by Nesly Clerge
Screw her. And Ozy and the others.
Screw this forgiveness nonsense.
Demory’s demeanor indicated compassion but the counselor got to go home at the end of each work day. His exposure to this place, these people, was limited. In here, forgiveness and how the system expected you to act could get you killed. They wanted him to feel remorse. Well, goddamnit, he did. But he didn’t want to wear it on a fucking T-shirt so others could feel appeased. They didn’t need to know how often remorse nearly strangled him.
Jeffrey had said something once that had really pissed him off. But, maybe Jeffrey had been right. Maybe he had driven Kayla to do what she did.
He didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to examine it. It felt better to blame her for everything. She was certainly guilty. And, she was free. Probably whining about him with friends who trashed him over their martinis and hundred-dollar entrees, while the nanny comforted their children.
Starks dropped his feet heavily to the floor then began to pace.
Where were his children now? Were they okay? If only he could see them, hold them. He kicked the bench and fell to the floor, clutching his throbbing foot.
His grandfather and uncles had fed him the erroneous belief that if he always did what he should, he could control his life. They were wrong, possibly because none of them had ever imagined a larger life, much less lived it as he had. He’d believed and followed their guidance all these years, yet here he was, in this untenable predicament. He missed his grandfather, but thank God he was no longer alive to see his Freddy brought so low and the family shamed.
A scream escaped him as he punched the wall with both fists. Blood welled and oozed from broken skin. He was surprised to find this action had a calming effect. He limped to the washbasin, alternating his hands to hold the single spigot open to let cold water rinse away the red.
A knock came at the door. The cuff opened and green eyes in an unfamiliar, somewhat pudgy face looked back at him.
“Time to exercise and shower, Mr. Starks. You ready?’
“I stay ready.”
Starks was curious to see who was on the other side of the door: no guard had ever called him mister, or knocked before opening the flap.
The steel door swung wide. “You know the drill, Mr. Starks. Stand in the middle, please.”
The heavy-set guard entered the cell, shackles in hand. A CO named Camello stayed just inside the doorway. Starks had seen him around but hadn’t ever dealt with him.
Starks noted the polite guard’s nametag read Landers.
“Officer Landers, you just started working here?” he asked.
“Been here a long time, just in another area. I’m filling in for a guard on extended leave.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Camello harrumphed.
Landers’s heavy tread in the corridor echoed in Starks’s mind. I’m like Pavlov’s dogs, he thought, conditioned to anticipate my reward by the sound of footsteps leading me to sustenance.
Ten minutes later, Starks stepped inside the segregated yard large enough for several inmates to be active, even create a basketball game with two-person teams. But he was always the only one there. Only one prisoner allowed at a time, he’d been told. He didn’t know how many others were in his isolation block. He could ask, not that he wanted to know. So far, he’d counted five distinct voices, finding the task as daunting as trying to identify different bird song.
Camello removed the shackles.
Starks squinted against the sun, lifted his face to the warmth, tasted the cold fresh air.
The guard carried the chains with him a few yards away, dropped them then lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and looked bored.
Officer Landers stood near a plastic canister that held a basketball, football, and soccer ball.
Starks dribbled the basketball. He held the ball still and said, “You’re different from the other guards. They’ve been anything but polite.”
“My mother raised me right. Do unto others… until they give you a reason to do otherwise.”
Starks bounced the ball once. He lowered his voice and asked, “Can I know your first name?”
“That’s not encouraged here.” Landers glanced at the other guard then took a moment to decide. “Ted. Never use it where others can hear.”
Starks dribbled the ball twice then stopped. He looked Landers in the eyes. “Thank you. Makes me feel somewhat human again.”
For the next forty minutes, Starks dodged imaginary opponents and shot hoops with near-perfect accuracy from various distances until he heard, “Mr. Starks. Time’s up.”
Camello ground out his fifth cigarette then picked up the shackles and fastened them on Starks’s wrists and ankles. “Now for the highlight of my day,” he said. “I get to watch you shower.”
Landers frowned at the guard. “That’s enough from you. Let’s go, Mr. Starks.”
Starks heard a commotion. Over in the main yard, Bo postured like a bull contemplating a target. Even at this distance, he could see the gang leader’s face was still healing.
Starks said, “If looks could kill.”
Bo was playing it smart: He kept his mouth shut. But he elbowed the gang member next to him, who traced Bo’s line of sight to Starks.
Adrenaline surged the message of fight or flight throughout Starks’s system, as though he had a choice between the two. A new feeling came over him: He was goddamn tired of feeling afraid. People could sense fear, read it on a person’s face, smell it on them. If he didn’t get his act together, he risked becoming one or more inmate’s bitch. Or be gang-raped. Or killed.
His thoughts raced and he resisted looking back as he made his way into the prison.
Landers impressed him yet again. The other guards always started the hour when they opened his cell door. If they could shortchange his time, even if by just a few minutes, they did. Landers had waited to start the hour once he got outside.
He’d always thought grand gestures were what made a difference. The significance of the guard’s small kindnesses was like manna delivered in the desert.
He felt the first spark of—what? encouragement—something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.
CHAPTER 35
THE TRUTH, STARKS realized back in his cell, was that he’d given little thought to Bo during his time in isolation, a true case of “out of sight, out of mind.” Seeing Bo brought something home to him: if the gang leader didn’t get him, one of his gang members would.
He’d caught Bo by surprise in that attack, and he knew that wouldn’t be allowed to happen again. The inmate and his followers would be on alert from now on.
He could feel retaliation following him, waiting for him like something in the shadows. He was in prison for a long time. They all were. All Bo or anyone needed was an opportunity—or an arrangement with the right guards.
Sure, he’d demonstrated that he, too, was capable of violence but he’d never initiated it. He’d always been provoked.
Maybe he needed to make a concession in this case: Kill Bo before the man killed him. But that solution was fraught with dead-ends. Literally. One or more gang members would surely go after him, if he succeeded. The idea of taking Bo out was nothing but wishful thinking, with no basis in reality.
Maybe there were other gangs at Sands that would include him as a member, protect him? Of course not, he chided himself. No one opposed Bo. Not if they wanted to live. And especially not if they wanted the contraband he could provide that no one else could.
Maybe if he attacked a guard, they might extend his time in solitary. But that didn’t guarantee safety either, including or especially with the guards who’d probably avenge their own, one way or another.
And he was fairly certain the chance that another inmate would kill Bo, for whatever reason, was zero. Even if someone else did the job, that wouldn’t mean Bo’s gang would let him get away with what he’d done to their leader. Eventually, he’d have to be made an exam
ple of.
Every idea that came to Starks’s mind was followed by a reason it wouldn’t work. The only idea he couldn’t argue with was that he should use some of his isolation time to build his strength. Letting himself get weak in any capacity wasn’t a wise way to go. They couldn’t keep him in isolation forever.
And, he decided, he should do something to strengthen his faltering nerve, as well. But that seemed harder to wrap his thoughts around.
He almost felt foolish for being so edgy. The rest of the week, after all, had been routine: meal trays of crappy food were slid into and retrieved through the slot; all the guards but Ted Landers insulted him; lights dimmed at night and brightened in the morning; one hour a day to exercise and shower.
It was during that one hour that he went on full alert. He felt somewhat safer when Ted was on duty, but knew not to trust that completely. Not that he believed Ted would betray him but that the out of shape CO could be overpowered, injured, or killed by another inmate.
That thought not only made fear return but intensified it.
He needed more people on his side.
CHAPTER 36
JAKES AND CAMELLO arrived to take him to his next session with Demory. Starks’s was surprised at how much he was looking forward to it: it was time out of solitary, and in a more normal environment, even if the counselor usually annoyed him.
He’d have to pass by the gang member’s cell again, so fixed his face into one absent of expression. Whether or not the man was waiting for him to walk by, or was even in his cell this time, it was smarter not to appear frightened or intimidated. And it wasn’t just the gang member he needed to show this face to, it was for every inmate who stood by to watch the show. Enough eyes focused on him that he wondered if tickets were being sold.
Starks sat in his usual chair in Demory’s office. As soon as the guards closed the door, he leaned over with his elbows rested on his knees. He took several shallow breaths then looked up. The doctor was watching him.
“How’s it going?” Demory asked.
“I’ve had better days.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really, Doc.” Starks leaned back, glanced around.
“I’m not a doctor.”
“I know. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll use the moniker.”
“Fine with me.” Demory sat forward, pen poised over paper. “We’ll get straight to it, then. Did you give any more thought to what we discussed last time? Feelings? Forgiveness?”
“Until you walk a mile in my shoes, Doc…”
“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
“Help me to what? Forgive? Screw that. You have no idea what I went through in the past few years.”
“I will, if you’ll tell me. I have an idea that it was traumatic in order to cause a man of your intelligence and reputation to end up sitting across from me. Starks, c’mon. A violent attack on the outside. A violent attack in here. Attempted suicide. That’s a drastic change for a man like you. If for no other reason, satisfy my professional curiosity.”
Starks dropped his head into his hands and moaned.
Demory tossed his pen onto his notepad. “Start somewhere.”
Starks stared at the restraints around his wrists. “I worked my ass off to give her and our children everything. Other than the long hours, she has no idea what it took for me to really build my first business then the satellite businesses, and to keep them profitable. She helped me at the start, sure. But at the first sign of success, she wanted more. I just never realized how much: Personal trainers for her and the kids, live-in nanny, Ferrari, mansion, expensive clothes and jewels—got them all. Stress-free life for her, burdens out the ass for me. Look how she repaid me.”
“How did she repay you?”
Starks slammed his hands on the desk, ignoring the dents the wrist cuffs made in the wood, and the fact that Demory jumped back. “She lied and cheated with not only Ozy but with other employees at her job. Yeah, they worked in the same office. According to Ozy, every man in his firm had his turn with her. More than once. Who knows how many others she was with who didn’t work there.”
“Do you know for a fact that was true?”
“Even if it was just him—which it wasn’t, it happened. And this went on for a long time. He told her he loved her and she believed him. And there I was, blinded by my faith in her and working my butt off while his only responsibility was to find a convenient place to fuck her then put his clothes back on and go home to the wife and kiddies. That’s the man she chose over her marriage and family.”
“Were her feelings for him the only reason for her choice?”
“She blamed me, as though I drove her into his arms and him between her legs.”
He slammed his fists on the desk again. “Who did she call when a fire broke out in the basement of our house—her house now, damn her—after we were separated? Not the man who supposedly loved and cared more for and about her than I did.” He slumped forward, and after a few moments said, “Ozy said she told him and every other man she was with that I never satisfied her in bed.”
“And you chose to believe him?”
“She told someone else I know. Someone reliable.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s true. Did she ever indicate this to you before all the—”
“Shit hit the fan?”
Demory smiled. “Did she ever tell you that she was displeased?”
“Quite the contrary.”
“Sounds to me like it was all talk, to annoy you. And it worked.”
Starks shrugged then stared unseeing at the ceiling.
“All that pain eventually went to rage when you felt betrayed, didn’t it?”
Starks turned his head away and stayed silent a moment. He cleared his throat before turning back.
“Only the people we’re closest to,” Demory said, “can hurt us that much. Even if we never get close to anyone, if we live long enough, someone’s going to hurt us. But if we never get close to anyone, that’ll hurt us, as well.
“Starks, listen to me. Pain is a part of life. We’d like to escape it, but that’s not the reality we live in. Emotional pain is worse than physical pain. We know what to do about physical pain. It can be healed or numbed. We rush to take care of it, get rid of it. Emotional pain is something we don’t always know what to do about. We often feel ashamed when we feel it, which makes it even worse. But we can’t escape it. Not in this life. And because we can’t escape it, we have to learn what to do about it in a way that’s constructive, rather than destructive.
“You’ll stay in trouble here, as well as outside once you’re released, if you don’t come to terms with this and figure out a better way. Let me work with you to make it an easier road to walk down.”
Starks stayed silent.
“Did you have any idea she was like this when you married her?”
Starks shook his head. “She wasn’t like this. Correction. That’s what she wanted me to believe. And I did. It was all an act.”
“And now you’re here.”
“And now I’m here.”
“I know it’s easy for me to say, but you need to adapt to being here as best you can.”
“I need to become or at least act impervious. To protect myself.”
“That’s not what I had in mind.”
“Then why don’t you tell me what the hell you’re getting at.”
“Do you think Kayla’s life changed in such a way that, as a defense mechanism, she turned cold toward you, felt she had to protect herself, even if gradually, over time?”
“I still don’t get your point.” Starks’s posture was rigid. “And you’re pissing me off, if you want the truth. It’s sounding like you’re taking her side.”
“Bear with me. I have a point, I promise. What was your and Kayla’s intimate life like?”
Starks’s jaw tightened. “None of your goddamn business.”
“I don’t want to piss you off. What I’m
asking you to do is consider more than just your side of what happened. Wait,” he held up his hand when Starks started to protest. “Let me finish. If the only side you see, if the only feelings you consider are yours, you’ll never heal your emotional wounds or your relationships. And you can’t deny you’ve been wounded; otherwise, you wouldn’t be talking and acting the way you do. I promise you that I understand your pain and humiliation and every other emotion you feel but you’ll never understand more than you do right now, about what led you to this moment, if you don’t try to understand her feelings, too.”
“Again, bullshit.”
Demory frowned. “I’m not blowing smoke up your ass, Starks. I do get it. But we have to start somewhere. You can start by looking at the names you call her. I have no idea what you called her or said to her in front of your children but from now on, I want you to imagine the pain and shame your children would feel if they heard you speak about or to their mother that way. Even if you feel she deserves it.”
“She deserves it.”
Demory let a minute go by before he spoke. “Look, you can’t erase the past. But you won’t heal if you won’t let it go. People make mistakes, just as you did. Most mistakes are made because people think it’s their only choice, wrong or not. You want to look for that place in your heart that allows you to release judgment of them. For your sake, if not theirs.”
“After what she did?”
“It’s always easier to see what another person does. Easier than seeing what we do. None of us are perfect. If we expect perfection from anyone, we have to, in turn, allow them to expect perfection from us. It just isn’t realistic. We can do the best we can, but we’re going to mess up sometimes.”
Starks swung his head up but remained quiet.
“Enough of that for the moment,” Demory said. “We need to get to the root of what happened, before you got here and since. I think you need to talk about it with an impartial listener.”
Starks fidgeted in his chair. “Fine. I guess we’ll see how impartial you really are.”
