Resurrection and Revenge
Breaking Out Crabtree (Part 1)
Michael Crabtree’s Trial, 12:00 noon on Saturday, October 11, 2014
"… …This judgment is final." The sound of the slammed gavel broke through the whole courtroom as the prisoner – Michael Crabtree, the now ex-San Francisco 49er – was confirmed to be guilty.
Shouts and numerous questions broke about in the room as reporters shot up from their seats while the members of the jury excused themselves and left the hall.
The chains clung as the convict rose up from his seat; his hands bonded close by heavy handcuffs connected to the chains on his feet.
"Take the wrench away." the judge said, eyes full with hatred as they bore into the composed football player, who had smugly confessed to kidnapping Patrick Kane with Sean Avery, who was pronounced dead. He had said that he was deeply saddened about Avery’s supposed suicide, but would never say sorry to Patrick or the bloody Blackhawks for what he had done. In his head, he still believed that he had been in the right! And showing no phase for the radiating aura he was receiving, the black man turned around and let himself be led out of the courtroom by two officers.
Passing the front seat rows, he glanced to the right and met the eyes of his now ex-wife. Slowing down long enough to keep him in sight, the convict smiled to him and mouthed out a few soundless words. 'It'll be fine, sweetie.'
His wife’s eyes frowned as they watched him get shoved to move forward and out of his sight; though it was not far enough for him to miss the athlete's next whispers as he looked at him over his shoulder and smirked, 'I'm gonna break through.'
****
Sunday, October 12 at 20:00 (Military Time)
Sighing at the sensation of cool water hitting his face, Crabtree's eyes snapped open by a loud yell of a correctional officer, who barked out his orders as he urged the inmates to leave the showers and head in line to receive their prison uniforms.
Pulling on dark-blue pants with a white tank top and a light blue jacket, the ex-football player slipped into black shoes and headed back in line. He stared at the inmates in disgust, the head correctional officer, stepped forward and began laying out the rules of the prison.
Lowering his gaze, all Crabtree heard were echoes of the officer's grumble as his mind fogged around himself.
No. It couldn't be.
Someone was shadowing him. Right off his left flank. The determined Blackhawk captain, rolling down the highway right behind him, just as he was laying in his approach vectors to Heritage Boulevard.
Distractedly, he gazed into the rearview, seeing the flashes of red, white and blue. The tailgater was not just a punk out having a good time. He was out to rescue their prize. He heard his partner’s furious voice in his ear, “Crabs you moron, drive! Lose this fucking son of a bitch!”
Naturally.
They were all in a hurry, and the flashing lights weren’t helping any. But he was the fastest thing on the road. And he had to shake the pesky Chicago Blackhawk and his Seattle Seahawk partner.
No need to get rattled though. With the shortcut through the next road, he would have plenty of time. He passed a slower car in the middle lane, then cut right in front of him. The tailgater in Jonathan Toews would have to fall back or else be slammed sideways into a slower vehicle.
Done.
The cop duo wasn't ten feet behind them anymore—they were now thrice as far back, behind them. But they still carried in the chase, un-phased by the little incident.
Michael Crabtree snickered to himself, as he glanced into the rearview mirror seeing the outcome. He almost missed the turnoff for Windsor Heights. He had to jam the brakes, let traffic clear, cut across the curb lane to enter the Burbclave. And unfortunately, that made Dangeruss and Tazer catch up.
“Fuck!” he screamed, hitting the wheel.
“Crabs, head to the river in Chicago and stop on the bridge!” the instruction comes next.
“Are you insane, Avery?”
“No, just do it! I’m not going to get caught by fucking Jonathan Toews!”
A soft and curt muffle came, followed by a loud smack. “Don’t mouth off Kanerboo, have you learned nothing!”
This was it—got to pay more attention to the road—he swung into the side street, no warning, hoping maybe to whipsaw the dumbass tailgater into the street sign on the corner. Doesn't work. The smart ones watch your front tires, they see when you're turning, can't surprise them. And it was impossible to trick Jonathan Toews. He was a tough customer, ready and willing. He wanted his friend back and it wouldn’t be easy to shake the man who was more comfortable to Chicago, than he was.
Down Strawbridge Place! It seemed so long, longer than he remembered—natural when you were in a hurry or in a car chase. He saw the glint of cars up ahead, cars parked sideways to the road—these must be parked in the circle.
And there was a house. Light blue vinyl clapboard two-story with one-story garage to the side. He made that driveway the center of his universe and put rescue duo out of his mind. The slope of the driveway slammed his front suspension halfway up into the engine compartment, but that was what suspensions were for. He evaded the car in the driveway—must have visitors tonight, with all of the cars—cut through the hedge, into the side yard. He saw a tiny shed. A shed he absolutely must not run into. Then there was a picnic table in the next yard and a fence.
This was no time to put on the brakes. He had to build up some speed, knock it down without blowing all this momentum. It was just a four-foot wooden thing, anyway. The fence went down rather easy, but he lost about ten percent of his speed. Strangely, it looked like an old fence, maybe he made a wrong turn somewhere—he realized, as he catapulted into an empty backyard.
"Hey!"
Crabtree snapped back to attention as a black-jack abruptly pressed underneath his chin and forced him to look up at the black clad officer. "Do I make myself clear?" hissed the head officer, clearly demanding respect.
The black man's brows furrowed as he forced himself to speak for an unknown question, "Yes…sir."
Restraining the urge to hit him with the stack, the officer settled with a glare and stepped away. "Alright. Let's sort them in."
21:45
Getting nearly shoved into his cell, Crabtree glared pass his shoulder as the bars shut behind him and the officers growled, "Face front, inmate!" Scowling, the football player turned away from them and chose the time to take a good look at his new 'home-room'.
The cell was small; bunk-beds were placed to his right with a pathetic excuse for a toilet and a sink situated near the cell's farthest corners. Near the beds stood a small table that contained a bible and a seemingly more than enough times used candle with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a simple digital-wristwatch.
Placing his night-garments and sheets on the bottom bed, Crabtree skipped a quick glance at his seemingly deeply sleeping companion at the top bunk, and reached over to flip a few pages of the bible. He blinked as a little paper suddenly slipped through its middle and fell. Grabbing the blank square from the floor which had a neat handwriting on it that said 'Love you forever Aaron!' He flipped it over and arch a brow as he stared at a photo of a beautiful long-haired blond girl being held by a smirking young-man with lots of tattoos on his arms.
"That's Ida. My girl." mumbled a lazy voice from the bed.
Turning quickly to the speaker, Crabtree was met with sleepy half-lidded black eyes staring boringly at him from above. Looking at the picture one more time, the African American 'hm'-ed and placed it back where it came from and turned his attention fully to his cellmate he guessed now went by the name of Aaron.
By the appearance, this man was everything that could describe the word 'slacker'. His dark-brown hair was tied into a high tail and, although his whole form was sprawled all other the bed like a lazy sack of potatoes, his body was rather well-built. He looked familiar, but the long hair in a ponytail didn’t make much sense. But he was a hispanic male that was for sure.
"Tsk, newbies are such a pain." Sighing, while mumbling to himself, the man reluctantly jumped off the bed and stretched before turning to the newcomer in Michael Crabtree. "So…what's your name?"
Sizing the man up and down, Crabtree frowned as he appeared slightly taller than himself. "It's Crabtree. Michael Crabtree, ex-49er."
"Hm…I'm Aaron Hernandez, ex-Patriot." Outstretching his hand, he shook the 49er's black one that had a firm hold for someone as tough as him. "Sorry for the mess, if I knew I was going to host such a delicate girl-like-being, I might have cleaned up this dump a bit." He spoke in a sarcasm that wasn’t new to the 49er and he studied the black man’s face with his deep brown eyes and short, grazed dark brown hair that graced his face.
"Not one of the willingly working types, are you?" He scowling at the offence, but Crabtree still found a smirk, feeling a little more comfortable with the man's presence. "Seems that time in prison has made you just as lazy as a sack of garbage."
A thin brow rose up at the quick retort, but the man soon smirked as well and shrugged. "It's a pain but you don't see me complaining. There's nothing else to do here besides take your time."
"Ah…" Grinning, Crabtree sat on the bottom bed while Aaron leaned against the wall in front of him.
"So…Crabtree, what did you do?"
Understanding that as 'what have you been charged for', The black football player turned his head to look out through the bars at the other inmates in their cells on the opposite side. "Attempted murder and kidnapping."
Aaron Hernandez blinked and looked Michael Crabtree over once more, finding it hard to believe that this “little creature” could even harm an insect. "What sentence?"
"Lifetime."
"And who did you kidnap so as to be confined in a place like this for such a long time?"
"A stupid Chicago Blackhawk named Patrick Kane. He’s a hockey player." 'We screwed up on him though...thanks to his Captain.' Crabtree silently thought to himself.
"However did you manage that?"
Looking back up at the man, the ex-football player searched his eyes before replying. "…I was helping out a friend named Sean Avery." Aaron just stared at him in shock, until Crabtree spoke again. "How 'bout you?"
"Murder. Been sentenced for about a year now. I have lots more left though."
Chuckling, Crabtree looked at the bible. "Did you kill that girl there?"
Aaron huffed and shook his head, crossing his arms, just as one of the officers yelled, "Lights-out, ladies! It's time for bed!"
"You could say that I “stole” her. Although it's more of a retrieval thievery." He grabbed onto the side of his bed and pulled himself up. "She was mine from the beginning anyways."
"Hm…" Crabtree muttered, asking nothing more since the man seemed reluctant to explain further, not to mention falling asleep already. Crabtree shrugged and pulled off his clothes and changed into his “nightwear.”
02:21
Tossing and turning at irksome sounds of something scratching and grinding nonstop, Aaron groaned and looked at his watch. "--The hell!" Rolling over, he glared at his new inmate, who turned off the tap of the sink and shook down his wet hands.
Crabtree turned around and blinked as he spotted the awakened 'slacker'. "Oh, hi Aaron. You awake already?"
Gritting his teeth at him, Aaron hissed, "Weren't you making so much damn noise I might have still been asleep. For goodness sake, it's past two in the morning!"
A light glint shone in furrowed blue depths before they closed and Crabtree reached out to rub the back of his neck sheepishly, grinning in a 'sorry' manner while climbing back under the sheets. "I'll try to be quieter next time I guess."
"Yea, I bet…" Aaron sighed and turned back on his side and mumbled something before he fell back to slumber.
Hearing him soon resume snoring, Crabtree's eyes slowly opened and narrowed as they bored at the mattress hanging above him, looking as if gazing straight through it at his appearing 'obstacle' standing between him and his plans. Bringing up his hands, he stared at the cut and torn skin that 'adorned' them before turning his head further up and looking over the sink, where a loosely unscrewed screw hung by its lower side.
08:15
"Alright, you youth filled bastards! Get your skinny and fat asses up!" A sudden yell walking right past Crabtree's cell, nearly made him fall off the bed. "You have ten minutes to cover your genitals before leaving the cells!"
Crabtree sighed and groaned as he grabbed his clothes and quickly changed into them. He finished tying his shoes and looked up, just as a loud signal rang and all the doors in the prison were electrically opened.
Before he could even walk out, a tall black-haired officer stepped in and momentarily began poking the still sleeping Aaron in his bed. "Mr. Hernandez! If you do not get up this instance to enjoy the sunny beams of this wonderful day, I'll have to bar you from your private visiting schedules with-…"
Grumbling and growling at the grinning officer wearing darkly-green uniform, which Crabtree thought was rather tight and altogether weird-looking, Aaron quickly got up and began dressing.
"Now that's the spirit!" As soon as the strange officer left their cell, Crabtree turned to his companion, who tried to get his boots on, and asked, "Sunny beams of wonderful day…? That's kind a delusional."
"Ah…don't be so surprised. You'll find many things in this place that outwork delusions." Stretching to his feet, the 'slacker' placed his hands in his pockets and walked out of the cell. "Come on. Since you're my new roommate, I might as well show you around this stupid place."
"Don't bother…" Crabtree whispered under his breath, as he took out a long screw from out of his pocket and skipped a glance at the sink. 'I'm not here for long.'
"… …This judgment is final." The sound of the slammed gavel broke through the whole courtroom as the prisoner – Michael Crabtree, the now ex-San Francisco 49er – was confirmed to be guilty.
Shouts and numerous questions broke about in the room as reporters shot up from their seats while the members of the jury excused themselves and left the hall.
The chains clung as the convict rose up from his seat; his hands bonded close by heavy handcuffs connected to the chains on his feet.
"Take the wrench away." the judge said, eyes full with hatred as they bore into the composed football player, who had smugly confessed to kidnapping Patrick Kane with Sean Avery, who was pronounced dead. He had said that he was deeply saddened about Avery’s supposed suicide, but would never say sorry to Patrick or the bloody Blackhawks for what he had done. In his head, he still believed that he had been in the right! And showing no phase for the radiating aura he was receiving, the black man turned around and let himself be led out of the courtroom by two officers.
Passing the front seat rows, he glanced to the right and met the eyes of his now ex-wife. Slowing down long enough to keep him in sight, the convict smiled to him and mouthed out a few soundless words. 'It'll be fine, sweetie.'
His wife’s eyes frowned as they watched him get shoved to move forward and out of his sight; though it was not far enough for him to miss the athlete's next whispers as he looked at him over his shoulder and smirked, 'I'm gonna break through.'
****
Sunday, October 12 at 20:00 (Military Time)
Sighing at the sensation of cool water hitting his face, Crabtree's eyes snapped open by a loud yell of a correctional officer, who barked out his orders as he urged the inmates to leave the showers and head in line to receive their prison uniforms.
Pulling on dark-blue pants with a white tank top and a light blue jacket, the ex-football player slipped into black shoes and headed back in line. He stared at the inmates in disgust, the head correctional officer, stepped forward and began laying out the rules of the prison.
Lowering his gaze, all Crabtree heard were echoes of the officer's grumble as his mind fogged around himself.
No. It couldn't be.
Someone was shadowing him. Right off his left flank. The determined Blackhawk captain, rolling down the highway right behind him, just as he was laying in his approach vectors to Heritage Boulevard.
Distractedly, he gazed into the rearview, seeing the flashes of red, white and blue. The tailgater was not just a punk out having a good time. He was out to rescue their prize. He heard his partner’s furious voice in his ear, “Crabs you moron, drive! Lose this fucking son of a bitch!”
Naturally.
They were all in a hurry, and the flashing lights weren’t helping any. But he was the fastest thing on the road. And he had to shake the pesky Chicago Blackhawk and his Seattle Seahawk partner.
No need to get rattled though. With the shortcut through the next road, he would have plenty of time. He passed a slower car in the middle lane, then cut right in front of him. The tailgater in Jonathan Toews would have to fall back or else be slammed sideways into a slower vehicle.
Done.
The cop duo wasn't ten feet behind them anymore—they were now thrice as far back, behind them. But they still carried in the chase, un-phased by the little incident.
Michael Crabtree snickered to himself, as he glanced into the rearview mirror seeing the outcome. He almost missed the turnoff for Windsor Heights. He had to jam the brakes, let traffic clear, cut across the curb lane to enter the Burbclave. And unfortunately, that made Dangeruss and Tazer catch up.
“Fuck!” he screamed, hitting the wheel.
“Crabs, head to the river in Chicago and stop on the bridge!” the instruction comes next.
“Are you insane, Avery?”
“No, just do it! I’m not going to get caught by fucking Jonathan Toews!”
A soft and curt muffle came, followed by a loud smack. “Don’t mouth off Kanerboo, have you learned nothing!”
This was it—got to pay more attention to the road—he swung into the side street, no warning, hoping maybe to whipsaw the dumbass tailgater into the street sign on the corner. Doesn't work. The smart ones watch your front tires, they see when you're turning, can't surprise them. And it was impossible to trick Jonathan Toews. He was a tough customer, ready and willing. He wanted his friend back and it wouldn’t be easy to shake the man who was more comfortable to Chicago, than he was.
Down Strawbridge Place! It seemed so long, longer than he remembered—natural when you were in a hurry or in a car chase. He saw the glint of cars up ahead, cars parked sideways to the road—these must be parked in the circle.
And there was a house. Light blue vinyl clapboard two-story with one-story garage to the side. He made that driveway the center of his universe and put rescue duo out of his mind. The slope of the driveway slammed his front suspension halfway up into the engine compartment, but that was what suspensions were for. He evaded the car in the driveway—must have visitors tonight, with all of the cars—cut through the hedge, into the side yard. He saw a tiny shed. A shed he absolutely must not run into. Then there was a picnic table in the next yard and a fence.
This was no time to put on the brakes. He had to build up some speed, knock it down without blowing all this momentum. It was just a four-foot wooden thing, anyway. The fence went down rather easy, but he lost about ten percent of his speed. Strangely, it looked like an old fence, maybe he made a wrong turn somewhere—he realized, as he catapulted into an empty backyard.
"Hey!"
Crabtree snapped back to attention as a black-jack abruptly pressed underneath his chin and forced him to look up at the black clad officer. "Do I make myself clear?" hissed the head officer, clearly demanding respect.
The black man's brows furrowed as he forced himself to speak for an unknown question, "Yes…sir."
Restraining the urge to hit him with the stack, the officer settled with a glare and stepped away. "Alright. Let's sort them in."
21:45
Getting nearly shoved into his cell, Crabtree glared pass his shoulder as the bars shut behind him and the officers growled, "Face front, inmate!" Scowling, the football player turned away from them and chose the time to take a good look at his new 'home-room'.
The cell was small; bunk-beds were placed to his right with a pathetic excuse for a toilet and a sink situated near the cell's farthest corners. Near the beds stood a small table that contained a bible and a seemingly more than enough times used candle with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a simple digital-wristwatch.
Placing his night-garments and sheets on the bottom bed, Crabtree skipped a quick glance at his seemingly deeply sleeping companion at the top bunk, and reached over to flip a few pages of the bible. He blinked as a little paper suddenly slipped through its middle and fell. Grabbing the blank square from the floor which had a neat handwriting on it that said 'Love you forever Aaron!' He flipped it over and arch a brow as he stared at a photo of a beautiful long-haired blond girl being held by a smirking young-man with lots of tattoos on his arms.
"That's Ida. My girl." mumbled a lazy voice from the bed.
Turning quickly to the speaker, Crabtree was met with sleepy half-lidded black eyes staring boringly at him from above. Looking at the picture one more time, the African American 'hm'-ed and placed it back where it came from and turned his attention fully to his cellmate he guessed now went by the name of Aaron.
By the appearance, this man was everything that could describe the word 'slacker'. His dark-brown hair was tied into a high tail and, although his whole form was sprawled all other the bed like a lazy sack of potatoes, his body was rather well-built. He looked familiar, but the long hair in a ponytail didn’t make much sense. But he was a hispanic male that was for sure.
"Tsk, newbies are such a pain." Sighing, while mumbling to himself, the man reluctantly jumped off the bed and stretched before turning to the newcomer in Michael Crabtree. "So…what's your name?"
Sizing the man up and down, Crabtree frowned as he appeared slightly taller than himself. "It's Crabtree. Michael Crabtree, ex-49er."
"Hm…I'm Aaron Hernandez, ex-Patriot." Outstretching his hand, he shook the 49er's black one that had a firm hold for someone as tough as him. "Sorry for the mess, if I knew I was going to host such a delicate girl-like-being, I might have cleaned up this dump a bit." He spoke in a sarcasm that wasn’t new to the 49er and he studied the black man’s face with his deep brown eyes and short, grazed dark brown hair that graced his face.
"Not one of the willingly working types, are you?" He scowling at the offence, but Crabtree still found a smirk, feeling a little more comfortable with the man's presence. "Seems that time in prison has made you just as lazy as a sack of garbage."
A thin brow rose up at the quick retort, but the man soon smirked as well and shrugged. "It's a pain but you don't see me complaining. There's nothing else to do here besides take your time."
"Ah…" Grinning, Crabtree sat on the bottom bed while Aaron leaned against the wall in front of him.
"So…Crabtree, what did you do?"
Understanding that as 'what have you been charged for', The black football player turned his head to look out through the bars at the other inmates in their cells on the opposite side. "Attempted murder and kidnapping."
Aaron Hernandez blinked and looked Michael Crabtree over once more, finding it hard to believe that this “little creature” could even harm an insect. "What sentence?"
"Lifetime."
"And who did you kidnap so as to be confined in a place like this for such a long time?"
"A stupid Chicago Blackhawk named Patrick Kane. He’s a hockey player." 'We screwed up on him though...thanks to his Captain.' Crabtree silently thought to himself.
"However did you manage that?"
Looking back up at the man, the ex-football player searched his eyes before replying. "…I was helping out a friend named Sean Avery." Aaron just stared at him in shock, until Crabtree spoke again. "How 'bout you?"
"Murder. Been sentenced for about a year now. I have lots more left though."
Chuckling, Crabtree looked at the bible. "Did you kill that girl there?"
Aaron huffed and shook his head, crossing his arms, just as one of the officers yelled, "Lights-out, ladies! It's time for bed!"
"You could say that I “stole” her. Although it's more of a retrieval thievery." He grabbed onto the side of his bed and pulled himself up. "She was mine from the beginning anyways."
"Hm…" Crabtree muttered, asking nothing more since the man seemed reluctant to explain further, not to mention falling asleep already. Crabtree shrugged and pulled off his clothes and changed into his “nightwear.”
02:21
Tossing and turning at irksome sounds of something scratching and grinding nonstop, Aaron groaned and looked at his watch. "--The hell!" Rolling over, he glared at his new inmate, who turned off the tap of the sink and shook down his wet hands.
Crabtree turned around and blinked as he spotted the awakened 'slacker'. "Oh, hi Aaron. You awake already?"
Gritting his teeth at him, Aaron hissed, "Weren't you making so much damn noise I might have still been asleep. For goodness sake, it's past two in the morning!"
A light glint shone in furrowed blue depths before they closed and Crabtree reached out to rub the back of his neck sheepishly, grinning in a 'sorry' manner while climbing back under the sheets. "I'll try to be quieter next time I guess."
"Yea, I bet…" Aaron sighed and turned back on his side and mumbled something before he fell back to slumber.
Hearing him soon resume snoring, Crabtree's eyes slowly opened and narrowed as they bored at the mattress hanging above him, looking as if gazing straight through it at his appearing 'obstacle' standing between him and his plans. Bringing up his hands, he stared at the cut and torn skin that 'adorned' them before turning his head further up and looking over the sink, where a loosely unscrewed screw hung by its lower side.
08:15
"Alright, you youth filled bastards! Get your skinny and fat asses up!" A sudden yell walking right past Crabtree's cell, nearly made him fall off the bed. "You have ten minutes to cover your genitals before leaving the cells!"
Crabtree sighed and groaned as he grabbed his clothes and quickly changed into them. He finished tying his shoes and looked up, just as a loud signal rang and all the doors in the prison were electrically opened.
Before he could even walk out, a tall black-haired officer stepped in and momentarily began poking the still sleeping Aaron in his bed. "Mr. Hernandez! If you do not get up this instance to enjoy the sunny beams of this wonderful day, I'll have to bar you from your private visiting schedules with-…"
Grumbling and growling at the grinning officer wearing darkly-green uniform, which Crabtree thought was rather tight and altogether weird-looking, Aaron quickly got up and began dressing.
"Now that's the spirit!" As soon as the strange officer left their cell, Crabtree turned to his companion, who tried to get his boots on, and asked, "Sunny beams of wonderful day…? That's kind a delusional."
"Ah…don't be so surprised. You'll find many things in this place that outwork delusions." Stretching to his feet, the 'slacker' placed his hands in his pockets and walked out of the cell. "Come on. Since you're my new roommate, I might as well show you around this stupid place."
"Don't bother…" Crabtree whispered under his breath, as he took out a long screw from out of his pocket and skipped a glance at the sink. 'I'm not here for long.'
Notes
For the next two chapters it might be a little boring, just with Aaron Hernandez and Michael Crabtree (who are Prison Buddies) I was going to just have it be some random guy, but I though, hey, Aaron Hernandez! And so, yeah. I'm a New England Patriot fan, but I never cared for Hernandez. Gronk is better! WAY better! :) And Russell!
Next up: More with Crabs and Hernandez! And then Avery comes and breaks him out...poor Kaner...sorry buddy! :(
@EvelynaKitty
Kari and Bacon lost :((( Oh well for helping out the Sharks :P
Okay! :)
1/21/15