Gravity Day 7

It was in that moment, a moment where Greg was convinced all hope was gone, when he had the full realization he was a suspect in a major crime. And shortly after, another realization. If he was indeed a suspect he was entitled to a lawyer being present.

"I'm not answering any more questions!"- squelched Greg. "I want to see a lawyer!"

"Suit yourself."- muddled Detective Barry

The detectives immediately walked out of the room. Leaving Greg there, alone, with nothing but the humming of the central air blasting into the room. It was a low hum. Like the sound every Hollywood blockbuster movie spaceship makes. Greg was in the eye of the worst emotional storm of his life to date. He couldn't be more aware of it had scripted it himself. 

Tink-tink- the sound of a tapping on the door. A sound as if to ask permission before entering. And in walks a young, attractive professional looking lady.

"Good afternoon Gregory. I am Gabrielle Ortiz. I am your court appointed lawyer if you so choose to accept one."

"The first thing I want to establish is what exactly you have shared with the police and what kinds of questions they were asking you. I'm not concerned with your side of the story at this time, if you even recall it, all I am concerned about at right now is if the information you provided them was obtained lawfully " 

Greg chimed in "Don't you want to know if I'm innocent?"

"Greg you ARE innocent until a jury of 12 of your peers decides other wise. Along with of course, the help of our over zealous San Diego police detectives."

"What's going to happen to me??"- crooned Greg, burying his head in his hands. "What's gong to happen???"

Tears began to well up in the corners of Greg's eyes. Greg hadn't cried for years. Not since loosing his second child Jeremiah at the age of 2. Greg would often lay in bed at night wondering if there was something wrong with him. It was so hard for him to cry. He cried only out of deep tragedy. It didn't matter how depressed he felt, how much physical pain he was enduring or if someone close had passed away. There was nearly nothing that could make him cry. And now he sat here in this cold iron chair, in a cold and isolated room, wondering, if there was something wrong with him. He wondered what it was that he was being suspected of and if he indeed was guilty. "What's wrong with me? Was I  a witness to a crime and can't remember it? And worse yet, what's wrong with me if I am actually capable committing of crime?"

Gabrielle broke Greg's paused thoughtful silence. "Greg", "Greg"........... "GREG" she spoke firmly and with volume.  Greg snapped out of his introspection. Looking up at her with a blank stare. His glossy eyes looked almost unreal.

"If I am going to be able to help you I will need you to focus and cooperate. I'm sure there is a lot going on in your mind right now but you are being charged with murder Greg. Murder! And if you want me to help defend you we need to work together"

Greg fell to the floor First to his knees as if to pray, but almost immediately after to his side, curling up in the fetal position and uncontrollably sobbing. 

Gabrielle jumped up, charged out of the room and swung open the door. Before the spring loaded door could even fully retract she was barking orders at the group of detectives standing arms crossed, watching expressionless from outside the one sided viewing window.

"I want a full psychiatric evaluation on him, I want him in protective custody and more importantly I want to know why the hell you questioned him without reading him his Miranda's or informing him he was a suspect."

"And get him a glass of water! He's as pale as a white horse!"

And Gabrielle stormed off down the hall, through the commons and disappeared through the next door.

Gravity Day 6

The feeling of being woke up in the middle of a sleep cycle is one Greg was all to familiar with. Most every night for Greg is spent either falling asleep in front of a laptop, laying in bed tossing and turning or being woken up to the ringtone of a cell phone. Greg was too obsessed with work and success to let any work related issue go unaddressed until morning. It doesn't matter what time of the night the chime rang in, Greg would address whatever task it was coming through regardless of how urgent it was at that moment. The early bird always gets the worm. But he who never sleeps rules all of the other birds.

This moment was no different with one exception. It was a detective shaking him vigorously in an attempt to wake him rather than a dinging electronic device going off in the middle of the night. The detective was a short, nicely dressed man (although inexpensive clothes). He reeked of cologne and was a short man with a Robert Deniro sort of attitude. He introduced himself as Detective Barry. Detective Barry told Greg he was not able to see the judge yet because he was too intoxicated. This seemed a distant possibility to Greg as he felt fine. He no longer had a headache and was very hungry. But having never been a drinker or one to end up in jail Greg trusted the department's orders. The detective asked Greg if he would be willing to answer a few questions. Greg obliged, knowing full well whatever he was in there for couldn't have been too serious if they were going to let him go once he saw the judge. Greg was slowly led down the hall through a large commons area and down another back hall to a room with windows on all sides except one. It was at that very moment Greg had the realization as to just what was going on. Greg was instantly hit with that feeling you get when you start to catch up with gravity on a roller coaster heading down from the crest of each peak. When your stomach tries zooming up your esophagus at the speed of light. Shortly after he started to  experience a taste in the back of his mouth. The dripping. The taste of fear. The taste you get moments before you are about to vomit. He fought back the feeling. Swallowing repeatedly. Detective Barry, having noticed this asked Greg if he wanted some water, ".....or maybe a drink, you seem to be pretty good at that." Greg had seen enough episodes of Criminal Minds to know just what was happening, why he wasn't able to see the judge, why he was being escorted by two officers and two detectives and why they were entering a windowed room. Greg was not able to see out of this room while inside. Only in from out. This Detective Barry as he called himself was about to sit down Greg and question him like some criminal. And Greg could tell by Detective Barry's smart ass attitude from the beginning this wasn't going to be a pleasant line of questioning. This was no witness report. Greg was viewed as a perpetrator not a bystander. And from the initial second of realization, Greg's mind started to wander and wonder within itself just what it was he could have done. He sat down in the iron chair immediately upon being told to do so.

They wasted no time.

"How did you end up intoxicated and passed out asleep in your car at Sunset Bluffs?" - barked Detective Barry.

"Um-I-I-have no idea."- stuttered Greg. I can't remember anything beyond sitting up to the bar and having a shot. I have no idea"

"Do you mean to tell me you strolled in to Carl's, had a shot and don't remember anything after that?"

Greg was immediately apprehensive and distrusting knowing he had not told the detectives he had been to Carl's. How could they have known this?

"No!"- exclaimed Greg - "NO! I don't remember anything."

Detective Barry not buying a word of it further questioned him. 

"Maybe you can tell us how you ended up with a 9mm hand gun registered to James Richards and why it was sitting on your seat......with an empty clip."

Greg was overcome with fear and confusion and distress. At that moment he asked if he could go to the bathroom. "I feel like I going to puke" he said. He was handed a garbage can and told to stay where he was.

Greg vomited for what felt like 15 minutes.

He now knew without doubt he was in trouble and he was overcome with sense of desperation and a feeling of hopelessness like he had never experienced prior.

Gravity Day 5

Greg woke up freezing. Facedown on a cement floor. His ears were resonating with the intensity of a freight train horn at an intersection. His was head pounding with the consistency of a rhythmic tropical island bongo group at a vacation resort. Shaking and consistent, banging and pouring, loud and at times unbearable. Every single voice, every signal yell, every single clanking of a door shook Greg's core. If hell was real he was as close as he had ever felt to it.  Jail was something he never expected to experience. Furthermore he had never emotionally prepared himself or walked through it in his mind.

Most people in this situation would immediately begin probing for a way to get out. Many would be yelling at the jailer for answers. Not Greg. Greg had no idea when he ended up here, how he ended up here, who he was with or where he was when it happened. Or what "it" even was? And this burdened him. It wasn't who he was, it wasn't something he ever thought he would fall far enough to endure. Was it drunk driving? The last thing he remembered was drinking at Carl's and talking to the bar tender. Did he fall asleep and get arrested for public intoxication? His head hurt. Was it the alcohol or did he get into an altercation? Was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or had he indeed committed a crime of some kind. There was obviously no mirrors or glass inside the cell to check a reflection so Greg in his curiosity asked one of the cell mates if he had any bruises or cuts on his face. The tall muscle bound man shook his head and muttered "No sir." Greg was confused with being called sir by a man obviously more physically powerful and mean looking than him. This man had obviously taken a different path than Greg in life. He was an easy 6'5" man, heavily covered in tattoos, wearing shorts and a tank top. He reminded Greg of the main character in The Green Mile. John Coffey. He could at anytime easily over power one guard, maybe two if he so chose. Why would he speak to Greg as if he was a military leader or elected official. Greg may have been wearing a tailored suit and hand made shoes, but he still woke up on a cement floor just like everyone else in that cell. And in jail, in prison there are is no class or social status. There are gangs, but there is no class, it's like the game of monopoly, you all start on an equal playing field with the same amount of money. And you all get the same property-no property but the cell you are in. You learn quickly that you have to butter up to the right people and you have to butter up fast. It's not a lot different than real life. It's all about who you know. Maybe the people in jail weren't really that different than Greg after all. But Greg didn't care about socio-class status right now he needed answers. But all he wanted to do was sleep away this headache. So he sprawled back out on the cold damp floor and imagined himself to sleep. Maybe he would wake up and this would all be a dream.