Kurkow Prison (Berkley Street Series Book 5)

by Ron Ripley

  Edmund brought the nightstick under Fats’ upraised hands, sinking the wood deep into the man’s large stomach. Fats vomited, hot, stinking bile splashing on Edmund’s hands and staining his work pants.

  Edmund struck Fats four more times, twice on each bicep, the man squealing like a stuck pig, arms hanging loosely at his side.

  For a moment, Edmund considered a prolonged beating, but decided against it. He turned and walked back to the main aisle. None of the men at the washers looked at him, and Edmund made his way towards the dryers.

  He passed by the tool and chemical room. Wrenches and hammers, screwdrivers and spare parts hung in their proper places. Large cylinders of various cleansers were stacked along the opposite side, the chemicals hazardous and necessary for the laundry to clean the convicts’ clothing and bedding.

  When Edmund reached the dryers he found all in order. The men ignored him, and he felt a small, pleased smile settle on his face. He went to the locked door, made certain it was still secure, then continued on his patrol. In a minute, he was back in the washing room, where he found both Fats and Nolan at their machines. The men were pale and shaking, but they knew better than to ask for the infirmary after Edmund had punished them.

  Edmund went back to his position between the two rooms, standing with his back against a concrete wall. No one could approach him without being seen. Other guards had been attacked in the laundry room in the past, and for a time, they had to work in pairs. Then the warden had come up with the idea of shifting laundry room work to third shift. Only trusted cons would be allowed on the detail. While the temperatures in the summer were unpleasant, in the winter the warmth offered was worth the hassle.

  Edmund couldn’t understand how the other guards enjoyed the laundry room.

  The noise, the overall chaotic atmosphere was all too much. It set his teeth on edge and made him far more likely to lash out. The cons, for the most part, had learned that lesson quickly.

  Occasionally, there were relapses, such as Fats and Nolan.

  Edmund’s coworkers would have wondered what the men had argued about, but Edmund didn’t care. If he said they couldn’t talk, then they couldn’t talk. Rules were meant to be followed. Which was why he never sought to switch details with other guards. When Edmund was assigned a task, he did it, no matter how much it bothered him.

  It was the way the world worked, and everyone had to toe the line.

  Movement caught Edmund’s eye and he looked to the left.

  Chance Lemay had come to a stop five feet away from Edmund. The con had his hands behind his back and looked straight ahead.

  Edmund had made Chance the official time keeper for the shift.

  “Yes?” Edmund asked.

  “Sir,” Chance said, avoiding eye contact. “It is now sixty thirty in the morning, sir.”

  Edmund glanced at the clock on the wall, saw the man was correct, and nodded. “Thank you.”

  Chance nodded, turned around and walked back to his dryer. Edmund walked to the door, and turned the lights on and off three times. The machines shut down, and men left them. Some of them carried tools, putting them away. When all of the machines were off and the cons had joined the others in the washing machine area, Edmund began his final sweep through the dryers.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 5: The Wrench

  Edmund’s mood hadn’t improved with the corporal punishment of Fats and Nolan. Some guards found beating the cons a way to relieve stress. Others enjoyed the infliction of pain.

  For Edmund, it was a disruption in the routine.

  So, too, was the wrench he found out of place.

  The pipe-wrench, nearly two feet in length, was lying on Telly Enos’ dryer. Edmund couldn’t recall why Telly had needed a wrench.

  What he did know was that Telly hadn’t replaced the tool. It lay like a pile of trash in the middle of a pristine lawn.

  And it was too much for Edmund.

  Far too much.

  Grinding his teeth, Edmund snatched the wrench up and stalked down the aisle between the dryers to the main corridor. When he turned the corner, he caught sight of the cons. They stood at the far end, waiting in silence. One of them saw the wrench in Edmund’s hands and fear flickered across the man’s face.

  “Telly!” Edmund snarled. “Telly Enos!”

  The other prisoners stepped back, pressing themselves up against the washers to get away from the offender.

  Telly, twenty-one years old and doing five years for assault with intent to kill, shivered, wide-eyed. He was a gangly young con, and how he had survived the brutality of prison for the first six months was anyone’s guess.

  Edmund glared at Telly, and the prisoner stared at the floor.

  “Why,” Edmund hissed, “was this wrench at your station?”

  “I forgot it, sir,” Telly whispered. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Telly’s apology did nothing to appease Edmund’s anger.

  “You’re sorry?” Edmund snapped, spittle flying out of his mouth. “Not yet. You’re not nearly sorry yet.”

  Edmund half pivoted and threw the wrench into the tool room.

  The intention was to strike the wall of tools, to knock them down and scatter them. Edmund had planned on a mess, a terrible, horrible mess, one which Telly would have to clean.

  And Edmund planned to beat the con the entire time.

  The pipe wrench was heavier than Edmund thought. Its weight threw off his aim, and not by a little.

  Instead of the wrench slamming into the other tools and creating chaos, it struck the chemical tanks. Edmund watched as some curious law of physics allowed the pipe wrench to shear away the nozzle of one tank, at first, and then smash into the handle of another.

  The sound of gas escaping from the first tank was hideous.

  When gas began to spurt from the second tank, Edmund knew he was in danger.

  I have no desire to die, Edmund realized, and all of his anger towards Telly evaporated.

  Edmund turned and ran for the exit.

  Behind him, there was silence, and then Telly let out a high pitched scream.

  Shouts and confusion erupted, Edmund could hear men coughing and vomiting. By the time he reached the exit, the cons had started to run.

  Edmund slammed into the door, threw back the bolt and ripped it open. As he turned and jerked it closed, Edmund saw pale gray gas through the door’s checkered safety glass. It drifted out of the tool area and through it, he could make out the shapes of some of the cons. Some lay on the floor, writhing. Others were still.

  A few had run through the expanding cloud of gas and were nearly at the door.

  Edmund locked it, yanking the key out as the first of them, Chance Lemay, reached the door. Chance’s pale blue eyes were wide as he hammered on the door.

  “Please!” Chance begged. “Let me out!”

  Others joined him as Edmund backed up. The cons banged on the door, their screams muffled by the thick steel and glass.

  The screams turned to shrieks as the gas reached them. Edmund watched as their faces swelled, lips took on the semblance of slugs and their tongues protruded, blackened.

  As the cons collapsed, a wave of relief washed over Edmund.

  I’m safe, he thought. The gas is contained.

  Even as the idea of safety filled him, the first tendrils of gas crept under the door.

  Edmund turned and ran again. He didn’t stop running until he had reached a second set of doors, where he knew the next station guard would be.

  Edmund came to a stop a few feet away, took several deep breaths and exited.

  “Hey,” Carl Addison said, putting his hat back on. “Mind watching this for the last five of the shift? I’ve got to hit the bathroom.”

  “Sure,” Edmund said. “I have Chance Lemay bringing the others up. They should be here soon.”

  Carl nodded. “Lemay’s a good kid. Thanks, Edmund.”

  Edmund watched as Carl hurried away and he couldn’t believe his good luck. The shif
t change was nearly on them, and the first shift crew would come in.

  They can handle the gas leak, Edmund thought. He watched the clock for sixty seconds, and then left Carl’s station. In silence, he passed by the secure bathroom, and made his way through the warren of back halls. When he reached the main level, an old air-raid siren sounded.

  Edmund winced at the sound and came to a stop.

  The warden’s voice blared over the intercom system.

  “All staff, all staff, this is a priority message,” the warden said, a hard note in his amplified voice. “We have an unknown chemical agent moving up through the sub-basement and basement. This is a mass evacuation event. We have buses coming in for the convicts, but we need to escort them all into the yard immediately. I say again, this is a mass evacuation event. All guards are required to assist in the removal of the prisoners.”

  Edmund’s shoulders sagged.

  He turned around, looked for the duty sergeant, Warren Ellis, and found him coming out of the briefing room.

  “Where to, Sergeant?” Edmund asked.

  “Go to A Block,” Ellis said. “Start with the odd numbers. I’ll send someone up as soon as I can.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Edmund replied. He fought back his fear as he hurried for the center stairwell. Edmund wanted to run. To run all the way to his house on Mulberry Street.

  But the Warden had said everyone had to help, and Edmund always did what he was told.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 6: Making a Decision

  At some point, Edmund had fallen asleep. The memories of 1974 fading back into the recesses of his mind. When he awoke, Edmund knew he had to take steps to ensure his safety. If the dead were to continue exiting Kurkow, then they would eventually find him.

  Edmund knew it would not be a pleasant experience, and since he had no desire to move from Gaiman, something else had to be done.

  The morning ritual occupied much of his time, and it wasn’t until he had dried and put away his few dishes that he had time to think about the task at hand.

  His mother had been a fountain of information regarding folklore and old wives’ tales. Edmund realized he needed to remember what it was she had told him about ghosts.

  He retreated to the safety of his television room and sat down in his chair. There were twenty minutes until his first game show, ‘The Price is Right,’ began. He had twenty minutes to come up with a solution, or it would have to wait until after ‘Days of Our Lives.’

  Edmund couldn’t break his routine.

  He closed his eyes and pushed his mind into the memories of his childhood. Talks with his father and school days he ignored. Neither had ever been pleasant.

  His mother had understood him. She had allowed him to keep his routines. She knew how he worked, and what he needed to do.

  Edmund focused on their breakfasts together. He pictured her holding up the salt shaker.

  Salt, she had told him, will keep the dead out of the house. Burning sage will cast them out if they’ve gotten in. At least the weaker ones.

  Edmund had nodded as a boy when he heard the information, and he nodded again as a man with the information replayed in his head.

  I have heard, his mother had continued, of ghosts being bound to things. Objects. This takes a powerful ghost, or a powerful man, and you shouldn’t trust either one of them, Edmund.

  Again he nodded.

  If you have to contain a ghost, she said, getting up to wash the dishes, you would do best to use iron. An iron lock on a chest. Iron chains on a door. Iron, Edmund, iron keeps the dead honest.

  Edmund opened his eyes.

  Iron, he thought. I am going to have to get some iron. There are iron bars on the windows of Kurkow. So the dead did not come through the windows. The door, the door was open.

  They came out the door.

  He nodded. I will need chains. Chains to secure the doors, if I am to live. Chains to keep the dead bound within the prison.

  The thought pleased him.

  Edmund got up from his chair, crossed the room and turned on the television. He made sure the antenna was positioned properly for the best reception, and then he returned to his seat.

  A commercial for Skippy Peanut Butter, followed by one for Tootsie Rolls, formed a backdrop to his thoughts. Fear still writhed in Edmund’s stomach and a small part of him thought it might be wise to go and find the iron chains before the dead found him.

  The larger, dominant part of himself knew that he couldn’t.

  There was a set pattern, a neat and structured order to each day. Edmund didn’t have any free time scheduled until later in the afternoon. Until then, he had certain television shows which he needed to watch.

  Not watching the shows when they were readily available, would be like holding his breath for no reason at all.

  Order equaled life. Chaos equaled death.

  His inner turmoil was silenced as a new noise reached his ears.

  It was the theme music for the game show. As it filled his home, Edmund allowed himself a small, pleased smile.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 7: The Antique Store

  Edmund pulled into the dirt parking lot of Holden's Antiques. Sharon Holden was out front, watering some of her plants and she looked at him with surprise when he got out of the Volkswagen.

  "Hello, Mrs. Holden," Edmund said.

  "Edmund," Sharon said, nodding. She was a decade older than him, and she had been good friends with his mother. Sharon hadn't aged gracefully or well. Her hair was a yellowish white, her eyes narrow and her nose sharp. But she was a good, solid individual, and one who Edmund’s mother had respected. He'd seen her at the Church handing out winter coats and packing food boxes for more than one family, and over more than one holiday season. While Edmund wouldn’t have done it, he knew his mother had always approved of such acts.

  "What brings you around?" she asked. "Any troubles?"

  "No," Edmund said, avoiding eye contact with her.

  "Glad to hear it," she said. "So, why are you here, Edmund? You’ve never been one for antiquing."

  "I have a need for chains," Edmund said.

  "Chains?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Edmund nodded. "I need to pick up some iron chains. And some iron locks."

  "Well," she said, smiling, "you could have gone over to Luke's hardware for that."

  "Not really," Edmund said. "Luke sells steel. Not iron."

  "And you need iron?" she asked.

  "I do," Edmund said.

  "Odd that it has to be iron," Sharon said. "Mind if I ask what for?"

  Edmund shook his head. “I trust iron. My mother always said to use iron when I locked something, and I need to lock something.”

  “She did,” Sharon said with a sad smile. “Yes, your mother always did. Well, follow me, Edmund.”

  She brought him into the store and navigated the narrow aisles. Sharon led him to the back, where an eclectic assortment of old farm tools hung on the walls and rusted in broken apple picking baskets. For a moment, she dug through a box with a faded, 'Lull Farm' stenciled on it. Sharon muttered to herself, swore twice, and then let out a triumphant, "Aha!"

  She turned around, holding two large antique locks in her hands. The metal was dark and pitted, but in each keyhole was a key. She dropped them into his hands and turned her attention to a bushel basket in a corner. There was a pile of old table linens on it, and she picked up the cloths and tossed them onto the Lull Farm box. She nudged the basket with her foot, and Edmund heard the unmistakable clink of chains.

  "There you go," she said.

  "That is great, Sharon," Edmund said, feeling a wave of relief. He had harbored a secret fear that no iron would be around. "How much?"

  "It’ll have to be twenty," Sharon said, smiling.

  Edmund nodded, taking his wallet out. He managed to extract the required amount and handed it to her.

  Sharon asked, "You want a receipt, Edmund?"

  "No," he answered. "I do not need a receipt." />
  "I like the sound of that," she said, grinning.

  Sharon turned away and left Edmund to gather up his new purchases. The bushel basket was heavy, a good thirty pounds, and Edmund felt his muscles strain as he carried it to the Volkswagen. Sweat ran down his back as he loaded it into the passenger seat and he looked down at the old chain, wondering if his mother’s old belief would work.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 8: At Kurkow Prison

  Will this really do the trick? Edmund asked himself.

  He sat in the parking lot in front of Kurkow Prison. A long corridor, formed by chain-link for the walls and the roof, stretched from the lot to the doors of the facility. Edmund remembered the last day he had been inside the prison, when the gas had been released and death had swept through the building.

  The doors had been closed on that day, and had remained so for years.

  Now they stood open, and Edmund knew he had to chain them shut. The windows were fine, the old iron bars still in place over them.

  Edmund looked at the building, strange, nervous butterflies infesting his stomach. He had to go into the prison alone, with the dead who might or might not know it was Edmund who had caused their deaths.

  I need to go into the lobby, Edmund told himself. Those doors must be done as well as the outer.

  Wrap the chain through the inner doors, Edmund continued, and secure it with an iron lock.

  If my mother was right, he thought, then the dead will be bound within the prison. I will not see Fats Webb again, or anyone else.

  So long as the doors are bound.

  "And it should keep them in," he whispered.

  Edmund took a deep breath, nodded and thought, Yes, yes it should.

  He took the keys out of the ignition, climbed out, went around to the trunk, and removed the two lengths of chain. They were heavy, even after he had used a hacksaw to trim them down. He looped them over each shoulder and held onto the locks.

  Edmund looked at the building and saw someone move in the Warden's window. He pictured the look of terror on Ronnie's face, and he had a sudden, terrible fear that he would die with an expression mirroring Ronnie’s own.