Breaking into Prison
By Mairsile
Breaking into Prison
© 2016 by Mairsile. All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form, without written permission.
Editor: Tracy Seybold
Cover Design: Mairsile
Other books by Mairsile
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Acknowledgements
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, a big thank you to my best friend, Joyce, who encourages my wild imagination. Couldn’t do it without you, Joyce.
And to my best friend, Fox, for always inspiring me with his knowledge and his kindness.
My family, here on earth and up there in heaven, I love you so.
And as always, may the glory go to God.
Mairsile
Chapter One
“So, how am I today, Doctor?” Trudie picked up her coffee cup from the coffee table and took a sip. She knew that it was a dumb question, considering the doctor was a psychiatrist, not a mind reader. But she didn’t want to tell her about another failed attempt at trying to face her fears.
Trudie sat at her desk in her home office, with her legs tucked under her in the large, leather-back swivel chair. Her dog, Lucy, was curled up on the floor next to her, and her tortoise-shell cat, Bruno, was taking a bath beside the keyboard.
“You tell me,” the doctor countered.
She’s not going to like this. “Okay, well, I opened the balcony door this morning,” Trudie replied half-heartedly. Years of therapy and this is the biggest thing I’ve achieved?
“That’s very good, Trudie. And what did you do next?”
I heard the sound of a siren blaring, car horns honking, and people shouting. It was too much. I couldn’t breathe. Gasping, almost to the point of convulsing, I slammed the glass door shut, locked it and drew the curtains closed. Then I turned on my stereo and put headphones on to silence the panic. But I’m not telling her all that.
“What I’ve always done, I panicked.” The disappointment on her psychiatrist’s face was becoming the norm. Trudie changed the subject. “So, um, did you get the book I sent you, Kelly?”
Prudence Lily Youngblood, who preferred to be called Trudie, was a successful writer, and began seeing her therapist, Dr. Kelly Ramirez, when her third book became so popular that she had trouble handling the success. At first Trudie would go to Kelly’s office, but then she became a recluse. Kelly agreed to make house calls twice a week, but quickly discovered that she was allergic to cats. As if Bruno knew that, she would jump up on the arm of the chair Kelly sat in and hissed at her. Two weeks later, they went to video chat through a laptop webcam. Trudie even bought Kelly a new laptop to use for their sessions. Unfortunately, talking about her deepest-darkest feelings to a camera lens removed the human factor for Trudie. It was so unnerving in fact that her responses became robotic, automatic in that she almost always answered the same way, no matter the question.
Now they played this game every week via webcam. Trudie pretends to make breakthroughs that she thinks Kelly will be supportive of. In a way, it comforted Trudie to know that every Monday morning she would have someone to talk with who knew everything there was to know about her and didn’t judge. Some weeks, Trudie could even forget that it was because of the big fat check that she sent every month.
Kelly leaned off camera and then came back into view holding Trudie’s novel, Breaking into Prison. “I did. Thank you. Is this the book that started it all?”
Kelly knew that Trudie was a successful author. She knew that Trudie’s third and fourth books was made into a movie that went on to make millions for both Trudie and the movie company. She knew Trudie’s books because she had read them even before Trudie became her patient. She also recognized that it was a safe subject for Trudie to talk about, especially when the author felt panicky, so she asked questions that she already knew the answer to. The one thing that Trudie could not talk about was the very thing that caused her agoraphobia.
“No, that’s the book that will end it all.”
Her first two books weren’t well known, but the third book, The Secret Society of Southern Belles, put her on the map and bought her the eight-hundred-thousand-dollar condominium. Her publicist told her that this most recent book would keep her in that condo for the rest of her life. That should have made Trudie happy, but none of it mattered to her anymore.
“Trudie, what do you mean by end it all?”
“I meant that this is my last book under contract. So now I’m done writing.”
Kelly jotted some notes down on her little notepad, then she laid the ink pen down and looked up. “Tell me, why don’t you want to write anymore?”
“I wrote my first book when I was young and idealistic. By my third book, I was madly in love with Leigh. I wrote this last book while deeply depressed. Everything I had in me, I put into those books. Now I have nothing left to put down on paper.”
Leigh Warren was a Tech Sergeant in the Air Force at the time she met Trudie, and it was love at first sight. The strong, outgoing horsewoman, who wore boots, a cowboy hat, and a large belt buckle when off duty, was everything Trudie ever wanted in a woman. But when Leigh was violently murdered Trudie locked herself up in her condo and hasn’t left it since.
“Let me suggest something to you. Writing can be very therapeutic and cathartic. I want you to keep writing, even if it’s just in a diary. No one needs to read it. You don’t even need to read it. Just keep writing down your desires and regrets each day.”
“I’ll try, but I don’t have any desires left, just a multitude of regrets.”
“Remember, you wouldn’t be who you are without those regrets. Okay, we’ll come back to that in a later session. What about finding a roommate? Have you given that any thought?”
“Yes, and I’m still thinking on that one,” Trudie replied. She didn’t want a stranger sharing her condo. She didn’t even want family moving in, but that was mostly because they would nag her unmercifully to go outside.
“Our hour is up,” Kelly said, leaning closer to the camera. “I have a homework assignment for you.”
Trudie bit her lip to keep from rolling her eyes. “And that would be?”
Kelly was as frustrated as Trudie. Agoraphobia was a slow process, but it was manageable... if the patient would at least try. Since Trudie became a recluse, nothing had worked. Trudie was so afraid of leaving her apartment that she gave her car to the women’s homeless shelter, and Leigh’s car and motorcycle to her in-laws. Kelly suspected that if not for the contract with the studio, she would have completely severed all contact with the outside world.
“Before our next session, I want you to do five things that you don’t usually do.”
“Five things? Like what? Washing dishes naked?” Trudie joked.
“Yes, exactly. Something that takes you outside yourself, like standing on your head while you talk on the phone.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.” Kelly smiled. “See you next week.”
Dear diary, my shrink is nuts.
Trudie turned off the monitor, then leaned back and stroked the silky-soft coat of her cat. Finally, she got up and stretched, and then walked into the living room, and over to the floor to ceiling windows. Her building had a lobby and post office on the first floor. There were ten condominiums in all. The second through fifth floor had two e
ach, and the sixth and seventh floor were single owned apartments. Her condo on the seventh floor had as many windows as it did walls, which was one of the reasons it was worth the prodigious price. Many were the lonely nights that she sat watching the sun go down through one window and the moon rise through another.
She stood for a long time, staring out the window, at a scene she had watched a thousand times before. A flat-bottomed boat, laboring under the weight of its cargo, was floating down the Arkansas River at a snail’s pace. She daydreamed of being on that barge, like Huckleberry Finn, off on a new adventure. As slow as the barge was going, she was sure she could run down seven flights of stairs to the garage, jump in her car, if she still had one, and drive to the harbor before the barge made it another foot down the river. That thought made her laugh, because she knew her perspective was badly skewed. Perhaps I’ll write that in my diary.
The doorbell brought her back to reality. She walked out of her office, down the unwalled hallway, and to the only exit door in the apartment. Her dog, Lucy, was sitting in front of the door, wagging her tail. Trudie knew that if the Bullmastiff wasn’t on guard, then the person on the other side of the door was someone she knew. Still, Trudie stood on her toes to see through the peep hole, and then looked at the security camera monitor.
The intercom crackled and a garbled voice said, “It’s me, Deidra.”
Deidra Connelly was the dog’s twenty-one-year-old groomer and walker. Twice a day like clockwork, she would take Lucy on a leash, down to the Arkansas River Trail, where she’d put on a helmet, change her tennis shoes for inline skates, and then let him run, pulling her with him. Trudie envied Deidra.
Trudie unhooked the swing-bar door guard, slid the chain across the brass-plated keeper and let it fall, then finally unlocked the deadbolt key lock.
“Good morning, Deidra.”
“Good morning, Trudie. Here’s your mail.” Deidra picked up Trudie’s mail everyday on her way up to get the dog in the mornings. When she couldn’t come, Trudie would call her vet, and he would send someone over to walk Lucy.
“Want some coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’ve already had my one and only cup this morning before I left the house.”
Trudie was always impressed with how Deidra, a college student studying to be a veterinarian, could be so alert and energetic in the mornings on only one cup of coffee a day. Trudie was already on her third cup.
Deidra took the leash from the closet and clipped it on Lucy’s collar. As she was about to open the door, Trudie stopped her.
“You’re coming to the book signing Saturday, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Deidra had a secret crush on Trudie, who was her hero. She had read her books at least three times, each time envisioning Trudie as the novel’s heroine, and her as the hero who rescues her. Along with her secret crush was the secret that she was a lesbian. She had to keep it a secret because her fundamentalist father was an outspoken preacher. Outspoken mostly against homosexuals.
“Good. There will be handsome men and women in uniform, maybe I can introduce you to one or two.”
“I do love a man in uniform,” Deidra said.
“All right then, I have just the perfect man for you. Wear high heels; he’s tall, dark and handsome.” Trudie didn’t know any of the soldiers personally, she just knew that anyone in a uniform, male or female, was going to be handsome.
To Trudie, everyone was tall because she was petite. She stood five foot, three inches barefoot, and everybody in her family was taller than she was. Her father said that it was because she was the youngest of five children. She never did understand what that had to do with anything, but every time her father told that story, he laughed so hard he snorted.
Giggling, Deidra said, “Tell me that he’s rich and I’ll ask him to marry me on the spot.”
“Ah, so you’re a gold-digging veterinarian, interesting,” Trudie teased.
“In this economy, you just about have to be,” Deidra joked. “Listen, this will be a short walk this morning. It was sprinkling when I came in, and I don’t want to get caught out in the rain.”
Trudie patted her dog on the shoulder. “No problem. I don’t think Lucy will mind.”
Just as Deidra opened the door, Trudie’s publicist and one-time lover, Noella Rutherford, quickly walked past the dog and into the living room. She was a beautiful woman with an impeccable fashion sense, and she was also deathly afraid of Lucy.
“Wow, you’re looking nice today. What’s the occasion?” Trudie asked as she shut and locked the door behind Deidra, and led Noella into the kitchen.
“What, this old thing?” She was wearing an expensive red dress with a deep V-neckline that showed the swell of her breasts, and a front slit that teased a peek at the inside of her thighs.
Trudie laughed. “I’ve known you for five years, and I’ve never seen that old thing before. Very nice.” Trudie refilled her coffee cup and poured a cup for Noella.
“Thanks. I thought I’d wear my power dress to impress the producer who will be here in an hour. So, are you ready for the interview this morning?”
“Not really, but I don’t have a choice, do I?” If I have to smile for the camera and say how wonderful everything is one more time, I think I’ll scream.
Usually the author would go on a book signing tour, doing interviews and attending parties. But after the second movie, when Trudie had become a recluse, she had it written into her contract that she would not be doing a press junket or book signing unless the press came to her. The first two novels in the series were huge successes, as were the movies, so now, with the release of the final novel, Trudie knew she would be doing interviews on a regular basis until after the last movie was released, in the fall of next year.
“No, you don’t,” Noella quipped, “so jump in the shower, put on something pretty, and let’s get this show on the road… uh, so-to-speak.”
“What’s wrong with my tank top and blue jeans?” Trudie teased.
“Oh, I think you’re sexy as hell in those old ragged jeans, but people who buy your books want to see a professional, not a slob.”
“I have more money than I know what to do with now.”
Noella shook her head. “Yes, well, I don’t, so let’s sell a few more books, shall we?”
“Fine,” Trudie said, and trudged off to her bathroom.
Noella’s eyes followed Trudie with a longing that had gone unsatisfied since that night five years ago when they’d made love. Trudie was hosting her first book signing party at the Peabody downtown, and both of them had too much to drink. So much in fact, that Trudie didn’t remember the tryst, but Noella couldn’t forget it. She had hungered for her client from the first moment she’d laid eyes on the petite, raven-haired, violet-eyed extravert with full lips. Trudie reminded her of a porcelain doll, delicate and rare. She had been sure that after their lovemaking, all her dreams of them being together would come true. But when Trudie couldn’t even remember her orgasm, Noella’s dreams evaporated like a puff of smoke. She kept her disappointment to herself and acted as if nothing had happened between them, because Trudie was not just a client, but her livelihood as well.
In a small city like Little Rock, there weren’t a lot of writers out there who could keep her agency afloat. In fact, if not for the surprising success of Trudie’s books, Noella would be back to waiting tables in a greasy truck stop. That’s something she swore she would never do again.
And then Leigh had showed up. Noella had known she didn’t stand a chance with Trudie after that.
Noella’s cellphone rang, and she rushed to find it in her oversized, designer red purse. Just as she clicked on the answer button, the doorbell rang.
She heard someone call “Maintenance,” from the corridor, and she began unlocking the door as she carried on a conversation on the phone. She swung the door open and stared at the young woman in a maintenance uniform.
“Hi, I have a work order to fix—”
Noella pointed to the phone at her ear and waved for her to come in. Forgetting to shut the door, Noella walked into the kitchen and began giving directions to the producer who was lost on the other side of the city. The producer, who worked for an affiliate out of New York, had never been to Little Rock before and wasn’t accustomed to small city driving.
Annie, the service technician, stood in the middle of the room, surveying her surroundings. Someone really fixed this place up nice.
The living room consumed almost half of the 2,954 square foot residence and was designed more for parties than relaxation. The exterior walls were floor to ceiling glass panels that offered sweeping vistas of the river below. Three ultra-chic, white on black, Italian leather sectional sofas circled the drawing room, with an ornate, chrome glass round coffee table in the center between them. A single arc floor lamp that had a domed shade with a brushed nickel finish stood over one of the sections. There was no television set, only a stereo system on the inside left wall. She didn’t like what she saw on the news, so Trudie had all the televisions taken out and discontinued her cable subscription a week after she had moved in. Trudie let her nephews and nieces play video games in the guest room, where there was a big screen monitor mounted to the wall. She also had a large monitor in her bedroom, where she would watch movies, although that was a rare occurrence.
There was only one interior wall in the living room and it was decorated with eclectic framed pictures of Trudie’s book covers, with her entertainment center serving as a bookshelf for her award and magazine covers. Several of her hardback books adorned the coffee table. She’d only written five, so they didn’t really overwhelm the room.
There were no walls separating the kitchen, dining room and living room, and Annie had only to turn 360 degrees to get a view of all three rooms. The kitchen was half as large as the living room, and in contrast to the white and black furniture and white carpet, the kitchen was slate gray stainless steel with a porcelain tile floor that resembled real stones. The dining room matched the living room’s décor, with white and black cloth-covered chairs and a glass table. Trudie didn’t like any of it anymore and was thinking about redesigning the entire apartment herself.
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