by Londyn Skye
For nearly three full days, James endured the verbal torment of his prison mates in stone-cold silence. Every day, though, “the feces-flinger” made it his mission to get under James’s skin in the lunch line. Ernest was sure to stand behind James talking non-stop in his ear, trying to get him to break. “How’d that shit taste, pretty boy?” he had asked James on the first day. “Bet it reminded ya’ of the taste of y’ur nigga’s pussy, didn’t it? I saw corn in it. Did ya’ have you a piece? Ain’t neva’ figured out how a piece ‘a corn could make it through my whole goddamn body and come outta my ass clean as a whistle.”
Everyone within earshot began laughing hysterically while James scooped his prison slop onto his tray in silence.
“You gonna wished you’d’ve licked y’ur face clean by the time you get done eatin’ the food they serve here, ’cause I can promise ya’ my shit tastes a whole lot betta’.” Ernest then stepped in front of James just when he was finished collecting his meal. “Matta’ fact, why don’t I just save ya’ the misery of eatin’ it.” He smacked James’s tray down onto the floor, igniting a commissary full of laughter.
James still did not budge or say a word. He just stared at Ernest, who was taking a bow after his attention-grabbing comedy performance. James had no appetite anyway. While the guards forced Ernest to clean up the mess, James went back to his cell to lie down. The reason his appetite evaded him immediately flooded his mind the moment his head hit his cot. Thoughts of Lily consumed him to the point that the innate survival mechanisms of his body began to fail. He literally could not feel hunger pangs or thirst. He had no desire to move his body at all. He craved sleep just to give himself a temporary reprieve from his surroundings, but his muddled mind refused to drift into unconsciousness. He spent the majority of his first night behind bars wide awake, staring at the ceiling, crippled by the possibilities of what may have happened to his wife.
On day two of James’s death row sentence, every trip to the commissary began and ended the same. Ernest spat vulgarities into his ear as they slid their way down the food line. James ignored his rhetoric. Ernest smacked James’s tray down at the end of the line, laughter erupted, and Ernest took a bow. He then gladly cleaned up the mess after his comedic performance while James walked back to the solace of his cell in complete and utter silence. However, when James laid down this time, a few tears fell from his eyes. His tears were not for his mama, for being stuck where he was, or because of Ernest tormenting him. His tears were for Lily and the torment of not knowing where she was stuck or if someone may be tormenting her.
On the third day, Ernest and his minions traded spots with one another just to give him the privilege of marching into the commissary right behind James again. As usual, the vulgarities began immediately. “I sat up all night thinkin’ about y’ur little brown girlfriend. I started to think to ma’self … maybe I’m wrong. Instead ‘a shit, I bet that nigga’s pussy actually tastes like chocolate. Only somethin’ as sweet as that would keep a man as dignified as you comin’ back for more. Now you got me curious. Tell me about ’er, pretty boy. Is ’er pussy like that chocolate that oozes caramel from the inside afta’ you bite it? Do it smell just as sweet?” He put his nose next to James’s neck and inhaled long and hard. “Got my mouth waterin’ just thinkin’ about it.”
Even with Ernest’s nose a hair’s breadth away from his neck, James miraculously maintained his composure as he listened to Ernest’s band of nitwits laughing nearby.
“I bet fuckin’ her is like submergin’ y’ur cock in warm honey, ain’t it? Come on and tell me. I wanna dream about ’er t’night. It’s got my cock hard as a fuckin’ rock right now. Bet a pretty boy like you wants to feel it too,” Ernest moaned in James’s ear. “You wanna feel my cock stuffed in y’ur ass, don’t ya’ nigga’ lova’?”
Shockingly, James still remained silent despite the heat of Ernest’s staunch breath burning his nostrils and his provocative words permeating his nerves.
“Aww, stop keepin’ secrets, pretty boy. Come on and tell ol’ Ernest what ’er pussy’s like,” he provoked. “I wanna know what it’s gonna feel like when I fuck that little brown whore in my dreams t’night. I’ma have ’er chained up on ’er stomach with her legs spread and ’er pussy wide open. Gonna fuck ’er ’til she bleeds in the cell right next to y’urs, so you can listen to ’er screamin’ for help. Heard she was fuckin’ you so good, you claimed she was y’ur wife,” he laughed. “Don’t tell me you was really dumb enough to call y’urself lovin’ a nig-…”
“YES, I LOVE HER!” James suddenly erupted, food and blood simultaneously flying everywhere. With lightning speed, James had smashed his metal tray across Ernest’s nose. With ferocity, he then picked Ernest up by the throat with one hand and body slammed him to the ground. He sat on top of him, planted his knees on his arms, and began bashing the edge of the metal tray repeatedly across Ernest’s nose until it molded around his face. James then tossed the useless tray across the room and finished the job with his fists, alternating one blow to Ernest’s jaw after another.
Normally, Ernest’s rhetoric barely registered in James’s muddled mind, but upon mentioning the vulgar things he wanted to do to Lily, he instantaneously unraveled. Other than his size and the stench of his breath, Ernest bore no resemblance to J.R. But the disgusting images that his words had painted were enough to make James perceive that Ernest and his brother were one in the same. While in the midst of his mind cracking, James maliciously pelted Ernest non-stop, every blow driven by the vision of J.R. forcefully shoving himself inside of Lily. “TOUCH ’ER AGAIN AND I’LL FUCKIN’ KILL YOU, YOU MUTHA’ FUCKER!” James hollered at the top of his lungs with every blow, sounding like a man who was undoubtedly in the throes of temporary insanity. James’s rage was so animalistic, Ernest could do nothing but lie there helplessly absorbing the violent punishment for another man’s actions. By the time the prison guards pulled James off, Ernest had a broken nose, two swollen eyes, and shattered front teeth. Even with five prison guards wrangling him away, James was still nearly impossible to control. “TOUCH ’ER AGAIN AND I’LL KILL YOU!” he continued to yell, as he was dragged out of the commissary kicking and struggling to break free. Despite nearly going hoarse, James could still be heard screaming all the way down the hallway.
Wanting to maintain his status at the top of the prison hierarchy, Ernest was always finding nasty ways to provoke new arrivals into minor fist fights. All the other prisoners always eagerly anticipated what was usually a minor showdown between two men exchanging a few cheap blows and rolling around on the floor for most of the fight. Usually, there was cheering, laughter, and rowdiness throughout the commissary during the brawl. But the unusual sight of James beating a man twice his size into an unconscious pulp, in a matter of seconds, had stunned dozens of hardened criminals into stone-cold silence. When James was gone, they all quietly turned to watch as Ernest’s unconscious body was hauled to the infirmary.
“Three days,” Dale suddenly boasted to himself, calmly shoveling his prison slop into his mouth. “They all talk … Neva’ fuckin’ fails.”
Ernest would soon be the first in the prison’s history to easily eclipse that three-day record of silence, though. His brutal beating left him completely comatose. Whenever his twisted mind healed enough to regain consciousness, he would awaken to a shattered jaw that had been wired shut, leaving him unable to open his filthy mouth.
While Ernest was left in the infirmary to recover, James was left to recover from his emotional breakdown in “the dungeon,” a six by six-foot basement room with a dirt floor, no cot, no windows, and no light whatsoever. Being as tall as James was, he could not stand or lie down without touching the walls or the ceiling in the pitch-black cramped quarters. It was hardly the place for somebody whose mind had clearly shattered in front of dozens of people. But there James was after being tossed inside with a hard shove. He had rolled over onto his back, his chest heaving. With the memory of what J.R. had done to Lily now fre
sh on his mind, he was seething. It took him nearly an hour to settle himself down. Once his rage subsided, the side effect was sleep, something James had not had a sufficient amount of in three days. With hardly any food or water in his system, his altercation had quickly drained him of the little bit of energy he had left. For six hours, he slept hard and his dreams were vivid …
Inside of their beautiful estate manor, James stood behind Lily with his arms wrapped around her waist. He had sidled up behind her while she was cooking his favorite meal and kissed her tenderly on the neck.
“I know what that kiss means!” Lily smiled. “And no! You can’t have a bite yet until I’m finished!”
“Damn!” James scratched his head. “None ‘a my tricks work with you anymore, huh?”
“Took you all these years to figure that out, huh? Now, go on and sit yo’self down somewhere,” she teased.
“Yes ma’am,” James replied, tickling Lily’s neck with his lips, igniting her laughter. They both then suddenly turned their heads in the direction of crying down the hallway.
“Sounds like somebody’s up from their nap. Now there’s somethin’ you can do to preoccupy yourself until I’m done, mista’,” Lily said.
“Gladly!” James smiled. “Papa to the rescue!” He kissed Lily again before heading toward the sound of their crying infant. He opened the first door where he heard the crying coming from. The room was bare. The sound of crying had suddenly shifted further down the hallway. James let his ears guide him to another room, only to be met by the sight of the wind blowing the sheer curtains into the air of another empty space. James slammed the door back, confusion now gripping his mind. Chasing the sound of his baby’s cries, he picked up the pace, flinging doors open left and right, his heart picking up speed with every empty room he entered. “Rose!” he yelled repeatedly as he began to panic.
By the time James got to the fifth door, the sound of Rose’s cries began to sound distorted in his ears. With his chest heaving, he ran and opened the very last door in the hallway. His heart rate immediately began to settle when he finally saw Rose’s cradle on the far side of the room underneath an open window. Other than the cradle, the room was completely bare. The very moment he stepped inside, her cradle began slowly rocking on its own and her crying ceased. James began walking toward her soft cooing and her sudden giggling. He, too, began to laugh at the precious sound of her laughter. He stepped closer, eager to see what now had her laughing hysterically. Just feet away from peering into the cradle, though, his body froze. It was as if his feet were suddenly plastered to the floor. No matter how he twisted and turned, no matter how badly he wanted to pick his baby up and comfort her, he simply did not have the power to lift his feet.
… “ROOOSE!” James wailed, as he was jolted awake from what would be the first of many bizarre dreams of that nature. Breathing hard, James shifted his head quickly from left to right. He was thoroughly confused by where he was, and why he had just opened his eyes but could still see nothing, not his own hands, not his surroundings … and especially not his beautiful beloved daughter. After being deprived of the chance to see her those shivering, shuddering, shoulder-heaving sobs that Dale had warned about were instant. James was completely heartbroken by the fact that he could not see Rose … not even in his dreams.
Still confused by where he was, James wailed his daughter’s name over and over again at the top of his lungs, until a prison guard slid open a two by four-inch peephole in his door. “Shut the fuck up nigga’ lova’!” he yelled.
Startled, James immediately stopped screaming, scampered backward, and bumped the wall. The sudden demand and the sliver of light that lit up the dungeon instantly brought James back to the reality of his surroundings. Panting, he just sat there staring back at the set of eyes that were glaring angrily at him through the small slit. After a few seconds, another flap opened at the bottom of the door and the guard slid a tray with food and water underneath it. He slammed the bottom door flap back and glared at James through the slit in the top part of the door again. “You got twenty minutes to eat!” the guard warned.
Starving and dehydrated, James scarfed down the two pieces of peanut buttered bread and drank all the water in under a minute. It was not nearly enough to satiate a man of his stature. The prison guards were well aware of that; the intentional deprivation of nutrients went hand in hand with a stay in the dungeon. But unlike any other prisoner that was cast down into the darkness, there was something unique added to the unsatisfying meal James received: “You still love that nigga’?” the guard asked when he returned twenty minutes later to pick up James’s tray.
Sensing the challenging tone in the guard’s question, James looked confidently into the glaring set of eyes in the peephole. “More than anything on this earth,” he answered without hesitating.
With that answer, the guard slammed the peephole shut and left James to continue rotting in the pitch-black hole where his love for a Negro had landed him.
Chapter Five
“You still love that nigga’?!”
“With everything in me,” James conjured up the strength to reply. For a little over a week, three times a day, James could count on two slices of peanut buttered bread and water being delivered to his dungeon cell like clockwork. Six times a day, he could also count on the same glaring green eyes and challenging question as his meal tray was delivered and retrieved. Six times a day, the guard could count on James replying with swiftness and conviction in varying affirmative answers. Six times a day, James’s refusal to deny his feelings for Lily was then rewarded with a slam of the peephole door that quickly shut out the only bit of light he got to see on a daily basis.
It was not the size of the torture chamber that James was stuck in that broke men; it was the darkness. It was a thick, pitch-black nothingness that made the room feel more like a coffin than a six by six room. The darkness made it impossible for James to even see his hand in front of his face. Nor could he see the massive cockroaches and spiders that were his new cellmates. He had certainly felt them, though. But after days of rotting in the deplorable hellhole, he had become numb to them biting and scampering over his skin, much like his nose was now numb to the suffocating stench of urine and feces, blended with vomit. Many a man had completely snapped while stuck in the confines of those walls, their last bit of sanity swallowed up by the darkness, never to be seen again. If James could see anything, he would have been greeted with the sight of blood-streaked fingernail marks from those who had gone insane and broken their nails off trying to claw their way out. He would have seen circular spots of blood from the dozens of foreheads that had willfully banged against the bricks after their minds had shattered. James had refrained from either of those self-abusive methods, but his constant rocking back and forth was a clear sign that he might be on the verge of an internal collapse. However, it was not the dungeon threatening to cause his implosion; it was his dreams. Ironically, in his dreams James could see light and color, but was robbed of the one beautiful thing he was desperate to see. The chance to touch or see his daughter still eluded him. Each time he had awakened with his arms outstretched, just as they always were in his dreams. “I just wanna hold you,” he would wake up quietly repeating to himself. “Please God, I won’t hurt ’er,” he murmured for upwards of an hour sometimes. “Please God, just let me hold ’er,” he babbled, a steady trickle of tears collecting underneath his face, turning the dirt to mud where he lay in a malnourished, weakened heap.
Though his shattered heart somehow maintained a steady beat, James felt his sanity and desire to live slipping away. In those dark and desolate hours, it was Lily’s music that kept him from crossing the borderline into insanity and banging his head against the wall until he ceased to exist. James would close his eyes and hum his favorite melodies. His wife’s lovely music was the one and only thing to keep him happily dancing with her in the imaginary ballroom of sanity. Lily’s music immediately gave way to beautiful memories of the glorious y
ear he had spent with her on the road. Today, after the prison guard shut out his daily glimpse of light, James sat slumped in the corner with his head on his knees and let his mind carry him to yet another precious moment during Lily’s journey to Winter Garden …
William did not need to be told that James had finally professed his love to Lily. As they all rode along in the carriage together, William could see that James had obviously expressed that sentiment just by the way he sat with his arm around Lily. His head was gently resting on hers while she nestled against his chest. Both had their eyes closed and seemed content not to say a word while they were lost in the essence of one another. For the first time since meeting the pair, William no longer felt smothered by the tension lingering between them. He, instead, felt happily immersed in the love they exuded. The scene nearly brought William to tears. It reminded him of the peace he felt after professing his love for Emma. Simply by the look on James’s face, William knew that he, too, was now experiencing the permanent calming of an inner unrest that only the love of a man’s life had the power to bring.