My Name Is River Blue

by Noah James Adams

  During my second month in Stockwell, Miss Martin had an opportunity to help me avoid serious charges after a fight with an older inmate, and she didn't let me down.

  At the time that I entered the detention center, Craig Krieger was the leader of a gang of white rednecks who bullied the kids in my pod. The detention center staff was supposed to assign boys to a pod by age, but Krieger and his friends were as much as three years older than I was and should have been housed in another section. John Malley, the senior corrections officer in charge, took bribes from relatives of the older boys to keep them safe with the youngest group in Stockwell. Most of Malley's supplemental income came from Krieger's older brother, Carl. In return, Malley provided special privileges and good reports that would shorten Craig's time.

  Carl Krieger had a reputation for running the local chapter of a lucrative drug operation, and police suspected him of numerous violent crimes in his efforts to rise to the top of the organization. Unfortunately, the gang didn't own any of the cops involved in Craig's arrest, which occurred shortly after he began his apprenticeship by selling pot at his school.

  In Stockwell, Craig Krieger enjoyed his role as the leader of the gang that ran A Pod, which should have been for the very youngest boys, ages ten to twelve years old. He had four tough kids who would follow his every command, and CO Malley made sure that nothing Krieger did ever made it out of the pod to the director or anyone else. Every young inmate knew what happened to snitches, and no one, except a foolish new boy, had the nerve to cross Krieger or the CO who protected him. All of the boys knew what had happened to one boy who only suggested that he might tell on them, and none of them wanted to look like that boy did when a CO found him unconscious in the shower room.

  When a new kid arrived in the pod, Krieger would usually leave him alone until after the boy's thirty-day evaluation period passed. State law mandated that a state psychologist interview each boy after his first month to evaluate his mental and emotional condition. The law also required that each boy have a physical exam by the infirmary doctor who would examine each boy at least annually thereafter.

  Thirty days was plenty of time for a new boy to get the word that Craig Krieger ran the place. When Krieger could stand it no longer, he and his gang would confront the kid at a time when much of the pod was watching. If the kid showed proper respect and subservience, Krieger would humiliate him enough to show the pod that he had another slave, but he would seldom physically hurt him.

  The kind of kid who excited Krieger was the rare new boy who thought that he was tough or assumed that if he yelled loudly that a CO would protect him. If Krieger were lucky, a new boy would fight rather than submit to a degrading act, and Krieger, with his gang backing him, would beat the boy senseless and still force him to comply.

  After my violent confrontation with Craig Krieger, he was admitted to the hospital, and I was locked away in isolation until they could bring charges against me in juvenile court. At the time, I thought I would get off light because I was defending myself against a boy three years older who never should have been in the pod with me. Until Miss Martin told me, I didn't know that Malley was covering his butt by claiming that Krieger was part of an older trustee work group who was serving lunch in A Pod. According to detention center policy, the boys in my pod were too young to work in the kitchen.

  The detention center notified Miss Martin, and by the time she sat down in the visitation room to speak with me, she had heard CO Malley's account of my fight with Krieger. At their meeting in Director Atkins' office, Miss Martin was heartbroken to hear of my unbelievably savage assault on another inmate, and she believed that any boy who would do such a thing had serious mental issues. She had little hope that she could do anything to help me since the senior CO had witnessed "the most vicious, vile, and unprovoked attack" that he had ever seen perpetrated by one juvenile inmate on another. Miss Martin believed that my actions were certain to cost me more of my life in juvie prison, if not in a mental health facility.

  A guard delivered me to the visitation room where Miss Martin was waiting to speak with me. My hands and feet were shackled to a chain fastened around my waist, so I limped and shuffled to her table and sat across from her. I could tell from her eyes that she was shocked by what she saw. I had not seen my face since I left the cafeteria, but Miss Martin told me that my eyes were blackened slits, my forehead and cheeks were bruised, my nose was swollen with crusted blood around my nostrils, and my lips were cut and swelled to twice their normal size. I knew one of my front upper teeth had broken off because I could feel the sharp edges with my tongue.

  At first, I said nothing. I knew I could be hurt much worse, if I snitched on a CO. I tried to sit straight and focus my eyes on Miss Martin. She asked me if I had any more injuries. I hesitated and she walked around to me and forced me to stand. She raised my shirt and saw that I was covered with nasty bruises. She asked if I was bruised the same way under my bottoms, and I nodded that I was. She was having difficulty controlling her anger, and she paced around the room twice before she returned to her seat.

  "'River, I know that I couldn't help you before, but I'm begging you to trust me now. You are facing some serious charges, and I need you to help me help you. Please, tell me what happened and what's been going on here."

  "What serious charges, Miss Martin? What did Malley tell you?"

  According to Malley, without provocation, I had assaulted an innocent inmate, injuring him badly enough that they called an ambulance to take him to the hospital. The CO casually mentioned to Miss Martin that when the COs attempted to bring me under control, I violently resisted and caused a few bruises to myself. Malley brushed them over as minor, incidental injuries that were routine and normal in such situations. He apparently didn't know it was department policy for Miss Martin to interview me and file a report. She said he grew pale when she demanded to see me.

  After hearing the lies that the CO told Miss Martin, I fully understood the magnitude of the trouble I faced. The fear of an extended sentence was enough incentive for me to risk snitching on Malley, Krieger, and his gang. I gave Miss Martin the background on how Craig Krieger and his gang terrorized the smaller kids by stealing their food and canteen items, beating them, and forcing them to do other things that were often worse than taking a beating. I told her what I had heard and witnessed about Krieger's relationship with Malley, including how Krieger bragged that his big brother owned the CO.

  When I told Miss Martin about my fight with Krieger, I gave her every detail along with an almost word for word recitation of what everyone said. A week later, she told me that my version matched almost perfectly with other inmate witnesses who were interviewed by state investigators.

  The incident took place in the cafeteria when all the boys of the pod had just begun eating their lunch. Initially, Malley and his junior CO were in the control room, but when the confrontation began, they moved to stand in front of the cafeteria doors where they took no more action than disinterested bystanders would have.

  I usually ate alone, and I had just sat down with my tray at an empty table when Krieger yelled at me.

  "Hey, new fish, I'm extra hungry today, so bring me your lunch." Krieger spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear, and the cafeteria grew quiet. Some of the boys were interested in watching Krieger break another new kid, but others kept their heads down and were thankful that Krieger wasn't speaking to them.

  I ignored him and continued to eat my lunch. Krieger yelled twice more, but I didn't so much as look his way. I was hoping I could finish my lunch quickly and leave, but the bully and several of his gang left their table and walked towards me. When Krieger grabbed the back of my scrub shirt and jerked me to my feet, I lost my temper and slammed my food tray against his chest. The older inmate stood there in disbelief with beans and mashed potatoes clinging to his scrubs. I heard a loud gasp from the spectators who were obviously shocked at my defiance. Their reaction made me think that I should have swallowed my prid
e and given up my lunch.

  Two of Krieger's gang, Colbert and Skinner, grabbed me and held my arms for the furious Krieger, who used both of his strong hands on my throat to choke me. My older attackers were too strong for me to break free of their grips, and I knew that none of the other boys would stand up against the gang to help me. I hoped that one of the COs would step in, but I knew differently when I saw CO Malley and CO Smith standing complacently in front of the cafeteria doors. Both of them smiled and enjoyed the entertainment as Krieger choked me. I briefly wondered if dying would be so bad, and I had the passing thought to just relax and go with it, but like most people, my instinct to live was too strong.

  I was growing lightheaded when I remembered what I did to escape Mr. Carver the night he walked me down the police station steps. As if I were passing out, I relaxed my body and felt Krieger and his buddies loosen their grips, allowing my body to slide downwards. I quickly eyed my target and with all my strength, I launched my knee upward and made solid contact with Krieger's jewels. He dropped his hands from my throat, covered his groin, and fell to his knees. I moved swiftly, elbowing Skinner in mouth and jerking free of Colbert. Before I could make it to the door, two more of Krieger's boys grabbed me from behind and wrestled me to the floor where they held me on my back for their leader who was attempting to stand. I was at the mercy of five older boys, one of whom was the insanely furious Krieger.

  While two of the gang held me flat on my back to the cold, tile floor, Krieger crawled atop my chest. The bully moved up until his knees pressed his weight down on my biceps, and his crotch wedged against my chin. With Krieger atop me and two boys holding my legs, I was helpless in one of Krieger's favorite positions, as he loved to humiliate his victim by rubbing his smelly crotch and butt on a kid's face. If he had gas, he would squat over the boy's mouth and nose while his gang encouraged him to expel his noxious fumes.

  "What should I do with this half breed pansy?" Krieger stared down at me and watched for the fear he enjoyed seeing in his victims' eyes.

  "Maybe start with him eatin' some spit and then piss in his mouth," suggested Skinner.

  "There's a broom over there against the wall. We could do a magic trick and see how much we could make disappear," offered Colbert.

  "Tell you what, fish," said Krieger. "I'm gonna give you a chance to say how sorry you are and give me a good reason not to fuck you up. Maybe you could make me an offer. Promise me what you'll give me if I don't hurt you too bad. You could start with the protein bars your caseworker bitch brings you."

  I knew that Krieger got off on humiliated inmates who promised him anything he wanted just to avoid a beating. Everyone knew about Giles, one of the newer boys, who promised to do anything if Krieger wouldn't hurt him. When Krieger heard the words he wanted, he beat Giles anyway and then cruelly abused and humiliated him. Although the boy had to be treated at the hospital, he was too afraid to snitch. Since there were no witnesses, there were no consequences for the gang's actions, which included violating the boy with a broom handle.

  There was no outside investigation because Giles was a poor kid from a bad home. His only relative didn't care enough to visit, take a phone call, or answer a letter. If I gave in, I would end up no better than Giles did, so there was no way in hell I would give Krieger what he wanted. Instead, I would take a beating and focus on payback. I would watch for even the smallest chance to show Krieger the furious hate he had harvested.

  "You better say something, pussy," demanded Krieger. He was frustrated that I was not begging him.

  When I still refused to speak, Krieger slammed his fist into my face, which caused my head to bounce off the tile floor. It hurt like hell. After each fist, Krieger asked the question again. After each question, came my silence, followed by another fist. My defiance continued until my face was painfully swollen. I could feel warm blood flowing from my nose and mouth, and I thought some of my teeth were loose. With a painful punch that turned my head sideways, I saw the COs still standing with their arms crossed at the cafeteria door. They watched Krieger beat me as if they were spectators enjoying a sporting event. I wondered how many blows it would take before Krieger knocked me out or killed me, and what lie Malley would tell.

  "Aw, look guys," said Krieger. "His mouth is bleeding. Let me help wash off that blood for you, pansy."

  Krieger slid backwards and lowered his face to within a few inches of mine. He began working up his saliva, bringing it to his lips so that his thick strand of drool hung precariously over my face and brought howls of laughter from his gang. The more encouragement his gang members shouted, the closer Krieger lowered his drool to my mouth.

  Krieger believed he was invincible. At only fourteen years old, he was already a heartless animal and the toughest, meanest delinquent ever to swagger through the halls of Stockwell where he was the uncontested king of his pod. In the communal bathroom, Krieger loved staring at his reflection in the long mirror over the sinks. He bragged that he was so hot that girls used to take one look at him and give him anything he wanted. He loved preening in the mirror almost as much as he enjoyed the sense of god-like power he felt when he rendered a younger boy helpless, beaten, and humiliated.

  As his gang cheered him on, Krieger rode a high that blinded him to the white-hot anger growing in me. I didn't just hate Krieger. I hated a long list of people who had hurt me. I thought of them all, and my rage burned though me until I wanted to rip out Krieger's heart. I settled for what was handy, and the fall from Krieger's throne was unbelievably quick.

  For just a moment, Krieger was confused when I raised my face up closer to the hanging drool. A half second later, I changed Krieger from king to a pitiful little boy who would have cried for his mommy all night long if the hospital doctor had not sedated him.

  With a loud grunt, Krieger jerked his head back and grabbed his bloody face. The cafeteria fell silent as his hands relayed the horrific message to his brain.

  Most of his nose was gone.

  I had ripped it from his face and spat it onto the tile floor like a distasteful piece of spoiled meat, leaving Krieger with only a bloody stump of bone and gristle on his once handsome face. It was a harsh blow to a vain teenager and ironic justice for a heartless bully.

  The next noise from Krieger began as the full-throated roar of a wounded animal before evolving into a bone-chilling, sickening wail that bounced off the walls of the cafeteria and sent mice scurrying back through the holes in the baseboards. He screamed for his gang to help him, but instead of offering any assistance, the boys backed away from where he still kneeled on the floor until they were a safe distance from Krieger and me.

  The boys stopped eating. Some ran to the restroom to give up their lunches while others hurled before they made it that far. Many of them sat astonished, mouths agape, as they saw me struggle to my feet to stand before Krieger, whose hysterical sobs came in waves that racked his body. With his hands covering his face, it was the first time I clearly noticed the white scars on his knuckles.

  I was painted with blood, some of Krieger's and some of my own. Witnesses described me as looking like one of the victims in a slasher movie. However, I didn't act like a victim when I attacked Krieger, who was still on his knees in front of me. I wanted to destroy him.

  Some of the boys said that I growled like an animal when I threw all of my weight behind a vicious knee-lift that struck Krieger underneath his chin. The blow snapped his head back with enough force that he landed flat of his back. My fury burned with no sign of slowing as I rained down hard kicks and stomps to the other boy's ribs, abs, and groin.

  It was not nearly enough for me to hear Krieger weeping and moaning unintelligible sounds. If the COs had not pulled me off him, I would have tried to kill him. I loudly cursed them for waiting until I was beating Krieger to break up the fight. When they took me to isolation, they beat me with a belt and threatened to do worse if I talked.

  I was honest with Miss Martin about everything except my intention
s for Krieger. When I finished telling her my story, I could see that she was angry. She believed every word I said, and she told me how uncomfortable she had been with Malley's shifty mannerisms and his difficulty maintaining eye contact in the director's office. She marveled at the nerve of the man who tried to explain away my injuries as bumps and bruises that were common when two trained guards had to control a resisting juvenile. She believed that Malley was living desperately in a fantasy world to think anyone would look at me and believe the CO's story.

  To test her theory, she called Director Atkins and told him that it was urgent that he join us immediately. When he began to question the necessity of her request, she told him that her next call would be to her boss, who would lodge a complaint with the state police and that it might look like Atkins was covering up a crime. When the director walked into the room and saw me, he realized that his career was in jeopardy. He regretted giving Malley autonomy over the operation and knew that he had been negligent in never checking up on A Pod.

  After Miss Martin and I brought Atkins up to date on what was happening without his knowledge in his own institution, I went to the hospital where I was treated and released. I had no major injuries and simply needed time to recover from the beating that Krieger and the COs had given me. When I returned to the detention center, I spent some days resting in the infirmary with a county deputy assigned for my protection. I remained under guard until the state police concluded their investigation. Miss Martin made sure that a dentist treated me for the broken tooth, and she referred me for appropriate counseling.