by E. R. Fallon
11
Inside of the cool, dark building, another male guard approached. Camille could see the nametag on this one, Bailey.
“We have a new feisty one on our hands,” Bailey said to his taller colleague with a sneer. Bailey was on the thinner side, and looked older than his friend.
“What do you want to do with her?” the other guard asked Bailey, who seemed like the superior officer.
“A night in the hole should put her in her place,” he replied, still smirking.
The hole—solitary confinement—everyone knew about that dark, lonely place. Even Camille, who had never been imprisoned, knew of its existence from friends on the outside.
“Sounds good,” the guard who held her said, then he passed her into Bailey’s rough hands.
Camille continued to resist, and Bailey whispered into her ear, his breath warm and foul, “Don’t think I won’t use the baton on you because you’re a woman.”
Camille stopped resisting, and watched the other guard walking away into the dark distance. Where was she? In some kind of subterranean section of the prison where the hole was located?
“Are you gonna behave now?” Bailey asked.
Though she doubted he’d go easy on her either way, she looked straight at him and nodded.
“Good, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get to spend the night upstairs,” he said, grabbing her by the handcuffs and pulling her down the hallway, which was lit by a single ceiling light.
“Where are we going?” she asked to calm herself, though she already knew.
“You’re going,” he snapped at her. “Where do you think?” He smirked.
“I don’t give a shit,” she said.
“Sure, you don’t.”
They stopped in front of a tall metal door among other metal doors. Camille could hear someone coughing and someone else weeping faintly. Other prisoners.
“You’ll have plenty of company,” Bailey said with a chuckle, as he opened the door with one of his keys.
“I won’t be in here long,” Camille told him in defiance, as he opened the door and shoved her inside. “My husband will make sure I get bail.”
Bailey laughed to himself. “Keep telling yourself that.”
He removed Camille’s handcuffs, but left her legs shackled, making it difficult for her to navigate in her prison-issued sandals. She smacked the door as Bailey shut it in her face.
“Take these fucking things off my legs,” she yelled.
“Bye, bye,” he sang as he locked the door. He whistled as he walked away.
With the door shut, darkness fell in the room. Total darkness. Camille couldn’t even see her hands as she held them out in front of her. A tiny sliver of light came in through a slat in the door, which Camille assumed was so the guards could pass food and water to her. She hadn’t seen a bed in the room before the door closed, just a floor, which felt hard and cold as she sat on it. She struggled to maneuver with her legs shackled, but managed to lean against the wall. Something small and smooth began to crawl against her bare arm and she quickly pulled away. Whatever it was, she heard it scurry across the floor. Must have been an insect, perhaps a cockroach. She willed herself not to scream, but wouldn’t let Bailey hear her suffering. Not even a nasty bug could propel her to do that. Alone in the dark room, she could hear herself breathing, and the sounds of the other women in the rooms next to her, crying and coughing. She started to talk to the women. What else could she do with her time?
“Hello?” she called out in the darkness. She somewhat anticipated Bailey would overhear and yell at her to shut up.
“Hey,” a woman replied. “You’re new here?” She sounded older.
“Yeah. How did you know?” Camille asked.
“From the way you talked back to the guard, that Bailey asshole,” she said quietly, as if she didn’t want him to hear them.
“What’s the deal with him, anyway?”
“He’s bad, but not the worst. You scared?”
Camille wasn’t sure whether the question was genuine or a taunt. “No, I can handle it,” she spoke with confidence. “What’s your name?” she asked, having decided to ignore her earlier doubt. She wanted to have someone to talk with.
“Esther. Yours?”
“Camille.”
“Nice to meet you. Wish it were better circumstances,” she said with a slight laugh.
Camille smiled, but knew Esther couldn’t see her. “Who’s the other girl down here with us?”
“Don’t know her name. She sounds like she’s just a kid.”
“Was she the one who was crying?” Camille asked. The sound seemed to have dissipated.
“Yeah. Sounds like she’s just a kid,” Esther repeated.
Camille thought of Joy and wondered what was happening up above them.
“So, why they put you here? You talked back or what?” Esther asked her.
“Yeah, to this one named Neale, a woman. She was beating on this girl, who was new like me.”
“Neale’s a real bitch. Watch out for her, she’s the worst of them all.”
“Thanks. I’ll be careful.”
Once again, the sound of the crying girl filled the room.
“Hey, you okay?” Esther asked her.
The girl didn’t answer and continued to cry.
“Guess she don’t want to talk,” Esther said to Camille.
“Hey,” Camille said, trying to talk to the girl. “Are you all right?”
“No,” the girl finally replied, her voice heavy with emotion. “I shouldn’t even be in this awful place.”
“Down here or just in jail in general?” Camille asked.
“In jail. They say I assaulted my boyfriend, but he was the one who was beating on me, so I stopped him. What you girls in here for?” she asked.
“Knifed this bitch,” Esther said. “Knifed this bitch who was bothering my cellmate.”
“Oh,” Camille said, not really surprised. “She dead?”
“Nah,” Esther said with a chuckle. “Probably in the hospital or some shit.”
“What are your names?” the girl asked them.
“Esther.”
“Camille.”
“Camille O’Brien?” the girl said.
“Yeah, but nobody’s called me that in a long time, not after I married my husband, Johnny.”
“You two know each other?” Esther asked them.
“No, but I grew up in her neighborhood.” There was a pause amongst the women. “How about you, Camille, what did you do?” the girl asked, seeming uncertain, given Camille’s position of power. “I’m Stephanie, by the way.”
“You’re not going to believe it,” Camille said, wondering how much to disclose. “But I had my mother beat the shit out of me, to make it look like someone I hate did it to me. Obviously, I didn’t get away with it,” she said with a laugh.
“Why you hate her?” Esther asked.
“It’s a long story, goes back years,” Camille said.
“I think I know who you’re talking about,” Stephanie said.
“I don’t. Anyway, we got plenty of time to listen,” Esther said.
So, she told them the story.
“It goes back to my father. I never knew him. He was murdered by the grandfather of this woman named Violet. The grandfather was a gangster like my father. My father was betrayed by him.”
“I know of her. I know about Violet,” Stephanie said. “Seen her around the neighborhood. Never talked to her.”
“This all happened before you were born, or too young to remember,” Camille said. “But maybe you’ve heard the stories.”
“Anyway, after Violet’s grandfather died, she and her mother inherited control of the grandfather’s side of things. We’re all Irish. When I found out what they’d done to my father, I decided I wanted what they had. My Dad would have been in control of our neighborhood’s Irish section if it wasn’t for that bastard family. And I got control. Then I found out that bitch is dealing in
my neighborhood.”
“What’s her mother’s name again? What’s Violet’s mother’s name?” Stephanie asked.
“Catherine,” Camille said.
“Catherine McCarthy?” Esther asked, her voice full of surprise.
“Yeah.”
“She’s in here. She’s nasty. I’d be careful if I were you. Her and her crew got a mean reputation.”
“I know.”
“What you gonna do about her?” Esther asked, though not in a challenging way.
“Haven’t figured that out yet,” Camille said. “I’ll think of something.”
“Let me know if you need help,” Esther said.
Camille wondered whether the offer was genuine. “You hardly know me,” she said.
“I know, but I like you.”
“Yeah, me, too, I’ll help,” Stephanie said, although she didn’t sound very sure.
Footfall sounded in the hallway and Camille could hear whistling. Bailey.
“Hello, ladies,” Neale said, outside her door, surprising her. “I’m going to have to ask you to shut the fuck up. There’s no talking down here. You know the rules, Esther,” she said loudly. “Esther, you’ve been down here many times before.”
“Sorry, Officer Neale,” Esther said, as though she feared the guard’s wrath.
And Camille imagined that Neale was someone to fear, if she frightened the likes of a tough woman like Esther.
“What did you say, Esther? Say it louder, because I can’t hear you!” Neale shouted.
“I’m sorry, Officer Neale.”
“I’m waiting, Stephanie,” Neale yelled at the girl.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Neale,” the girl replied, her voice sounding fragile.
“That’s officer to you,” Neale snapped at her.
“Yes, Officer Neale.”
“How about you, new girl, Camille Garcia, or whatever the hell your name is?” Neale said.
Camille didn’t want to apologize to this bitch. It went against every bone she had in her body. But she knew that if she didn’t, she’d be spending another night down there in the dark.
“Yeah, sorry,” she mumbled.
“Come again?”
“I said, sorry,” Camille replied with more volume.
Neale tapped her baton against Camille’s door. “That’s much better, Garcia. Say, is that your married name? Now that I think of it, you don’t look Spanish.”
Camille didn’t wish to discuss her personal life with this woman, but she also knew that Neale expected an answer from her.
“I’m married,” she said.
“Garcia, that’s your husband’s name?” Neale asked.
“It is.”
Camille braced herself for a cruel remark about Johnny’s heritage.
“That’s very interesting,” Neale replied.
Camille wanted to retort and ask her just what she meant by that remark, but she held herself back. Sure, another night in solitary would mean that she wouldn’t have to face Catherine McCarthy just yet, but Camille wasn’t one to avoid a challenge.
Luckily, Neale dropped the subject and continued walking down the corridor.
“When are we gonna eat?” Esther called out to her.
“When I want you to,” Neale sang back.
Esther sighed. “We’re supposed to get two hot meals down here, and we didn’t even get one yet today.”
“How long have you been down here?” Camille asked her, her body filling with dread, with fear of being left in the dark, confined, unfurnished space without windows for more than a day.
“It’s been days,” Esther replied. “Days.”
“I thought they couldn’t put you down here for more than twenty-four hours. I thought those are the rules.”
Esther breathed out, like she couldn’t believe Camille’s naivety. “There are no rules in this place. The guards set the rules, and they do what they please.”
“Stephanie, how long have you been down here?” Camille asked the girl as panic began to set it. She stood up and paced back and forth in the dark, her hands colliding with the wall each time.
“Since yesterday,” Stephanie answered. “They were supposed to let me out this morning, but never did.”
“You getting scared?” Esther asked Camille, in a neutral way.
“No,” Camille said. “Just not used to this shit.” She figured that at least she hadn’t been crying like Stephanie.
“Don’t worry, you will be soon,” Esther said.
The women quieted as the hours wore on, and eventually Camille became tired, but she didn’t want to drift off the sleep on the floor, which she suspected was dirty although she couldn’t see it, so she stood, leaning against the wall, and closed her eyes. Just for a moment, she told herself. Just a few moments.
She awoke to the sound of something being pushed through the slat in the door, as light filtered in.
She heard Neale’s voice say, “Meal-time, princess.”
Camille grabbed the tray and Neale closed the slat.
She couldn’t see the food in front of her, but when she poked at it with her fingers, it felt cold, thick, and wet.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Esther’s voice said. “That it’s shit. It is, but you better eat it. You don’t know when you’ll get another chance to eat.”
Camille suddenly felt dirty. It was everything at once, the vile floor, the disgusting food which she didn’t want to eat any more than she wanted to be imprisoned, and this cold, dark place.
She sat down and ate.
12
At what felt like the next morning, but could have been later, Camille’s cell door opened and Neale entered.
“Time to go, princess,” Neale said with a wicked grin.
“What about the others?” Camille asked, concerned for them.
“They already left, hours ago. You must have been sleeping.”
Camille hadn’t heard the other cell doors opening, and she had no reason to trust Neale, but she had fallen asleep sometime during the night.
Neale put handcuffs on her then ordered her to move. Camille stepped out into the hallway after Neale.
“What happened to your face?” Neale asked her.
Camille shrugged, and Neale laughed.
“Eyes on the floor,” Neale ordered and motioned for Camille to walk ahead of her.
Camille scowled to herself then followed the order.
“What’s with the limp?” Neale asked her. “I noticed it before.”
None of your fucking business, Camille thought.
“Garcia, I asked you a question,” Neale said. “Answer me.”
“It’s from an old injury,” Camille muttered, then she thought she heard Neale chuckle softly to herself. Bitch.
Neale ordered her to stop when they came to a door, and reached around Camille and unlocked it. Then she stepped to the front, opened the door, and demanded that Camille follow her outside.
From being in the total darkness overnight, the daylight hurt Camille’s eyes. She trailed Officer Neale across the large courtyard, with the sun warming her cold skin, where a few women were playing basketball, and others stood in groups chatting. She followed Neale inside the prison, past what looked like an empty cafeteria, and up a large set of stairs, shuffling along in her shackled legs. She’d wondered whether she’d see Esther and Stephanie again, the prison was such a vast, complex place.
They entered a giant area with multiple floors that held the women’s cells. Many of the women stared at Camille from behind bars as she walked past them, and a few hollered at her and some whistled.
“Hey, baby, we heard you been bad,” a young woman with beautifully braided hair said to her with a smile and a laugh.
“Yeah, she been bad,” another replied.
Not in the mood for a fight, Camille ignored the women.
“Oh, don’t let them get to you,” an older woman with a grandmotherly appearance, added.
Camille glanced at her and
gave her a nod.
“Move it, Garcia,” Neale yelled over her shoulder, when she saw that Camille was trailing behind her.
Camille begrudgingly quickened her pace, and Neale led her up one of the huge metal staircases to the second level. Camille looked up and saw that there was another level above them. A high railing kept the women and guards from tumbling out below as they walked to the cells alongside it. Neale stopped at the fourth cell and turned to stare at Camille.
“Welcome home,” she said with one of the nasty grins Camille had come to know well over the brief time they’d been acquainted.
To her surprise, Joy sat on one of the beds in the cell. The girl smiled and waved at her.
“I believe you two already know each other,” Officer Neale said to them.
She opened the cell and gave Camille a shove inside then undid her handcuffs and leg shackles. Camille scowled at the guard as she shut the cell and walked away.
“Have fun,” she sang out as she left the area.
“She’s such a fucking bitch,” Joy said to Camille.
“She really is,” Camille replied, as she sat down on the bed opposite Joy.
“Thanks for earlier,” Joy told her.
“You’re welcome,” Camille said, looking around the bare cell, her temporary home.
“Was the punishment bad?” Joy asked her.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Camille said, not wanting to reveal the truth. “How are the other women here?” she asked to change the subject.
“There are some assholes, but most are decent. There’s one who’s a total bitch, though. She’s pretty much in charge of the whole place.”
“What’s her name?” Camille asked, though she felt she already knew the answer.
“McCarthy. Catherine. Call her Cathy at your own risk,” Joy said quietly, as if she feared Catherine overhearing her.
Camille wondered how much about her past dealings with Catherine she should reveal to Joy.
Joy picked up on her hesitation. “Do you know her or something?” she asked. “You got so quiet just now.”
“Yeah, you could say I know her.”
“How? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Camille minded, but she didn’t want to get off to a bad start with her new cellmate.