Redemption, Retribution, Restitution
Page 42
The mobster pumped his hips twice against the fence, laughing at his obscene parody.
Ice’s control broke. Quick as a viper, she released her grip on the fence, only to clamp it down over Cavallo’s own fingers which were threaded through the links. His laugh turned into a screech, which turned into a howl of pain as Ice’s enormous strength literally cut his fingers into the thin metal bands. His blood began to paint the metal in ribbons of red.
"Release that man, Ms. Steele!" Morrison commanded, stepping up to the fence and trying, fruitlessly, to pry Ice’s fingers from Cavallo.
"You’ve got a big mouth, Joey," Ice snarled. "Somebody’s gonna shut it for ya one day. Permanently."
I could see that Cavallo badly wanted to respond. Unfortunately for him, he was too busy screaming.
Morrison took over that particular task. "It’s the hole for you, Ms. Steele. Ninety days, this time, for threatening civilians. I suggest you let him go right now before you spend the rest of your miserable life down there."
Ice ignored him. "You made a real big mistake, Joey-boy. Letting Warden Pious over there do your dirty work for ya." She shook her head in condescension. "You know that if you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself, don’t ya."
By the look in his eyes, I could tell that Cavallo knew exactly what Ice was referring to. If he didn’t before, he knew beyond a doubt that Ice was well aware who had set her up. There was fright in his eyes, shining through the pain like a beacon.
"Step away from the fence, inmate!" came the bullhorn-amplified voice of one of the tower guards.
I looked up and saw four of them, their high powered rifles aimed directly at Ice’s head.
As if she hadn’t heard, Ice increased the pressure of her fingers. "Just remember, Joey. Paybacks are a real bitch."
"Step away from the fence, inmate, or you’ll be shot! Release the civilian and step away. Now!"
With one last squeeze, and a scream from Cavallo, Ice released her grip and held up her empty hands, grinning. Taking two careful, deliberate steps back from the fence, she winked at the mobster, then turned.
Our gazes locked as she completed her turn and the world began to spin in slow motion. From the corner of my eye, I could see Cavallo reach beneath his coat with his good, right hand.
"Ice!" I launched myself at her, aiming for her legs. "Nooooo!"
Her eyes widened in question.
The sound of a gun firing, oddly flat in the turbulent air.
The question turned to shock as a bloom of red stained the small, burned hole that suddenly appeared in the upper left chest of her jumpsuit. She looked down, then back at me.
Then her eyes went as empty as they were in my dream and she crumpled to the ground silently.
I landed on top of her, screaming.
I pulled myself away quickly, slapping at my tears as I turned her over onto her back. "Oh God, no. Ice, no. Please. Oh God."
Blood pumped out of the exit wound in slow, sluggish bursts. But that meant that she was still alive. Pressing one hand over the hole in her chest, I used my free one to stroke the hair back from her face. "Oh God, please wake up, Ice. Please don’t die on me. Please. Don’t do this to me. Please. Oh God. Oh God."
I was panicking, and I knew it. But I couldn’t seem to stop. Blood welled up in the spaces between my fingers, painting me with its heated vibrancy. "Don’t you die on me, Morgan Steele. Don’t you dare die on me!"
The sound of running footsteps caused me to look up. The pale, scared faces of Sonny, Pony and Critter stared down at me.
"Oh fuck!" Pony grunted, squatting beside me and pushing her own hand down on top of mine in an attempt to stem the bleeding.
"Get an ambulance!" I screamed, not even feeling the pressure of Pony’s hand against my own. "Now!!"
Nodding abruptly, Sonny turned and sped away, running back toward the prison in a furious burst. The shocked crowd parted easily to allow her passage.
"Are they gone?" I asked Pony, my rearward view blocked by her muscled body.
"Who?" Pony asked distractedly, her face grim as she increased the pressure on my hand.
"The warden and . . .the shooter."
My friend looked over her shoulder, still blocking my view of the fence and the area beyond it. "A car’s peelin’ rubber outta the parking lot," she grunted, returning her full attention to her task of slowing the bleeding pumping out of my lover with every beat of her heart.
"Thank God."
"What are you thankin’ God for? That might be Ice’s killer getting away!"
"She won’t die. I know it. She can’t."
"I wish I had your faith, Angel."
"You don’t need it. I have faith enough for all of us."
More prisoners came up do join us, crowding around and blocking what little light there was. Critter jumped to her feet and pushed the women back as several other Amazons wove their way through the massing women, surrounding us in a protective circle.
Some of the other inmates began to grumble. A clattering sound was heard and I looked up just in time to see a fist-sized rock bounce off the guard tower and land against the fence. Two more rocks flew past me, crashing against the metal frame of the tower.
"What’s happening?"
Grunting, Pony pulled Critter down and slapped her hand against mine. "These idiots were just looking for a reason to riot. Looks like they found one."
"But the guards didn’t shoot her!"
"That doesn’t matter. Just keep that pressure on. I’ll see what I can do."
That wasn’t a hard order to follow. If the atom bomb was getting ready to land on me, I wouldn’t have moved. Critter looked down at Ice’s marble-white face. "Is she . . . ."
"For now," I said, trailing my trembling fingers over my lover’s still lips. "Please hang on, Ice," I whispered. "I’m so sorry. Please hang on. Just a little longer, alright?"
Pony took some of the Amazons guarding us with her and I was now able to see more of the yard. The inmates reminded me of angry wasps, clad in orange. Their faces were angry, their postures tense, ready to explode with the least provocation. Isolated knots of violence flared up, only to die quickly. The crowd’s mood and actions mirrored the fitful breeze surrounding us perfectly.
The only thing keeping me in once piece was the feel of Ice’s broad chest moving rhythmically beneath my hand. She looked so peaceful, lying there. If I didn’t look down at my gore-coated hands, I could almost believe that she’d just fallen asleep in the yard. "Please wake up, Ice," I whispered, brushing back the windblown tendrils of her hair. "Please don’t leave me like this, alright? I love you. And I know you love me. So . . .just wake up. Please."
The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the yard, and I watched as very nearly the entire contingent of guards marched into the yard, batons in hand, grim expressions on their faces. Sandra broke from the ranks when she saw Critter, Ice and me, running toward us at a sprint.
"Who did this," she demanded, coming to a full stop and crouching next to me.
I looked at Critter, who looked back at me and shrugged.
"Come on, Angel. Who did this? Was it one of my guards?"
"No. No, it wasn’t one of the guards."
"It wasn’t an inmate . . . ."
"No, not an inmate either."
Her chest caved with her relieved sigh. "Then who? Who was it, Angel?"
It may have been the dire situation, but this time, I didn’t hesitate. Ice had asked to be given the chance to handle Cavallo on her own, and as long as she was alive, I was going to keep my word and give her that chance. I returned Sandra’s stare directly. "I don’t know, Sandra. I wasn’t standing close enough to be properly introduced."
Her expression showed her shock at my words. "But . . . ."
I used my free hand to clamp down on her wrist. "It’s not important now, Sandra. None of this is important. What is important is keeping her alive. So . . .quit with the questions and find out
where the hell that damned ambulance is, alright?"
Her eyes the size of saucers, the head guard jumped to her feet, and turned back toward the building just as the door slammed open once again. Three paramedics ran out into the yard, pushing a stretcher over the broken ground.
Within seconds, they were upon us, with their dented orange boxes and airs of polite, detached, professionalism. Pony and I were pushed out of the way and Ice was quickly loaded aboard the stretcher and buckled in.
When they raised the stretcher to its full height, I jumped to my feet, grabbing one of the rails. "Take me with you."
Sandra grabbed me from behind. "You know they can’t do that, Angel."
Pulling away from her grip, I turned on her, holding my wrists up. "Sure they can. Handcuff me. Shackle my legs. Send a couple guards with me to make sure I don’t try to jump out of the back of the ambulance. Just please, Sandra, let me go with her. She has no one else."
The head guard turned to one of the paramedics and my heart blazed with hope. "You taking her to County?"
"Yeah. It’s got a good trauma team. They should be able to fix her up just fine."
Sandra nodded. "We’ll be in touch by phone then." Reaching down, she gently released my grip on the stretcher, then tapped the medic on the shoulder to send him on his way.
"Wait!" I yelled, struggling to free myself from Sandra’s confining grip. "You can’t do this! Sandra, please! Let me go with her!"
Pulling me into a strong embrace, Sandra lowered her head to whisper in my ear. "You can’t go with her, Angel. You know that. You need to be strong, both for Ice and for the rest of us. These women are about one bad second away from exploding into a full-bore riot. If they see you collapse out here . . . ."
I knew she was right, and in that moment, I felt a red flare of hatred for her because of it. How could she expect me to give one care about the inmates or the guards or the potential for a riot? How dare she expect me to pretend like nothing was wrong while my heart was slowly dismembering itself?
But her embrace was warm and full and tender. And from within it, I was able to find the strength to pull myself back together, if only temporarily, if only to show the false face of confidence to the outside world.
Finally, I nodded and pulled away, wiping the tears from my face with relatively steady hands. "I’m alright. I’ll be alright."
Sandra smiled. "I know you will be. Ice is a strong woman. She’ll pull through fine. You’ll see. And when she does," cocking her head, she captured my eyes with her own, "the three of us are going to sit down and have a little talk."
* * *
The rest of the day became an eternal sea of wait and worry. I spent most of it near the guards’ room, jumping in anticipation and terror every time the phone rang. The Amazons came by regularly for updates, but aside from the fact that Ice had been taken in for emergency surgery, there wasn’t anything else to tell during those long, frightening, empty hours.
Then came the phone call I’d been waiting for. I knew it before Sandra even picked up the receiver. The certainty stole through my guts like a hurricane. I could tell she sensed the same thing because her eyes were deeply concerned, and her hand a little shaky as she picked up the receiver and cradled it against her head, clearing her throat. "Rainwater, Pierce here."
Her face remained carefully neutral as she listened to whatever was being said to her over the phone. This, of course, drove me almost to the breaking point and I actively resisted the urge to tug on her shirtsleeve like some preschooler trying to get her mother’s attention.
After several, non-informative minutes, Sandra finally gave her thanks to whomever was on the other end of the line, then hung up the phone.
"Well?" My heart was thundering so quickly in my chest that I could hear it in my ears. I didn’t want to hear what she had to say almost as much as I did.
Putting her hand on my shoulder, the head guard smiled. "She’s in recovery."
I almost slid down the wall in relief. "How is she?"
"Resting comfortably at the moment, the doctor said. The surgery went well. The wound wasn’t as bad as they had first thought. They had to do a little vascular repair, and she has some muscle damage to her chest which, the surgeon said, might give her some problems with her left arm, but otherwise, she came through it just fine."
"Oh, thank you God." I felt dizzy with relief. "Did she wake up at all?"
"Yeah. She was pretty groggy, but he said that she knew her name and all that stuff. They’re pretty positive about her full recovery."
"God, this is such great news!" Without thinking, I caught up a very surprised Sandra in an embrace and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I’ve got to go tell the others. Thanks!"
As I darted out of the room, I turned to look over my shoulder, smiling inwardly when I saw the intimidating head of the guards standing there dumbstruck, a finger resting on her cheek where I’d placed the kiss.
PART 17
ICE ESCAPED TODAY.
No, not from the Bog, though, from what I’ve learned in the past eighteen hours, I think that might have been her plan all along. Rather, she escaped from the hospital where she’d been taken after the shooting almost a week ago.
I sit here, alone in my cell, writing, as my friends cluster around an illegal black and white portable television down in the library, watching the live local coverage of the manhunt that’s gone on since word of the escape became known. The prison is ringed by uniformed police officers, all waiting for Ice to come back and murder the warden.
I know I’ll never see her again. I know that as certainly as I know my own name. The police aren’t looking to recapture her. They’re looking to kill her. And, wounded and hunted as she is, there isn’t much in me that has faith that she’ll foil them.
I started writing this entire story on the day she was shot as a way, I suppose, of keeping her close to me during the time we were apart. I’ve always enjoyed writing, and it seemed a good way to pass the time. I never knew it would be all I’d ever have; these words, these memories. They seem so inadequate somehow, given what I’ve lost today.
But, if words on a page are all the universe deems me worthy of, then I’ll continue through to the end, wherever that may lead me. I’m crying as I write this, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed. The words before me are blurred with tears, but if I can somehow write through them, these tears, perhaps I’ll be able to forget, just for a little while, that empty place where my heart used to be.
Know this, however, before continuing any further. Morgan Steele was (is, I have to believe she’s still alive out there, somewhere) a good person. If you have learned nothing else in the reading of these pages, know that she well earned her redemption.
* * *
Around one a.m. this morning, I was awakened from a sound sleep by two guards, males who I hadn’t seen before, grabbing me and pulling me from my bed. Cuffing my wrists together, they led me through the mostly silent prison and into the warden’s office. Morrison looked worse than I felt. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, his normally perfect hair was a mass of cowlicks and tangles, and his suit, normally impeccable, was wrinkled and ill-fitting.
"Where is she," he growled as soon as the guards had closed the door behind me.
He might as well have been asking me for the secret of life. "Where is who?"
"You know damn well who. Where is she!?!" Spittle flew in an unattractive spray from his snarling lips to land on the otherwise pristine surface of his mahogany desk.
Groggy and frightened though I was, I struggled to keep what little composure I had. "Sir, respectfully, it’s one o’clock in the morning. I’ve been asleep for a few hours. I have no idea who or what you’re talking about."
His fist slammed down on the desk, rattling the frame of a portrait showing him shaking hands with a well known Right-Wing religious political figure who’s name I won’t mention. I stiffened as the guards’ hands clamped even harder over my aching biceps. "That bi
tch, Steele! For the last time, where is she?!?"
"In the hospital!" I shouted out when it looked like he was going to come over the desk at me.
"She’s not in the hospital! If she was in the fucking hospital, do you think I would have pulled you into my office in the fucking middle of the night to ask you where the fuck she is?"
As I stared at the man, his eyes fairly bugging out of his head, I was struck with the sudden certainty that he was insane. Totally, completely, and without reservation. As insane as Cassandra, if not moreso.
And then it hit me. Ice was gone. She’d escaped. Part of me screamed out in joy while another sobbed in grief.
One of the guards shook me, and I realized that Morrison was waiting for an answer. "I’m . . .sorry. I can’t help you. I don’t know where she is if she’s not in the hospital."
This time, he did come across the desk at me, grabbing the front of my jumpsuit in his fist. "You’re lying, bitch! She fucking planned this escape and I know you helped her!"
Stunned, I shook my head, trying to make sense of my whirling thoughts. "Sir," I said finally, trying hard not to show him how truly frightened I was, "she was shot in the back. I really don’t know how that could have been planned. But if it was, Sir, I assure you that I knew nothing about it. I thought she was dead when she hit the ground. If all that was just a setup for an escape, it’s news to me."
I could tell by the look in his eyes that he suddenly knew I knew more than he thought, at least as far as the shooting went. Suddenly, I was faced with the overwhelming temptation to tell him exactly what I knew, just to see him squirm. And, perhaps, if the men holding me had been police officers instead of jailers who might, or might not, be in his back pocket, I might just have done so. Instead, I contented myself with letting the knowledge shine in my eyes.