vote and I would've become just a footnote in history. Still, after a new trial I was found guilty, but was able to dodge the death sentence. I pulled well over forty years in the system, before making parole. I'm still on parole right now.

Wait a minute, you did forty years before you got out?

Yes, I've been out nine years.

If you're still on parole, how did you get in to see me?

I don't physically have to report anymore, but some people vouched for me and the Open Door Community pulled some strings. It was mostly your father's doing and here I am.

I don't understand why he bothers after all the trouble I've cause him.

"He's your father, he loves you.

Yeah, I guess, but how does he do it. You don't understand all the chances he's given me.

To be honest, he probably couldn't do it by himself, but he's a Christian, God helps him.

Chuck laughed. You slipped that in there pretty slick. I thought we were just kicking it and that you weren't going to preach.

That's not preaching. It's just my opinion. I told you God would find a way to get his two cents worth in if you talked to me long enough.

Chuck laughed again. Still, you think you're slick. You completely dodged my question about what you did to end up on death row.

No, I'm not dodging. We just got sidetracked to another subject. That will happen a lot, so be patient with me.

All right, so out with it old man, um sorry, I mean Ray. What's your story?

The short answer is stupidity. I still can't believe just how stupid I was as a kid and a young man. It's said that there's no cure for stupidity, so I'm still afflicted, though I've found education helps relieve the symptoms somewhat.

I paused and leaned back a little. "I'd been in and out of trouble as a teenager, mostly burglaries, car thefts and such. It had gotten pretty serious by the time I turned twenty. I'd only been out of the county jail a little over five months after serving a year. That's a long story we may get into later, but I was doing okay. I'd gotten kicked out of my parents house. My Dad overheard me talking about going to pick up a pound of Jay. They gave me some leeway to get things together, but I was an idiot and head strong. I left that same day. Still, I was all right. I had a full time job and was cutting firewood in the evenings and weekends.

I lived in one of those efficiency rooms at a motel. My wife had previously divorced me, but we were still living together."

You were married?

"Yeah, but that's another part of my story, what I'm trying to get across is that I had absolutely no reason to get in trouble and had no plans to. I had cut a truck load of firewood to sell the next day. I was relaxing from a days work, my younger brother was staying with me and my wife was there. We had smoked a few and dropped some Valium.

Then unexpected guests arrived. Two guys I knew from my burglary days came by. They had a gallon of vodka and some of those plastic squeeze lemons and limes they were using for chasers. I have an aversion to drinking because my Dad struggled with that problem, therefore, I never develop a taste for it. I'd gotten drunk once before on my eighteenth birthday. My wife had an eventful night trying to get me home.

To make a long story short, me and the guys were sitting at the table turning a few cards. My little brother had falling asleep and my wife was watching TV. The guys were drunk and were talking about their money problems. For some reason I reached over and picked up one of the little lime chasers and squirted some in my mouth. My wife seen me and made a snappy remark. Ray, you know how you get when you drink.

I told you I was bullheaded. Well, her little comment pissed me off. I responded with, Bitch, I'm not drinking. Of course she responds that she had seen me. So I done the stupid thing, I grabbed the bottle of vodka and turned it up. You want to see somebody drinking? I shot back.

The rest of the night was a blur, even though I can remember what we did, I don't remember my thoughts. None of it makes any sense, I was just in stupid mode."

Yeah man, I know that feeling well. Chuck said.

Really? Do you want to tell me about it?

"No,