by Susanne Beck
I hated every moment of it.
While the other children of the neighborhood were riding bikes, building tree-forts, having mock wars and playing kick-the-can, I was inside learning the finer points of baking muffins that would turn out airy and light every time. After time. After time.
Books were my only refuge from the world of boredom. I read voraciously, getting swept up in the fantasy worlds of Nancy Drew and the Bobbsey Twins, solving the mysteries of Encyclopedia Brown before he did, the list went on and on. Books were my island; my safe harbor in a world of confusion.
My father and I never bonded. When I wanted love and approval, I received remote coldness. I loved him desperately, and I know he loved me in his own way in return, but we were never close.
I know I broke their hearts when I eloped, and shattered them beyond repair when I took Peter’s life. Since his death, I’ve only seen my parents twice. Once was on the day of my conviction. I remember being shocked speechless over how old they’d gotten in such a short time. Or maybe they’d always been old and I was seeing them for the first time through the eyes of an adult. The last time was two years ago as of this writing, and it was just my mother I saw. She came to tell me that my father had passed away the previous month and that she was moving to Phoenix to live with her younger sister.
Though we met in the visitor’s room with nothing between us but time and cool reserve, she never once touched me, nor truly looked me in the eye. When I told her I loved her, she didn’t respond. I knew then that I was as dead to her as her husband was.
It should have broken my heart, but it didn’t. I’d finally grown up enough to realize that sometimes the families you made were as important as the families you were born into. And that was enough for me.
PART 6
THREE WEEKS LATER, I once again found myself in the library, though this time I was surrounded by Amazons. Bruised and battered Amazons, to be precise. The prison had exploded in a flurry of violent outbursts, each one larger and more destructive than the last. Pony had one arm in a sling, her fingers massively swollen and Sonny was sporting a truly spectacular shiner to go with her broken nose. Only Critter seemed to have gotten off relatively unscathed.
"Someone needs to talk to her," Pony said, wincing as she stretched. "We can’t hold the line anymore and the guards can’t either. The warden seems to be getting off on it, the idiot."
Several sets of eyes turned to Corinne, who held her hands up. "Don’t look at me, ladies."
The eyes then turned to me, pleading. I shook my head slowly. "I don’t think so, guys. She hasn’t been out of her cell once since she got released. You all saw what she looked like, half dead and three-quarters insane. I’ve tried twice already and almost gotten my head bitten off both times. Maybe someone else should try."
"C’mon, Angel. You talked her down after that fight with Cassandra. You’re our only hope here. If Ice doesn’t snap out of it soon, we’re all gonna be in a world of hurt." Critter’s dark eyes drilled into mine. "You know it’s true, don’t you? We need her. And we need you to get to her."
Breaking down under the weight of their gazes, I sighed, then nodded my assent. "Alright, but if I don’t come back down in a few hours, remember that I don’t want a viewing, will you?"
The sense of relief in the room was palpable and Critter gripped my hand as I rose to my feet. "You can do it, Angel. You’re the best."
"Keep on saying that, Critter. Maybe one day I’ll actually start believing it."
Turning on my heel, the weight of their hopes resting heavily on my shoulders, I left the safety of the library, once again a woman on a mission.
I eased my way up the stairs and down the catwalk, dreading what I would find. The day of Ice’s release from isolation had been a horrendous one for me. Like a teenager awaiting her first date, I spent the day in nervous anticipation, fixing my hair and pressing the wrinkles out of my jumpsuit so many times that I earned regular teasing cracks about my habits from Corinne and some of the others.
When I finally saw her, late that afternoon, she was practically being held up in the steady grips of Sandra and another guard I didn’t recognize. She was bone thin. Her uniform hung off her like a sack. Her skin was almost snow-white and her hair, once a luxurious mane, was brittle, snarled and lifeless. Her beautiful face sported a multitude of draining sores around her mouth and her eyes were totally bereft of any spark, any sign of the life within. They sat in deep hollows surrounded by circles of the darkest brown.
Almost moaning, I walked up to the trio, reaching out to touch this apparition that appeared in the guise of my friend. She actually flinched away and I cried out. Sandra sadly shook her head, gently pushing me away as they passed, heading for the stairs.
Horror-filled, I turned and rushed back to the library, laying into Corinne as soon as I saw her.
I’d been to Ice’s cell twice since then, both times to be chased out by the snarling, half crazed animal my friend had become.
Since then, I’d made regular trips to both the guards’ station and the infirmary demanding answers. None were provided me except the fact that Ice’s time in isolation had not gone as expected. When I asked why she wasn’t in the hospital where she surely belonged, I was ignored.
And here I was, trying yet again.
As I moved further down the catwalk, I was drawn on by the sound of soft humming. The tune was mournful but melodic and brought the sting of tears to my eyes. As I stepped up to the open cell door, I noticed Sandra sitting on the bed next to Ice, holding her hand and stroking her hair. On the floor beside the bed was a tray of half-eaten food and by the quality of the meal, I guessed that it hadn’t come from the prison’s kitchen.
Ice sat on the bed, her back against the wall, her head bowed and her free hand in her lap, repeatedly clenching it into a fist, then relaxing, only to clench again. Sandra’s soft melody filled the air. Warm tears spilled out of my eyes and I brought my hand up to my mouth to mask the sounds of my crying.
The humming trailed off as Sandra’s head lifted. When she saw me standing there, she smiled. "Angel! C’mon in! Ice, look. Angel’s here." When Ice didn’t respond, Sandra beckoned me closer. "Come, sit on the bed next to her. Take her other hand. Her nails are chewing the hell out of her palm."
Doing what she requested, I gingerly entered the rest of the way into the cell, then lowered myself onto the bunk. Reaching out, I grasped Ice’s free hand and, as gently as I possibly could, uncurled the tight fist, threading my fingers through her much longer ones.
God, her hand was cold as the grave! Where the heat of her had always burned a path right through to my soul, this coldness was frightening. I could feel small dots of blood where our hands met, the only points of warmth on our joined flesh. I looked as well as I could into her eyes, but there was no one looking back at me. Shuddering, I looked past my friend and into the compassionate eyes of the head guard. "How’s she doing?"
"A little better. At least I got her to eat something this time. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the world’s greatest cook, but anything’s better than the slop they feed us here."
Looking down at the tray, I could only nod in agreement. At least the items on the plate were readily identifiable, which was more than I could say about the prison’s version of food.
"Anyway, I was just telling her about Diane when you came in."
"Diane?"
Sandra smiled. "My daughter. Ice saved her life. Didn’t ya." When Ice didn’t respond, the guard looked back over to me. "My husband was a police officer who was killed in the line of duty when Diane was six. Since I needed to keep working to keep a roof over our heads and meals on the table, I’d drop her off at my mother’s before school and pick her up after I got off of work. It worked out ok for a little while, but my mother’s old and a bit frail."
Sighing, she adjusted herself on the bed and gripped Ice’s hand tighter. "As Diane got older, she fell in with a rougher crowd. Petty vandalism at
first, then shoplifting, then drugs. My mother didn’t say anything until it was almost too late. I’d come home so tired every evening that I didn’t see the signs, though I should have." She sighed again. "Then she got involved with a gang and I got a call from the police station one day while I was at work. It seemed she’d been the lookout for a home burglary and she’d gotten caught with the rest of her cronies. It was the last straw. The police agreed to drop the charges, but I knew she needed some help. So I brought her here. It was the first time she’d ever seen the inside of a real prison. Ice volunteered to help. She took Diane into a small room off the visitors’ room for about an hour. When my daughter came out, she looked a lot like Ice does now."
Sandra gently brushed the bangs away from Ice’s head again, smiling tenderly at my friend. "Though neither one have ever talked about what happened in that room, Diane never went back to her old ways again." Her smile turned proud. "She’s a sophomore at Stanford now, making straight A’s."
"Sandra, that’s wonderful!"
"Yeah, it is. And I owe it all to this woman here. When Diane heard that Ice’d been sent back to prison she was devastated. Kept saying that there should have been something she could have done to prevent it; to help Ice like Ice helped her."
"Not . . .her fault."
Both of our heads shot up at the hoarse, almost unrecognizable voice. "Ice?" Sandra asked, astounded. "Did you say something?"
"Not . . . her fault," Ice repeated, her eyes still hollow, her mouth working to form words. "My fault. Not her fault."
My tears, which had stopped falling during Sandra’s story, resumed their course down my face. Overwhelmed, it was all I could do to pick up the chilled hand laying in mine and raise it to my lips, brushing the softest of kisses against Ice’s knuckles. "Thank God you’re back," I whispered through the veil of my tears.
Just then, the sound of a muffled explosion filtered through to us, followed by an inmate’s piercing scream. Alarm bells sounded next, their klaxon call to arms echoing stridently through the entire building. Then, like a tsunami, came the ever increasing sound of triumphant inmates cheering.
With a muttered curse, Sandra, though hours off duty by this time, jumped from the bed and grabbed her baton. She ran out to the catwalk and looked down, then turned to us, the smallest touch of fear in her eyes. "It’s a riot!" she yelled to be heard over the sounds of screaming and the alarm. Running back into the cell, she laid a quick hand on my shoulder. "Watch her. I’ll bet my paycheck Derby’s behind this and this is the first place she’ll come."
"Well, well, well," came a harsh voice from behind us. "Looks like the butch little head guard has a brain after all, eh girls? Better pay up, butchie. It’s a sure bet you won’t be needin’ the money after we’re through with ya."
Sandra and I turned our heads to see Derby and five of her cronies standing outside Ice’s cell door, all armed to the teeth. Derby had appropriated a guard’s baton and was rhythmically slapping one end into her palm as she grinned nastily at us. "I always knew there was somethin’ goin’ on between you and the Ice Maiden, Sandra. I just didn’t know you pulled sweet little Angel into it too." Her sparkling gaze turned to me. "Tell me, Angel, do ya like the taste of guard-snatch? Does she make you scream the way Ice does?" Throwing back her head, Derby howled to the ceiling while her friends grinned and slapped each other like adolescent boys.
That did it. I rocketed up out of bed like my pants were in flames, only to be held back by Sandra. "No. Let me handle this. You just keep an eye on Ice, alright?"
Though I considered slipping out of her hold, I calmed my temper and nodded, finally. Grinning slightly, she squeezed my arm in a gesture very reminiscent of Ice. "Good girl."
"Yeah, you go ahead and listen to your Mistress there, little girl. Keep an eye on poor ol’ Ice, will ya? I want her all nice and het up when I come to break her fuckin’ neck."
With that, Derby hefted the baton above her head and stepped into the cell. Sandra spun quickly to meet the downward strike. The sound of wood hitting wood filled the room and the guard grunted from the stinging contact, but refused to yield.
Mustering her strength, Sandra pushed Derby back outside the cell, then moved forward to block the entrance with her large, wide body. I sat back down on the bed, grasped Ice’s still cold hand, and watched intently.
It felt very strange to be in the position of protecting the woman I’d grown to view as my own protector. At the same time, however, it felt very right, as if in some other time and in some other place, I had done exactly that. I wondered, briefly, why Sandra didn’t just lock the door with us inside, but the next thrust from Derby’s weapon drove that thought from my mind as Sandra was driven back a step. I looked quickly at Ice, trying to gauge her reaction to the fight, but found myself looking into the eyes of a woman lost once again.
Sandra managed to bull-rush Derby back outside of the cell again, holding her nightstick parallel against her body and taking on comers one and all. Reaching behind her like a relay-race runner, Derby received a shiv from one of her underlings and thrust it forward, trying to get past Sandra’s defenses. Breathing heavily, Sandra managed to block every thrust but I could tell she was tiring, especially when the other gang members started poking the ends of their batons through the bars, jabbing at her.
Still, she held her position valiantly, using her baton strictly for defense while trying to evade as many of the blows as she could. Her hair became wet with sweat and I could see the blood from several tiny cuts begin to well up on her flailing hands and arms.
When Derby began to tire, one of her cronies stepped in, shiv in hand, and began a vicious attack on the larger guard, scoring several hits in rapid succession. I could easily see that Sandra’s blocks were getting sloppier as the relentless pressure just kept coming in the form of armed, jeering inmates.
Coming together finally, the group gathered behind the lead inmate and pushed, en masse, forcing Sandra from her post at the door and following her into the cell, still swinging their clubs and knives with wanton fury. Sandra’s legs weakened and she fell against me, her own club dropping from a suddenly nerveless hand.
I saw my chance and took it, scooping up the falling baton before it could touch the ground and powering up from the bed. Finding myself face to face with a leering Derby, I twirled the baton then brought it down hard on the hand that held the shiv. The solid, polished wood cracked down hard on her unprotected wrist and she dropped the knife as she howled and cradled her arm. Following through on the blow, I caught another inmate in the chest. Her wheezingly expelled breath blew back my hair and I kicked her out and away from me, managing to catch two other women with the one move.
As the remaining gang members formed a wary half-circle around me, I chanced a quick look down at Sandra, who’d managed to make it to her knees and was shaking her head to clear it. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I’m ok." She sounded woozy and her face was pale.
"Just stay close to Ice. I’ll handle these idiots."
"Like hell you will, little girl," Derby snarled, grabbing another baton from one of her cohorts and coming at me with awkward left-handed blows. I deflected each crude thrust quite easily, turning her momentum back onto her and dancing out of the way when I could. I was quite conscious of the fact that I needed to keep Ice and Sandra at my back at all times and it was limiting what I could do.
Another woman swung a baton at me but I blocked it easily, the movement feeling more natural than it should have. Twirling quickly, I managed to catch another woman under the chin, snapping her head back and sending her into dreamland.
I heard the whistling of a club a split second before I felt the blow. Derby’s baton came down hard at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, instantly rendering my arm useless and numb. My own weapon dropped and a kick to my side sent me into Sandra, who collapsed back against the bed with me in her arms.
Derby was on us both in an instant, pushing away the other assailant
s in her lust to be the one to finish us off. Her good hand curled into a fist and she drew it back like a catapult, grinning fiercely at me as she did so. "This is gonna feel soooo good, fishie."
Trying to sit up behind me, Sandra inadvertently pinned my arms to my side. All I could do to avoid being punched in the face was to duck my head and hope Sandra had the same idea.
She didn’t.
As Derby’s fist pistoned forward, I ducked left and immediately heard the crunching impact of knuckles breaking a nose. It had become a sound I was well acquainted with during my time in the Bog. As Sandra moaned out her pain, I drew my knees up to my chest then launched them toward Derby’s ponderous gut.
Unfortunately for me, it was just then that Derby’s rarely used ‘quick-gene’ decided to kick in. She grabbed my ankles inches from her belly and, grinning evilly, yanked hard. I winced as my tailbone smacked down on the floor. Looking up, I stared at the sea of faces that surrounded me. They were all peering down at me with avid, malicious stares.
"Would ya look at this. Little Miss High-and-Mighty doesn’t look all that special anymore, does she girls."
The other women snickered and elbowed one another.
"Hey Derby," one spoke up, "how’s about givin’ us a piece before ya do her?"
"Yeah, Derby!" others chimed in, "save some for us!"
There was no way I was going to take that lying down, as it were. Levering my upper body up on my arms, I used a sweet little twisting move that Montana had taught me before she was paroled, then used the momentum to jump to my feet. My own fists clenched solidly, I delivered a rapid one-two punch to Derby’s belly, causing her to double over and gasp for breath. As she did so, I lifted my knee, wincing as it collided with her forehead, snapping her neck back.
