Strange in Skin (3 page)

Once I saw my brightly lit house directly in front of me, I slowed my pace. Sammie was long gone.
The curtains were tied back in the living room, and I could see Matthew propped up in front of the TV
and my mother walking around the room, her lips moving slowly. More than likely she was singing.

I stepped in a puddle of mud as I reached the door of the mailbox. I moaned, my frustration
growing. I felt the cold, murky water seeping in through my shoe and drenching my sock.
Just great
, I
thought. I grabbed the mail and rushed up the sidewalk to the front door.

“Anna!” Matthew greeted me.
“Hey,” I said, bending over to take off the wet shoe.
“What now?” my mother asked, stopping her pacing to watch what I was doing.
I grunted in annoyance. “Oh, I stepped in a mud puddle getting the mail.”

She continued to watch me struggle to get my foot out of it. “Here, I’ll take the mail,” she offered,
stretching out her hand.
I quickly hopped into the kitchen on one foot and tossed the mail onto the counter. I went to turn to
go toward the stairs to go to my room to change out of my clothes, when my eyes caught sight of my
name on a small off-white envelope.

Ms Anna James, 305 Walker Lane. Then I glanced at the return address. Seneca County Prison. I
felt my heart skip a beat as I quickly snatched up the letter and put it under my arm before darting up
the stairs.

I turned the small gold lamp on that sat on my nightstand beside my bed and sat down. I stared at the
envelope in my hand for a moment. What on earth could this be? I tried to get my breathing under
control as I quickly tore at the top of the envelope to get it open. A small piece of notebook paper was
inside. I unfolded it and my eyes scanned the words.

Dear Anna,

My name is Emry Logan. I don’t know if you’ll remember me or not, but I was one of the men
you gave your father’s pamphlets to at the jail a little while ago. I hope I’m not being
inappropriate by writing to you this way. I have read over the pamphlet and have a few questions.
I was hoping you could come see me to discuss these things. I completely understand if you cannot
and want to stay away from me, but I believe that you may be the only one who can help save me.

Hope to see you soon.
E.L.

I sat there on the edge of my bed feeling suddenly short of breath. My head was spinning. Emry
Logan had written to me. He wanted to see me. A sudden gush of panic grabbed hold as the
realization set in. Buck had been right. I had said too much. From just a little information, he had
enough to track me down. How in the world did he get hold of my home address? He was trying to
find out more about me. He was trying to lure me in. Why? For what reason? He was a hunter, and I,
his prey. He was dangerous. He sat in that prison for a reason.

Ugh! I wanted to scream. My life had been so uncomplicated, and now it seemed as if everything
was going to change, and I was the one to blame. I should have acted the same with him as I had with
every other inmate. Why did he have to look so sad? Why did my emotions have to take control of my
head? I felt so naive.

I stood up. That’s it. I knew what I had to do. I had to take this letter downstairs and tell my mother
what had actually happened at the jail. I had to show her that Emry Logan, I mean an
inmate,
had
written me a letter. He was thinking about me, stalking me. She would call my father and he would
come home right away, rush to be by my side, and between the both of them, they would know what to
do. Maybe Buck could help them find a way to stop this man before things got even more out of
control.

I was halfway down the stairs, the letter in hand, before I began to scold myself. Turning around, I
ran back up to my room and read the letter again. I thought I heard my mother’s footsteps on the
staircase shortly thereafter and quickly folded the letter in half and tucked it safely away in the first
book that I picked up off my bookshelf.

You are so ridiculous,
I thought to myself.

Emry Logan wasn’t dangerous. Didn’t I remember his eyes?
Remember his eyes
, I commanded
myself. The face. His composure. Just a few weeks ago I had sat here and talked myself into what the
real reason was that he was in prison. Of course. He was an innocent man who had been unjustly
wronged. He didn’t do anything--could not have done anything. Innocence was written all over his
face. His sadness had pierced my heart, had filled me as if I felt it too. I wanted to free him of his
pain. He didn’t look like he deserved to be in there. The other men, yes, they
looked
like they should
be there. But not Emry. I refused to believe it.

I sighed and buried my face in my hands. What was I going to do now?

He wanted to see me. He wanted my help. He thought I was the only one who could save him. Save
him from what? Himself? Hell? And why would he want me over my father the pastor? He would
know exactly what to do and say. If he wanted help with knowing God, that is. But if he meant from
himself, maybe he thought of me instead. But why? How could I help him sort through his past? I had
no experience with anything remotely bad. I was not one who could properly counsel someone.
Maybe he thought he would be more comfortable with me than my father. My father could be
intimating at times, I supposed. He could get a very serious look on his face that could be
misunderstood as intimidating from outsiders who didn’t know him.

My parents definitely weren’t going to approve of this. Shame washed over me. I had never been
sneaky or secretive in my life. This I could not tell them. They wouldn’t let me go, and I felt now like
I needed to go. I needed to see what he had to say and more even, what I had to say back. Maybe I
wouldn’t have anything to say, but I had to go and see. I felt the impulse from the bottom of my
stomach, a spark that jumpstarted me to life and could cast all of these gloomy storm clouds away. I
felt that alive feeling again, and I didn’t want it to go away. I suddenly felt very selfish.

If Emry Logan was dangerous, I would march right up to him and see exactly what the danger was. I
couldn’t stand the thought of
not knowing
why he was in there or what he wanted from me. He
couldn’t hurt me. Look where he was and look where I sat. I was free, and he certainly was not. That
should be enough reassurance to know that I was not putting myself in harm’s way by simply talking to
a man behind bars.

And then I began to plot in my mind how I was going to betray my family’s trust. I already knew for
certain what my parents would think about all of this if they had actually known about it. They would
be 100% against it. I could already tell that after my mother sent me down there, I was pretty much
banned from stepping foot inside that building again. It was clear how abrupt the conversation had
ended and how angry my father had been at my visiting to the jail. I could not let anything slip or
anyone know what I was doing or else it would all be ruined. My little feeling of being driven to want
to do something for the first time in my entire life would be ripped away if I couldn’t hold it together
in front of them. I had to dig up all the deceitfulness from within myself and put on a good face for my
parents. They couldn’t know any different. It would hurt them too much, and it would steal away what
little bliss I was feeling at this very moment of desiring the unknown. I wasn’t asking for too much. I
just wanted to know someone outside of my sheltered box, someone different, someone interesting.

Confusion of what was going to happen filled the pit of my stomach, and I liked it. It was decided. I
was going to go see Emry Logan the first chance I got.

 

I stood up and looked at my face in the mirror and grinned. Then I wiped the smile away as quickly
as it had come and took off down the stairs to help my mother prepare dinner.

My scheming had to wait for a few days. I carefully planned it out at the store when my mother
would leave to make her rounds to all of the widows of the church with lunch, which she did once a
month. I peeked outside the antique store window as she and a few other women loaded up the back
of a suburban with boxes of Styrofoam bowls full of piping hot vegetable soup and others with salad.
These days the store was left in my hands. I knew that Sammie would also be working on this
particular day. She was checking inventory in the back and would appear periodically at the front of
the store with items that needed to be replaced. She would say something to me every now and then,
but I just kind of mumbled a response. My mind was far away, just a few miles, actually, down at the
jail where I soon knew I would be.

“Sammie?”
“Huh?” She looked up, her red pouffy hair bouncing as she did so.

“I have an errand to run. I shouldn’t be too long.” I knew exactly when visiting hours were at
Seneca County Prison. I had checked into it and double checked before I left the house this morning.
“You can manage for a little while, right?”

Sammie’s smile beamed as if I had just entrusted her with my life or something. It made me want to
laugh out loud, but I contained myself.
“Of course I can,” she squealed.

I doubted there would be many customers, if any, this afternoon anyway. A few snowflakes flittered
down from the dark sky, and the wind started to pick up. It was the beginning of winter, and most
people would be staying inside their warm houses all nice and cozy, not wanting to venture out to go
antique shopping.

I gave her a quick smile and reached for my coat. I felt the weight of it in my hand as I had just
pulled it from the closet this morning. It was my heavier coat, thickly insulated to protect me from the
winds that so notoriously whipped around Seneca during the winter months. I could feel the chill
settling in this morning and was glad that I had decided to bring it along. I glanced at my watch.
Fifteen minutes until visiting hours began, plenty of time to make it down to the other side of town.

When I reached my car, I realized that a customer had just gotten out of their car and was headed up
the steps of the store.
Great
, I thought. I should go back in there and deal with it, but instead, I didn’t.
I couldn’t waste a minute. Sammie could handle it.

The drive down to the jail seemed to take forever. The anticipation of getting there was awful. My
mind swirled with all sorts of things. How exactly was this going to work? Buck wouldn’t be there, I
knew that at least. This was his day off. But who would be working the front desk? What if they
recognized who I was? They would send me away immediately and probably tell my parents that I
had been there. What excuse would I give my mom and dad? But a more important question was
pressing upon me. How could I bear being forced out of the jail without first speaking to Emry Logan?
An uncomfortable fluttering filled my stomach as I started to feel physically sick.

I parked in the large parking lot behind the jail instead of in front of it like I had last time. The
outside lights overhead were on because the clouds were making it dark outside. I pulled my coat
around me and stuffed my hands in the pockets to keep them warm as I walked as quickly as my legs
would allow up to the front door. There was the same black button. There was the camera. And there
was that buzzing sound again. Click. The door was open, and I was in.

My eyes scanned the open room before me. There were a few police officers sitting at the desks
that had been vacant before. They didn’t seem to notice me. They were busy shuffling papers and
staring at their computer screens. I looked toward the plastic screen where a stout woman sat. I let a
large amount of air exhale from my lungs.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

 

I took a few steps closer and smiled. “Yes. Hi. Are visiting hours now?” Of course I knew they
were.

 

She looked at a large metal clock hanging on the wall behind her. “Yes,” she said. “Sign in here.”

I bent over the clipboard that she had handed me. There was a single piece of paper with a few
names scribbled on it already. It was asking me for my name, who I was intending to visit, the time I
arrived and my relation to the particular inmate of interest. I swallowed hard. There was that lump in
my throat again. This would be proof that I was here. Buck would know. If he didn’t discover it,
someone else surely would.

Think fast,
I ordered myself.
Think, think, think.

I wrote down a fake name. Amy Wright. It was the first name that popped into my head at the time. I
wrote down Emry Logan, 10:58 a.m., and relation: Sister. I set down the clipboard and flashed
another smile at the woman working behind the desk. Would she become aware of my being overly
nervous?

She smiled back though, making me feel slightly better. “Follow me,” she said and popped out from
behind the plastic screen, shutting half of a door behind her as she did so.

She led me to a separate waiting room where there were a few chairs. Some of the chairs were
already occupied with people waiting to visit other inmates. A few glanced in my direction, others
continued to sift through magazine pages. I sat and tried to keep my head and eyes down. My attention
drifted to the pale red carpet on the floor, and I felt nervous once again. What if they asked for ID?
They would want to see Amy Wright’s driver’s license and then what would I do? The fluttering
returned and I closed my eyes, trying to make the nausea disappear. I realized I was more nervous
about seeing Emry than about getting caught. What was I going to say to him when we were finally
face to face?

“Follow me,” a harsh voice said. I was suddenly startled from my daze and looked up at another
unknown police officer who seemed to be aggravated.

I followed the other people to another room that had a row of chairs and desks with a wide plastic
screen in front of each one that went all the way up to the ceiling. A large black phone sat on the desk
connected by a short cord.