Vicious (3 page)

The door swung open and I stumbled inside, heavily laden with groceries bags. There sat Beth, still in her sleep clothes, watching television on the sofa. She did not offer to help me with the groceries, nor did she ask if there were more in the car. She barely registered my presence with a glance in my direction.

I sighed. Would it always be this way? The answer was yes. Yes, it would. It had not changed much in three years, nor would it ever again. She was dead. I thought she might eventually pull herself out of it a little and mourn the way I mourned, but it was no use. She only resurfaced to reality to follow the latest anonymous tip or to print the newest set of flyers.

My wife was dead and my daughter was gone.

“Did you get any writing done today, honey?”

Silence.

Only the slight shake of her head told me what I already knew. Of course she hadn’t. She had not written a word in three years.

The pretty woman on the television was giving a report about the booming population growth. So many theorists paraded on the news nowadays toting the global-warming and overpopulation line that it was hard to keep them all straight. The message was all the same. We as a species were making too many of ourselves, and with new medicines coming out all the time, people were not dying off like they used to. Soon, the earth would no longer be able to sustain all of us. It was all gloom and doom. None of it mattered too much to me. I had been around for the Cuban missile crisis. I knew what mass panic felt like, especially when it was media generated.

I tuned in to what the reporter said when she began to talk about how this overpopulation phenomenon was affecting the prison system.

“It seems that the recent booming population has also begun to affect our already overcrowded prison system. Many prisons are so packed that they have been forced to release some criminals who were charged with nonviolent crimes early, but even then, the prisons in most cases are filled to double what their maximum occupancy should be.

Riots are at an all-time high. Most experts say this is a direct result of having too many people in a small space without a sufficient amount of guards to keep order. Several states have been petitioning for funds to build more facilities and begin training more specialized personnel to deal with these violent demonstrations.

In the midst of this chaos, it seems that one prison is setting an example. Just outside the remote town of St. Martinsville, Louisiana there sits the Coteau Holmes Correctional Facility. Coteau Holmes boasts zero riots and escapes in three years, and they have not released any prisoners before their allotted time. They admit that their prison is overcrowded just like any other, but due to diligence and some special programs that are unique to their facility, they’ve managed to adequately handle their burden where most other prisons are failing.”

Beth nodded in agreement. “That prison deserves a medal.”

That was the most she had said all week, and I agreed right along with her. We might as well have some solidarity in this house about something.

Chapter Four

Emery

The rickety old bus stopped just short of the giant chain-link fence that surrounded Coteau Holmes Prison with a loud squeal. The other prisoners groaned with disapproval because we had reached our final destination. I didn’t care as much. What was another three years to me? My lawyer got me off easy. Three years for armed robbery was a cake walk, and the funny thing was that I would’ve pegged that judge for a hard-ass. He had had that look about him, and I should know. I’d been in and out of prison since I was seventeen.

The others groaned because it meant this was the last bit of free air they would breathe for a while, but I knew that time inside was all in how you looked at it, and three years wasn’t so bad.

The guards came around and shuffled us into a single file line, and I exited the bus the best I could with shackles binding my hands and feet. I had figured a way to sort of swagger with the shackles in an attempt to come across menacing a long time ago. The more guys pegged you as a badass, the fewer problems you had later. The key was keeping your mouth shut, walking like you had nothing to prove and never looking anyone in the face unless they talked to you first. I didn’t know Coteau Holmes, but the basic rules seemed to apply everywhere I went. Surely this place was no different.

We were lined up single file outside the gate as the guards began to read off the names, and I immediately noticed a difference here. We were in swamp country, and even though the area for the prison had been cleared, there were tall droopy trees everywhere practically sweating Spanish moss. It was hot and sticky with humidity. Just walking out of your front door would make you feel dirty. However, it was not the heat that made this place seem eerie, it was the silence.

Normally, when new blood arrived at a prison, the other inmates gathered to see what was coming their way. Gangs would scout new members. Tough guys picked out possible allies and enemies. Some placed bets as to who would crack the first week. It was like our version of the NFL draft and the most entertainment we ever got. But at Coteau Holmes not one prisoner stood in the yard waiting for us, and in a strange way, the silence was deafening. In fact, there were hardly any sounds at all. There didn’t even seem to be any birds or animals nearby to break up the quiet. The constant cacophony of crickets and frogs that usually accompanied a swampy setting such as this was non-existent. All you could hear was the even whooshing of the wind through the trees. Nothing else dared to make a whisper. What was this place?

“Emery Thornton?”

The sudden sound of the guard calling my name made me jump a little. The break in the unsettling silence felt awkward and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Present, sir.”

He continued down the row, but I tuned him out. This place had me completely off my game. I was now glad that the other inmates were not out here observing. They probably would have pegged me as an easy target with the way I was jumping at things.

When role was finished, they walked us past the chain-link gate with the barbed wire around the top and through the gated yard. We passed inspection at the outside stone wall and proceeded inside. Once inside, it was routine as usual. We were deloused and given our new uniforms, bed linens and pillows. I looked at the rather tall inmate who handed me the pile of bright orange jumpsuits and said with disgust, “Really? They go with the bright shit here, don’t they?”

His eyes met mine with a look that I didn’t understand, and then he quickly glanced at the guard positioned about fifteen feet behind me. His eyes looked back to me frightened and wary.

“They are very comfortable,” he replied in a serious tone. I suddenly noticed how thin this man looked, and I began to wonder how bad the food must be here to warrant such a gaunt-looking figure.

That was all he said, and I moved on confused. Did the guards really have that much pull over these guys? Sure, I had been to places where the guards were given more free rein than others, but I had never seen another inmate be so afraid to joke about a uniform. I could tell that he had chosen his words very carefully before he spoke them to me. What had I gotten myself into? What had that judge said when he sentenced me? He had been willing to reduce my sentence even though I had been a repeat offender on the condition that I agreed to do my time here. At the time, I had thought nothing of it. Who cares what prison it is? I’d considered it a break to get such a reduced sentence, but now I was thinking that judge knew what he was doing. This place was different.

We put on our uniforms, and they lined us up again with our linens in hand in front of some large double doors. I looked down at my ugly new uniform and cringed at the thought of wearing it for three years. When they opened the doors, I knew what was next. This was where they walked you down the main stretch of hallway and assigned you your cell, but it was also where all the other inmates got a real good look at you. I was used to the taunts. They would try to make us crack by threatening us with various physical and sexual attacks. This was the walk down Broadway, so I prepared myself and took a deep breath with my emotionless mask held firmly on my face.

However, when we walked out into the bright lights of Broadway, we were neither greeted with taunts nor lewd remarks. The silence that had begun outside continued in here.

I squinted into the lights to see if there were any prisoners inside the closed cells. Once my eyes had adjusted, I saw that there were. The cells seem to go down the hall forever and were stacked in four stories. They all stood or squatted in threes and fours against their cell bars just looking at us in silence. Each one mirrored the same look of worry and concern as they watched us walk down the long hallway. No, it was more than worry. It was a look of defeat like a herd of cattle watching the rancher lead off a select few for the slaughter. What was this place, and would I even last the three years here?

The hall was ending, and I saw that we were headed towards another set of double doors that had a strange ominous feel about them. It was like they had no earthly business being placed in any building where people might live. They belonged in a horror film or a slaughter house. Something felt terribly wrong about going through those doors, and my heart skipped a beat and then began beating again rapidly. Panic seemed to fill me, and even though I had no reason to fear these doors, something about them frightened me to no end.

One unusually thin fellow on the second floor shook violently at the sight of us, and I looked up to meet his gaze against my better judgment. As soon as I did, his shaking began to get worse despite the fact that two other guys in his cell were trying to hold him down and calm him. He tried to scream something but was muffled by his comrades’ bony hands covering his mouth. The silencing in the cell started to become more of a wrestling match, and the guards stopped us at once while one ran up a nearby staircase to the cell where the skirmish was taking place. Four other guards were coming from other areas to meet him there. The man pulled free of his companions just before the guards reached him, and he began to scream at us.

“Run! Run now! Stop standing there and following orders! Just run! This place is cursed! You are all going to die!”

His two friends tackled him and yelled at him to shut his mouth, but it was too late. The guards had reached them. The four guards pulled all three men out of the cell forcefully and separated them from each other. The main guard who had been leading us inspected the three struggling inmates with little emotion.

“Take all three to the back.”

The words had no emotion but a definite hidden meaning, because it caused the three men to scream in terror and fight against the guards with everything they had. The men looked a little malnourished and the guards were overly fit, even for guards, so the battle was won easily as they dragged the prisoners down the stairs, passed us and through the frightening double doors. We stood petrified in our single-file line without knowing what to do next. Even if my brain could have told my body to run, I don’t think I would have been able to obey. I was planted silently in place, watching the main guard descend the stairs slowly as though he had not just sent three men to their death. I don’t know why I knew that death was waiting on the other side of those doors, but I knew it as a certainty. Their howling screams were audible from behind the doors and rang throughout the hallway, but it wasn’t until their screams stopped abruptly that my heart dropped into my stomach, and I shut my eyes in disgust.

“So,” began the main guard so suddenly close to me now that my eyes jumped open in shock, “it appears that we now have a vacancy for three.”

He seemed to be speaking to me, and I was instantly confused. Then I realized that I was in the front of our single-file line. He looked at me and the two men quivering behind me.

“You three are fortunate. This way please.”

We followed him like obedient dogs, but the reality of this encounter was not lost on any of us. We were beginning to understand that we were being saved from something horrible. Since we were too terrified to speak out in any way, we followed like cowards. Fear made me abandon my swagger without another thought and any attempts to appear tough went out the window as well. He led us up the stairs and down the hall towards the cell where we had just watched the guards wrestle three men to their doom. He pointed for us to enter the cell. “Welcome home, boys.” He shut the barred door that slammed closed with a click. The easy pace of heavy footfalls was all that we heard after he left us there in a room, and we looked at each other with unease and confusion. Three dead men, who were alive only minutes ago, had lived here, and their personal things still littered the room. I looked around the small cell and saw a few pictures on the wall, but I nearly threw up when I saw a child’s handmade birthday card sitting against one of the bunk’s pillows.

Screaming began again downstairs, and the three of us ran to the door to look down at the rest of the unfortunate ones. Shock must have worn off because now the guards were having to the push the rest of the new prisoners towards those deadly double doors. The sight was awful. They shrieked and scrambled to run away, but there were too many guards. Before long, they had managed to force all of them through the doors to their certain doom. When the last frantically grasping arm had been shoved inside, I knew that there was no hope for them.