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Inevitable Sentences

Page 13

by Tekla Dennison Miller


  “Good. That will help.”

  “Without other employees backing me, it all could be difficult to prove.” Eagle sounded defeated.

  “Let the director know you’ve kept a journal when you call her on Monday.” Max ignored the possibility that the director simply didn’t want to delve into the problem at the moment. He plowed ahead. “You’re strong and should be able to handle the meeting. In fact, I bet the director already senses a problem with Stump. I bet Stump hasn’t done anything in a timely fashion and perhaps has even ignored directives.” Max’s voice accelerated into staccato bursts. “For all you know, she may already be on his case and waiting for further proof to take action. You have that proof.” Max’s breathing seemed labored. “What you report may only be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Then, good riddance.”

  “Sir, your face is turning red. Are you okay?” Eagle rushed to his side.

  “Yes,” he whispered, “I can’t get this excited, you know, because of my heart. Anything about the prison does set me off.”

  Eagle held a glass of water with a straw to Max’s mouth. Max, feeling too dependent, would have loved to bat it away. Instead, he sipped. The coolness slid down his throat and eased the heat that seemed to build in every part of his body. He shouldn’t let news of the prison get to him this way. When Max had finished the water, Eagle took it away and set the glass on the bed table.

  “Thank you,” Max said. “I have one more thing to say and then you must go.”

  “Yes, what is it?” Eagle’s eyes grew larger than Max had ever seen and still they appeared like small glass pebbles.

  “You can’t wait too long to talk with the regional director. You have to call her Monday and insist on getting in to see her immediately. Don’t take no for an answer this time. Even if you have to post yourself at her office door until she sees you.” Max coughed. “The longer you wait, the worse the situation will get. Even dangerous.”

  “I’ll be the scapegoat for all the policy breaches.” Eagle frowned.

  “Better you than lose the entire prison.” Max’s tone was firm.

  Before Eagle could answer, Hooper exploded through the door followed by Celeste. Hooper glared at Eagle. “I thought I told you to be out of here in fifteen minutes. You stretched that into a half hour. Scat before I put you in a straitjacket and call for the psych unit to fetch you.”

  Eagle actually looked anxious. Max smothered a chuckle.

  “Guess I’ll be going.” Eagle stuttered the words. “I’m on duty at the prison today and I’m late.” He nodded to Max. “Warden.” He turned to Celeste. “Mrs. Brookstone.”

  “Remember what I said about Monday,” Max stated, his tone harsher than he had meant it to be.

  “Yes,” Eagle said as he grabbed his coat and actually backed out of the room.

  “What about Monday?” Celeste asked.

  “Hello to you, too.” Max sounded hurt.

  “Sorry, dear. Hello,” Celeste nearly cooed. She kissed his mouth a little longer than usual. “How are you feeling today?”

  “I’m much better now that you’re here, which, by the way, is a wonderful surprise.” His smile made his face glow. “I didn’t think I would see you until tomorrow when you picked me up, what with this weather and all.”

  “I was able to sneak away for little while. Adrian has become such a help I have no problem leaving the safe house in her hands.” Celeste lifted his shoulders and fluffed his pillows. “What’s more, it bothers me that I can’t be here and be more of a help to you.”

  “I feel the same way about not being at the lighthouse with you.” Max sighed.

  “I don’t want to interrupt this lovely scene, but if Mrs. Brookstone isn’t going to push for an answer, I want to know—what did you mean about Monday?” Hooper checked the monitor as she talked. She lifted Max’s arm and wrapped the blood pressure cuff around it. As she pumped it, she said, “I’m waiting for an answer and it better be good. You better not be doing anything stupid.”

  Max winced at how tight Hooper made the cuff, her form of torture to make him confess. When she began letting the pressure out, he answered, “I told the deputy to make an appointment with the regional director to vent his grievances about Warden Stump. I also told him I wasn’t the person to handle Hawk Haven’s problems. Are you satisfied?”

  “Good for you,” Celeste cheered.

  “Ummm.” Hooper removed the cuff and wrote Max’s pressure down. “Every time that man comes here, your pressure goes up. What am I going to do with you?” She shook her head. “You must like me a whole lot better than Mrs. Brookstone since you seem to want to stay here.”

  “I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t. So let Mrs. Brookstone and me have some time together.”

  Hooper strutted to the door and mumbled, “At least she gets your blood pressure down to where it should be.”

  Celeste straightened. “Should I take that as a compliment? I thought I got you all hot and bothered.” She brushed her hand down his cheek and giggled. Then she abruptly cocked her ear to the bleeping sound of the heart monitor. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you being here chained to this equipment and bed.”

  “Me, either. Look on the bright side. All the other machines are gone and I’ll be out of here tomorrow if all goes as it should,” Max practically bellowed.

  “Speaking of tomorrow.” Celeste’s voice was calm. “What happens if I get snowed or iced in? Do you have someone else to pick you up and at least get you to your apartment?”

  “Deputy Eagle?” Max chuckled. “He’d be happy to make me his captive audience.”

  Celeste lightly swatted his shoulder. “You can be silly at times. This is serious. We need a plan B.”

  Hooper slid quietly back into the room. “He’ll have to stay here until you can pick him up. He can’t be released without some sort of home care.”

  Both Celeste and Max jumped at the unexpected sound of Hooper’s voice. “Aren’t you the ghost today?” Max teased.

  “Lunch is on its way. And, Mrs. Brookstone, you should be on your way, too, if you plan to get home before you’re snowed in here for the night.” Hooper moved to the window and pointed. “That sky is getting darker by the second. Darker than I can ever recall.” She turned to the couple. “Well, I have other patients to tend to.” She sped from the room.

  Celeste stared at the charcoal-colored clouds, heavy and ominous. “I can already feel the weight. It feels as though a huge wet cover is wrapped around my body.” Her arms folded across her chest as if to demonstrate. She shuddered and gazed at Max. “It wouldn’t be bad to be stuck in the warm hospital room with you, though.”

  Max had learned a long time ago that when the barometer dropped, Celeste’s outlook did, too. Her mood seemed well on its way into the depths of gloom. If she planned to live in the Upper Peninsula, she’d have to get over these seasonal attacks. Maybe a sunlamp would help. Certainly, if he hadn’t been hospitalized she wouldn’t feel this sad.

  Celeste walked to the window. “I know this sounds silly,” she said without taking her eyes from the window. “But this time I have an even deeper feeling that the weather will bring a far worse situation than I can cope with on my own. Or …”

  “Yoo-hoo!” Max called out. “Are you still with me?”

  “Sorry.” Celeste faced Max and forced a smile.

  Had she forgotten she was in his room?

  “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m being silly because I miss having you with me. And I get mesmerized by the cloud formations, that’s all.”

  Max knew there was something more pressing on her mind, like the last time they talked, but he decided to let it go for the moment. He’d be able to comfort her full-time starting tomorrow. “The clouds are a whole lot prettier in the summer when the sun sets into them.”

  Max’s cheery response broke through Celeste’s sadness for a moment. “Yes, I agree and I’m anxious for that time to get here.”

  Max m
otioned her to come to his side. He took one of her hands and kissed it. “I’m tired of only kissing your hand.”

  “You must have patience, my dear. All good things come in due time.” Celeste hoped the time would be tomorrow.

  “At any rate, you should get on the road.” Max glanced out the window. “Even though I hate to say Hooper’s right, it is starting to snow again. It’ll be slow enough driving without waiting for the real heavy stuff to begin falling.”

  “I always have a tough time leaving.” Celeste held her breath. It didn’t hide the quiver in her voice. She felt more hesitant than usual about going back to the lighthouse. “It’s too damn grim outside and that’s getting to me, I guess.” She smiled weakly. “You know I have had to fight this kind of seasonal depression all my life. It’ll pass. It always does.”

  “Believe me, I don’t want you to go either. I hate this damn weather myself. I also want to be sure you’re safe and tucked securely into the lighthouse.” Max released her hand. “Now go.”

  “Yes, sir, Warden Whitefeather.” Celeste leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “I do love you, you know.”

  “Yes, and I love you. You should know that because you are the only one who is still allowed to call me warden.”

  Celeste laughed, straightened, and picked up her coat, moving as slowly as possible. She wrapped the coat around her and buttoned it in slow motion. When she finished she softly said, “Good-bye until tomorrow.” She blew him a kiss, turned, and left the room.

  He watched her disappear through the door, certain there was more to her obvious depression and distress than the weather. What could it be that she wouldn’t tell him?

  For several minutes he could hear the murmur of other voices. Soon they vanished, and the sudden silence in the room pushed in on Max. Sadly, he had a whole day of that lonely pressure ahead of him or so he thought.

  “Hey there, you old man,” a hearty voice bellowed.

  Max brightened when he saw Duke Hunter, the county sheriff. The two men had been friends since high school. Hunter got the name Duke back then because he reminded everyone of John Wayne, and he still did, right down to the way he talked—a slow, drawn-out drawl.

  “I saw Celeste leaving. Am I barging in when you should be resting?” Hunter moved toward Max, his powerful, lean physique still impressing Max even though the two had been friends for over forty years.

  Hunter wasn’t the public’s stereotypical sheriff. He had a master’s degree from Michigan State in Public Administration and had graduated with a 4.0. Fortunately for Marquette County, Hunter wanted to live in his hometown. Max had always been amazed that Duke would rather read poetry by Billy Collins than go hunting like most of his deputies. Although rugged, he was no woodsman. The poetry and his leadership skills were why Max liked and respected Hunter. His wife, Mary, a graduate in literature from the same university, couldn’t have been happier, either.

  “Hell. That’s all I do is sleep,” Max said. “Sit down and tell me the latest gossip and don’t leave out one detail.” Better a visit from his old friend than a wallow in his loneliness. “Besides,” Max added, “I’m sure what you have to tell me will be way better than Deputy Eagle’s miserable stories.”

  While the men chatted away like two old women at a quilting party, Hooper brought Max’s lunch tray. “My, my, aren’t you the talkative twosome,” she teased.

  When an hour had nearly passed, Hunter’s cell phone sounded. After he hung up, he said, “I have to go, old buddy. Duty calls.”

  “Yeah.” Max shook his head. “You should think about joining me in retirement.”

  “What, and fish with you in Florida?”

  “We could read some poetry, too, if you’d like.” Max laughed.

  “That part sounds good.” Hunter winked. “Take care of yourself. The next time I see you it will be with Celeste for dinner at my house.”

  “You’re on.”

  Hunter hurried from the room. Max knew better than to ask what the call had been about. It had nothing to do with him, and Hunter wouldn’t want to give Max anything troubling to think about. Exhausted from all the visiting, Max closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep, leaving most of his lunch untouched.

  Chapter Thirteen

  BREAKOUT

  LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON LIZZIE parked the refrigerator truck at the salleyport entrance for the last time. She was lucky to be here at all. The predicted storm raged through the area with a vengeful blow far worse than expected. It marooned people on the road and in their homes, where many had lost electrical power. Several officers couldn’t get to work, leaving those already at the prison to pull double shifts. For Lizzie and Chad that was good news, because those tired and overworked officers, including the one at the salleyport, would be less alert and more apt to let things slide.

  The churning clouds hung so low Lizzie thought she could reach out the truck’s window and grab a fistful. The very thought turned her hand to ice. The clouds still held more snow, and she hoped it wouldn’t fall until she and Chad were on the road and far away from the prison.

  The truck suddenly shuddered as a gust of wind slammed against its side. Hopefully the gale would slow down soon. The truck’s defroster could hardly keep the glaze of ice off the windshield. Lizzie had had to get out several times during the quarter mile between the warehouse and prison gate to scrape it clean. She held a deep dread that as the day moved into night the conditions would only get worse, and she certainly didn’t need anything to stand in the way of the escape.

  While Lizzie waited for the officer to check the truck’s contents, her gloved fingers tapped the steering wheel impatiently. She rocked in her seat trying to stay warm. Her eyes darted from the gun tower to the yard to the administration building, searching for unusual activity. Could anyone know what was about to come down? She doubted it. She and Chad had been too careful. What they couldn’t get talked out in person was communicated through his mother, Maryann, during her weekly visits with Chad. Lizzie had telephoned Maryann every Monday, or more often if needed, to update the plan. Lizzie had concerns about Maryann, though. She seemed too close to Chad—closer than a mother should be to her son. Lizzie had often been put off, even sickened by Maryann’s gushing over Chad. She spoke as though he were her lover rather than her child.

  Once Chad had escaped, would Maryann try to break them up and take Chad for herself? Silly girl, Lizzie chided herself. You’re jealous. She was his mother, for chrissakes.

  Fortunately, Maryann couldn’t visit today. No one would expect her to drive the more than two hundred miles in this winter storm, although Lizzie believed Maryann had probably tried. Truth be known, Lizzie was delighted Maryann wouldn’t be around to muck up the escape.

  All of sudden Lizzie wondered about Maryann’s role in the escape. Would she have been there if the weather had allowed? Would Maryann have run off with them? She had never been a part of the plan even though she could have rented the car instead of Priscilla. Lizzie wondered why Maryann’s services hadn’t been used. Lizzie was comforted by the thought that Chad obviously didn’t want his mother on board, which delighted her. Maybe he was also sickened by the more than motherly attention she gave him. Lizzie felt warmth rushing through her body over this delicious observation.

  Lizzie surveyed the employee parking lot. She stopped tapping the wheel and instead squeezed it tighter and tighter as she examined each car. Her own Ford truck was among them and would be abandoned in its place. Her eyes settled on the warden’s spot. It was still empty. The Ghost could pop up out of nowhere, though, couldn’t he? She released the wheel and laid her head against the headrest. She had to stay cool, had to be the perky, talkative Lizzie everyone expected. Anything else would arouse suspicion and prompt questions. She didn’t need any questions.

  Lizzie checked the truck’s side mirror. Officer O’Brien rounded the rear. The vapor caused by the truck’s exhaust and cold air surrounded him, and he emerged at the driver’s window like an angel
floating on a cloud. Hopefully he would be her angel today.

  Lizzie rolled the window down. “You look like a zombie,” she said, trying to make light conversation to ease her own tension. His face was etched in exhaustion.

  He handed her the manifest. “You would, too, working out here.” He squinted at the dark clouds rushing across the sky. “Plus I had to pull a double shift. I’m tired, cold and outta coffee.”

  Lizzie shook her head in sympathy. “Sounds bad to me. Ya shoulda told me earlier on my way out to bring you some coffee back.”

  “Yeah, I shoulda.” O’Brien stomped his feet and rubbed his gloved hands together. “Maybe we can get a cup of coffee together when you get off today.” He looked hopeful.

  Lizzie was taken back. She’d suspected O’Brien’s interest in her because he had always been more than helpful, chatted way too long and let little things slide like her once forgetting to lock the back doors to the truck. Still, this was the first truly clear gesture he had ever made. Why did it have to be today of all days? It’s almost like he knew something. Were the gods against her? “I’ll have to take a rain check. I wanna go home and sleep. This weather’s gettin’ to me.”

  “Yeah. I know what yah mean.” O’Brien seemed a little hurt. “I guess I could use some extra sleep, too.”

  “Well, I hope I can get home in this mess, anyway,” Lizzie added.

  “Yeah. It’ll be tough goin'.” O’Brien thumped the truck door and radioed to the tower officer. When the gate opened, he gallantly waved Lizzie through, bowing and motioning her forward with an outstretched arm.

  Lizzie waved and rolled the window closed. She eased the truck through the salleyport, not wanting to appear in a hurry. No need to draw attention to her or the truck. But she didn’t have to worry. Even the prison road was ice covered forcing her to inch the truck forward carefully. After the gate closed behind her, O’Brien slipped into the heated officers’ shack at the base of the tower.

  When Lizzie reached the kitchen dock, she slammed the brakes so hard her body lunged forward as the fright overwhelmed her. Blood pounded through her veins.

 

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