Deep in the California desert, perhaps 20 miles above Mexico, on a great empty swath

of sun-baked sand and scrub, two dozen white buildings squat in semicircles, hemmed in

by rows and rows of razor wire, sentinel of prison.

And inside in a six by ten-foot cell serving forty to life, Raymond Jennings peered through

a narrow slit of window at the sky and waited for what or when he did not know.

By now, he'd been locked up for eleven years, had been able to see his children only once

every year or two, he was about to turn forty-two.

He'd look in that mirror and I'd be like, why me, I'd be in the cell by myself, why me?

What am I supposed to be learning?

What's going on on the outside?

Something impending out there to hope for or dread depending on the view.

When the only comfort that you've had for a decade is the belief that the man who killed

your daughter is in prison and that man is his ray, I understand why it's hard to let go

of that.

Change was coming.

Ready or not?

Who in the heck is banging on my door?

Finally, after about twenty or thirty knocks, he says, I need to talk to you about Raymond

Lee Jennings.

In this episode, justice will get a jolt and accepted facts will be tossed in the air

like so many playing cards, the land in place is entirely unexpected and for some.

Unwelcome.

...