Caged to Kill

by Tom Swyers

  While I have lost control of my life and there’s nothing I can do about it, I can’t live with myself if I don’t try to control my death. NO INMATE WANTS TO DIE IN PRISON. It’s like serving an afterlife sentence. While my actions in my life here on earth deserved a life sentence, my soul—the entity I’ve become over three decades—doesn’t deserve a sentence of eternal damnation behind prison walls.

  If I died in prison, I’d have no next of kin who’d claim my body. Any relatives that I have left are distant, they don’t know me and they’d have to pay my funeral expenses if they claimed me. If they didn’t try to bail me out in life, you can bet they aren’t going to bail out my cold dead body.

  I know you’d try to claim it, but I doubt they’d give it to you because you aren’t next of kin. That’s what the rule says and they’ll choose to enforce this rule. The last thing they’d want is an outside autopsy of me. Kranston wants my body because it’s also a show of power to every other inmate that there is no hope for them either. Everybody in the system knows me and they would know the system beat me. I can’t take the chance that they’d keep my body.

  Prison is all about crushing hope. If they have me, they’d bury me in a plywood box with some cheap marker that would disappear in a year. Nobody would be allowed to visit me. Not a chance anyone would put a penny on my headstone. I’d be six feet under and lost in some prison burial field. I cannot die in peace knowing that this was my fate.

  I want to die here in the Pine Bush. It’s a place I’ve grown to love. I never experienced anything like the sweet scent of the lupines and the dancing Karner Blues. You were right, David, I am like a pitch pine. And I chose to die by hanging from one of my own.

  They want you to believe that Kleinschmit died in an accident. Well, if self-defense is considered an accident, so be it. He came after me and I defended myself. We were locked in a wrestling match by the pool when we fell in. His head split open when it hit the pool’s edge. But I know nobody is going to believe the word of an ex-con over the life of a prison superintendent. When he just floated there without moving, I set the mare free and ran the same way she did.

  But don’t cry for him. At least he got the death penalty and wasn’t tortured. He deserved to die. My talk with him caused memories to surface in my mind. I recalled being electroshocked in the finished basement of his house. I’m sure of it. And David, you were right. The DNA doesn’t lie. I am Janet’s Nowak’s father. I remember that they raped me, stole my sperm, and implanted it in Edith Nowak. She was unconscious and lying on a table next to me in the basement. I’ve learned since then that the process is called electroejaculation. They use the procedure on impaired men who are unable to normally impregnate women.

  You see, Kleinschmit knew O’Neil had sex with Edith Nowak once (per your text) when she was under age. He knew he needed to have something to come of it to gain control over O’Neil. It would be leverage so he and the CIA could continue the brainwashing experiments. I don’t think O’Neil was part of the CIA op. It was going to be O’Neil’s child no matter what any paternity results said. Kleinschmit got in the middle of it and sold O’Neil on the idea it was his child. He brokered a deal that O’Neil could live with. Kleinschmit and Nowak would shut up about O’Neil’s indiscretion if he got Nowak a job and paid her off, and if he didn’t interfere with Kleinschmit’s experiments at Kranston. These deep, dark secrets cemented their relationship for all time.

  I regret that I’ll never be able to know and love my daughter. But it’s for the best. Please don’t ever tell Janet Nowak that I was her father. Let that mystery die with me. If she found out I was her real father, it would haunt her forever. I cannot ruin my daughter’s life the way mine has been ruined.

  I don’t want anyone to learn of my death, David. No funeral services for me. I want the system and the CIA to think I’m alive and well. I want them to hunt me until the end of time. I can die peacefully knowing that they’ll chase me forever and that they’ll never catch me. Serves them right. The idea that I’m alive and running free might give some cons in solitary the hope they need to survive.

  That’s where you come in, David. I don’t want you to bury me. I want you to have me cremated and spread my ashes in a field of wild blue lupines here in the Pine Bush. I’ve made arrangements with Steven Benson, Winding Brook Road, Gloversville, to cremate me in a large ceramics kiln he owns. He’s an ex-con friend who spent five years in solitary. He owes me big time. You can find him in the phone book. Take me there and he’ll take care of the rest.

  You’ll find sixty handwritten letters I’ve composed to Edmund O’Neil in my knapsack. I figured if he’s so afraid of his life being ruined by exposing his secret daughter, I might as well blackmail him from the grave to try and change the rules for solitary confinement. With Kleinschmit gone, he needs someone else in his life to blackmail him. Tag, I’m it!

  I already sent him one yesterday, with instructions not to retire. There’s a copy enclosed. Just pick and choose a few letters and put them in mailboxes around the state or other parts of the country every year, as you see fit. It will be our experiment to see if we can change the system from the top down.

  Be careful. Think about using a remailing service or dropping the letters in a rural post office box. Keep away from cameras. No licking envelopes or stamps. If you wear latex gloves when you touch them, you should be golden. Oh, and most importantly, I recorded the conversations I had with O’Neil and Kleinschmit on my cell phone. That’s also in my knapsack. Those recordings will provide some solid life insurance for you.

  In my knapsack, you’ll also find the carving knife I stole from you on the first day when I came to your house. I must apologize for doing that. I felt vulnerable that day. I felt like someone was going to jump me because I wasn’t used to being in open space environments. Of course, on top of it all, I had those wild thoughts about killing you, thanks to Kleinschmit.

  Don’t mourn me, David. Tell your family not to cry for me either. Trust me, I’m in a better place now. For the first time that I can remember, I’m free and truly happy.

  I’ll always be there for you, David. I’ll always be there for Annie and Christy too. I’ll be there in spirit. Look for me.

  Your friend forever,

  Phillip

  The three of them sat silently staring into the sand, not knowing what to think or say to one another.

  Finally, Annie spoke. “Do you think the letter is really from him?”

  David recognized the handwriting from the letters he received from Phillip while he was at Kranston. The pages were numbered just like the letters Phillip sent David. It was also written on the same type of narrow ruled paper. And Phillip always used both sides of the paper as he did with this letter. “Yes, it looks and sounds like it’s really from him.”

  “I don’t think anyone made him write that letter,” Christy said.

  “I think you’re right,” David said. “The CIA wouldn’t have let him write a lot of this. It wouldn’t be in their best interest. They certainly wouldn’t have let Phillip give us those recordings or those letters he penned to O’Neil.”

  “So it doesn’t sound like the CIA was involved,” Annie said.

  “No, I think he managed to elude them. To me, it looks like Phillip took his life on his own and this is his suicide note.”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything, Dad, but it looked like he died with a smile on his face.”

  “Yeah, I saw that. He did say he was the happiest he’d ever been in the letter.”

  Annie shook her head, took out a tissue and blew her nose. “Electroshock? Electroejaculation? Confinement in a box no bigger than my closet day and night? No hope for release, no matter what his behavior? I think it’s awful what they did to him. Just plain awful.”

  “You’re right, Annie.”

  “What do we do now?” Christy asked.

  “In his honor,” David replied, “I think we should do exactly as he asked.”

  “
Agreed,” Annie said.

  Christy nodded his head.

  “We’ve got to move fast,” David said. “People will be out on these trails soon enough. We’ve got to use this sheet of his to carry him out of here before anyone sees us. Annie, grab the knapsack and the EMT bag. Christy, grab the other end of the sheet so you and I can carry him out.”

  “I’m going to miss him,” Annie said.

  “Me too, Mom.”

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” David urged.

  As he and Christy carried Phillip away, David thought about the conversation he had with Phillip as the helpless baby bird lay under that very same tree a few months ago. When Phillip spotted it, he lifted his boot up and over it. He almost crushed it before David stopped him.

  “Were you going to kill that baby bird, Phillip?”

  “I want to put it out of its misery.”

  “It still has a chance, Phillip. The mother might tend to him.”

  “The mother needs to learn that she can’t save him.”

  Chapter 35

  Two weeks later, early on a Saturday morning, the four of them were driving in the Mustang on their way to the Pine Bush. David was behind the wheel, Annie rode shotgun, and Christy sat in the backseat next to Phillip.

  Phillip was contained in a 6” x 8” used Amazon cardboard box complete with its smile logo. Steven Benson, Phillip’s ex-con friend, had cremated Phillip’s body in his kiln. Then he sealed his bones and ashes in a plastic bag before packing him up. It was the last box that Phillip Dawkins would ever have to endure.

  An echoing silence filled the Mustang, as everyone in the car was lost in thought. After holding their own informal short service, David and his family planned to honor Phillip’s request and set his spirit free in a field of wild blue lupines. It would be the second memorial David attended that week in as many days

  Yesterday, he had attended a wake for Edith Nowak. She died the day after Phillip took his own life. The obituary in the Albany Times Union requested contributions to the American Cancer Society in lieu of flowers in her memory, though the same paper reported a week ago that she died from a gun accident in her house. Julius told David she had taken her own life; her closed casket confirmed that story. The events of thirty years ago, the electroshock torture, the messaging, all had claimed her before any metastasizing cells could finish her off. Estranged from her daughter Janet over the secret identity of Janet’s father, Edith had died with a broken heart in her chest and a .22 caliber rifle under her chin.

  Johnny McFadden stood in his dress blues just inside the door of the funeral home at Edith’s wake. He said his CO union rep had volunteered him for ceremonial duty at the service that would follow. David pulled him aside for a catch-up chat.

  “So, how’s it going, Johnny?”

  “Your friend Dawkins has caused quite a stir. Every available law enforcement person in the region has been out looking for him.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Julius had told David the same thing.

  “Well, I know better than to ask if you have any idea where he is. And if you do know, please don’t tell me. I don’t want that kind of information at this point.”

  “Why do you say that, Johnny?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me anymore because I’m looking for a new job. I need to get out of this line of work. The system spares no one, you understand? It eats at the souls of the keepers too. I’m treating my kid like she’s an inmate. My temper has gotten worse, according to my wife. I can see where this is going and I’m getting off this ride. I need to get out before it’s too late for me.”

  “There’s no chance of things getting better?”

  “There’s been a lot of chatter about changing the system for the inmates from the top down this past week. More so than usual. Some guys believe it will be better for us COs, but the old timers—the men in charge—are entrenched in their views. They’ve vowed to fight any change to the system that consumed their lives. I believe it will get worse before it has even the slightest chance of getting better.”

  “I understand. Good luck in your new employment hunt. Excuse me. I need to get in line here for the coffin before viewing hours end.” David wanted to pay his respects to Edith; at the same time he wanted to meet and console Phillip’s daughter. When it was his turn, he knelt before the polished wood box and said a prayer. Edith, I know you lived a life in anguish these past few months. I hope and pray that you’re at peace now.

  After he rose from the padded prie-dieu and turned away from the coffin, David looked at the receiving line that led off to the side. He saw Edmund O’Neil hug Janet. David realized he was there as her mother’s former boss, not as her father. He had his wife and family in tow beside and behind him.

  At a distance, David recognized echoes of Edith in Janet’s face. But right before he introduced himself, he saw she had Phillip’s fierce gray eyes. When she reached out to shake his hand, he saw and felt her large hands. Yes, she was Phillip’s daughter.

  “Hello, I’m David Thompson. I’m sorry for your loss. I had the pleasure of knowing your mother.”

  “Hello,” Janet replied. “I’m sorry; I don’t think I know you. Can I ask how you knew my mother?”

  “I knew her socially. She always spoke so highly of you. I just wanted to tell you that she loved you very, very much.” In relaying her mother’s message of love for her, David had fulfilled his promise to Edith Nowak.

  Janet’s eyes welled up and she smiled sadly through the tears. “Thank you. You don’t know how much hearing that means to me.”

  David spotted a brooch on the shoulder of her black dress. He’d seen it in the Pine Bush gift shop when he visited once with Phillip on one of their outings. It was a Karner Blue butterfly made out of stained glass and silver.

  David said, “I really like your pin.”

  “Thank you. You know, I received it in the mail a few days ago. I didn’t order it. It didn’t come with a note or anything. There was no return address. I have no idea who sent it.”

  “Ah, maybe you have a secret admirer then,” David said.

  Janet chuckled. “Now there’s a nice thought. I thought it was just sent to me by mistake. But I like your take better.”

  David longed to tell her that the jewelry was a present from her father, Phillip. He longed to tell her that her father loved her too. But he knew he couldn’t. Some things are best kept secret and this was one of them. He left the wake with a sense of satisfaction. One more door had been closed.

  When the Mustang entered the Pine Bush parking lot at 6:30 a.m. for Phillip’s last trip, David said, “Guess who I saw at Edith Nowak’s wake yesterday?”

  “Janet Nowak,” Christy guessed.

  “Besides her,” David said, as he positioned the Mustang next to the trailhead. The lot was empty for the time being. He held his peace, waiting for a response to his question.

  The three of them opened their doors to get out. As he swiveled in his bucket seat, David said, “Christy, could you grab Phillip please?”

  “Got him,” Christy said, as he grasped the box where Phillip remained.

  “We give up,” Annie said, as the four of them entered the trailhead. “Who did you see?”

  “I talked with Edmund O’Neil in private for a few minutes.”

  “What did he have to say?” Christy asked.

  “He withdrew his retirement papers from the state comptroller’s office. He plans to keep working as commissioner.”

  “That’s a shocker,” Christy said.

  “Phillip would be proud of him,” Annie said. “Where is Phillip’s lupine field?”

  “Just over this next dune,” David said. “A little further down the rail from where we found him.”

  “What else did O’Neil say?” Annie asked when they reached the dune’s summit. They stopped to catch a breath and take in the view. Soft early morning rays sparkled on the dew that clung to the wild grasses and flowers spread out before them.

&
nbsp; “He’s going to look into changing the rules for solitary confinement. Maybe create a step-down program where prisoners can transition back into the general population. He could even introduce a solitary confinement review process that’s actually fair. Look over there. You can see Phillip’s field through the trees. Let’s keep moving. I don’t want anyone to see us and question us when we set Phillip free. We’re probably violating some law doing this.”

  The three of them moved down the dune and past Phillip’s tree.

  “Wow, who knew that this O’Neil fellow could demonstrate such leadership so late in his career,” Annie commented.

  “I gave him a bit of a nudge. I told him that my recordings, lists, and all of my papers would be released through several law firms in the event anything happens to any of us. As far as he’s concerned, that includes Phillip. I told him to share this with all of his acquaintances on a need-to-know basis. I said we’d shut up if they left us alone.”

  “How did you arrange for that?” Annie asked.

  “I gave copies to Jim Fletcher and a few other lawyers in town. I wrote a long narrative about what happened in the form of a signed and notarized affidavit. Paid all the lawyers a hefty fee. They have everything in their safes and know what to do if something happens to us. But I don’t think we’ll have any problems. O’Neil doesn’t want this to go public and neither does the CIA. It’s the best life insurance for us our money can buy.”

  “Did O’Neil ask about Mr. Dawkins, Dad?”

  “Yep. I said I didn’t know where he was. Then I gave him the attorney-client spiel.”

  “Do you think they’ll actually make any changes to the system?” Annie asked.

  “I don’t know. O’Neil said it will be a tough sell because of the corrections officers union and the old timers in administration.”

  “Maybe it’s time for Mr. Dawkins to drop another letter to him in the mail,” Christy said.

  “Yes, perhaps Phillip can offer him some words of encouragement. After listening to Phillip’s recordings, it seems Mr. O’Neil is afraid that Phillip may move in next door and pay him and his family a visit. Maybe he needs a reminder of what’s at stake if reform doesn’t take root. But let’s not kid ourselves. Even though he’s the top dog, he’s only one man. And who knows how much the CIA is involved since Kleinschmit died.”