“That’s alright,” I said. “I can do this myself.”
Alice looked at me with a pained heart as she locked the cell door. I gave her an awkward smile and waved before sitting down on the hard metal bench.
“I’ll try and sneak you in some breakfast,” she whispered.
“We never keep anyone for more than twelve hours so we don’t
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keep any food around for the… prisoners, for lack of a better word. If you need to be kept longer than that… they’ll send you to the actual prison.”
Alice kept her word. The next morning, I woke up to hear the drunks moaning about smelling bacon with a hangover. I’d been there - greasy bacon is the last thing you want to smell when you’ve got a hangover. However, when you haven’t eaten for over twelve hours, bacon smells pretty damn good. I looked around for Lily - I’d forgotten she was there - but couldn’t find her. One of her customers probably bailed her out.
“Morning,” Alice said with a shiny smile. She brought me a takeout box with bacon, eggs, pancakes, and maple syrup. It smelled so good I forgot I was in prison and it didn’t register until after I’d scarfed the whole thing down that it was from Dairy Queen.
Sitting back on the metal bench, I sipped my orange juice and enjoyed the feeling of a belly full of fast food. When you’re starving, nothing feels that good.
“You were hungry,” Alice noted. I realized she’d been waiting for me. “Good thing, too. I didn’t want to rush you, but the others will be here soon, and I’d get in trouble if they knew.”
“Thanks,” I said, handing her the empty box. I sucked the last bit of juice from my cup before handing that to her, too.
“It’s nothing,” she said, suddenly very interested in the takeout box. “It’s just… I had a hard time when I was in high school. And… this one cop was really nice to me, you know? I promised myself that I’d be that cop someday. Everyone needs a hand sometimes.”
I smiled, a little confused, as Alice walked out of the room. Had she been in my situation before? Or something similar at least?
A few hours later, the cop who interviewed me the day before came to my cell.
“All the paperwork is done,” he said. “You are officially charged, and you’ve officially confessed. You are, of course,
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entitled to review by a jury of your peers.” The cop unlocked my cell and held open the door.
“Are you letting me go?” I asked, pretty sure the answer was no.
“I’m taking you to prison,” he said with what I could only describe as a maniacal grin.
“Oh,” I said quietly. I really was going to prison. I was following the footsteps of my father.
I was living my worst nightmare.
“You’ll await your trial there,” the cop said.
“How long until my trial?” I asked as he cuffed me and led me down the hall.
“Could be days, weeks… maybe even months. You know how long guys sit on death row? Sometimes they spend the rest of their lives there. Gives it a whole new meaning, you know?”
“Am I going to death row?” I asked, shocked. The cop chuckled as if his kindergartener had just told him a cute little joke.
“Not yet,” he said. “Alaska doesn’t have the death penalty as of today, but I’d sure as hell vote yes on it.”
I gulped.
“You never know. By the time your trial rolls around, you might be the first one we test the new drugs on.”
I knew the cop was just trying to scare me, but he was doing one hell of a job. First of all, he was suggesting I’d be awaiting my trial long enough for a new law to pass. Second, he was suggesting my case was already lost.
And, of course, he brought politics into it. That’s never a good sign.
“Strip,” the woman behind the counter demanded. She was a quite large Native Alaskan woman, and she looked at me with such an intense disgust that I started to hate myself.
“I said strip!” she repeated. “You deaf? Everything but your undies, now!” I slowly pulled my shirt over my head and laid it on the counter. She began folding it as I unbuttoned my
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jeans, feeling incredibly exposed. I also removed my shoes, which she placed on top of my now neatly folded stack of clothes.
“These are yours probably for the rest of your life,”
she said, handing me an orange jumpsuit, white shirt, white socks, and white lace-less sneakers. I got dressed again, a little more quickly this time because the room was pretty chilly.
“You’ll be in the juvenile ward tonight,” one of the prison guards said, leading me gruffly by the arm. “Chances are, they’ll move you to the adult ward after your trial.”
“What if I’m innocent?”
“They’re all innocent,” the cop laughed cruelly. “But they still get put in the adult ward.”
“Do you know why I’m here?” I asked. The guard was leading me down a very long hallway lined with office doors.
“We’ll be briefed if you’re dangerous,” the guard said.
“Otherwise, you’re just another inmate.”
“I killed someone,” I said. I don’t know why I mentioned it, it just felt right, like I’d get respect or something. My extensive viewing of prison movies was already kicking in, I suppose.
“Why?” the guard asked, his grip on me a little tighter.
“He was trying to kill someone I love,” I said. I must have been a little shocked looking - I was shocked I said it -
because the guard loosened his grip almost completely and stopped to look at me.
“You look familiar,” he said. “Have you been in here before?” I shook my head as recognition suddenly passed over the guard’s face. “I know who you are,” he said with a sly smile, continuing to drag me down the hallway.
“You do?” I asked.
“You’re Anthony Bell’s kid, right? Man’s a bastard, you know?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“This is the juvenile ward,” the guard said, stopping in front of a door. With his hand on the handle, he turned to look at me. “For your sake, I hope you are innocent.”
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“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked as he dragged me inside the door and towards a cell with only one occupant.
Most of the other cells already had two criminals in them.
“It means your father probably wouldn’t be too happy to see you. It also means I don’t think you deserve to die. If you think tonight is bad, pray to every deity you can think of the jury declares you innocent.”
“Wait, what?” I called. But the guard had already locked my cell and was walking away. “Come back!” I called. The guard looked back at me just before he closed the door behind him. His look was of pure sympathy, and I wondered what he knew about my dad.
“You’re going to be the warden’s pet, aren’t you?” said a voice behind me. I turned to see a guy probably about a year younger than me, but he easily had fifty pounds of extra muscle.
“No,” I said shakily. I tried to keep my voice steady, but the look on the guy’s face was really starting to freak me out.
“You better not be,” the guy said, standing up off his bunk to look me directly in the eye. “You want to know what we do to warden’s pets around here?”
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Chapter Two
I have never been so humiliated in my life.
His name was Eric, and he was my Native American male cellmate. He was also on steroids, though I have no idea where he was getting them from. He had spiky black hair and what I would guess most girls consider an attractive face. To me, his beady little black eyes and intense forehead made him look like an angry dog. But even in his frumpy orange jumpsuit, Eric’s muscles were visible through the fabric, and they were just as scary as they would have been co
vered in blood and gripping a chainsaw. His foot was probably bigger than my head, and he was a good bit taller than me. I consider myself pretty muscular, but I was sure this guy could not only bench press twice as much as I could, but probably do it with one hand.
But it wasn’t his intense size that humiliated me. No, it was his lack of creative punishment.
I didn’t get any extensive bullying as a kid, and I was certainly never the bully. In fact, I didn’t even witness that much bullying aside from name calling when I was growing up. But Eric had clearly been a world-class bully. If classic bullying were a profession, he’d be a very young millionaire.
The entire ward was laughing their asses off at me, and I felt like a girl for being so ashamed and upset. All I wanted was to spend a silent night, or week, month, however long it took me to get out of here, with my thoughts. But Eric had other plans.
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He gave me an atomic wedgie. I mean, I can’t believe my boxers could ride up my ass that far. If I hadn’t been in so much pain, I’d have complimented Eric on his exquisite skill in wedgie-giving. He almost got the waistband over my head.
Unfortunately, I was on the receiving end, and complimenting his skill probably would’ve gotten me another one. Instead, I wedged myself in the corner of our cell (to protect myself) and wrenched my boxers out of my ass. In that moment, I wondered why girls tortured themselves with thongs, and promised I would never ask any of my future girlfriends to wear them.
“Remember that when you try to rat on any of us,” Eric said calmly, sitting back down on his bed. “You get the top bunk.
And don’t even think about being a bed wetter. My last cellmate ended up at API.”
A little nervous, and wondering if that little tidbit was true, I quickly climbed onto the top bunk and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Probably doesn’t even know what API stands for,” I muttered as quietly as I could, rolling over with my back to the wall.
“Anchorage Psychiatric Institute,” Eric called from below. My eyes flicked open and I tensed for another attack, not realizing he could hear me over the roar of the other prisoners. “I bashed his head against the edge of the bunk. Cracked his skull.
Got myself six months of solitary. But,” Eric added, almost sympathetically, “I got the poor little shit out of jail and into a psych ward. Food’s the same, but at least you get to be high all day.”
I spent most of the day lying on my bunk, counting the pockmarks in the ceiling. At six, our cell doors automatically opened and all the prisoners threw themselves out of their cells and into the hallway, shuffling through the single open door into what my stomach hoped was the cafeteria.
It was.
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I was so hungry that I eagerly grabbed a tray and fought my way to the front of the line only to be rather disappointed by what I received.
The “chef” took my tray and ladled something on it. He called it beef stroganoff, but I’m fairly certain it wasn’t. At least, not remotely fresh beef stroganoff. The noodles were completely decimated and had an almost gritty texture to them, as if they’d already begun to disintegrate by the time they were cooked, which clearly wasn’t long enough.
I slid my tray down the line and came across some bread, which I eagerly reached for, only to be surprised when I realized they weren’t rolls, they were rocks. The bananas were almost completely brown, and the apples had so many bruises a worm wouldn’t touch them. There was also some expired yogurt that hadn’t quite begun to cop a smell, and some milk that had clearly been frozen within the last six hours. The only thing that looked appetizing was the water, which I assumed was clean because it was very clear and in brand new plastic water bottles.
I found an empty table in the back of the cafeteria and sat down to eat (or at least try to). The meat thing was pretty much inedible, but I did manage to eat some of the rock bread without breaking any teeth. The water tasted fine, and about half of the apple was edible, but I still felt like I was starving.
“Mr. Bell?” a gruff voice asked from behind me. I turned to see the guard who had dropped me off.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to need you to come with me, now,” he said, grabbing my arm. The other prisoners all turned to stare at me and I again felt very vulnerable and exposed. Their whispers were purposefully loud enough for me to hear.
“Why does he get special treatment?”
“Maybe they’re sending him to the adult ward.”
“Maybe he’s doing some side work to get better treatment. You know, for the warden? He seems like one of the pretty boys.”
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I tried not to look anywhere but at my feet as the guard led me out of the cafeteria and into a hallway lined with doors.
The guard stopped at the third door on the right and knocked.
“Yeah, you’re safe,” a guy called from inside. The guard let go of my arm and grinned.
“Don’t tell, okay?”
The room was clearly a break room. There was a refrigerator, a microwave, a sink, a dishwasher, some cupboards and counter space, and a table with five chairs.
“What do you like?” the guard asked, opening the fridge.
“We’ve got soda, pizza, milk, juice, coffee, salad, brownies, chocolate cake, enchiladas…” he pulled a container of what looked like chocolate cake out of the fridge and closed it to look at me. “My name’s Dan, by the way, and this is Mike,” he gestured to the guy sitting at the table before getting a tub of vanilla ice cream out of the freezer.
“Nice to meet you,” Mike said, looking at me over a newspaper. “My wife made those chicken enchiladas last night.
She’s from Mexico; they’re fantastic.”
“What’s going on?” I asked slowly. “Is this some kind of… test, or something?”
“Test? No, son,” Dan said with a hearty laugh. “We were all briefed on you. Sounded like a brave thing to do for a kid.”
“Oh… okay,” I said, sitting down at the table.
“Well are you going to eat? Dinner only lasts for another fifteen minutes.”
“You’re serious? I can actually eat something?”
“Why else would we bring you in here? Don’t snub it; none of the other inmates have ever even seen that hallway,”
Mike said, gesturing to the door I came in through.
“Cake?” Dan asked, holding a plate out to me.
“Uh, yeah, thanks,” I answered, taking the plate. The cake smelled so strong that my mouth began to water and I almost dug into it with my fingers until Dan handed me a fork.
“This is delicious,” I said through a mouthful of cake and ice cream. Dan chuckled.
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“Normally I’d brush that off, but seeing as this is your first meal here, your taste buds haven’t died yet. I’ll tell my wife you appreciated it.”
“Oh, please, do, thank her for me. And ask her to make more.” I continued to shovel the cake into my mouth until I was scraping the plate, which was only about two minutes later.
“More?” Dan offered. I nodded greedily and enjoyed another huge slice.
“Well, I better get you back,” Dan said a few minutes later, checking the clock. I had eaten almost the entire cake and felt almost as good as I had that morning after my Dairy Queen breakfast. “Don’t want you getting in any trouble.”
“Thanks,” I said, wiping chocolate off my mouth with a napkin.
“Tomorrow, you’ll get a much more rounded meal, how’s that? Mike and I work the afternoon shift, so you’ll have to suffer with prison pancakes… actually, here,” he handed me a protein bar from one of the cupboards, “this should tide you over until noon.”
“Thanks again,” I said just before Dan let me back into the cafeteria. The protein bar was in my pocket. “Surviving prison food would’ve been pretty tough.”
“I read
your file, kid. You did what you had to do. I don’t care what anyone else says; I believe you. Now get back in there, and if anyone asks, your lawyer was here to see you.”
I nodded and walked back into the cafeteria only to have all eyes on me once again. At South, I’d been fairly invisible. I had friends, and plenty of people knew me, but no one ever stared. At SAVE, no one ever looked at anyone because we were all ashamed to be there. So this was an entirely new experience for me, and it was definitely freaking me out.
“What was that about?” Eric asked, bumping into me so hard I slammed my shoulder into the wall rather painfully.
“My lawyer was here,” I lied, just like Dan told me to.
“My lawyer comes in through there,” Eric said, pointing to another door. “So does everyone else’s.”
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“It was a special visit,” I said, trying to get away, but knowing I’d just have to answer these questions in our cell later.
“What do you mean, special? Like a gay visit? You banging the warden?”
“I murdered someone in cold blood,” I said, staring Eric in the eyes, trying to look as menacing as possible. “Sometimes, that requires a special visit.” Okay so maybe I was lying a lot about the whole being a murderer thing, but if it kept everyone off my back, it couldn’t hurt.
Eric narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t believe me, but he backed off. I was able to spend the rest of the night in peace, and despite my rather lumpy mattress, I got a pretty good night’s sleep.
In the morning, I was rudely awoken at six AM by a very crude excuse for an alarm clock. It was unnecessarily loud and sounded like the fire alarms at South. I sat bolt upright, thinking the prison was on fire, when I saw the other inmates grumbling and crawling out of bed, waiting for their cell doors to open. I sat up and stretched as much as I could before climbing down and waiting next to Eric, who hadn’t spoken to me since I told him I was a murderer. We all shuffled down the hallway into the cafeteria, but I waited my turn in line this time. The “chef” served us half-cooked pancakes, microwaved bacon, and powdered eggs.
I ate my protein bar first, hiding it under the table and only daring bites when I was very certain no one was watching.
Night Prowler Part One Page 18
