by Pace, Pepper
Babe, I know you are shocked but I hope you are happy. I know that you didn’t want it to be this way. But I want you to know that I’m happy. I’m happy that I carry a piece of you inside of me.
I can be everything I need to be and still be a mother to our baby. I can still be there for you. And I won’t put myself on the back burner. I love you Scotty. My soulmate. My best friend. My family. -Vanessa
She felt better after writing the letter, even though she was anxious about Scotty’s response as well as how it would effect his jail time. But she placed the letter aside and looked at her half-packed boxes.
Scotty wouldn’t be proud of her if he knew that she had been lying in bed for most of the last eight weeks. She hadn’t even begun looking for a place to live for her and her baby.
There was no room with Miss Gloria and she wasn’t going back to grandma’s. She had to stop letting her life lead her and had to be in control of leading it.
She pulled her long hair back into a ponytail and then began to fill her suitcases with her things. Scotty’s were still boxed and she vowed to carry them with her wherever she went. There was a little over seven grand in her bank account—Scotty had given her the last of his money after covering all the remaining bills.
The money would be enough to take care of her until after the birth and Medicare was going to take care of the hospital bill. She wouldn’t keep giving in to her grief. Scotty was watching her now and she needed to make him proud.
All he had to do was allow someone to come into his cell to pick up a package. Of course he had to keep the package safe until then. And he didn’t know what was in it—but that didn’t matter to him. Once the person came to make the pick-up his debt would be paid—or at least Scotty tried to pretend that it would be that simple.
Two days after being informed of his debt Tres passed Scotty an aluminum foil wrapped package, which fit snuggly in his palm. Scotty carried it in his armpit until he could figure out where to hide it.
They hadn’t gotten a shakedown since he’d been there and no one ever patted him down. But people came in and out of cells and he would be damned if he left it somewhere only to have someone steal it. Theft was common in the cellblock, although Scotty had nothing to steal so normally he had nothing to worry about. His cellie had commissary as well as a television and radio but Scotty was careful not to pay attention to the items unless his cellie took it upon himself to charge rent. He’d seen it happen with other newbies.
Right before lockdown a huge white man came walking into the cell. Scotty’s cellmate seemed to know that the visitor was there for Scotty and again he left, right in the middle of telling another one of his bogus stories about pimping and drug dealing—as if any story about pimping and drug dealing could impress Scotty.
“You got something for me?” The huge man asked.
He looked at Scotty with a scowl on his face. He was older by twenty years and bigger than the younger man. He wasn’t as much muscular as he was fat and tall. But he looked dangerous with his shaved head and dead grey eyes. His tats proclaimed his gang affiliation with the Neo-Nazis with one huge swastika that stood front and center on his chest.
Scotty jumped down from his bunk. He’d already discreetly removed the packet from his armpit and he made to transfer it with a shake of the hand. Only the Neo-Nazi refused the shake.
Scotty raised his brow in question.
“Nah. I don’t shake with niggers. Put it on the table.”
A dark expression fell across Scotty’s face.
“Don’t get mad, bitch.” The man growled. “Everybody sees how you hang out with them. So you’re just as much a nigger as they are.”
That word. Again. Scotty bawled his hand into a fist. “Go back and tell whoever you were supposed to give this too why you’re empty handed. And don’t come back until you can show some respect.”
The other man’s eyes came to life. “What? It’s a done deal-“
Scotty’s eyes flitted to the corridor where whites, blacks and Hispanics were watching the interaction. There was no backing out now even though he questioned his own sanity. He’d been called a nigger or worse all his life. The word held little effect on him. But this fucking skinhead was not going to walk up on him and disrespect him and treat him like a punk.
“Get the fuck out of my cell.” He said evenly.
The fat Neo-Nazi was surprised. The kid should know what was what by now. He should know that the Skinheads ran the cellblock. Had he not practically announced that he was such a nigger lover, the kid would have already been approached by them and recruited.
And now he wanted to stand up for the blacks against his own race? The Skinhead was outraged. He swung on Scotty in a move that could have been a sucker punch if he had been fifty pounds lighter and ten years younger.
Scotty blocked it easily and then smashed his fist into the man’s face. He felt his knuckles crack a moment before pain shot up his arm. But although the big man’s head rocked back, in the next moment he acted as if he didn’t feel a thing. He backhanded Scotty with a fierce blow and Scotty saw stars before his eyes as pain exploded on the entire left side of his face.
Scotty fell against the desk, knocking over his cellie’s television set where it toppled to the floor with an explosion of shattered glass. The Neo-Nazi came at Scotty again. Scotty knew that he couldn’t afford to break his other hand. He pushed off the desk and surprised the older man by tackling him around his middle and forcing him out of the cell. The two men landed on the concrete tier and Scotty quickly got to his feet, keeping the man in his sights.
The skinhead roared with anger as he hefted himself to his feet. His huge fist went flying as the inmates formed a hooting and hollering circle around them.
The blow landed solidly into Scotty’s side. It felt like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer but Scotty still had enough presence of mind to know that he did not intend to be the one caught holding what was enclosed in the foil wrapped package ...
He grabbed the big man’s top with his fist and then Scotty gritted his teeth and slammed his head against the skull of his opponent.
He saw a river of red flow down his face but Scotty was unsure whether or not it was his blood or the big man’s because his opponent’s skull had opened up like a cantaloupe.
The man’s eyes rolled to the top of his head and he was out cold a second later. Scotty quickly tucked the aluminum foil wrapped package into the waistband of his attacker and a moment later Scotty was taken to the floor by two Correctional Officers.
Both men were taken separately to the nursing unit. Scotty’s right knuckles had been re-broken from a previous untreated injury. He was put in a cast that went up his elbow. His right eye was swollen closed within minutes of being taken to the infirmary. His scalp received five stitches. He didn’t have time to worry about his looks but when he caught sight of his reflection, Scotty saw a monstrous, bloody sight.
Both men were thrown into criminal detention awaiting investigation of the fight. Scotty lost visitation, phone calls—not that he’d had an opportunity to make any—but he also lost the ability to receive letters.
For two days the investigation continued while Scotty cooled his heels in solitary confinement—otherwise known as hell-on-earth.
Scotty was housed in a cellblock, which stayed on lock down twenty-two hours a day. He had no cellie, no television, no radio. And somehow the other inmates knew who he was and why he was there.
For hours on end he heard catcalls and warnings about keeping his mouth shut. His only reprieve was when he got to go out to the yard alone for fifty-nine minutes a day and the one time that he was allowed to go to the showers alone.
After two days of investigation, Scotty was found innocent. It was difficult to find him guilty of anything when he’d been attacked in his own cell and had been busted up more than his attacker. Of course the correctional officers were wise to the fact that there was likely a drug exchange going on—but since the new
boy had yet to receive visitors or mail there was nothing that he could be charged with.
But that didn’t mean that Scotty was returned to his cellblock. Although he was not being punished he was forced to stay in solitary confinement until the cast was removed. It was for the safety of the cellblock considering his violent history.
The other man received ninety days of solitary confinement—more due to the drugs found on his person than due to the fight. Scotty was hard pressed to determine how the C.O’s differentiated his confinement from his attacker’s punishment.
The cell was hell. Smaller than the one back at the previous cellblock, there was no window and because of the solid metal doors, which housed a small slot, there was no way to see beyond the eight by ten room. But because he was not being punished Scotty was allowed to receive books from the library and could now write letters and would soon receive them. Also, his first visitation was back on the schedule and Phonso would be here to visit him on Friday.
Scotty was in the shower allowing the water to beat down on his head despite the fact that they stung his stitches. After stepping out of the shower to the sink to shave he stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes scanned the jagged scar that ran nearly two inches into his hairline. He took in his swollen purple eye and the bruises on his torso. He clenched his broken fist, feeling a sharp stab of pain.
Scotty clenched his teeth. He wasn’t going to do easy time. This was a place for him to fight. He was young and prison would be more of this; fifteen to twenty-five years of it.
When he returned to his cell Scotty sat down at his small desk and he wrote two letters; one to Phonso explaining that he didn’t want any visitors and the other to Vanessa telling her that he was refusing any contact with her or anyone else.
Like Juan Carlos, like Tino, Scotty intended to just disappear.
Chapter Sixteen
Phonso slammed the phone down with a curse. He looked over his shoulder at Vanessa who watched quietly. He cursed again. His brother was a dick! How could he refuse Vanessa’s phone call? Yeah it was one thing to refuse visitation and a phone call from him, but not from the mother of his unborn child.
Vanessa turned and walked out of the room.
“This has to be hard on him.” Phonso said.
Vanessa returned to the kitchen.
“Him? This isn’t just about him!”
“I know-“
“All he can say is that he doesn’t want to do his time with the memory of …” Her throat began to close and she left the room. A month ago she had written him a letter—the most important letter that she’d ever written. Two days ago she gets a letter telling her to leave him alone.
Yes, she knew it would be hard on him knowing that he couldn’t be here for her and the baby—but never in a million years did she expect him to tell her never to contact him again.
She sat down on the steps. All of the furniture had already been moved out and soon the house would be empty. The phone would be turned off, the addresses changed. How would Scotty be able to find them from prison?
Ginger sat down next to her and placed a gentle hand on her swollen stomach.
“I can’t wait for the baby to get here. I hope it’s a girl! Can I play with her Vanessa?”
She placed a loving arm around the girl. At least there was one happy Tremont.
“Tremont! Mail.” Several envelopes were pushed into his mail slot and landed on the floor in a scattering of letters.
Scotty looked at them in surprise. He had never received any letters. There was nothing left to say. What his family and friends did on the outside of this hell was much better than the hopelessness of endless days and nights looking at his eight by ten little room.
His cast would be removed in a matter of days which meant that he could return to his prior cellblock soon after.
Some might be afraid of what waited for him there. Tres and the boys could get nasty because he’d messed up the handoff. There would probably be retaliation from the White Supremacist. But there would also be an opened cell door and a room that didn’t consist of a filthy, rusted out toilet and a sink that gave rusted water ten seconds before it ran clear.
For six weeks he’d been in solitary confinement. In that time he had counted every brick, every piece of chipped paint and every crack. Everyday he would consider how much closer he was to his first out of fifteen years of imprisonment. He didn’t know how he would possibly do it.
Scotty prayed for prison because at least he wouldn’t be in this one room cell with nothing but the echoing screams of the other inmates to keep him company. People said that prison was much better than jail and he had to believe that or he wouldn’t make it. And now there were letters, piled on the floor like gifts from a past life—precious jewels that he could barely comprehend.
What if he had to spend the rest of his jail time here in solitary confinement before being shipped to prison? It could happen. He could be taken back to the cellblock and get into another fight and be returned here. It was more than likely. And it could take a year or even more before he was finally sent to prison to finish his sentence. Some people spent years—
Scotty scooped up the envelopes. Each had been opened but he didn’t care. He went to his metal stool and sat down in front of his desk where he neatly shuffled through the envelopes putting them in date order.
The first ones had been sent right around the time that he had been in the fight with the Neo-Nazi. Fuckers had held onto the letters long enough. He’d been cleared within days so why was he only now getting his letters?
He counted seven letters in total. Two precious ones were from Vanessa. He picked up the earlier one first and sighed when he recognized her perfect handwriting. In his mind Vanessa had been turned into a fantasy. He had been given a brief time with her and he replayed the precious moments over and over. Just holding her letters caused a deep ache in the center of his being. He closed his eyes, happy that he had sent her away. He wouldn’t be able to do this and hold it together.
Scotty got himself together and began reading the first letter that Vanessa had sent him.
“Collect call from the Hamilton County Justice Center from inmate Scott Tremont. Will you accept the charges?”
Phonso hesitated. He very nearly declined the call. He was still burning with anger at his brother but after everything Scotty had done for them all he couldn’t just turn his back on the man—at least not until he gave him a piece of his mind.
“Yes.” Phonso said simply. He was informed that the call was monitored and given other rules before the phone call went through.
“Phonso!” Scotty shouted.
“I’m here.”
“I’m trying to get into contact with Vanessa. Miss Gloria’s phone number has been changed. They moved already-“
“Vanessa isn’t with Miss Gloria. She moved out.”
Scotty was pacing back and forth in front of the telephone. He rubbed his forehead, his fingers finding the healed scar that ran into his hairline.
“She’s pregnant.” Scotty whispered. When he had read those words Scotty had dropped the letter. It wasn’t possible. He had been so careful—except for that first time.
She had hidden it from him. She had lived with the knowledge those last few weeks of his freedom and she had kept it hidden. Scotty tried to remember if anything would have told him—yeah the fact that she hadn’t had a period. But there had been times when they hadn’t touched and then there were times that they could barely keep their hands from each other.
After reading the letter several times, Scotty had torn through the second letter—the one in which Vanessa had basically told him to fuck himself.
“Phonso, how is she? Where is she?”
“Oh, you suddenly care now? I told you not to hurt that girl and you did it anyway!”
“I …” Scotty closed his eyes and then he ran his fingers through hair that had grown long again. “I know. I know, Phonso!”
“Scotty
, what do you want? You were probably right to do it, okay, because you are truly not worth that girl.”
Scotty was quiet. “I didn’t know about the baby when I sent that letter. Phonso … is she okay?”
Phonso sighed. His brother wasn’t a bad person. Just stupid.
“I have no idea. Vanessa moved to New York.”
Scotty’s eyes popped open. “What--?”
“She went to school with some girl named Charisma. This Charisma is going to get her work after she has the baby.” Phonso feared that with a name like Charisma, the only job the girl had was at a strip bar, but Vanessa told him that it had been her name since school.
Phonso had even offered to allow Vanessa to move in with him and his girl—only he knew even while he offered that it wouldn’t fly. Vanessa had graciously declined.
He hadn’t lied all those months back. Vanessa felt like one of his sisters. But without Scotty’s encouragement to stay, Vanessa had retreated from them all.
“Charisma? Is that all you know-?“
“It wasn’t my business to know more! Remember? It was you who told her to get lost.”
Scotty’s heart seemed to plunge to his toes. He didn’t tell her to get lost—not like that. No. That was a lie. He had told her to go away … and to her it would have sounded just like that.
Scotty swallowed past the lump that had settled in his throat. “Did she give you an address?” He held his breath hopefully, his palms wet with sweat.
“No. She said she’d call when the baby was born.”
Scotty rested his forehead against his cast. This is what he wanted, right? For Vanessa to move on and make a life for herself that didn’t include a convicted killer. It was still what he wanted—even more now than ever. But God … it was so hard.
“Okay.” He did the math rapidly in his mind. June. It was now April.
“You’ll tell me when she calls?”
Phonso’s voice softened. “Yeah. I’ll tell you.”