“I see you’ve made friends with Bernadette.” The woman glances over at Bernie, who’s still eating at their table. Then her gaze returns to Geo, her eyes roving over her skin, her eyes, her hair. “They call her the Mammoth.” No explanation is required.
“We’re not friends. She’s my bunkmate.”
The woman nods. “Let me know how that arrangement works out for you. If it doesn’t, perhaps we can get you reassigned.”
Bernie’s good mood continues after dinner, and Geo is beginning to understand that her cellmate’s moods are tied directly to how recently she ate. She’s talkative up until lights-out, telling Geo about the various prisons she’s done time in, including Oregon and California. Drugs and theft, mainly—typical charges for most of the women here. A career criminal. You’d think after a third conviction she’d find another profession, but that’s not how a criminal’s mind works.
The doors to the big room always remain open during the day unless there’s a lockdown, but at lights-out the women are shut inside. If you need to pee, you have to ask one of the guards inside the booth, who are likely to be sleeping or watching a movie. Geo lies in bed and fatigue overcomes her instantly. She hasn’t slept well since she’s been here, and it’s catching up with her. Finally, blissfully, she falls asleep.
It isn’t until her bunkmate’s sausage fingers are deep inside her vagina that she wakes up. Bernie is on top of her, her exorbitant flesh spilling over Geo’s smaller body like a giant water balloon, the skin warm and moist and salty, breath reeking like spoiled milk. Her beady eyes resemble raisins in a mound of dough, and they stare right through her. Bernie smiles and licks Geo’s face from her chin to her cheekbone. In the dark of the big room, her tongue looks purple.
Bottom bunk. This is why. Easier to rape someone. It’s difficult to see their bunk from where the guard’s booth is located at the other end of the room. And to make matters worse, Bernie has tucked the edges of her bedsheet under the upper mattress so that it falls around Geo’s bunk like a curtain. If a CO glances over, all they’ll see is the sheet. It gives Bernie enough time to get off her and to insist that what they’re doing is mutual if the guard rips the sheet away. Punishment for consensual sex between inmates is a stay in maximum security.
They’re already in maximum security.
Geo opens her mouth to scream, but Bernie is ready for that, and the large woman stuffs a sock into her mouth. It isn’t necessary, though, because her lungs are already compressed. The Mammoth, well over twice her weight and three times her width, is suffocating her. Panicked, she begins to writhe and kick as best she can, but her bunkmate just presses down harder, her sour breath wafting into Geo’s ears as she touches herself. “Do you like it? Does it feel good? Get wet for me, baby.”
Barely able to move, Geo’s hand swipes at the sheet, but she can’t grasp it well enough to tear it down. She only manages to move it a little bit, enough to catch a glimpse of the inmate in the next bunk staring over. After a second or two, the inmate looks away.
Somehow, in a room full of women, Geo is alone with her attacker.
Unable to do anything, she has no choice but to lie still. Tears roll silently down the sides of her face. A minute later, Bernie grunts and rolls off, allowing Geo to take several gasping breaths.
“Nobody can see anything in this corner, bitch,” her bunkmate whispers, straightening her clothes. “Our bunk doesn’t show on camera. So all you gotta do is say nothing, and I won’t have to kill you. But you liked it, didn’t you? I know you did.”
Geo lets out a loud sob, cut short when the Mammoth punches her in the face. Then she removes the sheet and climbs back up to her bed. Geo places her pillow over her mouth so she can cry into it without being heard.
She doesn’t understand any of this. Bernie is a mother. Her son’s picture is taped on to the goddamned locker less than two feet away. Geo lies in bed the rest of the night, stinking of the woman’s vinegary sweat, her legs squeezed together, terrified that the Mammoth will come back into her bed again. She takes comfort in the loud snores coming from above; it means her bunkmate is sound asleep.
Geo, however, does not sleep. Just like she didn’t sleep the last time she was raped, all those years ago. She knows from experience that it takes a while before your soul comes back to you.
And it takes even longer before your soul stops bleeding.
4
The next morning, Geo listlessly picks at her soggy oatmeal and burned toast as her bunkmate sits across from her at the table, in her usual spot. She starts her job in the hair salon today, which, relatively speaking, should have been something to look forward to, but all she wants is to find a quiet spot and hide. If Bernie was in a good mood yesterday, she’s in an even better mood today. Geo’s managed to avoid making eye contact up till now, but when their eyes finally meet, the Mammoth smiles.
Not taking her eyes off Geo, Bernie waggles her fingers, then makes a show of putting them to her nose and inhaling deeply. Then she inserts her first and middle fingers into her mouth, and sucks. The women at their table laugh at the obscene gesture, albeit nervously. Geo’s stomach turns. Before she can stop herself, she vomits into her tray and all over the front of her own shirt, and learns that oatmeal looks exactly the same coming up as it does going down.
“Shit!” The inmate sitting beside her jumps out of her seat. “You disgusting bitch.”
A corrections officer is at her side a few seconds later.
“Get up, Shaw,” he says, his face a mask of revulsion as he surveys the regurgitated oatmeal all over Geo’s shirt and pants. “Do you need to go to the infirmary? What happened to your face?”
Geo’s cheekbone is purple from where Bernie slammed her fist into it a few hours before, but it only comprises a fraction of the pain she’s feeling. She shakes her head, still feeling nauseated. The last thing she wants is to be checked over by a nurse. She absolutely does not want to be touched. Everyone’s eyes are on her, including the Mammoth’s. “Just … just a shower, I think. I’m fine.”
“Go straight to the bathroom, clean yourself up.” He speaks into his shoulder where his walkie-talkie sits. “Janitorial in chow hall, stat.”
Geo leaves the cafeteria, humiliated, while the other inmates smirk. She doesn’t have to look at Bernie to know that her bunkmate is laughing along with the others.
She showers by herself in a tiny stall with a ripped curtain, wearing her rubber flip-flops. The shower is cranked all the way up, but the temperature never gets hotter than lukewarm, and the water will shut off in eight minutes whether she’s finished or not. Working fast, she uses her bar of soap on both her hair and her body, as someone’s already stolen her shampoo. She scrubs her skin raw with her fingernails.
When the shower shuts off, she opens the curtain a little and feels around on the outer wall for her towel. It’s not hanging where she left it. She pulls the curtain open wider and jumps when she sees someone standing there, leaning against the counter across from the stall. Geo’s towel is draped over her arm.
It’s the black woman from the day before. She has no entourage today. They’re alone in the bathroom.
“I’m Ella Frank,” she says. When Geo doesn’t move, she holds out the towel. “You must be freezing.”
Geo is cold, but there’s no way to reach the towel without stepping out of the shower. She finally does, dripping wet, and the woman hands it to her. Geo wraps the towel around herself quickly, trembling. But it’s not just from the cool air. She’s aware of Ella Frank’s reputation. Everyone in here is, though up till this point, Geo didn’t know exactly which inmate she was until the woman said her name. And now here they are, standing in front of each other, and Geo is practically naked. She has no weapons to stab with, no boots on her feet to kick with. She doesn’t know what this woman wants from her, but she does know she can’t handle being raped again. She’d rather die.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Ella Frank says. “I’m not the Mammo
th.”
Geo’s throat closes up. “You know?”
“I have eyes and ears all over.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to me yesterday?” The words are out before Geo can stop them, and she winces at their bluntness.
“It’s not my job to protect you. Unless you want it to be.” The woman fixes her gaze on Geo. It’s intense. Unblinking. They’re about the same size—if anything, the black woman is a bit thinner—but Geo has no doubt Ella Frank could kill her without breaking a sweat. “You know who I am?”
Geo nods, the full story coming back to her. In her media photos, as the wife of drug lord James Frank, Ella was always impeccably dressed, with long black hair and bright fuchsia lipstick. The prison version of Ella Frank is more subtle—the weave is gone, the hair is short, the lips are bare, the clothes are same prison scrubs everyone else wears—but she looks just as dangerous. It’s in the way she stands, the way she speaks, the way she’s looking at Geo now. Ella ran her husband’s security team, killing his perceived enemies by shooting them in the head with the small-caliber weapon she wore strapped around her thigh. She’s in for the murder of two rivals, though rumor has it she’s killed at least a dozen.
And she’s no less powerful in here than she was on the outside. Ella Frank is responsible for almost all the drugs that find their way into Hazelwood on a regular basis. Currently embroiled in a turf battle with another drug dealer, she’s in a situation that’s getting ugly. But unlike most of the women in Hazelwood who’ll be released at some point in the future, Ella Frank is serving back-to-back life sentences. She’ll never get out; she’ll die in here. Which means she has nothing whatsoever to lose. This makes her extremely dangerous.
“You’re Georgina Shaw,” Ella says. “I read about you. Big-time executive on the outside. You made a lot of money, I bet.”
“I spent a lot of money, too.”
Ella laughs softly. “I feel you. Life’s short. Might as well enjoy it while you have it, am I right?” Her eyes are fixed on Geo’s face. The irises are so dark that Geo can’t see her pupils. “So. Your bunkmate has taken a significant liking to you. How do you feel about that?”
“It’s terrible,” Geo says. It comes out a whisper.
Ella nods. “I know Bernadette from another prison. She must have creamed her double-XL underwear when you were assigned to her bunk. You’re just her type. White. Pretty. Classy. You understand it will keep happening?”
“Yes.” This time, the word comes out a whimper.
“I can make it stop,” the black woman says, her eyes never leaving Geo’s face. “I can make it so that nobody in here ever touches you again. Do you want my help?”
Geo closes her eyes, knowing that the next word she says will change everything. “Yes.”
“My help isn’t free.”
She opens her eyes again. “I know.”
“Okay,” Ella says, and smiles. “I’ll take care of it. You get dressed now. But before I go, allow me to offer some advice, woman to woman.”
Geo eyes the fresh clothes folded on the counter beside Ella. She doesn’t dare reach for them. It requires moving closer. “Of course,” she says.
“Hold your head high,” Ella says. “Carry yourself like you run the place. Don’t back down from anybody. The way you look, with your pretty white-girl hair and your pretty white-girl face, you’re never going to be invisible in here. Not after what you did on the outside. So own it. Someone gets in your face, you cut a bitch. You understand me? I can and will protect you, but I could get shanked tomorrow. And then where will you be?”
Geo nods. “I understand. Thank you.”
Ella hands Geo her clothes. As she reaches for them, her towel slips, and suddenly she’s naked again. The other woman’s eyes flicker up and down her body. She chuckles. “Yeah, you’re beautiful. But you’re not my type. I like dick.”
Geo dresses hastily.
“One of my girls will find you in the hair salon later,” Ella says. “When she does, you give her what she asks for.”
Two hours pass before someone approaches her in the hair salon. Geo recognizes her as one of the women on Ella’s security detail. She gives the woman what she asks for, keeping one eye on the camera mounted on the ceiling.
“Don’t worry about it,” the woman says. “The guard who’s supposed to be watching the monitor is … distracted.”
Less than a half hour later, the woman is back. “I rinsed them, but get some bleach on it,” she says. “And they were never out of your sight, you understand?”
Geo understands. An hour after that, while she’s in the chow hall eating lunch, the prison goes on lockdown.
Bernadette Novotny, also known as the Mammoth, is dead.
News spreads like wildfire in prison. Bernie was found in the prison laundry behind the steam press. There’s no question how it happened. Multiple stab wounds punctured her carotid artery; she would have bled out in seconds.
Geo lies on the floor with her hands beside her head, alongside the other inmates in the chow hall. The guards are searching for the murder weapon and pulling Bernie’s known enemies—of which there are many—into the office for questioning. But they won’t solve this. The shears that Geo gave to Ella’s associate were bleached clean and locked back in the drawer before she left for lunch, by the same CO who signed them out to her earlier that morning.
Over the course of the day, with no other leads, the guards question women in the big room, one by one. They start with Geo, since it was her bunkmate who died. She says the same thing everyone else will say—she saw nothing, heard nothing, and has no idea who might have done it. She ignores the looks and whispers from the other inmates, and for a brief moment considers pointing the finger at the woman in the next bunk over, who knew Geo was being raped and did nothing. She decides against it. Had their positions been reversed, Geo might have done the same thing.
Later in the day, the body is finally moved. The lockdown is lifted, and life in prison returns to normal. But now it’s a new normal. With the bunk above her empty, Geo sleeps. For the first time since she’s been at Hellwood, she sleeps a full eight hours.
The next morning at breakfast, Ella Frank sits down at her table in the chow hall. She smiles at Geo. Geo smiles back. They sit across from each other like two old friends, eating their overcooked sausage and rubbery eggs.
“How’s it going, Georgina?” Ella asks pleasantly. “You look rested.”
“I slept well,” she answers. “And my friends call me Geo.”
Ella chuckles. “So we’re friends now? And here I thought we had a simple business deal. I perform a service, you perform a service. Quid pro quo. That’s how it works in here.”
“What if this was more than just a business transaction?” Geo asks. She has no intention of sticking drugs up her ass or being part of the woman’s security squad. “What if we become … business associates? You have a business to run, and I’m a businesswoman. If you recall, I was pretty good at my last job. One of my responsibilities—and perhaps the most important one—was maximizing profits. I think you and I could work well together. I think you already know that, actually. Otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered helping me in the first place.”
The other woman’s smile makes her look younger. Softer. But her voice, as mellifluous as it is, is still laced with steel. “You learn fast, G. And it’s an attractive offer. But you forgot one thing. I don’t need you.”
It’s Geo’s turn to smile. “You have kids, right?”
“Excuse me?” Ella’s voice hardened.
“Have you ever thought about starting a college fund for them?” Geo speaks fast, before Ella goes ballistic. She’s on dangerous ground; even mentioning another woman’s children could get you killed in here. “I know they’re little now, but I bet they’re smart. What if they want to go to college one day? Student loans can be crippling. I can help with that.” She pauses to let what she’s said sink in. “There’s no reason your family
can’t thrive financially, in a legitimate way. I can help you create a nest egg for them. Something they can build on when they’re grown.”
Ella’s dark eyes appraise her, searching for any indication that Geo is trying to bullshit her. Finding none, she finally says, “Okay. I’m listening.”
They talk for the remainder of breakfast.
When Geo gets back to her bunk after her work shift later that day, her hygiene bin, which she forgot to stow away after her shower that morning, is still on her bed where she left it. For once, nobody touched it. Shampoo, toothpaste, even a new bar of soap; it’s all there. A guard finds her a few minutes later.
“Shaw, you’re being transferred,” she barks.
Geo frowns. “Where to?”
“Private cell. One just opened up.”
“How? I thought the other units were full due to the construction.”
The CO raises an eyebrow. “You want it or not? Get your shit and meet me in the hallway.”
Once again, Geo collects her things. As she makes her way out of the big room for the last time, her fellow inmates move out of her way. A few of the women even avert their eyes after making eye contact. It’s a sign of deference. A sign of respect.
In the real world, you earned it through hard work, admiration, loyalty, and sometimes love. In prison, there was only one way: You earned respect through fear.
In her new private cell, Geo finds a cell phone tucked under her mattress, just where Ella Frank said it would be.
5
The letter looks innocent enough from the outside.
Plain blue envelope with her name, DOC number, and the address of Hazelwood Correctional Institute written in neat, even letters. The name and return address is one Geo doesn’t recognize. She opens the envelope, which contains a single sheet of matching blue paper, folded carefully, and more of that neat handwriting. She begins to read.
Thirty seconds later, the letter is stuffed is back inside its envelope, and the envelope is shoved into the middle of a book that she’s read twice already. The book is then placed on the shelf above her desk, never to be touched again.
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