The Rise Of A Broken Man

One

Twelve Years Later

The gates opened with a groan, the kind that sounded like they didn’t want to let go and Devon stepped out of the place that had held him for so long.

He had a duffel bag in one hand and twelve lost years behind him. The sky looked different now, brighter, maybe, or maybe it was just that he hadn’t seen it without bars or outside the four walls of a prison in so long.

“You good, kid?” the guard asked behind him.

Devon nodded once, though good wasn’t even close to describing how he was feeling.

The man waiting by the old pickup truck waved. Hector. Devon had met him in prison but he had been released eight months before him, which was why he was able to come pick him up.

Hector waved again, his weathered face breaking into a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Damn, man. You look the same, just a lot older,” he said, clapping Devon on the shoulder.

“Thanks man,” Devon managed a faint smile. “I guess that’s what twelve years does to a person.”

“Yeah,” Hector said quietly, feeling bad he had joked about how he looked. “You ready to get out of here?” he asked.

Devon looked back once again at the gates, the concrete, the endless rows of razor wire that lined the high fence, glinting under the morning sun.

The place had stolen more than half his life, but it had also carved something out of him and what was left… he wasn’t sure yet.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”

He bit his bottom lip as they got into the truck. The seat was cracked and smelled faintly of motor oil and old coffee. Hector turned the key, and the engine coughed to life. The road stretched ahead, a thin gray ribbon cutting through nowhere.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Devon watched the land roll by; bare trees, rusted fences, a few houses scattered far apart. Freedom didn’t feel like he thought it would. It wasn’t joy or relief. It was something heavier.

He couldn't blame himself for how he felt though, because what joy could come from how much life he had wasted? But he also knew better than to feel sorry for himself, the world was harsh when he left it, and now that he had returned, he sure knew it would be harsher now.

“So… I got you a place lined up,” Hector said eventually, eyes on the road. “A friend of mine owns a mechanic shop in Ridgefield. He’s short on help for a month, and doesn’t ask a lot of questions so you'll work there until we can find something else.”

“Thank you, man. I appreciate it,” Devon said. His voice sounded rough, like it hadn’t been used in a while.

Whilst he was in prison, he had done all he could to stay off the radar of bad people in there, so he hadn't spoken much, unless it was necessary, or he was spoken to.

That really didn't help, but it was now a part of him. The first few years were hell, because he had been the youngest, he had been tried as an adult after all, after the DA had reviewed the evidence and decided he was too guilty to go to juvie.

Hector had been the one to take me under his wings and trained me.

According to him, that wasn't his first rodeo, but Devon certainly hoped that it was the last. He liked the man, he was pure-hearted, even though he was a hooligan. It was a gang war or something that had brought him to prison.

“You don’t have to thank me, man. Just… don’t screw it up. Not after everything you've gone through.”

Devon knew what he was talking about, but he nodded, staring out the window again.

Hector knew that for the longest time, all Devon wanted was revenge, and he was still going to get it, just not in the way he wanted before. He couldn't afford to kill two sons of bitches like Sean and his father and come back to prison for them.

Nah, he was going to have to take his revenge on them another way.

He wasn't sure yet, but he was surely going to find a way.

Sighing, he focused back on the road in front of him, only he really couldn't. Damn he still had a lot of hatred and resentment in him for that family, enough the size of Georgia.

The world looked wide open, but he felt like he was walking out of one cage and straight into another; just an invisible one this time.

After a long silence, he asked, “You ever stop thinking about it?”

Hector glanced at him. “About what?” he asked, even though Devon was sure he knew what he meant.

“The day it all went to hell for you?”

Hector’s jaw tightened. “No. I just learn to live around it.” he said with a shrug.

Devon leaned his head back against the seat. Live around it, huh? Maybe that was all he could do, too. At least, for now.

Soon, they passed a faded green sign that read RIDGEFIELD-12 MILES.

Devon exhaled slowly, the name tugging at something deep inside him. He hadn’t seen that word in twelve years, hadn’t let himself think about it. Ridgefield was where it all started, and where his life had ended once already.

Now he was going back. Thankfully, it was a big city, and the chance of running into any Curtis was very slim.

“Oh, that reminds me. I got you a place too,” Hector said after a few miles of silence. “It’s not much, but it’s clean. Apartment out by the city limits, near the south end of Ridgefield.”

Devon glanced over. “How near are we talking?” he asked.

“It's a ten-minute walk to the shop. Maybe fifteen if you’re dragging your feet,” Hector said, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The rent’s cheap. You’ll have some privacy, no nosy neighbors. Landlord’s a good guy. Ex-con, like us.”

Devon huffed a dry laugh. “Guess that’s a theme, then.” he said, realizing how his life would never be the same again.

“Yeah,” Hector said. “We take care of our own. You’ll crash there tonight, get some rest. Tomorrow, you start at the shop.”

Devon stared ahead at the stretch of highway, where the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in dull orange and gray. “Tomorrow,” he repeated, the word strange on his tongue, like it belonged to someone else.

You couldn't blame him, it wasn't as if he had had a tomorrow to look forward to for twelve years. There had been no plan at all, but now, suddenly, he was going to start living.

“You okay with that?” Hector asked.

Devon nodded, but it wasn’t quite true, only he didn't have a choice. “Work’s good. I can handle that.”

“Good. Then don’t go looking for anything else right now,” Hector warned, his voice even. “Not trouble, not old enemies. Ridgefield’s full of both for people like us.”

People like us! Devon’s lips twisted with a scoff. “You think I came out here for sightseeing?” he asked.

“I think you came out here still angry.”

Devon didn’t answer but he didn’t need to. The silence that followed said enough.

When they finally turned off the highway, the city lights were already glowing ahead of them; hazy, like a promise or a warning. Hector’s truck rattled over potholes as they pulled onto a narrow side street lined with cracked sidewalks and sagging porches.

“This is it,” Hector said, pulling up in front of a small, two-story building. The paint was peeling, and the porch light flickered, but there were flower pots in the windows. Somebody cared enough to try. “Top floor, number three.” he said before handing him a key.

Devon reached for the handle, hesitated. “Why’re you doing all this for me, Hector?”

Hector shrugged, eyes still forward. “Because someone did it for me once. And because you didn’t deserve what happened to you. Not then, and definitely not now.”

Devon looked down at the key Hector had handed him, metal cool against his palm. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Hector said. “Show up tomorrow. Don’t be late. Don’t start fights. Don’t talk about prison. You keep your head down, you’ll be fine.”

Devon gave a short nod, stepped out of the truck, and slung his duffel over his shoulder.

The air smelled like rain and old oil, but it was better than the sting smell of the prison cells.

“Hey, Dev,” Hector called as he leaned across the seat. “You sleep tonight, yeah? Leave the past where it is for now.”

Devon looked up at the second-floor window, where the weak porch light barely reached.

“Yeah, sure.” he said but he didn’t mean it.