Shattered Life

Short story

Shattered Life

My name is Ryder Montclair; I was arrested for the murder of my best friend. I was brought to trial and convicted by a jury of my peers. Now sitting here at Florida State Penitentiary, I struggle every day to figure out what really happened that night on the beach. I was not even able to take the stand in my own defense. I do not remember anything except when I woke up in a pool of my best friend’s blood.

It was the week after we had graduated from high school. We were both eighteen and had spent the week in Panama City at the beach. The alcohol had been flowing freely all week thanks to my fake I.D.; I had paid sixty bucks to a friend of mine to procure one before our trip. It was a very good I.D., and it had worked to the fullest for the entire week.

On the beach all week, we had met many different people from all over the country down here doing the same thing we were. There was not a single person in Panama City over twenty that week it seemed. Everyone was there to party because they had just graduated high school, and wanted one last hoorah before going off to college and beginning the life of an adult. It was their last chance to be kids.

Tanya was from Mobile and was a very attractive girl. I met her in the local dance club there in Panama City. She was shaking her butt all over the dance floor, when she spun around one time and caught my eye. She smiled, pointed her finger at me, and beckoned me to dance with her. I almost sprinted to dance floor and we danced all night.

I slept at her hotel room that night, and the next morning went back to my room to shower. When I got there I found that my best friend had also found someone to go home with. I jumped in the shower and when I was finished, the girl that had been there with my friend, had left him with a smile on his face. He jumped out of bed, showered, and then we headed out to the beach. I met up with Tanya again and we hung out all day drinking and partying on the beach.

 Tanya had been talking to my friend and they looked a little too cozy, I walked up just as they had both shared a laugh and refused to let me in on what it was about. I was angered by that, walked away in a huff, and didn’t speak to either of them for the rest of the day.

            That night I went back to the club alone, hung out at the bar, and watched as the bikini clad girls danced out on the dance floor. I looked over, saw that Tanya was in the club, and had made her way to the dance floor. She wasn’t looking at me; I couldn’t really tell who she had had her eye on.  She was dancing sexy just for some lucky guy. He was not on the dance floor from what I observed.  I then saw my best friend making his way to the dance floor with two drinks in his hand.  He walked up to her, handed her a drink, and he planted his lips on hers. I suddenly didn’t feel like being there anymore, so I downed my drink, and headed out to the beach to take a walk.

            I couldn’t get the picture of my best friend kissing the girl I thought I had something with out of my head. It was the betrayal of all betrayals. Your best friend never is supposed to hook up with a girl you hooked up with. It is part of the “bro code.”  I walked the beach for quite a while and ended up at this quaint little hole in the wall bar that mostly had locals. I sat in the dark corner, tried not to attract any attention to myself, and drank myself into oblivion.

            The bartender was a cute blonde, who was friendly. I told her about why I was there alone and she bought me a few shots. She had made me feel better, and I started to flirt with her.  We joked and laughed all night till it was closing time. After she closed up she asked if I wanted to take a walk on the beach and sober up a little before I tried to walk back to the hotel. We walked for a long time, and the alcohol had started to affect my emotions. As we talked more I started to get angrier and angrier and decided it was time to confront my so called “bro.”

            I left the bartender on the beach and headed back to the hotel. When I opened the door I found my roommate there alone. I woke him up and yelled every obscenity I could think of at the time. He looked a little confused about what was going on. He never said anything until I had finished my rant, and the only thing he came up with to say after that was:

“That’s your bad bro.”

            My temper boiled over, I left the room, and slammed the door behind me. The door splintered, I didn’t care, and I wished the thing would have come completely off its hinges. I went to the beach, sat on one of the blue chairs, and tried to calm myself. My friend came out to try to talk to me but I wanted no part of it. I was intoxicated and was to the point that the only thing that would make me feel better was a fight.

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            I woke up with a wet feeling, did not know where I was, and my head was fogged over from the alcohol. My right hand felt heavy, I looked over, and saw the bloody cement chunk in my hand. I stared at it for a moment, and then panicked. I looked to my left and saw the lifeless body of my friend. I tried to wake him, shook him hard, but I knew he would not wake up. The dent in his skull told me all I needed to know.

            My best friend had died right there beside me.

            The police questioned me for hours. I could not tell them anything. I didn’t remember anything after the fight started. I repeated the entire week’s events to them over and over. I could tell they tried to make holes in my story so it made for an easy conviction. Once they finished the questioning and felt they had enough evidence to hold me, I was given an orange jumpsuit and put in a cell. I was in the cell for almost forty eight hours before I was sent to the judge for my first appearance in court.

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            My parents were not rich and were not able to afford an attorney for my defense. I was stuck with the public defender. The trial received national coverage and I was the main topic on HLN throughout the duration of the trial. Every person I met during the week of the senior trip testified at the trial. I was shocked at how cold most of the people were about the situation. The most shocking testimony came from Tanya.

            She painted me as cold hard killer. She never looked at me during the trial. I sat there shocked by the things she said about me. I wanted to cry many times during the proceedings. I never did and that might be why when the jury deliberated it took only twenty five minutes to find me guilty of murder.

            After the guilty verdict was read, I put my hand over my face, and the tears started to fall. To everyone’s surprise the judge decided that the sentencing phase of the trial would not wait. I was sentenced right then and there. The judge gave me one hundred and five years. It was life in prison with no possibility of parole.

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            Today I sit in my cell for most of the day. I get an hour of recreation time and for another hour I get a visit from the prison psychologist. Don Traylor helps me deal with what happen. I still have nightmares about the day. I am allowed visitors, but rarely get any. My father died of a heart attack shortly after the trial. The doctor said it was from all the stress. My mother decided to move to Florida after that and I get visits from her. She doesn’t come often because she says she feels violated by the guards every time they do a cavity search to her.

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            I was surprised to receive a letter from Tanya a few weeks ago. She vented about how I had turned her life upside down. She told me that she hated me for putting her through all this. I had to agree with her that I was wrong, but what could I say to change her mind that I’m not a bad guy. I cried for hours after reading that letter. I just want to be able to tell her my side. I want to tell her how every day I hurt and wish none of this had happened.

            I never will get the chance to say I’m sorry.  

I will never see my best friend again. I won’t have a wife and kids. My mother will never have grandkids. I will be here in prison until the day that I die. The memory of that day will never fade as all the other memories of my past life have. If I could reverse the past I would give up my own life. As far as I’m concerned I don’t deserve to live. I can’t give a family their son back. I can’t change all the lives that I affected.

 All I can do is sit here in silence suffering with my own guilt, my own tortured soul burning with desire to change the past. 

Author's Note

Review Please, Edited.