“Steven? Steven? Are you paying attention? It’s important that you understand what I am saying. It’s impossible for me to get an appeal if you go around threatening to kill the staff.”
I would nod. “OK, Jake.”
“Are you getting enough to eat? Are they treating you alright?”
I would nod my head and be quiet in fear that one of the guards would hear me complain and report it to Warden Johnson.
Unbeknownst to me, after one of Jake’s visits, he headed to Warden Johnson’s office.
“What the Hell are you doing to him? He’s like a goddamn zombie!” Jake said.
Warden Johnson leaned back in his chair. “He’s getting the same care as everyone else is in here.”
“Bullshit!” Jake replied.
Warden Johnson nearly leapt out of his chair. “Mr. Swift, he’s a criminal! And on top of that, he’s a murderer! For God’s sake, he killed a holy man. And in my book, he is the worst one in here. And by the way, in case you haven’t heard, this ain’t no country club; this is a prison!”
“Are you sure your religious views don’t have something to do with the way Steven is being treated?” Jake asked.
Warden Johnson motioned to the guard. “Sergeant! Get this man the Hell out of here!”
Chapter 18
I eventually apologized to Danny, and he accepted. He pointed out that after six months, inmates were eligible for a day out, pending approval of the prison board. That idea of getting out of here for even a day excited me. But after my run-in the Warden, I figured it was all but a pipe dream.
I asked Jake about it.
“I’m working on it, Steven. I’ve even petitioned the court and Judge O’Neil. If we leave it up to the board and Warden Johnson, you’ll never get it.”
***
Fights were a daily issue in this prison. In fact, a lot of them were instigated by the nurses and the guards for their amusement. They would take someone’s personal property and plant it on another inmate, then stand back and watch the fireworks. Sick Bastards.
I was getting the hang of this place, and it was obvious which of the nurses, guards, and inmates I needed to avoid. You can tell a lot by the way a person looks at you, body language, etc. While I seemed to be adapting, I still wanted out, even at least for a day.
It was time for my monthly visit from Jake. I could tell that he was appalled at my appearance. I thought that going to see Warden Johnson that day would probably backfire when it came to increasing my level of care. But he had good news.
“I got you a day pass.”
I smiled, and my eyes filled with tears.
“Well, not a whole day. Six hours though. It took some doing. Judge O’Neil helped me. They claimed you would be a flight risk, but he didn’t buy it. I’ll pick you up in three days.”
“Thanks, Jake.”
He turned and left, and I was led back to my dorm.
***
The three days seemed like an eternity, but I was chomping at the bit to get out of this place, even for a few hours. I kept looking out the door for a guard to unlock it.
“I’m going to miss you,” Danny said as he hugged me.
“Geez, Danny, I’ll be right back.”
“No, Stevie, you’re never coming back!”
Soon I heard a key in the lock, and the door opened.
The guard stood there with leg and wrist shackles and a smile.
“Let’s get these on you.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope, Warden Johnson’s orders.”
So there I was in an orange jumpsuit with leg and wrist shackles on. I could hardly move. My day off was not starting off so well.
It seemed like I had walked a mile only to be taken to a room where the shackles were taken off, and I was stripped naked and searched. I then re-dressed myself, and the shackles went back on. When I asked what they were looking for, I was told, “Warden’s orders.”
“Ah.”
The whole ordeal seemed to take forever.
I finally reached a room where Warden Johnson and Jake were waiting for me. I was completely worn out from walking with the weight of the shackles.
Jake looked at me, then looked at the warden. “You’re kidding, right? Shackles?”
“He’s a convicted murderer. We have to think of the public’s safety,” the warden said with a condescending smile and attitude.
Jake was outraged and headed towards the guard. “Give me the Goddamn keys!”
The guard looked at the warden, who nodded and then complied, giving Jake the keys.
Jake spent the next fifteen minutes or so going through the ring of keys, trying to find the right ones to unlock the shackles. The whole time, he was giving Warden Johnson Hell and calling him a sonuvabitch.
Warden Johnson stood defiant. He found no humor in Jake’s tirade.
After completing the task of freeing me from the shackles, he grabbed my arm, and we headed for the door.
“You have him back by four p.m., or your ass will be in a sling, boy!” the warden yelled.
“It’s noon now. That’s only four hours,” Jake said.
“His time started when he left his cell. That was ten this morning. I can’t help it takes two hours to get him ready to leave,” the Warden said, sounding victorious.
Jake looked at me and smiled. I didn’t know why.
I had to tell Jake to slow down walking, as I was too weak to catch up. We arrived at his car, and I struggled to open the passenger-side door. He came around to help me in.
“Warden Johnson sure gets mad,” I said.
“Yep,” Jake replied.
“I’ll catch Hell when I come back,” I said.
“Well, the joke will be on him.”
“Why?” I asked.
Jake smiled. “Because you’re not going back.”
I smiled and sat quietly. I thought of Danny’s last words and wondered, How did he know? I sat back in the front passenger seat of Jake’s car and fell asleep.
Chapter 19
I was awoken by the sound of an electric motor running and the sight of two wrought-iron gates opening. Jake proceeded through them. I was still groggy as we drove past a nearly ten-acre freshly-mown lawn with impeccable landscaping. A mansion appeared in the distance.
“Your place?” I asked.
“No,” Jake said, chuckling.
Upon arrival, it appeared that they were expecting us. We were greeted by two well-dressed men. They had a wheelchair with them.
I looked at Jake. “For me?”
“Yep”
They gingerly helped me into the wheelchair and headed for the elevator in the main lobby. I watched the numbers as the elevator climbed to the fourth floor. I looked at Jake.
He smiled.
The men then helped me into the shower, where I definitely overstayed my welcome. It had been so long since I had taken a hot shower with no time limits. They helped me to get dressed, and I was taken to a luxurious bedroom. I lay in bed taking in my surroundings: fresh flowers and big windows letting the sunshine in.
I asked Jake, “Did I die and go to heaven?”
“No,” he said, then he appeared pensive. “Not yet.”
Jake sat in a chair next to the bed and started shuffling through what appeared to be some legal papers.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” I asked.
Jake refused to answer and then turned as the door opened, and a man dressed in a white coat entered. “Hello, young man. I am Dr. Scott, Mr. Karcher’s personal physician. I’ve been sent here to give you a thorough exam.”
He looked me over and remarked, “My…it appears as if you’ve had a rough time of it.”
I was confused. “Who’s Mr. Karcher?”
Jake put his finger to his lips.
For the next hour, Dr. Scott left no stone unturned in examining me, which included blood tests, skin samples, and hair samples. When the exam was about halfway done, Jake excused
himself.
“I’ve got a matter to attend to, Steven. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“OK… Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
He smiled and left. I had no idea what was going on, but I felt that thanks were in order.
***
At the end of my exam, Dr. Scott spoke. “Young man, I don’t know what you have been through, whether you were abused by someone or it was self-inflicted, but you need rest and nutrition. I’ll leave a list of recommendations with Mr. Karcher.”
“Thanks, Doctor. And by the way, who is Mr. Karcher?”
By the time the words had escaped my mouth, Dr. Scott was out of listening range.
Another man entered the room carrying a tray with fresh fruits, vegetables, and snacks. “A little something to tide you over before meal time?” he asked.
I motioned for him to put the tray on the bed. I proceeded to gorge myself and fall asleep.
***
I slept clear through to the next morning and only woke when Jake tossed a newspaper on the bed.
“Congrats, you’re famous…again.”
My eyes struggled to focus and read the headline: “Convicted Murderer Escapes During Leave.”
I read the article, most of which was false.
Jake seemed calm, but I was a wreck.
“I think most of the information the papers got was from our good friend, Warden Johnson. He’s blaming me and Judge O’Neil for letting you get away,” Jake said with that always-reassuring smile.
As I read further, it stated that Jake had been arrested for harboring a fugitive.
“How come you’re not in jail?” I asked.
“That’s where I went yesterday. I turned myself in. They charged me, I pleaded No Contest, and I posted bail. It’s easy when you’re a world-class attorney. And don’t worry; nobody will ever think to look for you here. This place is a fortress.”
I had to agree. From what I had seen from looking out the windows, it would be hard to get in or out of this place without being noticed.
“So, what now?” I asked.
“We need to get you healthy. We’ll get the results from your exam, then we’ll plan our next move.”
As usual, after Jake spoke to me, I felt calm.
***
Outside of resting comfortably and being waited on hand and foot, Jake still hadn’t told me what was going on.
I heard a knock on the door, and a man dressed in a suit with a red tie and skin looking orange from some type of artificial tanning system entered the room. As he grew closer, I couldn’t tell if his hair was real or not.
“Hello, young man. I’m Don Karcher. I’m your host.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Karcher. Nice place you have,” I said.
“Oh, it’s alright. I don’t get to spend a lot of time here.” He stopped and looked around the room. “Anyway, I hope everything is to your liking. And, please, call me Don.”
“Sure! What’s not to like?” I said enthusiastically.
“Good…Good,” he replied.
“Mr. Karcher?” He turned and gave me a disapproving look. “I mean…Don. What am I doing here?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, young man.” And he left the room.
***
Later that day, Don, Jake, and Dr. Scott returned.
Dr. Scott spoke. “Steven, we have the results of your exam.” He adjusted his glasses and rifled through some papers.
“You have significant amount of Lithium, Thorazine, and potassium nitrate in your system. Not only that, you are malnourished, and you have a touch of Hepatitis. It’s probably from someone using a dirty needle. The blending of these drugs is not only immoral but illegal. Young man, you are lucky you aren’t dead. And you may have sustained permanent kidney damage.” The more he spoke, the faster the words exited his mouth.
I had a feeling that Dr. Scott thought that I had done this to myself.
“Weight?” Jake asked.
“One hundred and one pounds,” Dr. Scott replied.
He looked at Jake. “Where did you get this boy? He needs to be in a hospital.”
Jake escorted Dr. Scott into an adjoining room to apprise him of the situation.
Don came to my side. “Don’t worry, Steven, you’re in good hands.”
Jake and Dr. Scott returned a few minutes later. Calm.
“Young man, Mr. Swift has told me about your predicament. I have agreed to treat you here at the estate of Mr. Karcher. I will send for all of the necessary medicines and equipment.”
Dr. Scott turned and left. Jake turned to me and snickered. “Potassium nitrate,” he said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Saltpeter.” He continued to laugh, then asked Dr. Scott. “Why the Hell would they give an eighteen-year-old kid saltpeter?”
“I’m assuming they give everyone the same thing,” Dr. Scott said. “Instead of tailoring the drugs to the prisoners, they make a big batch of drugs to make everyone a zombie.”
“What about the different-color pills, Doc?” I asked.
“Just a ploy to throw the state off track. I must admit, Warden Johnson was one smart guy, but he got caught. Thanks to you and Jake, I’m going to file an investigation on his practices.”
Jake looked at me, smiled, and said, “That’s a good idea, Doc.”
***
The next day, Jake entered the room and turned on the television.
It was all about me.
“So far, they have spotted you as far as five hundred miles away.” Jake laughed. “They don’t have a clue where you are.”
It would have been funny, but even I didn’t know where I was.
One of the servants entered and laid out some dress clothes.
“Dinner is at six, sir.”
Jake excused himself, pointed at me, and said, “Don’t be late.”
Before that, I had been served my meals in my bed or at a table in the room. I struggled to put on the pants and shirt. The coat was well-fitted and completed the ensemble. I struggled with the tie, then put it in my pocket.
I opened the door at five till six to find a gorgeous female in an evening gown there to escort me to the dining hall. Not a word was spoken.
We entered the dining area, and I soon saw familiar faces. Jake, Don, and Judge O’Neil were present. All were dressed impeccably.
I apologized to Jake about my lack of neckwear. He shook his head and whispered, “Don’t worry about it.”
Dinner was served and consumed quietly. My table manners were not up to par with the others. Wrong spoon for the soup, wrong fork for the salad. More than once, I found myself on the wrong end of a discerning look from Jake as I cut my meat with my elbows on the table.
I would silently mouth, “Sorry.”
Dinner seemed to take forever, and I scoured the room for a clock. Don noticed. “Steven, there is no time limit on a meal. Enjoy.” I was still wondering what this kid from a small town was doing in these surroundings. Soon it was over.
Don spoke: “Let’s retire to my den for an after-dinner cigar and brandy.”
They all rose from eating. Each one of them laid a spotless napkin on the table. Mine was stained with meat sauce and cheese. I followed the trio into the den.
The room was filled with trophies from hunting trips. Lion, tiger, and hyena heads were abundant. A huge stuffed elephant graced the room. They all sat in overstuffed leather chairs. I stood, waiting to be instructed on where to sit.
The servants laid out the cigars and poured four glasses of brandy. Then they were instructed to leave and lock the door.
“Please.” Don pointed to a magnificent leopard-spotted chair that seemed to be the center of attention as well as the center of the room.
“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip of brandy, choking, and feeling uneasy about this whole situation.
There were very few lights on, and the fireplace gave a sparse glow. It seemed very secretive.
I started out slowly. Then I spoke of my dad’s death and Alexa’s body being turned to dust. My voice cracked with emotion, and my hands were shaking. Tears filled my eyes.
“Do you want to kill him?” Don asked.
After a few seconds of deep thought, I spoke. “I feel I have to.” I paused. “Yeah, I have to.”
Those words would have never come out of my mouth a year ago. But I had been through so much, the response seemed appropriate.
They all looked to each other for approval.
Jake said, “Well, we’re here to help you.”
“How so?” I asked.
Don reached for a book off of a shelf. I immediately recognized it as one of my dad’s yearbooks from college.
He said, “Steven, we all knew your father. Jake and I were in the same class. His freshman year, he was just like you: a gangly, slender fellow who was hopelessly clumsy. He couldn’t muster up the courage to even speak to a girl. Then we took our summer break, and at the start of our sophomore year, he came back a different person. Stronger. More athletic. A most dominant person. He knocked thirty seconds off of his mile time in track. Before, he had struggled in school. Now in his sophomore year, he was a straight-A student and was elected to the student congress. There was no shortage of girls throwing themselves at him. We were all happy for him, but we were confused on how such a dramatic change was even possible. When we questioned him, he always seemed to skirt the issue or make an off-handed joke.
“Then after a heavy night of fraternity drinking, he spoke of Miguel and how this stranger had turned his life around. He made it all sound so easy and lucrative. Of course, we all had tons of pressure on us from our parents, friends, girlfriends, and the school itself to excel in every aspect of life. We all wanted to meet this man named Miguel.”
Jake opened the yearbook, pointed to several classmates, and told of their occupations.
“Congressman, pro football player, media tycoon, Wall Street broker. We all sold our souls to Miguel.”
I was stunned, but I also felt like I had been deceived. “Jake…you too? You should have told me,” I said.
The Killing of Miguel Page 7