A thick silence damped the already leaden air of the space within her cell, and Reilly’s eyes flew open. The skin between her shoulder blades tingled and she turned in her chair.
Someone stood inches away. Reilly only had time to take in the up-close view of a prison work shirt and the sinister glint of something sharp held in a tight fist.
Reilly stood, but the person behind her pushed the chair to the side and leaned into her, pinning her forward against the desk. She tried to get away, but only succeeded in bashing her thighs into the sharp edge of the desk in front of her before an arm wrapped around her head and clamped a dirty hand over her mouth. Another arm wrapped around her and pinned her arms to her body. The pen that she had been holding was knocked away. Too late, she realized it was the one weapon that she might have used. Her neck protested the unnatural angle in which it was held, and she could hear the raspy breath and rapid heartbeat of her captor. Reilly tried to move her lower body to ease the lancing pain of the desk edge cutting into her thighs, but the women held her tight and pushed her harder against the desk. It had happened with nauseating speed, almost without sound, and Reilly felt panic rise in her chest. A terrified sweat sprang from her every pore. The tangy scent of Irish Spring soap wafted in the air.
Without loosening her hold, the woman that held her leaned to the side and swiveled just enough to show Reilly the two large women who stood sentinel in the doorway to her cell, blocking what was happening within. Standing with feigned casual disinterest, shoulders propped on either side of the doorframe as if they were there for a visit, were the two women who were never far from Twist. A flame of terror rose in Reilly’s chest.
Reilly knew that to anyone observing, it would have appeared to be a social call—if it had been anyone other than the two visitors that were standing just outside the door, that is. Everyone knew that the presence of Thing One and Thing Two was never a sign of anything good. Reilly hoped that someone would come investigate, though she knew that everyone in her wing was more likely to turn their heads than try to help, glad that the goons weren’t visiting them.
The full weight of the situation descended upon Reilly, accelerating her heartbeat to a thunder that pounded through her head. A stone seemed lodged in her throat. Twist could kill her and be out of the cell before anyone knew what happened. And even if they did witness something, they wouldn’t tell. A closed mouth was a survival skill in prison. A chill replaced the flame inside of Reilly, freezing her. If Twist had let go, she wasn’t sure that she would be able to move.
“Listen to me, you pathetic fuck. You’re going to pay for what went down in the kitchen.”
Reilly felt as if she were a spectator, above the scene, peering down through thick glass windows. Twist’s voice came from a distance.
“You think you’re tough?” asked Twist next to Reilly’s ear. “You’re shit. You’re less than shit. I call the shots around here. Whether you live or die is up to me. Are you hearing me?” asked Twist, wrenching Reilly’s head even more to the side. The pain was almost unbearable. Reilly could barely hear through the pounding of the blood in her ears, but she took in every word that Twist said. A strange feeling of calm descended upon her, along with the knowledge that she was about to die. In a way, she almost welcomed it. Not just because it would take away the immediate issue of the excruciating electric pain that was radiating from the contorted position of her neck, but because Reilly was sure that she would never survive the gray hell that she had landed in. If she didn’t die in the next few moments, it was just a matter of time.
“I asked if you heard me, you fucking cunt!” whispered Twist in a harsh rasp, pulling Reilly up so that she had to stand on her tiptoes or risk having her head ripped off in the tight grip that Twist had around it.
The additional pain made her gasp and she choked on the mucus building in the back of her throat that she couldn’t swallow because of her awkward pose. Her tears, now from pain rather than fear, made it worse, and she couldn’t speak. Her mouth was still covered. She knew that she would have bruises where Twist’s fingers bit into her skin, and the corner of her mouth stung. She tasted blood. Her jaw ached from the crooked way it was being held to the side.
Reilly grunted, though it sounded more like a moan, and she tried to nod her head.
“Feeling tough now, bitch?”
Reilly grunted again and tried to shake her head.
“What’s that?” asked Twist. Reilly felt Twist’s jaw work against the side of her head. Miraculously, Twist released her mouth, and Reilly drew in a deep and ragged breath.
“I asked if you’re still feeling tough,” whispered Twist against Reilly’s hair.
“No,” said Reilly, her voice thin and weak in her own ears.
“What? I couldn’t hear you.”
“No, I’m not feeling tough.”
Twist laughed.
“Good. I think you get it, now. I’m the boss, you’re the dog. It’s that simple. You just needed some training. It would be a shame to waste such a tasty morsel.”
Reilly was fighting the black spots that floated in her vision and wasn’t sure she heard Twist correctly. Was she being spared? The swing of emotions that ensued erased the last vestige of energy in her, and she slumped against the vile woman behind her.
“That’s right. Don’t try to fight it,” purred Twist against her head. “So this is how it works. You talk to no one else but me. You look at no one else but me. I tell you what to do, and when to do it. That means that you don’t eat unless I say you eat, you don’t piss unless I say you piss. You don’t do nothin’ unless I say you can. I am your boss in everything. Got it?”
Reilly nodded her head again. The bones in her neck ground together painfully. Tears streaked her face and snot filled her sinuses.
“Are you crying?” laughed Twist. “Are you really crying?”
Twist turned again just enough to show the goons Reilly’s face. Reilly saw the eyes of the woman on the left flicker and wondered if she saw a little bit of reluctant shame. Reilly was an expert at reading body language. She studied it for her craft. She saw something in the woman’s face that said that she did not want be part of what was going on. The emotion was there and then it was gone. And Reilly knew that an effective game face was just another survival skill learned in the bowels of forced penitence in which they lived.
With a glimmer of hope over a possible advocate, she glanced at the other shadow that darkened her door. There, she saw something different. That woman stared at her with abject hatred. Reilly understood, in a stomach dropping second, exactly what that woman’s motivation and focus were. It filled her with a sick, terrified doom, and all hope vanished. Twist owned that woman, and at the moment, Reilly was competition. If Twist didn’t kill her, that woman might.
Reilly was relieved when Twist turned back, taking the two women out of her view.
“I’ve decided not to fuck you up. At least, not just yet. While I was laid up, all I could think of was how I was going to hurt you, kill you. But now that we’re here, I think I have other plans.”
Reilly heard Thing One clear her throat, while Thing Two laughed uneasily.
“Yes. I think that I’m going to spend a little time getting to know you better before I decide whether I should kill you. Or maybe I’ll just cut up your pretty little face. Either way, I’m going to let you wear my brand until I decide.”
Reilly heard a whimper and then cringed when she realized that the pathetic sound was from her.
“Don’t worry. I won’t touch your face. Not yet. Maybe other places that don’t show too much, but I’ll leave your pretty face alone. I’ll cut your face when I’m done with you, my sweet piece.”
Twist tightened her grasp on Reilly and shook her head from side to side at each of the last few syllables, and Reilly heard the bones in her neck crack. Reilly withdrew from her body, receding from what was happening to her. She heard the words, understood the meaning, but somehow they didn’t seem to
apply to her. She wished Twist would just kill her.
A sound near the door made Twist snap around, tightening her hold on Reilly’s head. Reilly whimpered again, and this time she didn’t care. Twist dug a thumb into the soft flesh of her cheek.
“Step back, Betts. The guards will come if you’re inside the door, you idiot,” said Twist over her shoulder. “Turn around and watch for guards. Both of you.”
Reilly heard the two women move out of the cell, and Twist relaxed. Her hold on Reilly loosened a little.
“I’m going to enjoy fucking you, you know. I’m no dyke, but beggars can’t be choosers in here.”
Reilly felt a warm wet tongue slide across the side of her face. Bile rose in her throat.
“When you do me, I’ll tell you how I like it,” whispered Twist, pulling Reilly against her and smashing her crotch into Reilly’s ass. “If you make me come, I won’t mark you.”
Reilly nodded her head, feeling that it was the appropriate response. It seemed to work, because Twist loosened her hold again to stroke Reilly’s face with the back of her fingers.
Reilly caught another glimpse of the pike.
At least that was the word that came to mind that described the weapon that Twist held in her fist. It solved the mystery of the soap smell. A rusty length of thick wire, which may have come from a wire coat hanger, was embedded at one end in a bar of soap that was shaved down to form a thick makeshift handle. The other end of the wire was sharpened to a lethal point. The shiny surface of the sharp end put off a threatening glint that contrasted with the rest of the rusty length.
Anything that Reilly had felt until that point was nothing compared to the terror that washed through her then. She shivered. Her remaining strength evaporated. The pounding of blood in her head quickened and her awareness of her surroundings dimmed. She knew that she was on the verge of passing out.
Twist’s voice pulled her back from the blackness that threatened.
“I might let you kiss me if you suck me off with that beautiful mouth of yours,” said Twist, close to her ear. Twist turned Reilly around so that they faced each other. The edge of the desk cut into the back of Reilly’s thighs, and fear made her stiff. Reilly couldn’t meet Twist’s gaze, but she could see a white bandage on Twist’s cheek in her peripheral vision, and she wondered what kind of hell she had called down upon herself for provoking this crazy woman.
Reilly squeezed her eyes shut and held her arms rigid down her sides as Twist buried her face in her neck.
Twist straddled one of Reilly’s legs, and Reilly suppressed a cry as Twist pushed her crotch into her, rubbing it with rough thrusts against Reilly’s denim covered thigh. Reilly could feel the moist heat through the fabric and the smell of unwashed flesh wafted up. The pain of the edge of the desk cutting into the back of Reilly’s legs was the only thing that kept Reilly from blacking out.
“If you hold still,” breathed Twist. “I’ll come right now. That will give you some points. I won’t have to mark you… fuck…”
Twist grunted, her breath heavy and dank on Reilly’s neck.
Reilly tasted bile again as Twist moved with a quick rhythm, panting, until she rocked with a violent shudder. Just when Reilly thought she could take no more, Twist blew her hot, foul breath out in a shaking exhale. The hold that Twist had on Reilly loosened as she slumped against her.
“That’s a good girl. I guess I’ll let you eat dinner tonight,” sighed Twist with a little laugh into Reilly’s hair.
Twist eased back and inhaled deeply, as if to gather in the smell of Reilly’s hair before she stepped away. Reilly wasn’t sure what to do, and even though she was no longer shoved into the painful edge of the metal desk, she stood like a statue, her eyes squeezed shut.
It was easier to breathe again, but Reilly still had a hard time catching her breath. The places where Twist had held her throbbed. Her jaw clicked when she set her teeth together to close her mouth. She hoped that if she made no sound, and didn’t move, Twist and her two thugs would leave.
Instead, a gentle caress swept across the side of her face. It might as well have been a slap. The vomit she had held back bubbled from her throat. She tried to seal her lips against its escape, and only a little trickled out before she swallowed it back. The thin hot stream that snaked down her chin felt like acid etching its way across her skin.
“Oh, yes. I’m going to enjoy you, movie star,” sighed Twist, as she took a step back. “I’ll see you at kitchen duty tonight. You’ll wear my brand before lights out.”
The chuckle Twist uttered as she turned to leave sounded like the harsh rasp of a dry branch on splintered wood.
Reilly kept her eyes shut and listened to Twist and her minions’ footsteps as they left her cell.
“Oliver! Did I see you just leave the cell of another inmate?”
Reilly wiped her chin with a shaking hand and slouched in relief at the sound of Officer Ferguson’s voice.
“I was just checking on Ransome, Boss,” she heard Twist say. “I figured she’d want to see the results of her handiwork.”
Reilly opened her eyes and all she could see of her attacker was her back through the doorway. But she saw Twist’s arm rise, and she imagined Twist moving her fingers over the bandage covering her scarred cheek.
At the same time, Reilly saw Twist pass the pike behind her to Thing One. Thing One tucked the pike into the waistband of her own pants and pulled her shirt over it.
“You have any complaints in there, Ransome?” asked Ferguson without taking her eyes off of Twist.
Reilly remembered Twist’s warning and struggled to think of a response that would keep Twist from coming back later to mark her—or worse. She hesitated, and Twist turned toward her. She knew that it was a test.
“Cat got your tongue, Ransome? Say something, or Fergie will think I offed you.”
“No complaints,” said Reilly, her voice sounding foreign and rough in her own ears.
Officer Ferguson stepped closer to Twist. They were toe-to-toe and the guard was five inches taller. Twist didn’t so much as flinch.
“Sanderson and Betts, step back and to the side,” ordered the guard, motioning with her baton. “Oliver, raise your arms to your sides so that they’re parallel with the ground.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Fergie. I was just visiting the newbie,” complained Twist.
“Do it.”
“For fuck’s sake,” said Twist, but she complied.
Officer Ferguson completed a pat down of Twist that would have done any TSA agent proud. Finding nothing, she motioned for Twist to lower her arms.
“You three move along,” said the guard.
“Did you enjoy feeling me up, Fergalicious? It’s okay by me if you use the memory to get off on tonight when it’s just you and your trusty baton,” laughed Twist as she and her shadows strode away.
Reilly studied Fergie, who stood just outside her door watching the three women disappear down the corridor. When the guard turned to look at her, Reilly felt like she had done something wrong.
“There’s yoga in the media room. Starts in ten minutes. Do you some good to get out.”
Then the guard turned and walked the other way. Reilly collapsed into the nearby chair as all of the strength left her.
People Eat In Here
IT WAS HER FINAL SHIFT in the kitchen, and Reilly was trying not to think about the awful interaction with Twist in her cell that morning. She turned her thoughts to her new job as librarian. Trying to figure out ways to acquire more books was easier than trying to figure out how she was going to get through the rest of her incarceration being the lap dog of an insane woman. Deep in thought, she found herself alone in the empty dining hall, walking down rows of tables, wiping them down.
“Hey, fish.”
Reilly hadn’t even heard her approach. She spun around and Twist was right there, six inches from her face. Thing One and Thing Two hovered just over her shoulder. Reilly was blocked in, between rows of t
ables. She calculated her escape and turned to leave the other way, but Thing Two was already circling around to block that route. Reilly lifted her foot to the bench, ready to vault the table, when Twist grabbed her arm.
“Where you going, movie star?”
“I have to finish wiping down the tables in here,” Reilly said. Her voice trembled and she tried to hide her fear.
“Are you scared? You don’t need to be scared. I’m gonna be nice to you. Nice, like you were to me in your house this morning.” The thumb brushing Reilly’s wrist in a suggestive manner made her want to scream. But if she screamed, the women would probably do something worse than what they already had planned.
Reilly flicked her eyes between the three women, trying to assess the situation.
“Oh. They just watch.”
“People eat in here,” said Reilly, hoping to negotiate a rain check on Twist’s promise to treat her nice.
Twist’s lips curled into a malicious smile as she peered past Reilly to Thing Two.
“You hear that, Betts? People eat in here.”
“Eat pussy,” snorted Thing One—the one called Saderson. Twist shot a derisive glare at Thing One, who wiped her nose with a self-conscious frown. “Sorry. I thought it was funny.”
Twist’s gaze returned to Reilly.
“I guess this is appropriate, then.”
“Right here?”
“I’d suggest that you meet me in the bathroom, but something tells me that you wouldn’t show.”
“You never know.”
“Oh, I think I do,” said Twist, reaching up to run a thumb over the bruised cut that she had left on the corner of Reilly’s mouth that morning.
“But the lights will go out soon in here.”
As if on cue, the fluorescent overheads went out in the dining hall with an ominous thunk. The room was illuminated with the ubiquitous low light that kept the inside of the prison bathed in a constant gray glow at night.
“That’s a bonus,” said Twist, stepping closer. Reilly backed away, and into the large body of Thing Two, whose hand landed on her shoulder.
Life in High Def Page 13