Neurotic (Jason McCann)

Epilogue

Jason's POV

One months later

"Guilty! On four counts of robbery charges, DUI, resisting arrest, wanted but fleeing the scene. I sentence you to, eight years in an up state asylum. You clearly cannot get your act together. So you have to suffer the consequences Mr. McCann. You're dropped of all charges involving your doing in two cases of murder." Judge Nixon ruled my sentence, shaking his head as he read through a stack of papers.

Back to prison for me. Fuck!

My heart dropped out my chest, and shattered into a million of pieces. Eight years? Eight years of not seeing my son, and my daughter. My mother, my friend's. Malarie. I heard my mother crying tears of sadness behind me, along with Mal cooing soothing words to her. I try to hold in my many of emotions, trying to look tough as possible. But the pain in my chest is unbearable to ignore. It hurts, it hurts so damn much. Just so tears wouldn't slip out my eyes... I held my head up high, looking directly at Judge Nixon.

"Your honor sir, will my client be in a maximum prison unit? Or will he be attending an asylum elsewhere?" My crappy ass lawyer, Mark Stallone asked.

What a waste of fucking money. That money could be in my children's college accounts. Even though he got my sentence lowered, from twenty years to life in prison. I feel as if he was just a waste of time. I'm still not going to be able to see my children or Malarie. Like she would talk to me anyway, I broke my fucking promise.

"The asylum will be provided through the prison. Even though he stated he killed out of self defense. He did the crime, so he has to do the time. Along with the rest of the suspects involved. With him running from a previous police questioning, and not turning himself in on time, that caused the two years. The other six years are for the robbery's he has committed in the past, along with him being a wanted man. He's lucky that's all he's gotten sentenced with." Judge Nixon, pushed his glasses up taking a sip out of his coffee mug.

I'm lucky for getting eight years? Fuck this shit.

"I understand Judge Nixon." Mark replied, fixing his tie. "Mr. McCann, I am aware of your mental illness and anger issues. This is why I allowed you to stay in the asylum, instead of general population. That means I'm allowing you to half your sentence. Four years in the asylum, and four years in general population." I nodded my head slowly, listening to everything he had to say.

"I will read you all what you are considered to do. Pay close attention, this is very important." He tilted his head looking at me. I again nodded. I can't say anything. If I do, that could be held against me in the court of law.

"You are to remain, in your single person cell... in the prison portion of your stay. In the asylum you will be in a one person room, with occasional, medication if needed. Food will be delivered to you on all counts. You will not be able to retrieve it yourself." He paused, seeing if I was in fact paying attention or not. I am, I have to.

"We will keep you on suicidal watch. Due to your previous events and history. You are allowed to have two visits a week. No children under one years of age. The visiting consist of two methods. One being behind the glass window, the other being in close contact with your visitor. Now if you have good behavior, we will see if your time can be sought out. Other than that, you will have to serve your eight year sentence." He sighed, taking off his glasses. I sadly looked at the jurors, who sentenced me these many years.

They had little to no sympathy for my disgrace of a human being. Some of them wanted me to have life in prison. But going through my history being in juvenile hall, and jail, they saw it was my father's doing. I wasn't afraid to snitch, and say my father made my brother and I commit multiple crimes, while we were minors and adults. Many of years were dropped when I had admitted my forced actions.