A Price Worth Paying

The issue at hand is that you still committed a crime, Mister Fraser. You left Mister Thompson with life changing injuries. We live in a society where the rule of law is supreme. Young men such as yourself are not supposed to take the law into their own hands. This is not the Wild West. We do not approve of vigilante justice.

Yet we must also look at the extenuating circumstances. You were almost born into a life of violence, exposed to it from a young age. I also believe your mother. At heart, you are generally not a violent man. The reason you are here is an aberration. Friends and family speak of you in gentle terms. And they also understood your anger, your desire to make it right. The love of family supersedes all other forms of love, and I think everyone in this courtroom perhaps has that one fantasy, of protecting their loved one from danger.

But you must be judged on the facts of the case, Mister Fraser. You committed a violent act against another human being. He may have committed crimes, for which he is still innocent until being found guilty, but that did not and does not give you the right to deal with the matter yourself. All of us here understand, given your role in your family. But that still doesn't make it right.

Now I must sit here and assess certain questions. Are you a danger to anyone else? Will you continue to be a danger to Mister Thompson? Will you go looking for further retribution against anyone else you believe involved? Will you continue to seek justice against others who commit such heinous crimes against young women?

I will be honest, Mister Fraser. I can confidently answer 'no' to all those questions. I am a grandfather, a father, a brother, an uncle, and a son. Even as someone who had studied the law, lives and breathes the law, even there is that animal nature deep within that understands what happened.

Please stand, Mister Fraser."

I stood up with my lawyer. I knew it wasn't going to be just an easy couple of years.

"In regards to the guilty verdict of assault occasioning grievous bodily harm, I hereby sentence you to ten years' imprisonment, with a minimum term of seven years before being considered for parole. Many would call this sentence too light. Others would call for your immediate release. I do not consider you a dangerous nor violent man, Mister Fraser, but the act you committed was of such extreme violence, there must be a sense of justice and punishment, though hopefully rehabilitation at the same time."

"Of course, Your Honour."

He nodded. "Bailiff, you may escort the prisoner away."

I turned and immediately hugged my mother and sister, both of them kissing my cheek, reaching out to shake the hands of everyone present, hearing plenty of calls that they'd see me when I got out. Wasn't sure all of them would wait seven years, but it was nice to know I still had all that support. Then I was handcuffed and led away, hearing both my mother and sister call out they loved me before I disappeared from view.

*****

Prison

Arriving at Silverwater Correctional Complex, I knew it was a mixture of maximum and minimum security prisons for both males and females. Though convicted of a violent crime, I was fairly sure I wouldn't be put into maximum. I hadn't been told anything though. Guess they were trying to scare me.

Thankfully, I was led off to the Silverwater Correctional Centre, the minimum security wing for males of the complex. I was the only one headed that way, everyone else on the vehicle I travelled being led off elsewhere. It was only when stepping out and seeing the walls around me that reality did kick in. Did I feel any regrets?

Nope.

The prison obviously had all my details. The fact I was still only eighteen. They knew what I'd been convicted of. That's it. They wouldn't have all the case details. Being processed made me feel a little less human, particularly the strip search, but it could have been worse. Reckon arriving at a maximum security prison would have been incredibly daunting. After being photographed, I was given clothing and shoes before being placed in a holding cell. Everything I'd arrived with was put into storage until my release date.

Minimum of seven years. Shit, I'd be twenty-five if I managed to get parole at the minimum term limit. Guess I'd have to behave myself and just hope for the best.

I was then interviewed, which was rather bizarre. But the prison officer was friendly, noticing I was just taking everything in my stride. He did ask some pointed questions about what put me behind bars, and I knew honesty was the best policy. I held nothing back about what I did. He had that look in his eyes at one stage that suggested 'Yeah, I see where you're coming from, mate.'

After a medical check-up, no real surprise I was fit and healthy, I was given some food and water before I was allowed to make a final phone call while providing a visitor list. I called Mum, of course, hearing her sob down the phone. Broke my heart at the same time, though she said more than once that I'd have a home once my sentence was over, and that they wouldn't be the only people waiting for me to leave. "You have loyal friends, Mikey. More than you probably imagine."

Once the admission process was over, it was orientation. It was almost like a first day at school. They were surprisingly friendly though business like. I figured it was just a matter of routine. Wake up this time. Shower this time. Breakfast, lunch and dinner these times. Exercise this time. Being in minimum security, I knew we'd be out of our cells more often than otherwise. I planned on finishing my Higher School Certificate while I was in prison while hopefully doing some courses. I knew those sorts of things were on offer.

I won't say it was easy adapting to life in prison. Far fucking from it, in all honesty. The best thing was that I was given my own room. And it wasn't like the cells you see in movies, iron bars and what not. They were not exactly comfortable but far better than what people probably expect. And being minimum security, life was probably better for us than those in high category prisons.

I'm not going to go over seven years in prison in blow by blow detail. What I can tell you is that I made some rather good friends, and like always, many learned of what I did through the grapevine, though I had no problem telling those who asked what I was in for. I'd joke, stating 'Well, I'm innocent because he was a piece of shit', but once word gets out you dealt with a rapist and protected your family, no-one fucks with you in prison.

There are unspoken rules about not making friends with any of the staff, but if you keep them sweet, you get favours. One kept me up to date with the Thompson case. Up to twelve were now accusing him, and the prosecution service was building quite the case. My sister was one of the main accusers, and it hurt that I was behind bars while she was taking the stand, but she had more than proven her own courage.

I did have to wait for my first visitor but could make calls within a month. Spoke to Mum and Becca at the same time, and it was the first time reality punched me in the gut. Didn't cry in front of everyone, but that's when I knew I had at least six years and eleven months to go.

Meeting my family in prison clothing wasn't exactly what I wanted, but at least I wasn't cuffed when I met Mum and Becca in the visiting room. And as we were not considered incredibly dangerous, we were allowed to hug. Mum hugged me tightly for at least ten minutes, my sister then doing the same thing, before we sat down and talked about nothing in particular. I told them about resuming my studies and I'd focus on that the entire time, looking at some sort of vocation. I knew being an ex-con would eliminate me from quite a few jobs, but I knew there were places that helped former inmates get back on their feet.

My sister never missed a visit, particularly once she was capable of driving herself about. Mum couldn't always visit due to her job, but I called her plenty as well. Good friends from school were on my list, and they'd visit once every couple of months. I was impressed by their loyalty and their love. Those that couldn't visit, I kept in touch via email. There was more than one promise that my release would be a day of celebration. "Largest fucking party Sydney has seen regarding the release of a prisoner!" Jennifer exclaimed.

We could keep up to date with the news. We were not excluded entirely from the outside world. So I could keep up to date with the court case regarding a certain Lance Thompson. Pled not guilty, of course. Claimed it was some sort of conspiracy. He was an idiot. If he'd pled guilty, he'd have served time, but could have earned himself at least some sort of deal.

I was busy studying in the prison library at least a couple of years into my sentence when a friend walked in, sitting down next to me. "Just read on the internet, Mikey. That Lance Thompson you dealt with? Guilty on twelve counts of aggravated sexual assault. He's looking at a full life term behind bars."

I put my pen down and ran my fingers through my hair. "Well, that's something, I guess."

"Regrets?"

"None. If I'd killed him, I wouldn't be here in at least relative comfort, right?"

"Guy's a piece of shit. He won't be in general once he's behind bars, and he'll be looking at maximum. Shit, might even get supermax, being a sexual predator. Men like that are definitely kept separate. People consider us scum but even we have morals. Yeah, we'll steal your shit, might even stab you, but we won't take something like that from you."

"Getting all philosophical on me now?"

He snorted. "You're a good kid, Mikey. Most of the guys in here? Respect. You looked after your family. Everyone here has learned what you said in court. It's why no-one has fucked with you. Honestly, none of us would even try. Mister Michael 'Bad Arse' Fraser." He gently punched my shoulder. "Just thought you'd like to know the news."

"Thanks, mate. It's over for him, but the girls still have to deal now. Not sure if their ordeal even ends."

After five years in prison, I was more than used to the life. My sister still visited every fortnight. Some friends were still visiting as often as they could. Others had fallen away, but they still kept in touch by email. Very few had turned their back on me, but some were just getting on with their lives. I was a painful reminder for others.

I was left thinking my sister and I looked more like a couple when she visited, leaning towards each over the table as we talked quietly. And she hadn't changed her mind.

"Two years, Mikey. Two more years, then you'll be out, then we'll make love," she whispered.

"Have you... Are you not..."

"I don't date, Mikey. I don't want to. The man I want is currently serving time." She leaned close to my ear. "So I just masturbate a lot."

"So do I!"

The visiting room was filled with laughter, earning plenty of glances. Made some others smile, at least, managing to find humour despite the circumstances. I'd made up my mind within a month that I'd live at home and give a relationship with my sister a shot. I couldn't handle the thought of breaking her heart by saying no. I knew losing me from her life for seven years was hard enough.

"Mum's dating, at least," she said, "Thankfully, he's a good man. Knows all about you. He's looking forward to meeting you when you finally get out."

"Mum mentioned dating. I thought it meant different guys."

"No, one man, taking her out on dates. She's taking it slow, of course, but he's a real gentleman. I like to think I'm a decent judge of character and I approve of him. He makes Mum laugh. Robert never made Mum laugh."

I couldn't help grin. "She sounds happy."

"Happier than I've seen in years, Mikey. And that happiness will simply explode when you're released."

"How's everyone else?"

"Grandparents are still fit as fiddles, and they approve of Mark. That's Mum's new fellow. Talk about their brave grandson to anyone who cares to visit them. Jennifer loves you. You know that right?" I nodded. "Honestly, you might be a prisoner, but you've got a line of women who want nothing more than to leap on your once you're out. Something about Australians loving convicts, it seems."

"Those from school?"

"Mostly. Did you not realise how popular you were?"

"I kept mostly to myself. You know that. Yeah, I was friendly but I guess I just missed the signs."

"Rachel was right, Mikey. Nearly every girl in your year group would have quite happily been your girlfriend. I include myself in that, of course."

"They wouldn't be... afraid of me?"

She almost snorted. "Please, you were only violent to protect us when it came to our father, and Lance deserved everything he got."

"Have you been dealing with it?"

"Mum managed to snag me a good therapist. After the trial, it was offered on a silver platter. I'm better. I can trust people again. Rachel had it worst. What she endured during the two years they were a couple. It was the threats and intimidation more than anything sexual. He broke her spirit. Her sense of self. Once she was eighteen, that's when he... He was... the worst human being possible."

"Damn," I whispered, "So with me that time?"

"She knew you'd make love to her. Be gentle. Tender. Make her feel loved the entire time. She told everyone afterwards that's exactly what it was like. Mikey, you simply didn't realise the respect you had from the whole school. Everyone knew what was going on at home."

"I'll ask Mum to bring her new fellow to meet me. Not exactly the place I'd like to..."

"He wants to meet you as well. He won't mind if it's now or when you're out." She took my hand in hers. "I'm thinking about what to do when you do get out. I'm talking with Mum and others about it. You have quite the fan club."

"Yeah, I'm still getting letters. 'Wish my brother was like that with me', that sort of thing."

"Saucy pictures? Dirty knickers?"

I laughed. "I think the guards probably take those."

I'll admit I started to count down during my seventh year. I'd never been in trouble with the guards. Completed my studies at school, continued further study, and started tutoring other prisoners who'd barely got to the eighth grade. I was shocked that I knew of a dozen that could barely read and write, taking them under my wing and slowly teaching them. A shocking indictment of society if ever there was one. The poor bastards that just fall through the cracks.

I'd attended therapy the entire time I'd been in prison. I didn't have an anger problem, but I certainly carried it around. Therapy certainly helped me deal with everything that happened to myself and my family, whether due to my father or others.

Seven years, two months and twenty-three days after I'd been transported to the Silverwater Correction Complex, my application to attend a parole hearing was approved.

*****

Parole

I was certainly more nervous sitting in front of the three-person panel than I was during my trial. At my trial, I knew I'd be going to prison at the end of it, so it really didn't matter what I said, long as the truth got out. My parole hearing didn't have a fixed ending. They'd either be convinced that I could be released or I'd have to serve more time behind bars.

Mister Taylor was representing me again, meeting him after being transported to the Parramatta District Court. "Nervous?" he asked before we entered the room where the hearing would be held. At least I was able to wear a suit, first time I'd worn non-prison clothing since entering.

"Shitting myself, to be blunt. I'd rather not serve the full term, being completely honest."

"So be honest about yourself. Have you been told what will happen?" I nodded. "Then I don't think you have anything to worry about."

Walking into the room where my parole hearing would take place, I was pleased to see quite a few people there to act as witnesses on my behalf. There was no sign of Lance Thompson. Not a chance he'd be there as the victim, though I knew he might have provided a statement. The fact his parents were there, though. That was a surprise.

Taking a seat next to my lawyer, the fact there was no representation for the victim was a head-scratcher. I was expecting at least some sort of representation for the plaintiff. Maybe the Thompsons lawyer would no longer represent them?

"Mister Fraser, you are currently seven years and near five months into a ten-year prison sentence, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"How have you found your prison experience?"

"I guess you're after honesty. I think it's done me the world of good. I've finished my studies and probably done even more studying than I would have done in the outside world. I've had therapy to deal with everything I endured."

"When you were charged and convicted, that was the first time you'd been in trouble with the law?"

"Yes, sir."

"You did have numerous witnesses and support that you were not a violent man. Do you consider yourself violent, Mister Fraser?"

"I didn't then and I don't now, sir. Violence came looking for me, I didn't go looking for violence. Again, the therapy has helped with that too."

There were nods all around. "We've received paperwork from the prison. Seems you are almost a model prisoner. Not a single note on your record of you causing trouble. In fact, prison staff support your release. Notes that you've been assisting prisoners with learning. What do you plan on doing once you leave?"

"I know my record will likely stop me from heading into that sort of field, like a social worker to help others in need. I've also been looking into engineering, mechanics, auto repair, that sort of thing. Already put out feelers to companies that have no problem hiring those who have spent time in prison."

"Where do you intend on living if you're released?"

"With Mum. She's said since the day I was imprisoned that I'd always have a home with her."

A statement from Lance Thompson was then read. It was short and to the point, focusing only on what I'd done to him the day on the field, the injuries I'd left him with and the pain he still faced on a daily basis. I kept my face blank when it was read. I'd hated him more than anyone on the planet at one stage. He was now behind bars for life. He wasn't worth the time.

Then they called his parents forward to make a statement. The two chairs faced me next to the panel. I found it difficult to meet their eyes, but when I did, his mother constantly had to wipe their cheeks, his father needing to dab at his eyes too.

"Our son..." he stated to say, "Our son is an evil, evil man." That had me looking at them in complete surprise. "What he did to those poor girls... What his girlfriend had to endure... What we found in his room, what he planned to do to his little sisters..."

"What the fuck?" I whispered. My lawyer glanced at me. He knew...

"Our son is a monster. I hate that my wife and I have to call Lance Thompson our son, that he shares our blood. The fact that a home that provided nothing but love managed to produce such a man... My wife and I often wonder what we did wrong. Mister Fraser grew up in a home of violence and hate, yet while he might sit there now in a parole hearing, we have no hate in our hearts for him. We thank him."

"What?" I asked flatly. My lawyer grabbed my forearm. The panel just glanced my way.

"If not for your actions, our son would have done things to our daughters. He had journals where he went into... God, I read the words once and still can't forget them. They were sick, vile, inhumane... Then I think of the other fathers and their daughters, what he did to them. I wonder if we should beg for forgiveness that we conceived and somehow missed raising such a monster.