“Make it stop!” I screamed, yanking the symbol of my marriage off my finger and flinging it across the open expanse.
My words and the loud sobs that followed were heard only by the silent trees and hidden animals of the forest overlooking the raging Arkansas River.
CHAPTER NINE - THURSDAY EVENING
“Witham, did you see this?” Shift Sergeant Tommy Collins boomed across the pod.
Bill Witham looked up from his desk and the paperwork he’d just finished and watched his supervisor waddle over to him. The dark blue uniform of the sergeant stretched and bulged, the seams pushed to their limit by his enormous weight. Bill forced his face to remain neutral and not give away the disgusted thoughts he had toward the rotund jerk.
“See what, sir?”
“This. The note on Dickinson. He was supposed to go to the infirmary today and have that eye looked at. Why didn’t you take him?”
Trying to cover up your work, huh, Sarge? Bill thought to himself.
Sgt. Collins breath was so rank that Bill could smell it and he was still ten feet away. He couldn’t stand being so close to the overweight, out of shape blob. Any other day, he would have had to bite his tongue and save his nasty comments for the locker room at shift change, but not this evening.
This evening, Bill needed the interaction. Craved it. It was crucial to his plan. Because the night would end the way he’d meticulously planned it during the past thirty-six hours. “I’m sorry, sir. Today was visiting day and things were busier than normal. I forgot. I’ll take him tomorrow.”
Sgt. Collins slammed the file from Inmate Jack Dickinson down on the desk next to Bill. “No, you will not. That cut is infected for sure. Could tell last night when I came on duty, that’s why I wrote this,” he squawked, pointing to the note on the front jacket. “Because he ain’t gettin’ all sick and pukin’ on my watch. No way. Besides, he could have some disease or gungacocti gunk that ain’t no antibiotic could touch. What if he spreads it around? I don’t want none of that crap. You take him now. Ain’t got no distractions as an excuse at damn near midnight, boy.”
Bill hid the raging storm inside him well. Years of playing through sports injuries had taught him how to mask his feelings. He wanted to grab the cop wannabe by his chunky throat and squeeze until he never made another sound. Bill knew he could take him, easy. Six foot six against five foot nine was a cake walk. Bill had a permanent limp from his accident, but the rest of his body, especially his hands, were lightning fast and strong.
No time to live out that fantasy at the moment. I have other dreams to fulfill, Bill thought, a faint hint of a smile on his lips. “Yes sir. Sorry sir. I’ll take him right now.”
“Damn right you will. Lazy, no good jock,” Sgt. Collins snorted, walking away.
Bill called the infirmary and forced his smile to remain hidden when he heard the bored male voice on the other end.
“Firm.”
“Bringing down Inmate Dickinson for a look-see. Potential infection. Be there in fifteen.”
“Oh joy, bandaging a booboo. I’m too excited for words,” drawled the on-staff RN, Frank Jefferson.
Out of all the medical staff that could have been on duty, Frank was the one that Bill had hoped for. The guy was a lowlife and not much better than the inmates. He’d lost his nursing license twice in less than two years for testing positive for marijuana and prescription drugs—once while on the job. The reasons the State of Arkansas let him have his license back still eluded Bill, but tonight, it was like winning the lottery.
Easy-peasy.
Bill hung up the phone and heard Sgt. Collins across the pod barking orders at the incoming and outgoing staff for the night. Bill glanced around the area to check if the coast was clear, opened up his drawer and grabbed the small plastic casing he’d brought from home. The slender, inch-long piece meant for pencil refills slid with ease under the band of his watch, unnoticeable to anyone but Bill. Satisfied it was securely in place, Bill stood up and made his way toward cell block D-7, concentrating on keeping his smile contained.
He made one pit stop. Inside the stall, Bill reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the three remaining Oreos from his dinner. Like he used to as a child, he twisted the cookie until the creamy center was exposed. With delicate moves of his meaty hand, Bill dribbled several drops of peanut oil onto the white filling, then replaced the hard cookie cover. Not enough to leak out or give a hint as to the alterations, but enough to be deadly to someone with a severe allergy to peanuts.
Satisfied with his work, Bill replaced the cookies in their original plastic wrap and headed toward his target.
Justice is coming, my love. Justice is coming.
“Dickinson, wake up. Sarge says you gotta have that eye checked out.”
Jack Dickinson’s head jerked at the sound of Bill’s voice.
“You know the drill. Hands through here.”
Jack moved slowly, his mind still fuzzy from sleep. He eyed the jailer from his bunk and blinked several times before standing on wobbly legs. “Now?”
“Yes, now. Not my orders but Sarge’s. Kind of took a butt chewin’ for not takin’ you sooner. Won’t take but a few minutes.”
Bill knew Jack didn’t trust any of the staff since Sarge had been the one who cracked his head to begin with. He would have to work at his sweet talk game to gain Jack’s trust during the short walk to the infirmary. Bill sensed Jack’s reluctance to come closer to the bars.
“Look, I just want to go home. Sarge says I can’t leave until we get you looked at. So let’s just get it over with, okay?”
Jack nodded and moved over to the bars, then turned around and put his hands through the small opening. Bill secured the cuffs with a loud click.
“Stand back. Openin’ the door,” Bill instructed and leaned toward the microphone on his shoulder. “Badge 647 to station. Unlock D-7-4.”
“Copy that.” The metal creaked and groaned as the heavy door slid open.
Bill watched Jack lumber out of the cell into the hallway. “Let’s go. Sooner we get there, sooner you can get back to bed.”
They moved through the maze of locked doors and cell blocks, and Bill decided it was time to start the idle chitchat, before they made it to the side of the jail that housed the infirmary. “So, you had a visitor today, huh? Who was she? Your attorney?”
“No, my wife,” Jack said, his voice cautious.
“Well, I’ll be. Yeah, guess that makes more sense, since she seemed a little too upset when she left to just be your lawyer,” Bill remarked and paused, enjoying watching the pain cross Jack’s face. “So, she finally came to see you, huh? That’s a good sign. Usually, if they come to visit during the first week, they’ll stick by you. Least that’s what I’ve seen durin’ my time here.”
“I sure hope so. I don’t care what the world thinks about me. Only my wife.”
“Understandable. We all want the support of the ones we love, right? Whether we’re guilty or innocent.”
Jack looked up for the first time since they started their walk. “I am innocent.”
“Oh, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that! I’d be rich, living in a cabin on the lake without a care in the world, except for when I was gonna go fishin’ again and if I had enough bait.”
They rounded the last corner. Bill knew he had to hurry. “Hey, who am I to judge? I’m just the gatekeeper, so to speak. Decidin’ guilt or innocence is way above my pay grade. But I’ll tell you, in all the years I’ve been here, I ain’t never seen a man so emphatic about it. You got a good lawyer?”
Bill saw the ice break behind Jack’s haunted eyes. “Yes. The best. But no matter what happens, I know I’m innocent. God knows I’m innocent. The only person I worry about convincing is my wife.”
Bill and Jack stopped at the double doors leading to the infirmary. Bill watched Jack out of the corner of his eye while he fumbled with the key card to unlock the doors. He
sensed Jack was warming up to him. He’d counted on it. Since Jack was older and injured, he’d been in a cell alone for the past two days. The lack of human contact and conversation drove some inmates nuts and made them willing to seek out any sort of connection when offered the chance.
Inside the first set of doors, where Bill knew from experience the cameras of the jail didn’t reach, he would only have a few moments to unleash his plan.
“Hey, look, I just want to apologize for what Sarge did,” he said as he pointed at Jack’s swollen eye. “You caught him on a bad day, but that ain’t no excuse for what he did. Thing is, he’d just lost a loved one and he probably wasn’t thinkin’ straight. But that still ain’t fair to you. And it’s my fault for not doin’ right by you and bringin’ you down here to get patched up earlier. Can’t break the blue code and snitch on him for what he did. Gotta keep my job, ya know?”
Bill was convincing and he knew it. He watched Jack’s feeble grin and nod of understanding and enjoyed the rush of excitement as his plan flowed smoothly. Bill swiped his card over the reader and ushered Jack into the quiet infirmary. The door closed behind them, and Bill unlocked the cuffs and let Jack move his hands to the front before re-cuffing him. Jack produced a faint smile at the kind gesture, and Bill returned it with his own grin.
Bill watched with minor disgust as Frank Jefferson lanced the cut above Jack’s eyebrow and drained the greenish pus from the wound. To Jack’s credit, he didn’t wince when the scalpel slid through his flesh and Frank pinched the folds of the skin together to release the fluid.
“There. All finished. Last thing is some antibiotics. I’m gonna give you a shot to speed things up, then get you on a full round in pill form. Make sure you take them until they’re gone.”
Jack looked perplexed and Bill almost laughed. “Don’t worry, Mr. Dickinson. Inmates on medication are brought their pills with breakfast by the nurse on duty. We won’t let you forget. Any medication you are allergic to?”
Jack turned around and fumbled to lower his pants with his cuffed hands. “No. Only peanuts.”
Bill forced himself to remain quiet. He watched Frank load the syringe up and swipe the alcohol-soaked cotton across Jack’s rump. When Frank slid the needle into his flesh, Bill wished it was cyanide.
“You might feel a bit off once this hits your blood stream. Maybe a bit sick to your stomach or a rush of heat. Penicillin tends to do that, but it will pass quickly.”
“Fine job there, Frank. Okay, now to end this shift and get home. Come on, Mr. Dickinson. Let’s get you back to your cell.”
Frank ignored them both and started cleaning up the mess left from Jack’s wound. Bill rolled his eyes at Jack and gestured for him to walk toward the exit. Back in the small alcove, Bill stood in front of Jack and motioned for him to raise his shackled hands.
“Okay, gotta get these cuffs back on behind you. Ol’ Sarge woulda had him a rip roarin’ fit at me if he knew I moved them. Proper procedure and all, you know? But hey, it’s not like you coulda sat down right proper while ol’ Frank fixed you up in there, now could you?”
Jack held up his wrists. “Again, I thank you for your kindness. And for bringing me here. I feel better already. The pressure around my eye was beginning to get to me. I was having a hard time sleeping.”
“Well, we got that infection on the run now. Feel for you though, having to take that medicine. Yuck, the last time I had me a round, I puked my guts out like there weren’t no tomorrow when I took them on an empty stomach. That no good, idiot nurse in there ain’t got the sense God gave a dust mite. I sorta figured he wouldn’t make sure you had a full stomach before he loaded you up. So, here,” Bill said, handing the cookies from his pocket over to Jack, “eat these before you start pukin.’”
Doubt and distrust passed across Jack’s face, followed by hunger and relief. Bill knew from the mostly uneaten food trays that Jack was almost starving and had counted on hunger to win him over.
And it did.
“Thank you. Much appreciated,” Jack said, taking two cookies from Bill’s hand. In two huge bites, they were gone.
Bill ate the third and final one. “You’re welcome. Don’t want you thinkin’ that all us jailers is like ol’ Sarge. He can be a real snake in the grass as you well know. One or two bad apples mar the whole bushel. Ain’t all of us cruel like him.”
Cuffs securely in place, Bill led Jack back through the maze to his cell. As they waited for the last set of doors to open in block D-7, Bill noticed that Jack’s breathing had become labored.
“Thank you again, um, Mr…?”
“Witham. Corporal Bill Witham.”
“Corporal Witham. Thank you again. I won’t forget your kindnessth…”
Bill and Jack were only steps away from Jack’s cell, and the door was still open. Bill noticed his own hands shook from the rush of excitement he felt at hearing Jack slur his words. The peanut oil worked fast.
Bill watched Jack take a wobbling step through the doorway. He knew the cameras were on so he reached out and grabbed Jack by the elbow, ushering him inside.
“I don’t….feel well…mouth ith swollen…” Jack whispered.
He led Jack to his bunk and uncuffed him, unable to stop the smile as he watched Jack struggle to breathe. Even in the low-lit confines of the cell, Bill could see Jack’s face was beginning to swell and his lips were twice their previous size. His pulse was elevated too, judging by the throbbing vein in his neck. Jack’s hands flew to his neck, clutching and clawing.
Bill leaned down and spoke quietly near Jack’s ear, his voice low enough that the sound wouldn’t trigger the audio to begin recording from the camera in the hall. “What’s wrong, Mr. Dickinson? Looks like you are having trouble breathing. Hmmm, maybe you are allergic to penicillin. Lots of people are.”
Jack looked up at Bill with his one good eye, the pleas for help behind it unmistakable. Bill didn’t move, didn’t say a word, didn’t offer any aide. It took about thirty seconds but Jack’s eye told Bill when his brain processed what was going on.
“You…the cookiesth…” Jack mumbled as the tears of ultimate fear fled down his swollen cheeks.
“Oh wait, I know what it is! You’re allergic to peanuts. Of course I remember now, which means you’re goin’ into shock,” Bill hissed, then brought his lips to Jack’s left ear. “Was Serena as terrified as you right now when you choked the life out of her? Did you enjoy watchin’ her suffer as much as I am enjoyin’ watchin’ you? Hope you liked your last meal, you murderin’ bastard. That was for Serena.”
Jack couldn’t respond. Bill pulled away and watched for another thirty seconds as Jack’s airway constricted tight and rendered him speechless. Jack lost consciousness, his body collapsing on the dirty bunk in a small ball, like he had just curled up and gone to sleep. Bill marveled at the speed in which the peanut oil worked at taking the life of the man who killed the only woman Bill had ever loved.
Justice is now served, Bill thought as he exited the cell door, locked it, and ended his shift with a smile. A quick glance at his watch told him that the next bed check was a full ten minutes away, and Jack’s life expectancy was about three. Bill smirked with satisfaction as he imagined ol’ Sarge’s surprise when the discovery of Jack’s dead body on his shift was found.
CHAPTER TEN - FRIDAY, EARLY MORNING
I woke up on the couch at the cabin to the sounds of my mother and Regina whispering in the kitchen. I glanced at my watch, shocked to realize it was after two in the morning and I was still in my soiled clothes. I’d arrived near eight thirty, hugged my mom, told her and Regina that I needed a shower to help ease my migraine, and then crashed on the couch before I ever made it to the bathroom.
Neither of them had pressed me for any details of my long absence and let me be. I’m sure the fact that I looked like something out of a horror movie helped. My makeup, hair and clothes didn’t fare too well during my breakdown on Pinnacle Mountain. I stunk from
the tears, sweat and dirt on me. My contacts burned from crying and not washing my filthy face. I needed to hit the shower and recharge.
I stayed under the soothing water long past the point of getting clean. The hot vapors, the feeling of the water cascading down my back, sent me into a state of nothingness. The warm liquid on my skin was my form of mental yoga.
I ran out of hot water, and with a sigh of reluctance I stepped out and toweled off. Every inch of me throbbed. My calves and thighs, not to mention my feet, weren’t used to the activity I now forced them to participate in. I’d worn my contacts entirely too long and there was no way I could attempt to reinsert them for at least twenty-four hours. But all the scrapes, aches and pains didn’t come close to the devastation inside my heart. At least the minor body issues would repair themselves in a day or two. My heart? Oh, it was like a cracked walnut shell—in useless pieces. All the meat scooped out and the hard carcass tossed aside to the junk pile.
The strength to dress and go talk to my mom and Regina eluded me. How in the world could I face them and tell them what I’d discovered? Mom was already frail. Would the news that her son-in-law was truly a murderer be too much for her heart? How would I be able to relate what I experienced without losing my own control again? It’s not like I was a spring chicken. People in their forties and even thirties died from heart attacks or strokes. Had I come close to reaching my body’s limit? The heaviness in my chest told me I had.
I stared at the dark ceiling, unwilling to look at my reflection in the mirror and fretting over my next move. So many images swirled by that concentrating was impossible. All the memories of our life together, the happy times and the difficult ones, sped by. Trips, adventures, laughter. Those thoughts didn’t last long, because they were followed by the newest ones now forever ingrained in my memory. Jack sitting on the other side of the dirty glass, staring at me, imploring me to believe him. The nasty wound on his head. The look on his face when I stormed out. The video of him at the hotel with Serena. The picture at the mall. The autopsy report confirming the pregnancy.
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