by Simon King
Henderson appeared to be working the standard day shift, coming in at 9am and heading back out anytime after 6pm. The bulk of the officers worked a 3-way rotation, each eight and a half hours long. There were far fewer CO’s on the night shift, compared to the others and Sam wondered just how much attention was paid to those actually leaving the prison.
As far as she knew, Mumma had managed to gain access to the prison’s CCTV feed, but for some reason, it was extremely limited, having not been updated in some years due to budget cuts and poor management. It felt good knowing that at least one of her guardian angels would be keeping an eye on her and Tim.
The afternoon passed slowly and Sam decided that ordering some takeout would be the perfect choice. After swiping through a bunch of local restaurants, she finally ordered herself a large pepperoni pizza, unsure of just how much she’d manage to eat.
But once the open box was sitting before her, Sam surprised herself yet again, eventually reaching for the final slice. She giggled a little as she pictured Tim staring at her, the way he always did when watching her eat.
“Where the hell do you put it,” he’d say. But the smile quickly faded as she remembered where he was, probably eating something a lot less inviting than pepperoni pizza. After looking at the slice in her hand, the urge to eat had completely disappeared and Sam simply dropped it back into the box, closed it and pushed it away.
As she lay in bed an hour or so later, Sam stared out through the open window, seeing the faint stars in the dark sky. She wondered about the day ahead, a faint touch of nerves moving around her stomach. Sleep would not come easy for her that night, and when it finally did, Harry Lightman made sure it wasn’t restful.
The office was dark and stuffy, as Sam sat patiently in the chair opposite the warden himself. Perkins was scanning the paperwork that had arrived as part of her transfer and for a brief moment, it looked as if the warden had spotted something off. He kept tapping his chin with one finger, turning each page of the documents after wetting the tip of his other, in a kind weird rhythmic display. Wet, turn, tap. Wet, turn, tap. Occasionally he’d add in a little stare over the rim of his glasses, gazing at Sam with a curious expression.
Just as she began to doubt whether the ruse would work, he set the papers down, sat back in the chair and crossed his arms across the more-than-substantial chest he carried.
“You look to have quite a bit of experience, Miss Clark,” Perkins said, now staring across at her in earnest.
“Yes, Sir,” was all she could bring herself to say.
“No, please. Call me Chief. All the other officers do. Sir is a little too formal for my liking. Ever been in any bad confrontations?” His tone sounded pleasant, but it wasn’t enough for Sam to drop her own guard.
‘Yes, in fact I’ve ripped the throat out of several pieces of shit, if you must know,’ she thought to herself. “I’ve had my share of incidents. Nothing that good back-up couldn’t handle.” He smiled, enjoying her answer.
“Back-up. Of course. And something we promote highly within our own facility.” Despite her shirt being buttoned all the way to her neck, Sam noticed Perkins’s eyes repeatedly dropping to her bust. She maintained her eye contact with him and could tell he felt uncomfortable when she didn’t look away.
“We have you on the morning shift, but feel free to apply for any of the overtime opportunities as they arise. First come first served basis.” He lent forward, tapped a button on his phone and waited for a response.
“Yes, Mr Perkins?” the voice asked.
“Lily, would you send Donald in?”
“Right away,” came the response and a few seconds later, the door to the office opened. Perkins immediately rose to his feet.
“Donald here will show you around. Give you the grand tour, so to speak.” He motioned for the officer to come closer and meet the prison’s latest recruit.
“Donald, this is Tami Clark. She’s joining the morning shift as of today. I think Henderson has assigned her to Delta for the time being.”
The man stepped forward and shook with Sam, feeling his warm hand grip hers tightly. He appeared nervous and she wondered whether there was more between the two men than simple office politics. A moment later, she was following the officer down the stairs and back out into the crisp morning air.
“Worked prisons before, I assume?” Sam took a couple of quick steps to keep up.
“Yes, a couple. You been here long?”
“A few years.”
“Is it as bad as everyone seems to think?” she asked as they neared the first gate.
“Probably worse.” Despite Donald laughing, there was very little humor, in either the sound of his voice or the eyes staring back at her.
“That bad, huh?” Sam tried to smile back, but found herself caught in the lack of emotion coming from the man. She could tell he was nervous, but was unsure why.
The pair had barely made it through the second gate when the call came across the radio. The voice sounded panicked and Donald was already running before the brief sentence was finished.
“Code Blue Delta.”
Sam took off after her accomplice, trying her best to stop the bunch of keys swinging wildly from her belt. Staff had the following two gates held open, as a flood of officers seemed to pour from every entrance and exit imaginable, all heading towards the same building. Sam eventually lost sight of her tour guide, instead following the crowd into a unit where the screams were heard long before she set foot into her future home.
The officers were busy locking prisoners away into cells as the commotion towards the back continued. Sam couldn’t quite make out the words, but the tone of the voices was enough to tell her someone wasn’t happy. As she carefully stepped between other officers, she saw the blood splatters across the floor before her, followed by a body lying on its back near the wall.
A toothbrush handle was jutting out from the dead man’s chest. He looked young, even younger than herself and just as she went to take a step back, a hand touched her shoulder.
“Follow me,” Donald whispered in her ear, then gestured the request with his hand. She did as asked, walking a few steps behind her tour guide. Donald worked his way through the crowded room towards where a group of officers were standing over several prisoners who were lying facedown on the floor.
“Doc; Roger. This is Tami Clark. She’s starting today,” Donald said to two of the officers. They both turned to look at her.
“What, in here?” one asked, a wry grin weaving across his face. The other one dropped his eyes and worked his way back up, giving Sam a once-over.
“Yeah, in here,” Donald answered.
“Good luck with that,” the first one said, turning back to the prisoners.
“Think there’s enough help here. I’ll continue showing her around and drop her back.” They both looked at Donald, this time surprised.
“A guided tour as well?” one chuffed, the surprise overshadowed by his annoyance.
Once they were back out in the sunshine, Sam turned to Donald and asked, “Did I do something to piss them off?” He looked a little uncomfortable at first.
“They’re just, you know, the kind of guys that need guys around. The last female officer to work in Delta was caught “visiting” a prisoner after lockdown.” He held his fingers up, highlighting the inverted commas for dramatic effect.
“Don’t trust them, huh?”
“Doc and Roger are good guys. They deal with the worst shit-hole in this joint and they just prefer to know that when needed, back-up is there for them.” Sam nodded as they continued walking.
“I get it.”
“Don’t take it personal.”
They approached another gate and this time Sam unsnapped her own keys and did the honors. Donald thanked her before continuing on.
“What did they mean when they said that about the guided tours?”
“Oh, yeah. No one ever gets a guided tour around the place. Not officers, at least.”
Sam’s mind began to race, wondering if there was something that had tipped Perkins off. Just as she did, her eyes were caught by a face watching her from a top-floor window. The eyes were watching her intently and Sam felt a little relief at seeing a familiar face.
It was Tim, watching her from his cell. He didn’t wave, just watching her pass like so many other faces at that moment. Donald didn’t notice the visual exchange between the pair, simply continuing on with his tour.
The tour took around an hour, with Donald showing Sam around most of the prison. There were almost a dozen units, each holding around a hundred prisoners each. There were several factories, a laundry and the prison kitchen. As they walked through, the prisoners busy preparing several meals at once, Sam asked how it was served, as she hadn’t seen a dining hall.
“Bolton doesn’t have a dining hall anymore.”
“Anymore?” Sam asked. Donald pointed to a building that flanked one of the outer perimeters once they were outside again. A high fence surrounded it, topped by razor wire and giving it the appearance of a prison within a prison.
“That used to be one of the prison’s main buildings. It held the dining hall, officer’s accommodation and a few other offices. It also held quite a few storage rooms and stuff. Building goes a few stories underground as well.”
“Wow. It looks old.”
“It should be. It’s the original building that held the entire prison when it was first built. Well over a hundred years old.” He paused, looked at his watch and shook his head. “We better get back. The lads’ll be wondering where we are.”
Sam nodded and followed Donald back the way they came, through gates and corridors, past units with faces watching them from the shadows. It felt surreal, Sam only too aware of the monsters held back by the very walls. This was prison and there was one monster she had her eye out for, hoping to find them as quickly as possible.
Once back in the unit, the crowd of officers had disappeared, with the prisoners all locked back into their cells. The body remained where it fell, waiting for the police to finish their investigation. Roger and Doc stood by, watching the cops do their thing, each standing with their arms crossed over their chests.
“Come and meet the boss,” Donald said, leading Sam to once of the offices in the corner. Inside, there was another officer, one Sam instantly recognized. It was Lance Henderson, looking as mean as he had in the vision Sam had seen of him.
“Boss, this is Tami Clark,” Donald said, walking into the small room and sitting on the edge of the desk. Henderson looked up, met her gaze and nodded.
“Ah, yes. Clark. Welcome aboard.” Unlike the previous officers, Henderson held his hand out and Sam shook with him. He seemed preoccupied and once finished shaking her hand, returned to the computer he was tapping away at. “I have a few reports to finish up, if you want to show her the process.” Donald nodded and Sam followed him back out. She took a final look over her shoulder, wondering whether the man she was hunting was now sitting before her.
Once back out in the officer’s control room, Donald showed Sam the ins and outs of their working day. There were rosters for tier walks, supervision for medication and meal handouts. Random cell searching was done once a day and there were also the movement of prisoners around the prison itself. But as she was listening, her eyes remained focused on the job at hand, quietly watching and waiting for the break she needed.
The day turned out to be much longer than she anticipated. Her initial shift should have been finished and walking out through the front gates a little after four. But a couple of hours before then, Henderson had called through to the unit and explained that one of the regular afternoon shifts had taken sick and someone needed to remain behind.
That someone turned out to be Sam, putting her hand up without hesitation. The shift finished a little after ten that evening and by the time she walked out through the front gates, had managed to make a couple of new friends.
The first was a woman named Ivy, a civilian who was in charge of the medical rounds after lockdown. She was the mental health nurse and made herself available to any of the prisoners who needed her. There were a couple of requests over the intercom and each time, Sam’s other new friend, Pam, would answer the prisoner’s calls.
Pam was also an officer, a 15-year veteran who had worked solely at Bolton. The other officers called her the “Ginger Ninja” because of her fierce red hair and matching fiery temper. Her demeanor changed immediately the moment the intercom buzzed, going from sweet Pam, to blazing inferno.
“Fucken needy,” she would say when a prisoner buzzed. “These fuckers are worse than 5-year olds.” Sam could tell immediately that this was clearly an officer who wasn’t a fan of prisoners.
The small unit control room was where the officers mostly congregated during down time, or when prisoners were either locked away, or whenever no other duties needed their attention. There were the usual necessities, like coffee-making facilities, a television hanging between CCTV monitors and a toilet cubicle the size of a bread box.
Once most of the day-shift staff had left and the prisoners were all locked into their cells for the night, Sam finally sat at one of the three chairs. Pam sat in the other, while the third was sometimes filled by Ivy, if she wandered by during one of her rounds. The TV was playing an old episode of MacGyver, while Pam was busy typing up one of her weekly prisoner interaction reports. Every officer was expected to keep in communication with specific prisoners, to help and offer all the usual rehabilitation tools.
Sam was paying close attention to the style of typing, although knew she wouldn’t be around long enough to ever need to fill one out herself. Not entirely, anyway. It was when a news bulletin flashed on the screen with a “News Alert” status, that Pam reached for the remote and increased the volume.
“In breaking news, police in New York’s Hunt’s Point district have increased their efforts to locate the suspect in the murder of Mitchell McDutton. The defense attorney was found brutally murdered inside a local brothel, with a suspect calling themselves Black Death, leaving a warning letter for authorities. Anyone with information is asked to contact local law enforcement officials…”
Pam hit the mute button and shook her head in disgust, dropping the remote back on the bench in front of her.
“Makes you wonder just who the real piece of shit is.”
It was during a quiet moment where it was just the two of them sitting in the unit’s control room that Sam asked about the spate of deaths.
“Someone said there were some more-than-normal deaths at Bolton. Is that true?” Pam had been flicking through a newspaper, while Sam was cradling a cup of tea in her lap.
“Do you really care? Just a few less assholes to watch, as far as I’m concerned.”
“You don’t really mean that, do you?” Pam looked up from the paper and studied her for a moment.
“You sure you been in the job for as long as you say?” The question surprised Sam, but she nodded anyway.
“Why do you ask?”
“Girl, when it comes to prisoners, like those right out there,” she began, flicking her thumb back over her shoulder, “I couldn’t care whether lived, died or turned to shit and flushed themselves down the fucken toilet. They’re scum.”
“You talk about them as if they’re all the same.”
“They are all the same, as far as we’re concerned. Every last motherfucker out there.” Her temper began to flare and Sam wasn’t sure whether to try and calm her, but just then the intercom buzzed again, temporarily pausing Pam’s wrath.
Once she’d phoned the request through to Ivy, she turned back to Sam and pointed a finger at her.
“Take it from me, the less you know about them, the better. Treat them all the same and your day will play out much smoother. As for the deaths…if they want to kill each other, like that kid today, then so be it. I get paid to watch them; that’s it.”
Sam watched her, feeling a little intimidated by the woman
’s rant. The passion in her words was clear, as was her distaste for anything wearing orange.
“I’m sorry, I was just curious,” Sam finally whispered. Now it was Pam’s turn to apologize.
“I’m sorry. I just get fired up when it comes to these pricks. I’ve seen good men lose their lives because of these animals.”
Just then, another officer came in, carrying a bag of food for their own overnight shift. Pam looked and rose to her feet.
“Thank the lord,” she exclaimed.
“Ladies,” the man said. “I’m Roy.” He held his hand out to Sam, who shook with him.
“Tami.”
A moment later, the two women left the unit, made their way to the front gate and parted ways. It was the end of the first shift for Sam and as she turned to take a final look at the walls behind her, wondered what Tim was doing at that very moment. She hated knowing he was still inside, but continued on, knowing that tomorrow, she would be back to do it all again.
Mumma briefly called Sam during the drive home. The pair discussed the day, with Mumma sharing her own vision of the prison, able to watch both of her “children” inside. She said Tim was tucked up in bed by seven that evening, while the rest of the prison seemed to go on as normal.
There was very little to go on and neither had anything significant to share. After a few minutes of idle chatter, Mumma wished Sam a goodnight and hung up. There was a McDonalds on her way home and Sam picked up a couple of cheeseburgers and a milkshake on her way past.
Once back in her apartment, she made light work of the late meal, jumped in the shower and tried her best to wash the day away. The unit had a very distinctive smell, a rank mixture of sweat and rotten vegetables, the odor somehow clinging to her very skin. Sam scrubbed almost frantically, doing her best to remove any trace of the offending smell.