Dr. Harrington cocked his head. “And this feels unfair to you?”
“What if I didn’t do it? What if I’m innocent?”
“Are you?”
Jason frowned. “How many guys come in here and tell you that they’re innocent?”
“I’m not here to judge either way.”
“If I’m innocent, how am I supposed to feel? How much more do I have to take?”
“Don’t worry about how you’re supposed to feel. How do you feel right now?”
Jason swallowed hard. “Hopeless. Worthless. My life has no meaning.”
“Everyone’s life has meaning.”
Jason shook his head. “You’re wrong. If I died tomorrow, not one person on this Earth would give a shit. In fact, I can think of quite a few people who would be happier that I was gone.”
Chapter 59: Imminent Danger
Jason stood at the front desk in the resource center, stamping returns with today’s date, 5-31-2000. He didn’t bother to penalize the overdue books. It wasn’t worth the possible beef it could cause.
Seven men from Cell Block C were led into the resource center by several COs. Most of the inmates went to the magazines and computers.
Erik the Aryan approached the front desk, with a shit-eating grin. “What’s up, Jason?”
“Not much. Need any help?” Jason replied.
“I was gonna ask you the same thing.”
Jason tilted his head.
“I heard Duane’s gettin’ out of seg next week, and he’s comin’ back to C Block.”
Jason stood stunned and slack-jawed.
Erik chuckled. “I also heard that CO McCloud told Duane that you snitched on him.”
Jason winced. “Shit.”
“Now might be a good time to make some friends. We’re always lookin’ for new brothers.”
Chapter 60: Real Friends Are Rare
“I’d like to make a family tree for you,” Dr. Harrington said, sitting on his swivel chair.
“Why?” Jason replied, sitting kitty-cornered from Harrington on the couch.
“Families have a huge impact on our feelings and behaviors. If I know about your family, I have a much better chance of helping you.”
“Who says I need help?”
“By coming back to therapy, you did.”
Jason nodded. “That’s a fair point. What do you want to know?”
Dr. Harrington held his notepad open, his pen in hand. “What’s your relationship like with your father?”
Jason shrugged. “I’ve never met him.”
Harrington wrote in his notepad. “Do you know who he is?”
“No. My mother claims not to know.”
“Do you think she’s lying?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
Harrington made another note. “What about your mother? What’s your relationship like with her?”
Jason let out a heavy breath. “We haven’t spoken in eighteen years. Not since I left for college.”
Dr. Harrington widened his eyes. “Why don’t you speak to your mother?”
“She’s a mess. She’s always been a mess. My childhood was chaotic and dysfunctional. She had substance abuse issues. She hung out with losers and druggies. I knew I needed to get away from her if I wanted to make something of my life.” Jason grimaced. “Ironically, she’s doing better than me.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, … she’s not in prison.”
“She could be. You said you haven’t talked to her in eighteen years.”
“I saw her in court at my preliminary hearing, but I didn’t talk to her.”
Dr. Harrington rubbed his chin. “Why do you think she was there?”
Jason broke eye contact. “I don’t know.” This was a lie.
“Do you have any siblings?”
Jason stared at the coffee table in front of him. “A half sister. She’s three years younger than me.”
“Do you have any contact with her?”
Jason made eye contact again. “No.”
Dr. Harrington made another note. “Why not?”
Jason fidgeted in his seat. “We were never close.”
“What about extended family? Do you have any close relatives?”
“No.”
“What about friends?”
“I had a few friends in high school and college, but I’ve never had any close friends, … not until Michelle, … my ex-wife.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Jason rubbed the back of his neck, thinking for a moment. “I guess I’ve always been kind of a loner. In high school, I was either studying, working, or running. College was more of the same. After I graduated, I worked nonstop to build a business. Some of my clients were acquaintances, borderline friends, but I didn’t have a real friend, until I met Michelle.”
“What made her a real friend?”
“She cared about me for me.” Jason dipped his head. “Or at least I thought she did.”
A moment of silence passed between them.
“What do you think now?” Dr. Harrington asked.
Jason raised his gaze. “About Michelle?”
“Yes.”
Jason swallowed the lump in his throat. “I disgust her. The last thing she said to me was, ‘If you have a single shred of decency left in your sick mind, you’ll sign those divorce papers and forget I ever existed.’” Tears filled his eyes. “I signed the divorce papers, but I can’t seem to forget about her. I should’ve …” Jason wiped the corners of his eyes with his index finger.
Several seconds of silence passed between them again.
“You said, I should’ve, but you didn’t finish the sentence,” Dr. Harrington said, leaning forward in his seat.
“She wanted to have children, but I … I didn’t want children. I kept trying to delay it.”
Dr. Harrington made a note. “Why didn’t you want children?”
Jason frowned. “I didn’t exactly have a charmed childhood. Maybe I didn’t want to inflict that on a child.”
“But you were financially secure and married. Why wouldn’t you have happy, well-adjusted children?”
“You’re right, doc. I could’ve. I should’ve.” His voice wavered. “It was the biggest mistake of my life.”
Chapter 61: Reckoning
A bank of ten showers were accessible through two locked doors along the north wall of Cell Block C. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning, inmates were given the option to shower. On Wednesday morning, Jason and his fellow inmates lined up along the wall to the showers, their towels over their shoulders.
CO McCloud opened the door to the locker room and four COs went inside. Then McCloud said, “First ten. Let’s go.”
Jason was fourth in line behind Russ, which was odd because Russ wasn’t an early riser. He was usually one of the last to shower. Jason glanced back at the line, making sure he wouldn’t be in the shower with Duane.
Duane had been released from seg two days ago, but Jason hadn’t had any contact with him. Jason had heard that Gold Tooth and Face Tatt had been released a week ago, but they’d been moved to Cell Block D.
CO McCloud let the first ten inmates into the locker room, locking out the others waiting in line. As soon as they were let into the room, Jason and the rest of the inmates rushed to a cubby and undressed. They all knew they only had five minutes, so they focused on the task at hand. Jason placed his clothes in the cubby marked #8. He put his towel around his waist and turned around. Jason thought he saw Duane walk into the shower room. That can’t be right. He wasn’t among the first ten. Did he cut the line right before we came in? I’m being paranoid.
Inmates walked into the shower room, wearing nothing but towels around their waists and shower shoes on their feet. A few didn’t bother with shower shoes, and others didn’t bother with any modesty whatsoever, placing their towels over their shoulders instead. Jason walked toward the shower room with his towel wrapped around h
is waist and shower shoes to protect his feet from the various fungi and viruses being transmitted throughout the prison.
Russ sat on one of the benches, his shirt off. He groaned and held his hairy gut. “I’m not feelin’ good.”
Jason stood by the door to the showers, watching Russ.
CO McCloud shoved Jason into the shower room. “Hurry up.”
The shower room consisted of ten showerheads, each separated by a chest high wall. Blots of mold crept up the walls and covered the tile grout. Three COs watched the shower stalls, including McCloud. Jason went to the first open shower stall he came across, scanning for Duane. Steam came from the showers, obscuring Jason’s view. Inmates who were first in line for shower day were rewarded with scorching hot water. Inmates toward the end of the line had only cold water.
Jason hung his towel on the wall separating his shower from the next, and grabbed his soap from his plastic container. In his plastic container, he had a small squirt of shampoo for his hair. He didn’t like bringing the bottle to shower day because every inmate would ask for a squirt. Jason turned on the shower head, checking the water with his palm. He stepped into the hot water and grabbed the soap. Jason washed quickly, knowing he only had two or three minutes left.
A commotion came from the locker room. Two of the three guards ran from the shower room. One of the guards in the locker room shouted, “He’s having a seizure.”
Jason glanced toward the door to the locker room. CO McCloud guarded the door, glaring at Jason. The hair on the back of Jason’s neck stood on end. A thick black arm wrapped around Jason’s neck from behind and hooked into place with the assailant’s other arm. The man’s left hand was behind Jason’s head, pushing forward, tilting Jason’s neck toward his chest. Jason pushed and struggled against the immoveable force behind him, the thick arms squeezing like pythons. Hot water from the showerhead peppered Jason’s chest and face. He could breathe, but Jason felt weak, his vision hazy. Jason rammed his elbow backward, but it had no effect.
“You’re mine now, bitch.”
It’s Duane. Jason eyed McCloud for help. The CO locked eyes with Jason, then turned his back. The steam seemed to thicken and darken. His legs felt rubbery. Then, everything went black.
Seconds later, Jason woke, disoriented, like he was in a dream or a nightmare. Duane’s heavy body pinned him to the tile floor. Jason’s penis, knees, and the left side of his face ground into the hard tile. Shooting pain came from his rectum as Duane grunted in his ear. Hot water came from above, splashing the wet tile. Steam covered them like a blanket.
Jason bucked, desperately trying to get the man off him. Duane grabbed a fistful of Jason’s hair and slammed his face into the tile over and over, until it all went black again.
Chapter 62: Déjà Vu
Jason lay on his back in the hospital bed in a drug-induced haze. Despite the drugs, his face and head still hurt. He raised his head and dropped it immediately. The movement sent shooting pain to his abdomen and anal region. He wiggled his nose. That hurt too. He reached up with his left hand and touched his skull. It was wrapped and bandaged. He touched his nose with the slightest of pressure. It was bandaged too. His right arm was hooked to an IV. Cool oxygen flowed into his nose from the nasal cannula. He felt a powerful sense of déjà vu.
Jason tried to remember how he’d gotten there, but everything was hazy. I fell off the second story landing and hit my head. Right? He searched his fuzzy memory. No, that already happened.
A doctor entered the room and approached Jason’s bedside. She was small and thin with jet-black hair. “Hello, Mr. Lewis. I’m Dr. Chung. Remember me?”
Jason glanced at the doctor and nodded almost imperceptibly. He remembered that she was his surgeon.
“I’m happy to report that your surgery went well. Usually, my patients are much older, and they recover well. I expect you to make a full recovery in four to six weeks. Your stomach may be a little sore for a week or so. I made an incision in your stomach to pull your rectum back up and into its proper position.”
My rectum? Then it came back to him in a wave. The sleeper hold. Waking with Duane on top of him. He was so heavy. I couldn’t move him. I tried. He smashed my face into the tile. Broke my nose again. Split my forehead open. Jason closed his eyes and turned away from Dr. Chung.
He wished Duane had killed him.
Chapter 63: On Your Own
Three days later, Warden Douglas Bates stood at Jason’s bedside. Jason lay with the bed slightly propped. His head and nose were still bandaged, but the pain had subsided. His stomach still hurt from the surgery, but it wasn’t unbearable.
“You gonna tell me what happened?” Warden Bates asked.
Jason stared straight ahead.
“I’m trying to help you.”
No reply.
“Your cellmate faked a seizure in what I believe was an attempt to create a diversion so you could be assaulted. He won’t admit to it, and I have no concrete evidence, other than that he was medically fine shortly after the supposed seizure, and he has no history of seizures.”
Jason still stared straight ahead, his jaw set tight.
Warden Bates glared at Jason. “I also have no witnesses to the assault—or at least no one willing to talk. If you don’t talk, I can’t do anything. That means, when you return, your attacker will still be there, waiting for you.” He paused for a moment. “You have to help me, so I can help you. Who was it? Duane Griffith?”
Jason turned his gaze to meet Bates. “I don’t trust you. I told you about what was happening to Ronnie Cunningham. Now he’s being passed around on E Block. Your prison is a living hell that does nothing to rehabilitate. It only dehumanizes and degrades. You can’t control the evil inside. You can’t even control the evil within your own guards.”
Warden Bates was slack-jawed for an instant. Then his mouth curled into a sneer. “Don’t you dare lecture me, inmate. You’re a child molester. Nobody cares that some sick pervert was raped. What do you think’s gonna happen to you when you get back? Once an inmate is branded by rape, they become a target for every single sodomite in the prison.”
Jason applauded with a slow rhythmic clap. “That was the first honest thing you’ve said today. With all due respect, Warden, go fuck yourself.”
Warden Bates pointed at Jason, his ruddy complexion bright red. “You’re on your own. Don’t come crying to me for help next time.” He marched from the hospital room.
Chapter 64: Can I Babysit?
Jason watched the television that hung in the upper corner of his hospital room. The newscast showed a crowd of people, chanting in front of the Loganville Township Police Station.
“Who do we want?” a man chanted through the bullhorn.
“Luisa!” the crowd chanted back.
“When do we want her?”
“Now!”
The newscaster spoke over the images. “Luisa Sandoval’s family and over one hundred Loganville residents protested the lack of police progress on the recent disappearance of six-year-old Luisa Sandoval, who went missing one week ago.”
The program showed graffiti of a devil within view of a playground. Then they cut to a Latino man with a weathered face. A caption identified the man as Hector Cruz, Community Organizer. “This is the second child who has disappeared from our community in the past six months, and the police have done nothing. People say the kidnapper is the devil, but he’s just a man. If the police won’t find him, we will.”
Dr. Harrington walked into the hospital room.
The news cut to a Latina with dark curly hair and glasses. The caption under her likeness read Carmen Sandoval, Luisa’s Mother. Her eyes were glassy. “We just want Luisa to come home. I’m begging whoever has her to just let her go.”
“Hello, Jason,” Dr. Harrington said, as he approached the bedside.
Jason muted the television with the remote on his overbed table. “Dr. Harrington.” His bed was propped in the sitting position.
“
Mind if I sit?”
“It’s up to you.”
Dr. Harrington grabbed a nearby chair, moved it next to Jason’s bedside, and sat down. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
“The warden told me that you won’t identify your attacker.”
Jason clenched his jaw. “Snitching only makes it worse. The warden doesn’t give a shit about what happens to me.”
“We could have your attacker put into administrative segregation. Was it Duane Griffith?”
Jason shook his head. “How did that work out for Ronnie? I’m not snitching again. I’m done talking about it.”
Dr. Harrington adjusted his glasses. “Even if you won’t identify your attacker, I’ll have Duane Griffith transferred out of C block.”
Jason nodded.
“Then I’m going to recommend that you be put into segregation, at least until you’ve fully healed from your surgery.”
“Do what you have to do.”
“I’m sorry that this happened to you.”
Jason shrugged, watching the Ford truck commercial on the muted television.
Nobody spoke for a minute.
Dr. Harrington broke the silence. “On the drive over here, I was thinking about our last conversation.”
Jason turned his gaze from the TV to Harrington.
“I was wondering if you had any male role models growing up?”
Jason hesitated for a few seconds. “I guess my high school track coach. I had a few teachers who were good male role models.”
Dr. Harrington nodded. “What about inside your home? Did your mother have any boyfriends who were role models?”
Jason frowned. “Most of them weren’t interested in me.”
“Were there any who were?”
“A few.” Jason stared at his overbed table, thinking about his mother’s carousel of loser boyfriends. The ones who smacked him around. The stringy-haired piece of shit who used to come to his room, while his mother was passed out. Lenny. Jason had preferred the beatings to Lenny’s touch. Afterward, Lenny had always asked, “You liked it, didn’t you?”
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