"Maybe if you bring him here and show him what the conditions are like? You can't know, just sitting behind a desk in some university building."
"No, he told me if I don't do this, he won't write me a letter of recommendation."
"Could your parents help you?"
Sometimes she felt like African-Americans are the guardian angels in our lives. "My mother's very passive-aggressive. She lives in Colorado. My dad lives here in California, not too far away, actually. But he's always been distant, emotionally. I'd be afraid to ask him for help." Blue eyes shifting behind her glasses. Private thought. Glance at him, remembering he was there. "I want to be somebody. This is how I'm going to do it."
He gave her a sympathetic smile. Which helped her. Maybe she had an ally in this building? "When we get to the end of the corridor, we're going to go up a single flight of stairs. That takes us to the first level basement. That's where your office is. Right off the staircase. Your first patient has already been escorted to the therapy room."
"What's on the rest of the first level basement?"
"It's more cells, but those are for the really bad criminals. You don't ever want to walk down that particular corridor. Somebody told me when the guards have to do it, they stuff cotton in their ears." He twisted the doorknob. "Ready?"
She breathed in through her nose. "Okay."
Joel got in front of her. Opened the metal door inwards.
The smell. That's what hit her first. That ripe body smell. No windows down here of course. Just vents. Deranged people have their own odor. Put them all together in a confined space, and you can't get your nostrils away from it.
She stepped through the doorway into the large wire cage. Five white guards sitting or standing around in the space, all with guns at their waist, turning around to look at her.
Different ages, physiques.
TV bolted below the white ceiling broadcasting a game show.
The male eyes, going up and down her body.
"Guys, this is Joan Wick, the replacement counselor."
Man with a black moustache by the shotgun rack, fingers interlaced on top of his head, criss-crossed wire behind him, elbows jutting out. "Light my fire." Big grin at the others.
Joel nervously ignored the comment. "Miss Wick, will you come with me, please?"
He escorted Joan to the front of the cage, its locked wire gate.
Stood there, nothing happening, starting to look foolish. "Deputy Reardon, would you unlock the gate, please?"
An older man, looking too overweight to be a prison guard, took another sip of his coffee. Smacked his lips. Put his hands on the arms of his chair. Got up. Walked over to a key ring. Flipped through the keys, taking his time.
Wolf whistle behind her. One of the guards. No way to tell which one. Some deep sniggers. She felt Joel, standing beside her, tense up.
From behind her, "Boy, sure is hot out today."
Another voice, "Boy oh boy."
Reardon made his way over to the gate. Inserted the key. "Boy, I sure don't get enough for this shit."
Behind her, "Boy, I gotta take a leak."
As Reardon turned the key in the lock, she realized the comments weren't directed at her. They were directed at Joel.
The wire mesh gate swung outwards.
Voices welled up in the corridor, hearing the squeak of the hinges.
Cells on either side. Gray concrete path down the middle. Light bulbs in the low ceiling every five feet, each yellow light bulb encased in protective wire.
"You go first. I got your back."
Joan stepped out of the cage onto the concrete of the corridor. Like stepping out onto a tightrope.
Howls went up.
Noses protruding from between the iron bars, tilted back, nostrils flaring, smelling her.
She felt his hand on her back, pushing her. He sounded angry. "Keep walking forward. Don't look left or right. Don't listen to what they're saying."
"Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! Look at your legs! Look at your legs! Are your ears made out of lettuce?"
"Keep moving forward."
"Does your daddy's cock taste like potato chips? Cause you got a house inside your nose."
"You're not moving forward fast enough." Another hard shove.
"Get your black hands off that white woman, nigger!"
Arms reaching out between the bars now, waving up and down like insect antennae.
"Take those eyeglasses off!"
They fast-walked to the end of the corridor. Joel twisted a key in the door, pushed her through.
Shut the door to the tauntings. Locked it.
Silence. Cement walls.
"You made it."
She swung her head side to side.
"I know. And next time, based on how you reacted this time, the taunts will be even more focused. That's what they do. They're probing for your weak spots. And they will find them. You have got to learn to walk down that corridor and not hear them. Not react. Sorry to say this, but while we were doing the walk just now? Your face was twitching. You got to not allow that. How long you have to work here, for your certification?"
She blew out breath. "Six weeks."
"Ever occur to you maybe this professor of yours is punishing you for something? Just saying. There are lots less ugly penitentiaries in California."
"I feel sick."
"Let's get you upstairs. There's a bathroom, if you have to, you know…"
They were at the bottom of the lime green stairwell. He let her go first up the stairs. She held onto the handrail all the way up.
At the top of the stairs, he reached around her, unlocked the metal door. "It gets a little easier after this."
She stepped out onto a carpeted hallway. Carpeting never looked so reassuring. California Dreaming by The Mommas and the Pappas playing on the ceiling speakers.
Yet another metal door about ten feet down this corridor. But to her immediate left, a wooden door.
"We're going in here."
Typical doctor's office waiting room. Surprisingly. Chairs against the walls, but no one in them. Magazines fanned on the tables. She looked closer. They were all coloring books. No one behind the receptionist counter.
"Your first patient's already in the therapy room." He indicated the door to the right of the reception area.
She looked at Joel for guidance. "Do I just turn the knob, open the door?"
"I'll do that for you."
As the door opened, she could see two sets of shoes inside.
Walked through.
No windows, obviously. Overhead light.
Short guard sitting in one of the chairs, right hand resting on the handle of the black gun in his holster.
In the other chair, an over-sized man in an orange jumpsuit. The bigness of him made her catch her breath. Joel, moving beside her, looked nervous.
Long, stringy black hair hanging in front of the prisoner's face. Tattoos up and down his exposed forearms. His large hands, resting in his lap, were handcuffed. A chain from those handcuffs ran between his knees, attached to the metal cuffs around his ankles.
Joel nodded at the guard. "How's it going?"
The guard shrugged.
"This is Ray. Your patient is Danny."
Ray smiled at Joan. Danny just kept sitting. No acknowledgement.
Joan sat in her chair facing Danny. Felt like sitting in front of a lion let out of its cage. "Danny, I've read your case file, so I'm familiar with your background. How are you today?"
According to the case file, Danny was forty-three. He had emigrated illegally to the United States from Panama eighteen years ago. Not from one of the cities, but from one of the farms far up in the hills of Panama, where there were no rules. He was known as the 'wheelchair rapist'. The name of his most recent known victim, which had led to his successful conviction, was redacted in the file, but apparently he insisted she had fed him spaghetti and meatballs, which he had never had before, and had stirred some of her menstrual blood into th
e spaghetti sauce, to gain control of his thoughts. According to the file, he was on a heavy regimen of psychotropic drugs to control his otherwise aggressive behavior, as well as a quarterly injection of Depo-Provera for its chemical castration effect in males, and a bisphosphonate to counter the attendant bone density loss.
Joel's radio crackled. He bent his head to the side, pushing a button. "Yeah?"
Over the radio: "Did you finish the escort?"
"I'm coming out." Looked at Joan. "So, I'm going to go back downstairs, then upstairs. See you later, Ray."
She appreciated that he didn't ask if she were okay in front of the prisoner. To where the prisoner would sense a weakness in her.
After Joel left, Joan turned her attention back to her patient. "Danny? You didn't answer my question. How are you today?"
The voice was deep. The eyes avoided hers. "Doing just fine, Doc."
"Was it explained to you that we're going to be using a prop in therapy today?"
Nothing.
Lifting her chin, feeling the sweat in her armpits, she looked directly at Danny. "Would you move your hair away from your face, please?"
No response.
Rephrased the question as a personal request/explanation of request, which usually gets the desired result. "Danny, would you do me a favor please and move the hair away from your face so I can see you while we talk?"
The big man lifted his right paw, using his fingers to brush his lanky black hair back, chain connecting his handcuffs jangling. Large nose, brown eyes. Messy moustache. Tattoo of a blue star above his right eyebrow.
"Thank you. I asked you if you knew we were going to use a prop today, and you didn't respond to my question."
"I don't remember if I knew."
"This prop is helpful in reminding you of some of the feelings you may have had growing up. My professor has asked me to test the prop in the field, to see what results we get." Hesitated. "You understand what a prop is, right?"
"I ain't stupid, Doc."
She reached into her satchel, pulling out her professor's instructions, and his suggested list of questions.
Danny stared straight ahead, handcuffed hands on his knees.
Reaching again into the satchel, she pulled out the prop. Dropped the empty satchel to the carpet.
Danny sat up in his chair. "The fuck is that?"
"This is the prop we're going to use in this session." She held up the potty training toilet seat so he could get a better look at it. "You probably used one of these as a small child. Your parents place it over a regular toilet seat, so you can get used to using a toilet."
Ray looked uncomfortable.
Danny said nothing.
"I'm going to hand you the prop, then I want you to place it under yourself, and sit on it. Once you've done that, I'm going to ask you a series of questions to see if we can discover any insights as to your state of mind when you were a small child."
The deep voice again, trembling with emotion. "You want to humiliate me?"
"This is not to humiliate you, Danny. This is to help you connect with your past."
He jerked on his chain. Testing it. "You want to fucking humiliate me?" The big, wounded eyes.
Ray slipped a Taser charge out of his hip pocket. Pressed its button, causing a violent electrical arc to hiss between the charge's front electrodes. Carbon smell in the small, windowless room. Looked at the huge man sitting in the chair next to him.
"All you have to do is place it underneath you in the chair, and sit on it. Then I'm going to ask you some questions."
The big head raised. Wide lips snarling around the teeth. "You live my life? You seen the things I saw? Had the things done to you that was done to me?"
"I have to report to the warden how cooperative you were during our session. If you don't cooperate, my understanding is he will take away all your TV privileges."
"The fuck are you?" Yanked on his chain, more forcefully this time.
Ray put his finger on the Taser's button. "Settle down, Danny."
"Will you do me a favor please and put this potty trainer underneath you, so I can complete my questionnaire?"
Danny's massive shoulders rose. "I don't want to do that. You're mud."
"Well, we're going to do that."
She placed the potty trainer on the carpet. Used her high heel to push the white horseshoe shape towards Danny. Prison protocol did not allow her to directly hand it to the prisoner, as a safety precaution.
"Would you reach down please and pick up the prop, so we can begin the experiment?"
"Not gonna do that."
Ray pressed the button again, watching as the pretty, violet electrical charge arced between the two poles. "You remember how it feels to get Tased, Danny? How you have to gulp to get your breath back? And your head doesn't feel right afterwards? You do this, you go back to your cell and get to watch TV. You don't do it, no more TV. I'll roll the set out of your cell. What are you gonna watch then? You just going to stare at the walls all day long? All night long?"
"Nobody will ever know about this. Doctor-patient privilege. You do it for me, and it's over. You go back to your cell, turn on your TV, free to do what you want."
The big shaggy head swung around, chains jangling. "Why are you doing this to me, Doctor?"
"Pick the potty trainer off the carpet, place it underneath you, and sit on it."
Muttering to himself, voice keening higher than she would have expected in such a big man, he snatched the potty trainer up, chains rattling.
Raised the seat of his orange jump suit off the chair.
Lion's head tilted to one side, tears flowing, he slipped the potty trainer underneath him.
Put his weight down on top of its hard white horseshoe, sad lips on his battered face.
His loud voice filled the underground room. "You happy now? You humiliate me."
She tilted her pen tip against her writing pad. Glanced at her professor's notes. "Don't actually defecate in your pants. Just share with me what you're feeling right now. Any memories that might surface."
"You doing this to make me look ridiculous. I am a man! I do not deserve to be treated this way by a woman."
"Explore that."
He stopped crying. Looked directly at her. Motionless. "Explore that?"
"Danny, I need you to–"
That stare from hell. "Explore that?"
"Danny…"
"What is your first name? Why you call me by my first name?" Big fist pounding his chest. "What gives you the right? You think I am a crawling child?"
He tugged on the chain, hard.
Ray held up the Taser.
"Danny, I need you to–"
"The fuck you need. I am memorizing your face, okay? Years from now, when I get out, I'm going to hunt you down, you worthless cunt–"
Ray pressed on the button. Electric violet arc in the air.
"And I am going to fuck you and twist off your ankles while I fuck you and feed them to you and you are going to gnaw on them because I tell you to while I fuck you and then I am going to put lettuce in your mouth. You hear me, Doctor?"
Ray pressed the button again. "Sit back in your chair!"
"And you! One day when you are on guard duty we are going to trap you in the showers."
"Sit back in your chair!"
Danny grabbed the potty trainer from underneath him, flung it like feces across the room. Stared at Joan. "You think you can humiliate me like this?"
The three chairs shifted left, right. Creaks in the walls, ceiling.
Joan looked at Ray. "What was that?"
He shook his head. "I don't know." Glanced around the room.
His cell phone rang.
Ray answered. Danny used his backside to shove his chair out from under him. He rose in his chains, stooped forward.
Ray ducked his head, phone to his ear. "What?"
Joan stood out of her chair, maneuvered it in front of her and Danny.
"Say again?"
Ray wet his lips. Stared at Joan. "The dam collapsed. It flooded the valley. We're under forty feet of water."
"What?"
"The dam collapsed! Where the town used to be? There's a lake now. We're at the bottom of a lake." He looked up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of all that cold water directly above them.
Danny, stooped forward, saliva dripping from his lips, snapped apart the chains connecting his handcuffs.
Frank Wick drove his red pickup down into the valley, stopping where the newly-created lake lapped the shore.
He had been to the valley before. Had some grilled octopus at one of the sidewalk cafes. Odd to now see it buried under forty feet of water, the town no longer there, just blue water between the two green slopes.
Plenty of debris on the lake's surface. Floating into each other. Street signs, uprooted trees, clothing. What a mess.
An emergency station had been set up where the road slanted down into the edge of the lake. Police cars, a white hitch trailer that was probably command headquarters, some TV vans with small satellite dishes on their roofs.
Wick parked his pickup on the side of the road, ten feet from the lake's edge.
Swung open the driver's door. Walked to the bed of his truck. Started unloading scuba gear.
The sheriff stopped a TV interview, raising a palm. Funny how an emergency can give someone arrogance. Walked over to Wick, stout, beige uniform, glinting eyeglasses, moustache. Stood with his feet planted apart. "Put that equipment back in your truck, get back behind your steering wheel, and back your truck out of here."
Wick kept unloading the metal tanks. His old eyes looked at the sheriff. "My daughter's down there. I'm going to get her."
"You are going to do no such thing. I'm in charge here, and I'm telling you to pack up and leave. Or I'll have you arrested."
Wick started carrying two of the tanks to the lapping edge.
"If your daughter was down there, she's dead. We're not letting anyone in this water. Too much junk floating, and this lake is infested with snakes from the hills. Happened so fast they didn't get a chance to crawl uphill. You want to get snapped at a hundred times underwater?"
Dropping the tanks at the edge of the water, Wick went back to his pickup for more. "My daughter's not dead. She called me an hour ago."
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