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Carson Meets the Marshal

Posted on Wed Jul 26th, 2017 @ 3:18am by Unawakened Carson Quinn & Category IV Dyami Bentley (Tribal: Bent Leaf)

Mission: Pre-Awakening
Location: Corrective Center, Cambridge, Massachusetts
Timeline: January 16, 2012

Dyami arrived at the gym early that morning and began working out. He loved the tower for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that they had a gym that would make the Hulk break a sweat. He set the metallic selector on the weight bench to twenty, “Start off light and work your way up.” he said to himself. Laying down on the bench he grasped the bar above him and did fifty quick reps.

The Indian man sat up and moved the knob to twenty five, he paused when he heard his phone ring. “Ugh, what timing.” he spoke to his gym bag across the room. Determined to get a good workout in he ignored the phone. Again laying prone on the bench the Shaman did another fifty quick reps, this time muscles straining at the end. As soon as he stopped the phone rang again, looking disgustedly at his bag he sighed. Something inside him said he should answer this call.

Dyami sprung up quickly and almost tripped trying to get to the bag. He had learned a long time ago to listen to that small voice inside him. Dyami opened the bag with haste forgetting to check his enormous strength. The bag exploded with the force of his overaction. Clothes, an iPod, shoes, and various personal items were scattered helter skelter around the changing room. Dyami growled, looking at the destruction. “Like living in a world made of cardboard.” The frustrated Shaman shook his head, he had been around others like himself for too long. A mistake like this could cost him everything if it happened around the wrong people.

Picking up his phone he answered the call, “Dyami Bentley, U.S. Marshall how can I be of assistance.” He listened to the caller for a while and responded, “Of course your Honor I would be happy to work with the young man. Remember though we are on tribal lands, and there my decisions are as good as law.”

Listening again he nodded and said, “Understood, we will work to maintain the utmost of discretion, as always. Something tells me this one is special.” He paused while the caller continued, “I will keep you updated. Tell your wife I am looking forward to another dinner with your family.” Once the caller had finished he replied “Yes, I understand, next time no pets as gifts for your children. Thank you, goodbye your Honor.”


Carson lay on the bed in his cell. It was his last day here and he couldn’t wait to get out. The walls and ceilings were bare, and the bed hard. He heard footsteps coming towards his cell. Sitting up he saw the guard coming and stopped at the cell door.

“Up against the back wall and hands behind your back.” The dark skinned officer said gruffly.

“I am not supposed to get out for another eight hours.” Carson didn’t know why he had protested, but stood up and did what the officer said. The cold handcuffs tightened around his wrists with a click.

“Let’s go.” The guard said as he turned Carson around and pretty much shoved him out the cell door.

There were several other men watching them as the men walked down the cellblock. Another guard opened a door that lead into a common area. It was empty. The TV was on, even though there was no one watching it. They walked through several doors and ended up in a small room, which he suspected was the judge’s chambers. The guard told him to sit. Carson sat down in one of the leather chairs and waited.

“Can I get these off?” He asked. It was very uncomfortable to sit with your hands handcuffed behind your back.

“No.” The guard simply said.

The door opened and a judge walked in. The older man was not wearing his robe, but a grey suit. He was followed by another man who was wearing a US Marshal's uniform and a cowboy hat.

The judge was smiling as he walked in the door, then his eyes moved and settled on the handcuffed man and that look soured. He sighed then settled down behind his desk and motioned the large indian man to take the seat next to the Carson. “Have a seat, Marshal Bentley. This is Carson Quinn, the young man that I was telling you about.”

Dyami sat in the chair indicated with a smile on his face. He turned to the young man seated next to him “Hello Carson, my name is Dyami Bentley, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Carson turned towards the man who had sat down next to him. He simply looked at him in the eye, “Hi. I would offer to shake your hand, but you know.” He moved his hands a little so the cuffs jingled. He wasn’t usually this polite, but anything to just get out of here.

Dyami laughed and motioned to the guard, “Please remove his cuffs. He will not be needing those at this point.”

The guard looked sceptical, but he glanced at the judge and got a nod of approval, then did as he was told. Reaching behind Carson and making him stand once again, he removed the cuffs. “Don’t make me regret this, kid.”

Carson rubbed his wrists and gave the guard a dirty look. He turned to the judge, “So I am guessing that I am getting out of here now, and this is just the part where you scare me into not doing what I did again?” turning towards Dyami, “And why is the Indian here?”

“Well, Mister Quinn, you have a choice,” the judge said, a small smirk forming on his face as the stocky, older man sat back in his chair. His cool blue eyes settled on the young man as he continued, “You can either leave today with Marshal Bentley, and spend a month at one of his youth ranches, or you can go back to your cell.”

Carson looked confused, “Wait what? A youth camp?” He looked from the judge to the Marshal, “What am I a teenager? I was supposed to get out of this hell hole today anyway.”

“No one said you were going there to relax and go horseback riding.” The man sighed and said, “Look, I’m giving you a chance to have your record cleared, Carson. You are a promising law student, but your attitude, your unwillingness to accept responsibility for your own actions, goes against everything that the law stands for. Your father has pulled strings and bent over backwards trying to help you, and you don’t appreciate it. Like I said, you can leave with Marshal Bentley, go to his ranch, and IF you complete this order in an acceptable manner, your record will be expunged. Or, you can serve the maximum sentence for your crimes.”

Still giving a confused look at both of them. He opened his mouth to talk, but didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Going to this camp, meant he could get out of here, but if he stayed here then he didn’t have to deal with other people. “What does this camp entail? I mean I still HATE the idea, but I don’t really want to spend another minute here.”

“Marshal Bentley runs a number of youth ranches for at risk children,” the judge said, giving the Indian man a smile. “I’m one of the donors to those ranches. He’s made dramatic differences in the lives of children that have suffered from the worst of poverty and abuse. I’ll let Dyami give you the details though. You need to see just how good that you have things, Mister Quinn. I think it would do you some good to work with some of these kids. Consider it community service.”

“Well Carson, I do not have a brochure to hand you with flashy pictures of children playing and young adults, such as yourself, standing by laughing and pointing. What I offer is a chance for someone like yourself to do something for someone else, and in turn help yourself.

‘You will work hard, you will eat well, and you will sleep the peaceful sleep of someone who has worked an honest day's work. You will learn more in that month than you have in most of your life. You will not believe the wonders you will experience while you are there. It will not be easy I will not lie to you. But it is worth it. And besides, will you really choose four grey walls over at least some freedom?”

Carson looked at the man and wasn’t sure what to think. Work? He never had to work, hard. Looking at the Marshal, then to the judge, “Let’s say I pick the camp. What would I get out of it?”

The judge arched an eyebrow, then shook his head. “You need to listen a bit more carefully. If you do this, and complete it in a satisfactory manner, your record will be expunged. This conviction won’t hinder your future. You’ll be fed, clothed, and housed while you’re there, but you’ll put in a full day’s work for those things, instead of just having everything handed to you on a silver platter.”

Well that was a plus The arrogant man thought to himself. This would be the best way for him to just get it done. He looked at the judge, “Fine. I will do it.”

“Good!” The judge said, then allowed himself a real smile. He leaned forward and pushed some papers across the desk. “Sign these. Once that’s done, he’s yours, Dyami.”

Carson looked at the paper. A general contract saying that he would serve the time that Marshal Dynami Bentley deemed fit, and in return he would get his record of this ordeal cleared from his record. What did he really have to lose. He didn’t have his dad’s money anymore, and he more than likely was going to get kicked out of school. The DUI on his record wouldn’t be there anymore. Yeah, this might be good. He was doing his best to hide his anger. He wanted to look the best he could so that the judge would look good upon him. Picking up the pen that was on top of the paper, he signed his name. Carson R Quinn. And pushed it back to the judge.

The blue-eyed, black-robed judge took the papers, signed them himself, then slid a copy to Dyami. “He’s all yours. Don’t go easy on him, Marshal.

“Thank you your Honor, I never do.” Dyami said rising from his chair. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, please give this to you daughter”, The Shaman laid a small dreamcatcher on the Judges table, “it should help with her nightmares.”

The older man smiled and took the dreamcatcher, holding it up to look at it. He then stood and presented his hand to the Indian man, “Thank you, Dyami. I’m sure she’ll love it.” He then looked at Carson and said, “Good luck, Mister Quinn. You’re probably going to need it.”

Dyami shook the Judge's hand with a familiarity that said they had been friends a long time. “We will take our leave your Honor, it is a long drive to Tahlequah, and we should get started before it is too late.”

Turning back to Carson, Dyami said, “Come with me, and grab my gym bag, remember to lift with your legs not your back.” With that he strode to the door.

Carson looked at him confused, “Your gym bag? Shouldn’t you grab it? Not my job to serve you.” He stood up anyway and faced the other man. Carson stood about an inch or two taller than Dyami, but was significantly smaller.

The Indian man stopped and held up the papers he had just received. Giving the papers a rattle he said, “That’s not what this says.” Dyami then opened the door to the hall. “Are you coming or are you quitting already?”

Rolling his eyes Carson reached down and grabbed the bag. He picked up the handles and gave it a tug. It was way heavier than he expected. The bag hit the floor with a thud. Shooting a glance at the Native he reached down again with both hands and grabbed the handles. Using his weight he balanced the bag. With every step the duffle would smack his shins. He slowly followed the man out of the judge’s chambers.


Dyami Bentley

Carson Quinn


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