Incarcerated: Letters From Inmate 92510

by Inger Iversen

  The ropes around my wrists were tugged, and I cried out. The pain was so intense that I thought I would pass out right there.

  “Stay with me,” a calm voice said from behind. It was the same voice that instructed me to keep breathing.

  When my arms were free, I sagged forward. The pain splintering through me was too much to bear. And then there were hands at my ankles; I heard the knife against the rope. When I was completely untied, my body fell forward, sliding off the chair and toward the ground.

  But he was there.

  I slid right into his arms, my body completely boneless.

  A low curse slipped from his lips as he yelled for a medic. Yeah, a medic. That seemed like a good idea. I hurt. I hurt all over.

  I cried out when he shifted me in his arms, bringing me closer to his chest. I pressed my face against him. He was wet, but his clothes were scratchy against my cheek. I tried to look at him; I opened my eyes and tilted back my head. I caught a flash of dark hair and light eyes, but then my vision faded out, pain took over, and I passed out.

  SHADY BAY

  By Casey L. Bond

  JAXON

  1

  ONE YEAR AGO . . .

  My brothers sat across the table from me. Can’t believe I’m here again. I came home waggin’ my tail behind me like a scolded dog. Castrated dog. She’d reeled me in, chewed me up and spit me out. The worst part was I’d let her. I should’ve seen her coming from a mile away. Starla. Stone cold bitch. I thought she loved me. I followed her all the way to Fort Lauderdale. Life was good, the sex was great, and for a while, she treated me like I was the only man in the world.

  But it had been a bunch of bullshit. She didn’t love me like she said, like she moaned. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with me, like she’d cooed as she raked her long painted-red-fingernails through my hair. No. Starla was a liar. My brothers referred to her as “the cougar.”

  They were right. She was twenty years older than my twenty-four. And she’d sunk her claws in deep. The wounds were still fresh. My blood was still pooling up in them. I took a deep draw off the long neck in front of me and slammed the bottle back onto the mahogany bar.

  Parker stiffened and then grinned. “Dude, we tried to tell you. You had those rose-colored glasses on.” The neon lights across from us made his face glow orange-red.

  “Shut up, Park.”

  He laughed. Parker was older than me, married to his perfect wife, Amy. They had adopted their perfect daughter, Maddy, a couple of years ago. He had nothing to complain about. That was for sure, and I didn’t feel like listening to a lecture or his bullshit right now. Easton remained quiet, and I was thankful that he was acting as a buffer between Parker and me.

  Raking my hands through my hair, I growled. “I can’t stay here.” Easton had his wife, Melissa. Parker had perfection. Hell, even our cousin Gabe had gotten lucky and had married Aislin, the girl he’d loved forever and was too pussy to admit it. I’d have loved to have gotten a hold of that one. Maybe if I’d spent more time chasing her, I’d have beat Gabe to the punch. Maybe I’d never have met Starla. Maybe my life wouldn’t completely suck.

  “What do you mean you can’t stay here? Surely, you aren’t going back to Florida?” Parker quirked an eyebrow at me. The bartender replaced our empty bottles with full ones and we started sipping. Guys’ night out never tasted so good.

  “I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t stay here. I don’t want to be here. I quit the mines. I can’t go back. Hell, I don’t want to go back. And I don’t know what I’m going to do, but it isn’t gonna be in or near Devil Creek.”

  Easton looked over at me and held his hand up to stop more from spewing out Parker’s mouth. Parker closed his trap. Easton looked me over, turned to Parker and said, “What about Shady?”

  Parker narrowed his eyes. “Seriously?”

  Easton nodded once. “Yep.”

  “What’s Shady?” I asked.

  Easton answered first. “A business venture that we’re working on. My company is building a bar in Myrtle Beach. Parker and I are partners; joint owners. If he agrees, you could go down and work for my guys to build the place. Spend some time away from Devil Creek, see if you like Myrtle. Then if you want to stay, you could manage it for us.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “While you were hunting cougar, Jax.” Parker laughed.

  Keep laughing, assbag. I took a deep draw of beer. Tasted like freedom. “I’ll go.”

  Parker stopped laughing and took a quick swig looking from me to Easton, worry etched on his brow. Easton just chuckled at him and nodded once at me. “You start Monday. I own a small townhouse complex and can hook you up. One of the units is vacant. Better get packed and on the road early tomorrow. I’ll text you with the details.”

  Grumbling, Parker muttered, “Looks like guys’ night out is over.”

  As we finished our drinks, excitement began coursing through my veins. This could be fun.

  I sat on the hard wooden bench directly behind the defendant’s table in the generic courtroom. White ceilings bled into white walls. Those drifted into wooden paneling, which was stained a warmer color than the worn wooden floor. I’d never been in a Federal building before the trial, let alone been wanded, scanned and patted down.

  Now, I knew the drill and knew to arrive early so that I could sit behind my dad. I’d had his back at every hearing. He’d never contested his guilt, so the rest was all a formality—the government had to cross its T’s and dot its I’s. If protocol wasn’t followed to perfection, they would run the risk of losing an appeal if Daddy ever filed one, not that he would.

  When he was arrested, he turned to me after they slapped the cold-looking, metal cuffs on his wrists. He said, “Mercy, I’m not gonna lie. I’m guilty and I deserve what I get. Tell your mama I’m not coming home.” I watched them lead him out the front door, down the walkway and shove him into the back of an unmarked black Crown Victoria. Worst day of my life, and his.

  It took me a long time to realize that he wasn’t talking about not coming home that night. He meant he was never coming home again. Six months later, I cried myself to sleep with that epiphany. It must have sunk in with Mama, too. She started dating shortly after that. At first, I was shocked. I was angry. She was betraying him, I was sure of it. But then I realized that she was just trying to cope in her own way. It was a crappy way, but it was hers.

  People filed in and claimed seats along the long pew-like benches. Redemption wouldn’t be found within these walls. Penitence, yes. Redemption? Not a chance. The cacophony of mindless chatter, shuffling papers, and high-heel clacks along the polished white-tile floor was almost overwhelming. The door on the left side of the room opened and a guard stepped through it. I could see the signature, bright orange-colored jumpsuit that Daddy was dressed in. His eyes met mine and he smiled, relief relaxed the tense muscles of his face and shoulders.

  The officer behind him escorted him to his seat, and he settled into the seat behind the wooden table right in front of me. His face and body had thinned over the past year. His short, once chestnut-colored hair had receded, thinned and was mostly gray. Crow’s feet rimmed his eyes and the wrinkles on his forehead had deepened. I mouthed the words, “I love you, Daddy.”

  He grinned and mouthed back, “Love you, Mercy-girl.”

  I wanted to run to him, throw my arms around him and cry. I knew what was coming. Today was his sentencing hearing.

  Mama and her flavor of the week had finally passed out in her bedroom. Frantically, I thumbed through the clothes in my closet, grabbing only the essentials: my favorite jeans, a few shirts, and a light jacket. It was the only one I owned. Moving on to the dresser: bras, panties, socks. I stuffed a few of each into the same black backpack I’d had since my freshman year of high school and then pulled on my favorite electric blue tennis shoes.

  I’d gotten them at a neighbor’s garage sale and it had been love at the first sight of the b
right pink swoosh on the side. What was even better than their aesthetic appeal? They fit! Perfectly. After wearing them for sixteen hours a day for the past few months, the soles were worn almost through at the balls of my feet, but they were the best I had. They were all I had.

  I looked around the room that had once held so many hopes and dreams. Those had begun to disappear little by little after Daddy was gone. Now all that was left was the memory of them. An enormous multi-colored, ugly-but-warm afghan stretched over my bed. Mama taught me to crochet when I was eight and I’d been doing it ever since. Mostly for necessity. It was cold in the winter here, and even in the summer my feet stayed cold as icicles.

  I walked over to the dresser and grabbed a gilded memory. Displayed in a delicate golden frame, ghosts of my past smiled back at me. It had been taken right after my high school graduation. Mama on one side and Daddy on the other, with me donning the crimson and white of the Knights. This was the last picture I had of normalcy and I was taking it with me.

  I blinked back at the blank walls as I eased my way out the door and padded to the bathroom down the hall. The fluorescent bulb overhead flickered frantically, as if sending out the alert. Stuffing my hair brush, toothbrush and paste, deodorant, and a small bar of soap into the small pocket of the bag. I flicked that stupid light out and crept down the stairs.

  Each step that creaked underfoot made me wince. I don’t know why it bothered me. When they were out, they would usually be out for a long time, sometimes days, but I didn’t want to chance it. Not today. I just wanted out of there, and it would just be my luck for them to wake up as I was making my escape.

  From the kitchen, I snuck the only things I could find that would be easy to carry, which amounted to two bottles of water, a can of peaches and three blueberry granola bars. I hated blueberries.

  The schedule on the fridge indicated that the city bus would be here any minute, so I zipped up my bag and out the door I went, leaving all those worries behind. I’d gladly traded them in. Last night broke the camel’s back and I was tired of being a damn camel anyway.

  Sure enough, the bus rolled up to the street corner just as I got there. Its tires deflated with a whoosh and I climbed aboard and took a seat in the very back of the bus on the left side, the side furthest from my former house. It hadn’t been a home for a long time. Soon, the beast’s engine roared to life and the bored faces looked away from the newcomer to the world outside again. Ashland would be the first stop on my journey. I needed to see Daddy.

  Half an hour later, the bus pulled up just outside FCI-Ashland. It looked more like a nursing home from the outside than a Federal Correctional Institution, or low-security prison, as most people knew it. Daddy called it the slammer. I’d been here once a week, every week since he was sentenced. We were lucky. He could’ve been sent to any prison in the U.S.

  I shoved my backpack into some nearby shrubs, making sure to conceal it. I didn’t need to be locked up with him. The Correctional Officers wouldn’t appreciate its contents.

  The judge said that due to the extenuating circumstances regarding Daddy’s case, the fact that his crime was classified as non-violent, and that he had a child nearby, he would pull for Ashland. And we were lucky. He was sent to Ashland, only twenty minutes away. So I tried to never take that blessing for granted and visited him like clockwork. In the past few years, I’d only missed one week, when I had the flu and couldn’t drag myself out of bed, even for work.

  Rust-colored bricks lined the walls of the prison’s entrance. If it wasn’t for the razor-wire atop the chain link fences, one would think it was just another doctor’s office or something. But that wire was a harsh reminder of reality. If someone felt like challenging that reality, it would slice right through their delusion. Literally.

  As usual, I signed in, waited, walked through the metal detectors only to be met with wand-wielding correctional officers and then was patted down. Twice. I rolled my eyes. Did people actually try to sneak stuff in? How stupid could someone possibly be?

  Once cleared, I was given a visitor badge to snap onto my shirt. I wore a long-sleeved, black V-neck and jeans. Last summer, in ninety-nine degree heat, I’d made the mistake of wearing shorts and the cat-calls from the other inmates almost made Daddy snap. Jeans it was.

  The visitation room was a large, sterile, white rectangle filled with circular tables that seated four to five people in chairs that reminded me of first grade, for some reason--all plastic but the metal legs. I waited patiently in one of those chairs while the guards ushered in the other visitors, and we all sat eagerly to see our loved ones. Fifteen minutes later, the guards began to usher in the prisoners.

  All were met with hugs and kisses, tears and smiles, all the time aware of the watchful eyes of the COs. We were allowed to hug at the beginning of the visit and at the end, but had to stay separated in between to prevent the transfer and smuggling of contraband to prisoners. Daddy’s smile met mine as he stepped into the room and shuffled along behind the guard who ushered him in. His cuffs were removed and as soon as the metal chink confirmed their freedom, those wrists and hands wrapped firmly around me.

  I choked on my tears. How would I tell him? Daddy pushed me back and hugged me quickly again before we settled across the table from one another. That circular piece of wood felt like a thousand miles separating us. Soon, we would be separated by distance, by five hundred miles of land. “How are you, Mercy-girl?”

  “Good. I’m good. How are you, Daddy?”

  “Same old. What’s wrong?” His brow furrowed and his eyes grew wide taking me in. How did he know?

  I smiled lightly trying to meet his eyes. “I have to go. I came to say goodbye. I’ll visit you when I can and I’ll call and write all the time, but I can’t stay with Mama anymore. I just can’t.”

  “Did something happen with her ‘friend’?” His words dripped with disgust.

  “Sort of.”

  Fisting both hands, he growled low and cursed under his breath. “Nothing like what you’re probably thinking, though. Chill.” The last thing we needed was for him to get a behavior warning.

  He released a deep breath. “Tell me.”

  “I work two jobs. You know that, right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “They take all the money I make and shoot it into their veins or snort it up their nose and I just can’t do it anymore. They got high on our rent money. I don’t know what they’re gonna do.”

  “That’s not all, is it?”

  I picked at my cuticle. “No.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Her, um, ‘friend’ tried to stick his dirty needle in my arm last night. He was high and I don’t do drugs, Daddy. I just. . .I just can’t live there anymore. They’re sucking me into their black hole and I don’t wanna go with them.”

  “That dirty son of a bitch!”

  “Shhh.” The nearest CO took notice and shifted his feet, pinning his eyes on Daddy. Crap! “I just wanted to tell you that I’m leaving. I’ll call you when I get there. You know I’m smart. I can do this.” I plead with him, using my eyes, body and spirit.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to the beach. Myrtle Beach. There’ll be plenty of seasonal work there in a couple of months. I can work hard. I’ll save up and get a nice place, maybe take some classes in the fall at a community college. It’ll be great!” I tried mask the worry and terror that I felt inside with more pep than should be allowed in one person. Daddy saw right through it, but he didn’t let on.

  “You’d better call me. Be careful.” He leaned forward. “Got protection?”

  I nodded. “Remember how I showed you to use it?”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “Good. Just be careful. Do you have money?”

  “I had a little stash that they hadn’t found yet. I have enough to get down there and get set up.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  He looked at me and gave a weak sm
ile. “I’m sorry, Mercy-baby. It’s my fault you’re in this situation.”

  “It’s not. It’s life and I’m about to take control of mine.”

  He smiled genuinely, his hazel eyes warming. “I’m proud of you. Just please, please, be careful, Mercy. Call me when you get there. I’ll worry till I hear from you.”

  “I will, Daddy.”

  The COs looked at one another. “Time’s up!” one barked loudly. I stood up and rushed around the orb and threw my arms around him. I knew it would be a long while before I would be able to afford to visit him. “Love you, Daddy!”

  “Love you, baby.”

  A guard moved behind him and he surrendered his wrists. The dull brown sweatshirt and pants hung off his body. “Be careful. Call me.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  I took the local transit authority bus to the furthest point west on their route: Charleston, West Virginia and walked to the nearest truck stop. I had $43.52 to my name. That wouldn’t buy a Greyhound seat to the beach, so I was forced to find an alternate means of transportation: I would hitchhike. I knew it was dangerous, but I felt more comfortable with the metal packed just inside my bag. The Go-Mart parking lot was full, packed with truckers, commuters and soccer moms who’d just finished grocery shopping on this fine Monday morning.

  It was beautiful for early March. Sixty degrees and sunny at eleven fifteen in the morning. Between the long walk from the bus’s last stop and the light fleece jacket around me, I was getting warm by the time I entered the convenience store. The bell attached to the glass swing doors pinged alerting the occupants of my presence. No one noticed. I moved toward the aisles of snacks and wished I had a bit more money. Breakfast would be nice and I really didn’t want the blueberry crapola bars.

  A few trucker-looking fellows gave me the once over before making tracks outside. A middle-aged guy in a business suit and a young mother bouncing a disgruntled toddler on her hip did, too. The food was too tempting. My mouth watered at the thought of my favorite. No! I need to get out of here. Stepping back outside, I didn’t know how to do this. Did I ask random, non-serial-killer-looking truckers where they were headed? Did I stick my thumb out like in the movies?