by Susanne Beck
After making sure that I wouldn’t lose consciousness with the least of my actions, I slowly began to prepare myself for the day. The rough cloth of my prison uniform rubbed the raw welts littering my back and I used the pain to steady and center my wavering resolve. Come what may, I knew that the only way I would be able to face myself was to start my day under my own power and wear my injuries as a badge of honor for a battle well fought and hard won.
Deciding to skip a breakfast I would, by all rights, be unable to keep within the confines of my stomach, I headed, at a slow walk, toward my sanctuary, the library. As I walked, I took in the glances tossed my way, some filled with barely veiled sympathy, some with hatred, and some with a new sort of respect. The prison grapevine was apparently in good working order.
There was also a sense of excitement that permeated the prison, as if a very important event were about to happen and everyone but me knew all about it. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with me, while at the same time praying fervently that it didn’t.
Corinne met me before I even made it to the library door, catching me under the arm and leading me into the warm room with a hard sheen of respect shining in her eyes. Helping me over to one of the tables, she sat me down in a newly padded chair and bustled over to her hotplate, quickly returning with a mug of fragrant tea.
"Drink this down, Angel. It’s got some stuff in it that’ll help ease your pain."
I took the mug gratefully, bringing it to my lips and inhaling the steam with a sense of pleasure. It smelled of mint and lemon and something almost familiar, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I took a sip, groaning out my gratitude as the mellow taste soothed the rawness of my throat and warmed my insides. My stomach was apparently happy with the gift, for it remained steady and silent. "So, you heard, I guess."
Corinne smiled, her grin almost hard and predatory. "Sure did. Mouse’s arm is in a cast and her little friend won’t be talking clearly for quite awhile."
I winced. "I didn’t mean to hit them that hard."
Reaching out, my friend put a gentle hand beneath my chin, tilting my head up. "Don’t ever be sorry for defending yourself, Angel. They would have killed you last night if they could have. You managed to stop them, and put them out of commission for a long while to boot. Not bad for a night’s work."
I winced again. "I’m not proud of what I did, Corinne."
"You should be."
"Well, I’m not." I ended the conversation by taking another sip from the mug and tilting my head back, my eyes drifting closed. The fact of the matter was that my actions scared me. It’s one thing to know you’re capable of defending yourself. It’s quite another to realize that you have the strength, the skill, and even the will to kill another human being. I’d already done that once. I had no desire to ever do it again.
Corinne sat herself in the chair next to mine, placing a warm hand on my wrist. "I’ll cancel your teaching session for today."
My eyes popped open and I fixed her with a stare. "I’d rather you didn’t. I made a mistake by taking a shower alone. I paid for it. Those women don’t need to suffer for my ignorance."
"They won’t suffer, Angel. It’ll only be for a day or two, until you’re well enough to teach again."
Somehow I managed to straighten myself in my chair, leaning over just slightly to meet Corinne’s concerned gaze with a steady one of my own. "Corinne, please. I need to do this. I appreciate that you care for me, but I don’t want to be coddled, by you or anyone else."
After a long moment, Corinne threw back her head and laughed, her soft round belly jiggling in time to her mirth. "Well, well, well, our little Angel is all grown up."
I looked at her for a long moment, then let out a slow sigh. I even managed to chuckle a little. "Not really. For a minute there, I was worried that I’d offended you."
Corinne laughed again, shaking her head. Then she leaned over and engulfed my upper body in a hug that smelled of cinnamon and warm affection. "Don’t you ever change on us, Angel. You’re perfect, just the way you are."
"Thanks. I think." The words, spoken from the warm heart of a cold killer, warmed me right down to my toes. It was one of those unexplainable paradoxes of prison life, but one I accepted gratefully. Love, after all, is love and you learn to take it where you find it and be grateful for the giving.
Corinne finally released me and sat back in her seat. Looking closely, I could see that same sense of barely repressed excitement hovering around her.
"Corinne, is something going on here that I don’t know about?"
The smile that crossed my friend’s face would have done the Mona Lisa proud. "Could be," she allowed.
"Are you gonna tell me what it is?"
Her grin widened. "Angel, sometimes it’s good to experience certain things by yourself."
Shaking my head, I heaved a sigh of frustration.
"I think you’ll like it. You’ll see."
"Can you at least answer two questions?"
"Try me."
"Ok. Will this thing happen today?"
"If the prison grapevine is correct, yes."
"Alright. Does it have anything to do with me?"
Corinne’s thin brows knit together in thought for a moment. Then her face cleared. "Perhaps not at first, no. But I have a feeling that one day, it will have everything to do with you."
I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. "So, that’s all you’re gonna tell me, huh?"
My friend smirked. "Yep."
Any retort I could have made was cut off by the entrance of my two students, who walked in giggling and looking at me in a way I’d never seen before. Hero worship.
This time, I did roll my eyes.
Some three hours later, I found myself in a blissfully quiet library, taking a well deserved break. The session had gone only minimally better than the day before and I was beginning to despair over ever getting the basic concepts of English across to my two willing students. Several Spanish to English translation dictionaries hadn’t helped as much as they should have and my mind was too tired to think up something new.
Corinne sat behind her desk, her gray hair sparkling in the round, soft light of her desk lamp. The sound of her ancient fountain pen filled the air with its soothing melody and I allowed my whirling thoughts to calm. The tea had done immeasurable good and, all in all, I was feeling as well as could be expected, given my ordeal.
The comforting sounds of pen to paper combined with the ticking of a clock to put me into a light doze which was more healing than all the sleep I had gotten the night before. A different sound cut through my senses suddenly, causing me to bolt upright in my chair, my body groaning out its protest quite loudly. "What was that?"
Corinne kept silent, smiling that blasted enigmatic smile yet again.
The sound repeated, then became a chant as more voices added their strength to the harsh chorus. Then the noise of metal on metal wove through, keeping time to the voices. My eyes narrowed, trying to make out the words. I stiffened suddenly as I realized that the chant wasn’t a group of words, but rather one word repeated continually.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
Turning to Corinne, I struggled to get up out of my chair, thoughts of retribution by proxy tumbling through my scattered thoughts. In my mind’s eye, I could see Pony going up against Mouse and her gang with inmates standing around, cheering their favorites.
As she was often wont to do, Corinne appeared to read my mind and smiled a calming smile. "They’re not fighting. Listen closer."
Try as I might, I could only hear the word "fight" being shouted over and over and over again. I looked back over at my friend. "Is this the surprise you were telling me about?"
"Most likely, yes."
"But it’s not a fight."
"No."
"Then what is it?"
Turning her attention from me and back to her letter, Corinne smirked. "Only one way to find out, Angel."
Still not trusting my friend completely, I nevertheless managed to lever my sore body up and out of my comfortable chair and stand on my own two feet once again. "This better be a damned good surprise," I muttered half under my breath.
"Oh, it will be," Corinne smugly told her paper.
Shooting her a withering glance, I gingerly made my way out of the library.
The shouting and banging became ever louder as I made my way to the prison’s main square. If I haven’t described it before, the Bog is made up of eight levels of cells which run around an open central square. Two sets of winding metal steps, one on either end of the square, wait patiently, their railings rubbed raw of paint from the press of hundreds of hands.
As I made my way down the long hallway that housed the library and stepped out into the square, my vision was filled with hundreds of orange-suited inmates yelling, jumping and chanting in unison, their faces bright with excitement and anticipation. They had split into two huge groups, leaving a narrow alley in the middle, looking much like a gauntlet of old. Even the stairs were crowded with inmates all looking toward the far entrance with expectant expressions.
My lack of height compromised my vision, and by this time, curiosity was killing me. Like the Red, or to be more accurate, Orange Sea, the inmates before me parted to admit a grinning Pony who gently herded me though the crowd and up onto the first riser of steps. Critter and Sonny were also in attendance, and both grinned at me and slapped me on the arms, gently, in congratulations for surviving the beating of the night before. I grinned back happily. "What’s going on?" I shouted above the din.
Critter grinned. "You’ll see!"
Settling back and crossing my arms over my chest, I resolved to wait it out. The sound of the chant finally came together in my ears and I realized that the women weren’t yelling ‘fight’, but ‘ice’. I turned back to Pony, confused. "Ice?"
My friend simply nodded and directed my attention back to the far end of the square and the barred door standing there. My attention managed to wander at the exact second the chanting stopped and the cheers began, swelling in intensity until I was sure my eardrums were going to burst with the force of the noise.
Returning my attention to the waiting door, my eyes caught a flash of bright orange surrounded by the dun brown of guard uniforms. One of the guards stepped forward and grabbed the keys hanging from his belt, using one to unlock the massive door and sliding it open.
An expectant hush settled over the prison as the guard stepped back, hand on the butt of his baton, which was hanging from a loop at his belt. With a nod to his companion, he started forward once again. As they stepped through the door, the prison exploded into a cacophony of sound. Plastering my hands over my ears, I watched the spectacle unfolding before me.
The two guards stepped through with almost military precision, obviously well prepared for trouble. Then, walking a perfect half step behind, arms and legs firmly manacled, came the center of everyone’s attention.
I found myself riveted. The sounds around me seemed to fall away into silence, though my body continued to feel their vibrations. Standing at least half a head taller than the men surrounding her, a vision stepped into the prison proper, moving with a regal grace the likes of which I’d never seen. She seemed to command the room with the strength of her spirit, issuing a compelling summons I found myself unable to turn away from.
Her hair was black and shining, tumbling in violent waves down her back and brushing over shoulders so broad and perfect that they strained the orange jumpsuit that clung to her magnificent form like a lover. In that moment, I would have given anything to be that particular prison uniform.
Her face seemed carved of alabaster, a perfect rendering of some ancient goddess full of fire and fierceness, all slashing cheekbones and full red lips.
But her eyes. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never be able to describe the beauty of their perfection. Shining fierce and proud, they glowed the deepest blue of the hottest part of a candle’s flame. Or, perhaps, the center of a perfect block of ice.
With that thought, I came to realize the meaning of her prison name, and it fit her like none other has before, or ever will.
Her stare burned hot and cold at the same time, taking in the whole room while dismissing us all.
Closer she came on long, muscled legs that carried her like a predatory beast. Her guards followed like a retinue of fawning advisors, keeping her adoring public at a safe distance, lest she lash out, chained limbs and all, killing with just a thought.
Her gaze was straight ahead until she mounted the first step. Then, ever so slowly, her head turned and I felt the heat of those cold eyes as they engulfed me, drowning me in a pool so deep and so pure that I couldn’t help but go willingly to my death. Our gazes locked and I’m sure my face went white. An eternity passed in that brief second. Her soul called out and mine answered as visions spun out between us of past lives led and sacrifices made. All in the name of a perfect love that was never born and would never die.
The attention of the entire prison was upon us, but I had eyes only for her. She represented freedom in a way that even life outside the confines of this prison never could. I saw the blue of a perfect summer’s day in her glance and the promise of safety, and a tattered soul, and a love so deep, offered up in one brief look, if only I could gather the courage to reach out and take it.
My body followed where my mind had already lead and, quite beyond my conscious will, my arm lifted, reaching out to confirm with solid, human contact that this was no mere dream but a living, breathing reality that stood before me.
A flash of brown entered the periphery of my vision and I felt my arm being gently shunted aside as a guard stepped back, shattering the moment. A smirk curved the soft, full lips of my enchantress. With the raise of an eyebrow and the barest ghost of a wink, she turned her attention from me and headed up the stairs to the segregation unit, leaving me more bereft than I can ever remember being.
The sound rushed back, as if from a vacuum, and my head spun from the intensity of the moment. Pony caught me as I sagged back against the railing, the strength suddenly gone from my legs. As the prisoner was led into her new cell, the crowd started to break up and Pony and Critter each took one of my arms, leading me back down the stairs and toward the library, Sonny keeping close behind.
I remember very little about that short trip. The best metaphor I can come up with now is to liken it to the touching of an electrified fence unawares, being galvanized by the current, and, if lucky, living to feel the after-images as they tingle through your seared nerve endings.
So wrapped up in these strange new feelings was I that I didn’t even notice when we finally entered the warm dimness of the library. My new friends escorted me to my chair and parked me there, then grinned down at my dazed expression before talking quietly with Corinne and leaving me to my thoughts once again.
The next thing I can truly remember is Corinne approaching me with a mug of her famous tea. She handed it to me and I gulped almost the entire thing down, unmindful of the intense heat burning at my tongue and palate.
The pain hit a split second later, and I slammed the mug down, fanning my face as my eyes watered. My friend had the good grace not to laugh at my foolishness, but I felt like a child nonetheless. I know I blushed from more than the heat of the tea, and the scarred table top suddenly became an interesting work of art, one requiring my full attention and study.
Corinne patiently waited me out and, finally gathering up the tattered remnants of my courage, I chanced to look up, internally wincing against the look of gentle mocking I was sure was in her eyes.
Instead, her gaze was calm and compassionate and I sunk into it with a feeling of relief. "Are you alright?" she asked in a gentle, quiet voice.
"I . . .I’m not sure. I think so." Looking at her, I struggled to put my feelings into words. "What happened?"
Corinne smiled. "Ice happened."
PART 2
"WHO
IS SHE?" That one question suddenly encompassed all of me. It was something I needed to know as badly as I needed air to breathe and food to eat.
In answer, my friend rose from her chair and went back to her desk. Opening one of the drawers, she withdrew a scrapbook and came back to the table, sliding it in front of me. "That should give you some of your answers."
Opening the book, I looked down at the first newspaper headline and some of my feelings of recognition clicked into place.
Even if you’re not from this area, if you are old enough to have been able to read during the late nineteen sixties, you may remember the name Morgan Steele. At the time, she held the dubious honor of being the youngest female mass murderer in American history. By now, I’m sure someone has surpassed her record, but it was headline news for the time period.
Morgan was fifteen, and a child of the streets, when her best friend was murdered in a drug buy gone wrong. It’s said that Morgan was out of town on other business at that time, but when she came back and found out what happened, she went berserk. Stealing a gun from a pawn shop, the teen stalked the people who had murdered her friend and, almost a month later, trapped them all in a warehouse. There were sixteen members of a street gang in that warehouse that night. Morgan killed them all. When her gun ran out of ammunition, she went after the survivors with a tire iron. And when that broke, the finished the last teen off with her feet and fists.
Responding to a ‘disturbing the peace’ call, police entered the warehouse just in time to see Morgan snap the neck of her final victim. Then, her rage not yet spent, she went after the two policemen who tried to apprehend her.
She was shot five times and spent almost two months in the hospital before recovering enough to stand trial.
The verdict was a foregone conclusion and only the sentence sparked interest. Because she was a juvenile, the death penalty, though perhaps warranted, was not an option. Most thought she would spend her time in a juvenile hall until she reached twenty one and was released with a clean record. In a landmark decision, the judge passed a life sentence without possibility of parole, to be served in an adult penitentiary.
