Redemption

by Phil M. Williams

  Jason glanced around, making sure nobody was eavesdropping. “I need you to know that I’m innocent. Whoever’s abusing Becky might still be doing it.”

  “Nobody’s abusing Becky anymore because you’re in prison.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I see her almost every day. She’s getting better.”

  “That’s good to hear.” He paused for a second. “I think you were right about your mom putting Becky’s underwear in the trash can. That has to be how my semen got on her underwear.”

  “I was wrong, and the jury disagreed with that theory.”

  “You could ask your mom. Maybe she’ll tell you the truth.”

  “Your attorney already asked her. I’m not going to make her relive the nightmare you caused.”

  Jason winced. “Please, Michelle. If you ever loved me, you have to believe me.”

  “Stop.”

  “You could talk to Becky. Maybe she’ll tell you the truth now. Somebody told her to say it was me. I need your help. Please.”

  “Are you done?” Her voice was still as cold as ice.

  Jason swallowed the lump in his throat. “Deep down you know I would never do this. I’m begging you. Please help me.”

  She hesitated for a moment. “If you have a single shred of decency left in your sick mind, you’ll sign those divorce papers and forget I ever existed.”

  His shoulders slumped. I’ve lost her. It’s over. “I’ll sign the papers. I won’t contact you again.”

  “Good.” Michelle disconnected the call.

  Jason slammed down the receiver.

  A passing CO glowered at him. “Watch it, inmate.”

  Jason walked back to his cell, his head bowed, replaying the conversation, reliving the coldness in her voice.

  Along the way, several inmates stared at Jason. One of them said, “Fuckin’ chomo.”

  Jason entered his open cell.

  Ronnie rose from the bottom bunk, his face and acne red with anger.

  “What’s wrong?” Jason asked.

  “I heard you’re a ch-ch-child m-m-m-molester.”

  “That’s bullshit. Who told you that?”

  Ronnie glared at Jason. “You think I’m s-s-stupid, don’t you?”

  Jason drew back. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “I saw a n-n-n-newspaper article about your t-t-trial. Everybody saw it.”

  Jason let out a heavy breath. “God damn it. It’s not what you think. I didn’t do it. I was framed. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

  Ronnie twisted his face in disgust. “You’re a fucking l-l-l-liar. I’m gonna g-g-get a n-n-new cellmate.”

  Jason showed his palms and inched closer to Ronnie. “You don’t have to do that.”

  Ronnie stepped back, shaking his head. “They s-s-s-said, if I stay w-w-w-with you, everyone w-w-w-will think I’m a chomo too.”

  “That’s bullshit. Duane already thinks that.”

  “N-n-n-no. He doesn’t.”

  “Please, Ronnie. I’m telling the truth.”

  “N-n-n-no. You’re not. G-g-g-get away from me!”

  Jason backed off.

  Ronnie pushed past Jason and left the cell.

  Chapter 47: The Most Hated Man in Cell Block C

  The next morning Jason dined alone in the cafeteria. He ate powdered eggs, a single sausage link, and a piece of white bread with no butter. Several inmates mean-mugged Jason, and a few hurled insults under their breath, but nobody touched him. Jason finished his breakfast and returned his tray to the appropriate counter. On the way he saw Ronnie sitting with a few inmates, who worked on the janitorial crew. Ronnie saw Jason and said something to his buddies. They cackled like jackals.

  One of them coughed into his hand and said, “Chomo.”

  Jason had the urge to punch Ronnie in the face. Instead, he walked into the hall and lined up along the wall to be escorted back to Cell Block C. While Jason waited for the rest of Cell Block C, he wondered who would be his next cellmate, if and when Ronnie transferred.

  ***

  In the afternoon, after work, Jason was escorted from the resource center back to Cell Block C. CO McCloud walked behind him, his heavy boots stomping on the linoleum.

  “You’re gettin’ divorced, huh?”

  Jason clenched his jaw.

  “We see everything you put in the mail before it goes out. I told you she was gonna divorce your ass. She’s a teacher, isn’t she?” McCloud paused, waiting for a response that never came. “She can’t be married to a fuckin’ chomo.” McCloud chuckled. “This is your life now. Stuck in this fuckin’ hellhole, where you belong.”

  Jason stopped at the security door for Cell Block C.

  McCloud faced Jason, close enough to smell the coffee on his breath. “I heard everyone on Cell Block C knows about you now. Tough break. You’re gonna need to grow eyes in the back of your head. Did I ever tell you that my dad still lives in Loganville?”

  Jason stared straight ahead, poker-faced, but his stomach lurched, and his underarms were sweaty.

  “I think I did tell you that. He’s a retired township cop. Gets the Loganville Times. Reads it every day. He never throws anything away, so he has piles of fuckin’ newspapers. He sent me a good article about your trial. I bet you thought you were gonna get off with your money and that slick-ass lawyer.” McCloud went to the door, signaled to the control room, and the thick metal door buzzed open.

  They entered the vestibule, the door locking behind them. McCloud whispered in Jason’s ear. “I bet you don’t make it outta here alive.”

  Jason clenched his fists to stops his hands from trembling.

  The door to the Cell Block C buzzed open, and Jason walked inside. He avoided eye contact with the other inmates. Laughing to his right caught his attention. He glanced that way. Jason was slack-jawed at the sight of Ronnie sitting and laughing with Duane and his buddies.

  Chapter 48: My Struggle

  Over the next two days, Ronnie hadn’t moved cells, but he still ignored Jason, spending his time with his coworkers in janitorial or even with Duane and his crew. On Friday afternoon, several COs escorted inmates from Cell Block C to the resource center. Five of the six inmates who entered the resource center went to the magazine racks or the computers. Erik the Aryan approached the counter with a crooked grin. His head had been freshly shaved that morning. Twice a week, the guards issued safety razors to be used by the inmates in their cells and returned within fifteen minutes. All razors were checked out, returned, and inspected. If a single razor was missing, the entire cell block was locked down, and cells were ransacked until they found the razor.

  “What’s up, Jason?” Erik said.

  Jason glanced at the tattooed swastika at the base of Erik’s neck. “Not much. Need help finding a book?” Jason imagined him reading Mein Kampf.

  “Your boy moved to a new cell. What’s that all about?”

  “He moved?”

  “Yeah. A couple hours ago. What’d you do? Try to fuck him?” Erik cackled.

  Jason dipped his head, not sure how to reply.

  “Guess where he went?”

  Jason shrugged. “I don’t know. I know he’s friendly with some of the guys in janitorial.”

  “He’s with that big nigger, Duane.”

  Jason knitted his brow. “How did that happen?”

  “I heard he asked for it.”

  Jason shook his head. “Why the hell would Ronnie do that?” Jason asked himself this question more than Erik.

  “That nigger finessed him. Said he would protect him. Said he reminded him of his little brother.” Erik cackled again and slapped the countertop. “He’s fucked now.”

  “Is there something that can be done to help him? He’s just a kid.”

  Erik scowled. “Like what? He made his bed. I wouldn’t worry about him, if I was you. You need to worry about yourself. Plenty of guys want a piece of you. You need some friends. Fast.”

  “No thank
s. I’m good.”

  “Are you?”

  Chapter 49: Regret

  That night, after lockdown and lights out, Jason lay on his back in the top bunk, his eyes closed. The bottom bunk was empty. Ronnie’s locker had been cleaned out, along with all of his things. Jason thought about telling a guard about Ronnie’s situation. Snitching could get me killed or raped or both. It could happen even if I don’t snitch. Jason tried to think of something else. He wondered how long it would be until he had a new cellmate. Hopefully the guy won’t be a psychopath.

  He fidgeted in bed, trying to get comfortable on the thin mattress. He thought about the trial. I still can’t believe this happened. I thought for sure … What the hell do I know? Jason inhaled, the air stale. I can’t do this. Not for twenty years. He did the math in his head. Three hundred and sixty-five days for twenty years. Seven thousand three hundred of these nights. Seven thousand two-hundred and eighty-six left, if you count today and the four days at the jail after the trial.

  Muted shouts and screams came from nearby cells. Jason covered his face and ears with his pillow. I’m hanging by a thread. I can’t avoid the predators in this place for twenty years. I may not make it through tomorrow. McCloud’s right. I’m not leaving this place alive. There has to be a way out. The only way out is through twenty years of hell. He choked up, on the verge of tears. He felt sick to his stomach. It’s psychosomatic. Think about something else. Anything else.

  Jason thought about Michelle, trying to remember the good times, and trying to avoid another sleepless night. He pictured her face, like he had every night since he’d been incarcerated, but the image wasn’t perfect. He concentrated, trying to remember her face in perfect detail, like a good photograph, but he couldn’t. She was already fading from his memory. He blinked, and tears slipped from his eyes. He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow to muffle his sobs.

  Chapter 50: Running with the Devil

  The next morning, after breakfast, Jason and the inmates of Cell Block C queued up along the wall, waiting to be escorted outside. They were given two hours of outdoor rec time, three days a week. His fellow inmates were loud and obnoxious, like children who needed to go outside and play. Laughing, catcalling, and heckling came from behind him.

  Jason turned to the commotion. Ronnie was the focus of their ire. Ronnie’s maroon smock was tied in the front, exposing his thin stomach. His pants were rolled up to his knees, exposing shaved calves. He even wore dark eyeshadow. His head was bowed. Duane was beaming with his arm around the thin teen, like he was with his girlfriend.

  A beefy inmate lifted his chin to Ronnie and asked Duane, “How much?”

  “I’m still breakin’ her in,” Duane replied.

  Jason cringed and turned away from the scene. He thought about snitching. The guards already know. They can see what’s happening, and they don’t care.

  The door to the vestibule buzzed open. Several COs allowed the first ten men to go inside, Jason among them. The door to Cell Block C shut behind them. Then the door to the hallway opened. The COs escorted ten men at a time to the outdoor rec area, making multiple trips back and forth from the yard.

  Jason walked along the wall, part of a single file line, chaperoned by multiple COs. Up ahead, the CO opened the door. Sunlight streamed into the hallway, the natural light mixing with the fluorescent. Jason stepped outside and surveyed the yard. Two blacktop basketball courts were to his right. Straight ahead was a gravel track, with a grass field inside the oval and short bleachers along one side. Beyond the track were two chain-link fences topped with barbed wire. A guard tower loomed over the yard, complete with a sniper.

  The other nine inmates went to play basketball, immediately claiming a court. Jason walked out to the track, enjoying the sun on his face. A breeze kissed his neck. He stepped onto the gravel track and walked. After half a lap, he started jogging. His slip-on shoes weren’t exactly running shoes, but they weren’t terrible. As he jogged, he remembered finishing second in the eight-hundred meters his senior year in high school. He was less than a second from being the state champion. His coach used to say, “You’re the maddest runner I’ve ever seen.”

  Jason always ran angry, often pushing himself to the point of nausea. At the time, winning was the only thing that made him feel good about himself. He had several track scholarships to go with his academic offers. He had vowed that he’d take his scholarship, make the most of it, and he’d never return to his family.

  He had taken the academic scholarship, not wanting to be forced to run to stay in school. Jason had joined the track team at Penn, but he quit after the winter season. It had been too much, along with working and his studies. He had kept his vow too. When his classmates went on holiday breaks, he had stayed on campus, worked, and studied. He hadn’t seen or talked to his mother and sister again.

  The preliminary hearing was the first time he’d seen them in eighteen years.

  Jason picked up the pace, stretching his long legs with each stride. The yard was filling up now. More inmates crowded around the basketball court. A few walked on the track. Some sat on the bleachers, playing cards, or simply enjoying the spring day. One wild-eyed inmate, who resembled a large Charles Manson, ran the wrong way around the track. He didn’t run with any pace. Sometimes he sprinted. Sometimes he jogged slower than a walk. Each time Jason passed the man, Charlie stared with eyes that appeared almost black. A small effeminate inmate jogged along the outer edge of the track.

  Jason pushed himself harder, running faster than he had in a decade or more. His breathing was labored, but his feet were still light, barely touching the gravel. Sweat beaded at his hairline and under his arms.

  An inmate from the bleachers said, “God damn. That white boy’s fast.”

  Jason continued around the circle, pushing harder, imagining the bell ringing, signaling the final lap. His legs and lungs burned, but he didn’t stop. He pushed through the pain like he always had. Part of him hoped his heart would burst, and he’d die on that track.

  On the final turn, Jason imagined the finish line up ahead. He imagined the effeminate jogger ten yards ahead of him was in the race. He dug deep to grab those reserves that he had buried deep inside, easily passing and lapping the jogger again. As Jason sprinted past the bleachers, more than a few inmates cheered. When he passed the imaginary finish line, he veered into the grass, fell to his knees, and vomited foamy scrambled eggs. It reminded him of track practice.

  The peanut gallery commented from the bleachers.

  “He’s throwin’ up.”

  “That’s nasty.”

  “That’s why I don’t run.”

  “You don’t run because you’re a fat fuck.”

  Jason spat and looked up. The wild-eyed man was running toward him. A piece of sharpened metal glistened in the sunlight. Jason was too exhausted to defend himself. He cowered and braced for impact. But the man ran right past Jason, attacking the effeminate jogger behind him. Jason turned to see the Charles Manson lookalike stab the jogger in the neck.

  When Charlie removed the blade, arterial blood squirted through the air. The jogger grabbed his neck with both hands and dropped to his knees. Jason gaped at the bloody scene.

  A siren came from the PA system. The inmates in the yard all lay on their bellies, their arms and legs spread out like an X. Jason did the same, knowing the rule. But Charlie was a man possessed, still stabbing the jogger repeatedly in his face, neck, and chest area.

  A shot echoed through the yard. Charlie dropped to his side, his legs splayed awkwardly. Jason locked eyes with Charlie. They were vacant. Blood leaked from the red hole in his forehead. Jason imagined his own lifeless body on the gravel.

  The peanut gallery lay on the ground nearby.

  One of them said, “That motherfuckin’ snitch had it comin’.”

  “Snitches get stitches.”

  “Shit. Snitches get kilt.”

  Corrections officers, dressed in riot gear, carried electrified s
hields and stormed onto the scene. The men of CERT—Corrections Emergency Response Team—found nobody to subdue and nobody to save. They were already dead.

  Chapter 51: Settlement

  The inmates of Cell Block C spent the weekend on lockdown, after the murder at the track. The COs ransacked every cell for contraband, specifically searching for homemade knives, known in prison as shanks. Several inmates were busted with drugs and homemade wine, made from fermenting fruit juice and crumbled white bread, but no shanks were found.

  On Monday, Jason met with his attorney in a private room. Jason sat across the table from Norman Tuttle. A guard waited in the hall, his block head visible through the door window.

  “Susan Murphy’s suing you for sexual assault and intentional causing of emotional distress,” Norman said.

  Jason nodded. “I figured this was coming.”

  “So, did I. With your conviction, she has a very strong case. I spoke to her attorney on Friday. They’re willing to settle for five million dollars.”

  Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t have near that amount of money.”

  “How much do you have?”

  “Around 2.2 million.”

  “What do you think about countering at one million?”

  Jason shook his head. “If I settle, I’m admitting guilt.”

  “This is a civil case—”

  “I understand that.” Jason thought about Susie telling Michelle that the settlement was an admission of guilt. “I don’t want to settle.”

  “We could offer 500,000.”

  “I’m not settling.”

  Norman frowned. “She might take everything you have.”

  Jason frowned right back. “That already happened.”

  Chapter 52: Gold Tooth and Face Tatt

  After work, Jason was led back to Cell Block C. He walked back to his cell, thinking about his meeting with Norman and the possibility of starting over. If I got parole in fifteen years, I’d only be fifty-one. With money, I could start over. I wouldn’t have to worry about getting a job with multiple felonies on my record. But, if Norman’s right, and Susie takes everything, I’ll be destitute.