Life First: (Dystopian series, book 1)

by RJ Crayton

  I am too stunned to move. Lights go out in two hours. Where is Luke? What happened? Is this Dr. Grant’s fault, too? He betrayed me in court, but has he also told authorities about my connection to Luke? Is that why Luke isn’t here?

  I close my eyes. I want to know what’s going on, but I can’t focus on that. The more urgent question is: what does Pig Face have planned for me?

  This is like Murphy’s Law on steroids. What I need is a dose of Luke’s Law. Though, that is not going to be forthcoming. So, I will have to come up with Kelsey’s Law.

  I turn to face the wall. I will go into a full-blown panic if I look at Pig Face. Dr. Grant, who has decided his pledge to help me is inconvenient to his own career, has sent things spiraling down. Neither Luke nor my father, who’ve been my lifelines during this ordeal, are around to help. I need to figure out some way to cope on my own. And apparently, I only have two hours to do it. Two hours till lights out, and I get to see what Pig Face’s idea of “special” is.

  * * *

  The wall clock says 9:59. I have less than a minute before the room goes dark. My plotting for the last two hours has made me realize one thing: my father wasted his money on that handful of karate lessons I took when I was 11. I can’t recall a single useful thing the teacher said about technique or skill. My mind is drawing a blank. Yet, I need to figure out some way to defend myself.

  The eyes are a good target; so are the ears and neck. I remember that from a self-defense course I took in college. Crime is rare in the post-pandemic world, but it still happens. Susan, of course, signed us both up for the class. At the time I doubted I’d ever get the chance to use what they taught us.

  I still might not. This is a totally different situation from being attacked in an alley. This man is supposed to be here. Thanks to Luke’s microphone antics, no one will hear me scream and come to my rescue. And even when I fight back, Pig Face’s training should have taught him the best way to subdue me.

  Everything we learned about defense said get away and save yourself. The instructors said not to worry about a minor injury, so long as you survive. But, I can’t do that. Peanut is in there counting on me to protect him or her. I have to worry about any injury the baby might sustain.

  I wonder if Pig Face will care about hurting the baby. He said he’s about Life First. But, he doesn’t seem to think my life falls under that banner. I wonder if I can appeal to his reason. Just as I finish that thought, the lights go out.

  In less than a second, he is right here with me. He must’ve started toward me before the lights went out, because he has climbed on top of me, like he was standing here, waiting.

  He crouches over me, pinning me to the rubber block, and puts his face so close to mine I am assaulted by his warm onion-scented breath. “Aren’t you glad I’m back?” he asks.

  I am not sure if his question is rhetorical or if there is something I can say to avert whatever plans he has for me tonight.

  “You know,” he says. “You tried to fuck the system. Well now, sweetie, you’re gonna see how it feels when the system fucks you.”

  I struggle beneath him, but I am pinned. I feel him grab at my pants waist. “Please don’t do this,” I beg. “You believe in Life First, right?”

  “Don’t talk,” he says. “I don’t like it when the girls talk.”

  Figures. I push on him hard, and he moves slightly. He laughs. “I like it when you’re feisty like this.”

  “Stop it!” I plead, giving another apparently useless shove. “I’m pregnant, for God’s sake. This could hurt the baby. Please, don’t do this.”

  He scoffs. “I heard about what happened in court. You don’t even know who this baby’s father is. You’re a dirty whore. But, I won’t hold that against you tonight.”

  I struggle futilely for a moment, then decide to stop, to let him think I am cooperating. It works. He’s gotten my pants down to my knees and is pulling his own down, when I ball my free hand into a fist, and lunge my arm, as best I can, from the hip, straight into where I believe his groin is. I make contact with something soft and fleshy, and hear an awful wail as he collapses on top of me.

  Not the best plan, though I am glad something from those karate lessons has finally come back to me. I push, and he topples onto the floor. I get up, pull up my pants and head to where I think the door is.

  “Fuckin’ bitch,” I hear him spit from the floor. I am not sure what to do. I am still locked in the cell with him.

  “Help,” I call out, banging on the cell door. “Can someone help me, please?”

  This is stupid. No one is going to hear me. No one is going to help.

  I hear rustling from the middle of the room. A zipper zipping up. Then a beep. The crackle of a guard’s radio.

  “Monitor room, this is Mr. Lawrence in holding room 211. Please turn on the light.”

  Suddenly the room is illuminated. I close my eyes reflexively at the sudden brightness. After a moment, I open them and he smiles at me, a truly evil smile. Pig Face — or, perhaps I should call him Mr. Lawrence now that I know his name — is standing in the middle of the room, his belt undone, staring at me lustfully.

  He lifts the radio to his mouth again, pressing the button, and a beep emerges. “Please make a note that the inmate became violent at,” he pauses, looks at the clock, “10:03. She had to be subdued.” He winks at me, then speaks into the radio again. “Now, please turn off the lights for the rest of the night. I’d like a little privacy here.”

  After a moment of silence, there is a gruff “OK” from the speaker.

  He looks right at me, taking in my position, then there is blackness again. As disorienting as this lights-on-lights-off sensory experience is, I have to ignore it. Blinking to adjust my eyes, I run away from where I was just standing, hoping to give myself more time. I know the inevitable is coming. The room is too small for him not to catch me. I’ve spent enough nights in here with Luke to know that eventually your brain adjusts. Sound becomes as useful as sight in figuring out where someone is.

  Even if I am as quiet as I can be, he’ll still hear my breathing or the soft thuds of my feet hitting the floor as I walk. It is just a matter of time.

  “I usually like to get my workout during,” Pig Face says. “But I’m willing to get a little exercise before.”

  I don’t speak, trying to disguise my location for as long as I can, taking shallow breaths I hope he cannot hear.

  “You asked me if I believe in Life First,” he says, getting closer to me. I can tell from the sound of his voice. I take two soft steps away and bump into the bed block. Using all my self-control, I avoid the instinctual yelp that would normally accompany my stubbed toe.

  “I do,” he continues. “I just believe in Life First for those who also believe in it. Those who don’t believe it. … Well, they get what they deserve.” He is getting closer. “We started out on the wrong foot here tonight, Kelsey. I understand that you’re pregnant, and apparently that baby in there means something to you, I think. The way you mentioned it earlier, it makes me think maybe even a monster like you has a soft spot in your wicked soul for that baby.”

  He is getting closer, so I climb onto the bed and slowly crawl across it, stopping at the opposite end. “I think maybe you and I should make a deal,” he says, his voice sounding friendlier, but still deliberate. “You be nice and cooperative here, and I won’t accidentally whack you in the abdomen with my club while subduing your violent outburst.”

  The idea that he would intentionally hurt Peanut stops me in my tracks. I am not sure what to do. I don’t know if he is telling the truth about not hurting me if I cooperate, but I believe wholeheartedly that he will hurt my baby if I don’t.

  I am still in a moment of indecision, when I feel thick, flabby hands grab my waist. “Gotcha,” he shouts, triumph in his tone. “And you’re right where you need to be. Lie down.”

  In the absence of a real plan to escape, I do as I am told.

  “That’s more like it
,” he says. “Pull your pants down and your underpants, too. All the way to the ankle, but don’t take them off. I like it better that way.”

  Again, I comply. This won’t be so bad, I try to convince myself. Not so bad, not so bad, not so bad, I repeat silently in my head. It is better than the alternative, better than him hurting the baby. I can do this. If I just think about something else, it will be OK. I can do this, I tell myself again. Just lie still and let him do it. Luke will understand. And it will be OK in the end. It is just sex. I’ve had sex before. It won’t be so bad. I can do this, I repeat in my head.

  He says, “Turn over.”

  I don’t move. I am not sure I can do that.

  “Turn over,” he says again, impatiently. I hear the swift motion as something heavy slice through the air, then a hard cracking sound. “That’s the billy club on the rubber. Imagine what it sounds like crossing the flesh of your abdomen. You know a six-week-old baby is only the size of a lima bean. Just barely tucked into the uterus. Feels any blow its mother does.”

  I turn over. He orders me onto my knees. The sound of the Billy club echoes in my mind, and I reluctantly move to my knees.

  “You like to say FU to the system, don’t you, Kelsey? Want to fuck them up the rear, don’t you?”

  I can’t speak. I can’t believe this is happening. Part of me wants to bolt, but I can’t stop thinking of the reverberation of the billy club against the rubber. I imagine Peanut feeling that. I am frozen with fear and disgust.

  He puts his hand on my bare bottom, and rubs. “Nice,” he says. “Now, I must warn you, this is gonna hurt. A lot.”

  No, I can’t do this! I feel him edge closer, and I scurry forward, crawling to the edge of my block, then leaping down to the floor and scuttling to the corner. I pull up my pants, put my back to the wall, pull my knees close to my chest and tuck my head, hoping this position will most protect the baby from any blows. Ideally, I would protect my head more, but any position with my head out of harms way seems like it would just expose the baby to injury.

  I hear him coming toward me, full of glee. “Doing this the hard way can be fun, too,” he sniggers. “At least for me.”

  That’s when the door opens. We both look up, as light from the hallway pours into the room. Pig Face is standing inches from me, red-faced with sweat beading on his forehead. He is as surprised as I am to see Luke, in his guard’s uniform, sprinting toward us. In a moment, Luke reaches us and pulls Pig Face away from me and toward the center of the room. Then, Luke raises a fist and before I can even gasp, he’s slammed Pig Face so hard with his fist, the guard crumples to the floor. Luke kneels down and begins pounding Pig Face with both hands clenched tightly. I find myself mesmerized by the sight. Normally, I’d look away. Normally I’d tell Luke to stop, but I don’t have it in me. Luke raises his fists again and again, meeting flesh or bone. I hear a crack, a gurgling, a squeal of pain.

  Finally someone says what should have been said long ago.

  “Stop,” Susan calls as she wheels her way into the room.

  Luke hits Pig Face once more, then stops. I am beyond confused. Luke spits on Pig Face then walks over to me. Kneeling down right in front of me, he wraps his arms around me. “Kelsey, are you alright?”

  “Yeah,” I say, starting to feel the relief spread through my body. “He hadn’t started yet.”

  Luke breathes out, relieved. “OK,” he says, his whole body shaking. “OK.”

  Susan closes the door. It is dark again. We sit there in the silence for too long. Susan speaks. “Luke,” she says. “There’s limited time. We have to go with the plan, or else it’s not going to work.”

  Though I feel safe wrapped in Luke’s arms, I am also not sure what is going on. Luke slowly pulls his arm free from me, turns on a flashlight he’d brought, and sets it on the floor with its beam pointed straight up to the ceiling. I can see his face better now. He looks concerned, but determined. “Kelsey, can you change clothes.”

  I nod. He goes over to Susan, who has some type of bag in her lap. Luke takes it from her, and pulls some clothes out for me. I pull off my shirt and put on the new one. I reach toward my pants, but find I can’t make my hands move to pull them off. It is too much a reminder of what just happened.

  Luke comes closer to me, “Kelsey,” he says. “I can help if you need it.”

  “No!” I say, a little startled by my own vigor. Luke moves away. I manage to get my old pants off and slide on the new ones. Luke is waiting with a pair of shoes in his hands when I finish. I slip those on too.

  He hands me a red wig. I put it on, still just going through the motions. I am probably in shock. It isn’t until I look over at Susan in her wheelchair that I realize I need to come out of this haze.

  “Why is your head shaved?” I ask her, as it dawns upon me the red wig I am wearing is the exact same color of Susan’s normal hair. In fact, if I had to bet money, I’d say she’d actually been wearing this wig a minute ago.

  “I liked you better quiet,” she says, proffering a weak smile.

  I look to Luke, then back at Susan, who starts to explain. “Luke needed a quick plan, and this one fits the bill,” she says to me. Then to Luke, “Come on, help me out of this chair.”

  Luke goes over, lifts her up, and carries her over to the block. Once he’s set her down, she pulls off her red shirt to reveal the white holding facility garb — just like mine. “Help me with this, Luke,” she says, pointing to her pants.

  I turn to Luke, completely alarmed now. “You can’t mean to leave her here?”

  Susan answers. “Yes, you two are going to go, Kelsey. I’ll be fine.”

  I ignore her and stay focused on Luke, who is gently removing her brown baggy pants to reveal the HLFM clothes inmates wear. “Luke, you can’t do this. You can’t leave her here!”

  Luke briefly meets my desperate pleading eyes, then looks at Susan. “If you’ve changed your mind, I understand. We’ll figure something else out. Just tell me if you’ve changed your mind,” he tells her firmly.

  She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine — as long as you take him with you,” she says pointing to Pig Face, who is curled in an unconscious lump on the floor. “And lock the door.”

  “The other guards have keys,” I say to Luke, my voice high and panicked. “What if there’s someone else like him?”

  Luke looks from me to Susan. “Let me think a minute.”

  He walks back and forth in the tiny room, then says. “I can jam the lock. It will lock Susan in, and no one will be able to get in or out. My dad mentioned it’s happened a couple of times, mainly through inmate machinations. They’re scheduled for a heart transplant and don’t want to go. They have to open the door from the outside by removing the hinges.” He looks at Susan. “You okay with being stuck?”

  “I was OK with being stuck before, and I’m OK with it now,” she says, plainly. “Luke, the two of you need to hurry.”

  He nods. “First I have to take care of him.”

  We all look down to the floor, where Mr. Lawrence — no, Pig Face suits him better — lies. I wonder if he is dead, but don’t verbalize it. Susan, apparently thinking the same thing, asks. “He’s still alive,” Luke says, checking Pig Face’s pulse, then hoisting the man into Susan’s wheelchair.

  “Where are you taking him?” Susan asks.

  “There’s an empty cell down the hall. I’m going to lock him in. When they find you, they’ll go looking for him.”

  Susan nods. Luke wheels the man out. I stand there, not sure what to do.

  “Kelse,” Susan says, “come here.”

  I take the two steps closer, then sit on the block next to her.

  “You OK?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. I’m not sure why. No one would hear, but her.

  She pats my shoulder. “We came in time?” she asks. “Luke’s not here. Tell me the truth.”

  “Yeah,” I say, then I start crying uncontrollably. They’d come just in time. A moment l
ater and I am not sure I could have dealt with it. She hugs me and strokes my back, and says it will be alright. And I feel like sitting here forever, like not getting up. But, that is wrong. I have to pull myself together and convince Susan this is insanity.

  “You can’t stay here,” I say through tears.

  “Yes, I can,” she says. “I’ll be fine.”

  “No, you can’t,” I say. “They’ll make you stay, for helping a fugitive escape.”

  She laughs. Laughs at my words. I pull away from her, look at her in the low light. “Why are you laughing? This is not funny!”

  “I think you’re being overly dramatic,” she says. “Plus, I’m going to take a sleeping pill in a minute. I’m going to tell them I have no idea what I’m still doing here. That a friend arranged for me to come see you, and that I woke up in here, and have no recollection of what happened. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. And we’ll be even.”

  I want to throttle her. “Is this about the lake? We don’t need to be even. And this is so much riskier than me jumping in the water?”

  “Seriously, Kelse, how did you not flunk survival statistics? This is so much less risky than the worst swimmer in the class jumping into a barely warm lake to rescue someone from drowning.”

  I shake my head. I can’t believe this. This is ridiculous. She has to come with us. I stand and move closer to the door. Luke will be back in a minute. He will help me convince her.

  “Kelsey, this is the last time we’re probably going to see each other. Luke is taking you to Peoria tonight. Please don’t end it on a sour note. I didn’t tell you stay ashore, don’t jump in. I didn’t fight you in the water. I let you rescue me. Let me rescue you.”

  I don’t like the idea of tit for tat or her staying here, or anything like that. Yet, she seems so determined, so stalwart, so wanting to do this, that the idea of not letting her do it makes me feel cruel. I walk back over and hug her. “Only if you really think you’re safe, Susan. If you don’t think it’s safe in here, you can’t stay. We’ll figure out a way for all of us to go.”