The Conviction (10 page)

Again, Jake had no idea what Atkins had just ordered him to do. Given that T.J. also remained standing he did not either.

“I said ‘plank’! When I say ‘plank’ you will assume the push-up position. Now. Drop.”

Jake and T.J. dropped.

“Count them out.”

Pebbles pressed into the flesh of Jake’s palms as his elbows bent and straightened. By ten his arms already felt weak from the lack of food and sleep. T.J. collapsed at fifteen. Atkins dropped to a plank, holding his body as rigid as a two-by-four, his face inches from the ground. “Do not quit. Do not quit!”

T.J. groaned and attempted to lift his body from the dirt, but his arms would not straighten. By twenty Jake too was struggling. By thirty he had to pause at the top, butt raised, arms trembling. Atkins circled, continuing to scream. “Get your ass down. Why are you sticking your ass in the air? Am I your boyfriend, Inmate Carter? Do not bend your back.”

During wrestling season Jake could do three sets of fifty, but that was with food and sleep and not being hung over. At thirty-seven, his arms felt like cooked spaghetti.

“Well look what we have,” Atkins said. “A showboat.” He dropped to his hands, body again rigid, face parallel with Jake’s. “Are you a showboat, Carter? You trying to humiliate your friend?”

“Thirty-nine,” Jake grunted. “Forty.” He paused at the top, elbows locked, snorting like a bull, spittle spewing between clenched teeth. “Forty-one.” The pauses became longer. Bile burned his throat. His shoulders ached, and he could no longer keep his back straight. His body looked like an inverted V.

Atkins sprang to his feet and used the sole of his boot to shove him in the ass. Jake pitched forward, the side of his face impacting the ground.

“On your feet. Get up. Get up.”

Jake struggled to lift his chest from the ground and made it to his knees. He laced his fingers behind his head and sucked the searing, thin air into his lungs. Perspiration dripped down his chest.

“I said, stand up!” Atkins ordered.

Jake rose to his feet.

“Now remove all of your clothes.”

Jake and T.J. struggled to lift their legs but managed to remove their undershorts and discard them onto the piles. They stood naked as Atkins circled. “What do you own?” he asked.

“Nothing, Officer Atkins.” T.J.’s voice croaked, tears streaming down his face.

Atkins leaned between them, voice soft. “Then what are those clothes doing on
my
ground?” He yelled, “Get those clothes off
my
ground.”

SEVEN

W
INCHESTER
C
OUNTY
O
FFICE OF
Y
OUTH
S
ERVICES
W
INCHESTER
, C
ALIFORNIA

T
rue to his word, Sherriff Matt Barnes fed them and somehow secured their release. After doing so, he arranged a consultation with a woman in the Winchester County Office of Youth Services at city hall, introducing Sloane and Molia to Lynne Buchman, who identified herself as a “parent liaison.” Barnes left them alone to talk.

“You’re a parole officer?” Molia asked. He and Sloane sat in two chairs across from Buchman’s desk in a small, utilitarian office. Sloane estimated the woman to be midforties, but she wore a lot of makeup, making it difficult to be certain. From the two pictures on the shelves behind her desk, Buchman was married and had two sandy-headed boys. One apparently played high school football.

“My job is to assist you during your child’s transition to the juvenile justice system and to answer any questions you may have.” Buchman’s smile and tone looked and sounded well rehearsed, like the employees for one of those companies that lures people to a no-strings-attached breakfast then tries to convince them to spend their life savings on a time-share in Cancun. She even had a series of brochures spread across her desk with pictures of teenage boys in red coveralls sitting at a picnic table, playing basketball, and listening attentively in a classroom.

“Let’s call a spade a spade, shall we, Ms. Buchman,” Molia said. “Fresh Start is a boot camp in a pretty wrapper and you’re a parole officer.”

Buchman’s tone turned condescending. “Fresh Start is not a boot camp. Physical and emotional punishment is strictly forbidden. The camp believes in a system of positive reinforcement through the use of a rewards-based incentive program.”

The speech, like the smile, sounded rehearsed.

“Fresh Start removes the juvenile from the negative environment that led to the inappropriate behavior and puts them in a positive environment with the focus on physical challenges and improving interpersonal skills. Studies have revealed the root of most juvenile offenses to be poor self-esteem that causes poor interpersonal skills.”

“What types of physical challenges?” Sloane asked, not drinking the Kool-Aid but seeking as much information as he could get.

“Individual and group challenges such as completing a hike, building a campfire without matches, or demonstrating an ability to complete a task on time. The system is designed to account for each juvenile’s physical conditioning so they can experience success. Studies show that physical fitness helps build self-esteem and confidence, and that translates into success in the classroom.”

And Sloane bet she had another study to prove that as well. “You said ‘classroom.’ So they attend class?”

“Five days a week.” She slid another piece of paper across the desk. Sloane studied it as Buchman continued.

7:00–7:05
AM
Wake-ups

7:05–7:30
AM
Morning calisthenics/exercise

7:30–7:55
AM
Showers/room & cleaning jobs/meds

7:55–8:10
AM
Room inspections/finish cleaning

8:10–8:25
AM
Breakfast meeting/hygiene inspection

8:25–8:55
AM
Breakfast

8:55–9:10
AM
Morning meeting

9:10–2:15
PM
School

“Fresh Start adheres to a strict schedule to help the juvenile remain focused. Initially every minute of their day and night will be scheduled for them. As they move toward graduation from the program they earn free time, as well as the right to choose electives.”

Sloane didn’t finish reading the afternoon schedule. “What kind of training do the people running this place have?”

“The staff includes licensed educators, therapists, counselors, and military personnel, along with support staff—office managers, medical coordinators, kitchen staff, and persons such as myself.”

“And what’s your background?” Sloane asked.

She folded her hands on her calendar pad and tilted her head. “I have a PhD in child psychology and twenty years working with troubled youth.”

“But you’re here,” Molia said. “Who ensures the safety of those kids at the facility?”

“Fresh Start only accepts nonviolent offenders. If an attendee demonstrates any form of physical aggression toward another attendee or staff, he is immediately removed from the facility. Weapons of any kind are strictly prohibited. No weapons are maintained anywhere at the facility. And the facility is fully enclosed. Any excursions outside the gates are led by experienced personnel trained in both first aid and wilderness survival. Inside the facility state-of-the-art surveillance equipment provides security in every hallway, dorm, and common area twenty-four/seven. Bedroom checks are completed by staff members every half hour, seven days a week from lights out at ten to lights on at seven.”

“Why do they need military personnel if it’s not a boot camp?” Sloane asked.

“Fresh Start adopts certain military-style practices. Attendees are given a uniform and assigned to a communal bunkhouse within a supervised unit. Each attendee is treated equally. Their drill sergeant is responsible for their physical training and seeing that they maintain their daily schedule. Again, however, I can assure you there is no physical or verbal abuse tolerated, if that is your concern. The emphasis is on promoting self-esteem through positive reinforcement.”

A former marine, Sloane knew well the emphasis on breaking down the individual and building up the unit. He had been seventeen, not much older than Jake, when he walked away from his final foster home and signed on the bottom line at the Marine
Corps Recruitment Center. Boot camp had been the most physically demanding and mentally difficult challenge he’d ever endured. He had not remembered a lot of positive reinforcement, and something about employing similar tactics to juveniles as young as thirteen did not sit well with him. Tired of the sales pitch, Sloane cut to the chase. “When can we see them?”

Buchman responded by handing them another form. “Each attendee is allowed one phone call upon arrival and one outgoing letter per week.”

Sloane read the next sentence out loud. “‘There are no visitations during the attendees initial thirty days.’ Are you kidding me?”

“What?” Molia snatched the brochure from Sloane’s hand.

“Are you telling me we can’t see our sons for thirty days?” Sloane asked.

“They are allowed a phone call—”

“I don’t care about a damn phone call. I want to see my son,” Molia said, standing. “Do you have any idea the size of the new one my wife is about to rip me when I call to tell her that our son is in prison?”

“Fresh Start is not—”

“I heard the spiel. It’s a regular summer camp. I should be jumping for joy T.J. is so lucky to be one of the chosen few. I’ll tell her he’s going to be sitting around the campfire roasting marshmallows and singing Kumbaya.”

“Why are we not allowed to visit them?” Sloane asked. “Why can’t we see this facility?”

“It is important for the program to establish a system of authority, for the attendee to understand that he is responsible for himself. Studies—”

“Enough with the studies,” Molia said. “I know about studies and how remarkable it is that most studies prove the premise the person conducting the study sets out to prove. I also served in the military and I have been a police officer for more than thirty years, and I am having a very difficult time understanding how that concept can be applied to a fourteen-year-old boy who has never even been to an overnight summer camp.”

“As your son progresses through the program he earns an increase in visitations from one a month to one per week,” Buchman said, undeterred. “It is intended to ease the juvenile back into the familial living environment while maintaining a system of discipline and authority. It reduces the chance that a juvenile will slip back to his old habits once he leaves the program.”

“I don’t need to establish a system of authority and discipline in my home,” Molia said.

Buchman folded her hands; her silence intended to convey that she had heard more than one parent make the same statement. “I will make sure your sons call each of you after they are processed.” Her tone conveyed it was the best she could do and all she could offer.

Seeing they were getting nowhere, Sloane slid back his chair. “Thank you for your time.”

Buchman reached for another form. “Before you leave we’ll need to discuss payment.”

Molia turned his head, as if he had not heard her. “Payment? Payment for what?”

She looked up from the forms. “For the cost of the program.”

“We didn’t volunteer our kids for this,” Molia said. “Judge Earl sentenced them.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Buchman said. “Fresh Start is a private facility.”

“Private?” Sloane asked. “Someone owns it?”

“The county leases the facility. Now, most insurance companies cover the cost because it is considered therapeutic. You will likely only be personally responsible for any copayment and portion not covered…”

Sloane couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He took the forms, reviewing them as he spoke. “How much is it?”

“The cost is six thousand dollars a month, but as I said, insurance covers a large percentage, and we can bill you in equal installments over a twelve-month period.”

Molia used a finger as if cleaning out an ear. “I’m sorry. Did she say
six thousand dollars a month
?” He looked to Sloane. “Did I miss
the part about them earning a college degree while attending this fine institution?”

“And if we refuse to pay?” Sloane asked. “Then what?”

Buchman finally lost the smile. “Then your sons will be removed from the program and assigned to a county juvenile detention facility.”

Sloane set the forms on the desk, leaning into Buchman’s personal space. She leaned back. “Let me ask you a question, not as a ‘parent liaison’ but as a parent of those two young men in the pictures on the shelf behind you. I assume those are your boys?”

“Yes,” she said, sounding off routine.

“So I’m asking you, parent to parent, do we need to be concerned about the safety of our sons at this facility?”

F
RESH
S
TART
Y
OUTH
T
RAINING
F
ACILITY
S
IERRA
N
EVADA
M
OUNTAINS

The barber had said one word: “Sit.” Jake sat. The man hit a button and the clippers buzzed to life, blades vibrating over Jake’s skull, great clumps of hair tumbling to the ground. His head freshly shaved, Jake was issued red coveralls that he slipped over white boxer shorts, a white tank-top T-shirt, and white socks. The boots he was issued were worn and a half size too big for his feet.

Atkins and Bradley met them outside what Jake learned was the “Administration Building.” Jake suspected this would be a recurring nightmare. Atkins wasted no time barking more orders, directing them to zip up the fronts of their coveralls and to move quickly down a dirt path behind the corrugated block buildings. When they reached a small amphitheater with split-log benches on three sides of a firepit and facing a wood plank stage he separated them, T.J. to Jake’s right, and ordered them to sit. Rays of sunlight slid through the canopy, dust motes dancing in the light. The shade offered little relief from the oppressive heat, and with each passing minute Jake did not eat or drink he felt more and more weak. It made it next to impossible to comply with Atkins’s next order.