by Don Prichard
“Sounds like we could use him at our office,” she whispered to Brad. He gave her a noncommittal look.
Rock stepped to the microphone, his right arm across Natasa’s shoulder. “This shelter has played an important part in my life and in the family of my niece here.” Natasa gave a sober nod, and a murmur of sympathy rippled through the crowd. “Never doubt for a minute that your donations make a difference. Not only does this shelter help critically needy women, but the lives of their families and loved ones outside the shelter are affected too.”
Eve hung onto every word. When he closed with “God bless you,” she had no doubt about asking him for his business card.
***
“There has to be more we can do than be first in line.” Jake squatted by Puno and shoveled his evening meal of rice into his mouth. Without the first group taking four times their due, everyone now received one-and-a-half hefty scoops. Tonight, bits of meat and vegetables speckled the rice. Scrapings from the guards’ bowls, Puno said.
“Such as?”
“Dealing with these toilets.”
“The guards commandeer inmates to empty them.”
“They should be dumped more often. And scoured out.”
“The guards are in charge. Do they want prisoners telling them what to do and how to do it?”
Jake scowled. Certainly not an American prisoner. “What about these men in the courtyard? Why aren’t they taken into dorm rooms?”
“Count them,” Puno said. “They are too many.”
“Not if all three groups house them.”
“They are sick and dying. No one will nurse them, only dispose of them sooner. In the courtyard, at least a doctor tends them.
“A doctor? When?”
“Once a month.”
Jake huffed. “No wonder this is called a prison of zombies. Zombie hearts, that’s what!”
Puno stood. “Shall we start with our example of compassion then? Come.”
Jake trailed him, his heart lifted. Yes, that’s what was needed here—a purpose beyond mere survival, beyond waiting for death. What about all the Christians Puno said were in his group? Surely they weren’t guilty of zombie hearts?
“I suggest our first example be this man.” Puno stopped next to a carabao lying on his side, one arm nesting his face for protection from flies, the other arm twisted at an odd angle from his shoulder. He wore only soiled briefs barely visible under a blanket of flies.
No.
Jake’s soul went dark. He used his foot to roll the man onto his back, exposing his face.
Captain Emilio.
The shuffle of feet gave evidence of silent spectators.
Jake turned and walked away.
Chapter 30
Betty stood outside the Manila City Jail and blotted sweat off her face with her fifth tissue of the morning. Had the weather been this awful on the island? Hard to believe she’d ever gotten used to the heat—though, come to think of it, there’d always been the coolness of the cave to retreat to. Goodness, going inside the Manila City Jail an hour ago had certainly provided no relief. Only one more horror in her hunt for Jake.
She bit back a weepy inhale. To think Jake had been in there with all those prisoners stuffed inside row after row of cells like chickens in wire cages. The Old Bilibid Prison consisted of twelve rusted metal buildings radiating like spokes from a central guard hub. “It’s only a detention center now,” a man in uniform told her. As if that excused the horrid overcrowding and disrepair. Thank goodness Jake had been transferred to a better location.
A dilapidated prison vehicle stopped next to her, and she peered inside the open passenger window. She had been directed to Smiley to take her to Jake—for a price—if she didn’t mind a prisoner in the back. The driver’s pearly grin easily identified him as her chauffeur. She opened the passenger door and squinted through the mesh separating her from the shadowy figure behind it. She whipped her head away as his odor hit her. Oh my, he smelled like the underarm of a bear.
“No danger.” Smiley patted the passenger seat. “You sit.”
What choice did she have if she wanted to see Jake? She slid onto the sticky seat and closed the door. Its hinges shrieked as if alarmed at her decision to really do this. What felt like the hot breath of the prisoner prickled the back of her neck. She leaned forward and clutched the seat on each side of her legs.
Smiley cranked through several gears and gunned the vehicle through busy streets at a speed that left her mouth spitless. “You mother of Pris’ner Jake?”
Afraid to turn her eyes away from what might be her imminent death, she nodded. Almost his mother. All Jake had to do was sign the documents she’d brought, and his adoption was official. That, and if she lived through this ride.
She waited until enough moisture returned to her mouth to speak. “What’s the name of the prison Jake is in?”
“Som-bee Prizon.” Smiley hooted a high-pitched laugh, and behind the mesh the prisoner screamed something unintelligible.
Betty swallowed. It sounded as if Smiley had said Zombie Prison. But of course that couldn’t be right. The prisoner’s ranting precluded repeating the question.
They drove out of the city, and Smiley pressed the accelerator. The wind from her open window lashed the sweat from her forehead and the stench of bear from her nostrils. Smiley leaned toward her. “Pris’ner Jake write letter?”
Well, drat, she hadn’t thought to bring writing materials. “He won’t be there long enough.” Certainly not once she got Jake to agree to a new lawyer so they could get him out. The reminder of Neal Oakleigh set her stomach to boiling. She had refused to speak to him since Jake’s deportation.
“Oh, no leave prizon.” Smiley shook his head. “You buy penzil, paper, stamp.” He grinned at her. “I have all. Guard let Pris’ner Jake write letter.”
Betty frowned. “Tell me about this prison.”
“Pris’ners boss.”
Betty blinked. “You mean the prison is run by the prisoners?”
“Yes.”
“But … wouldn’t they fight?”
“Guards shoot.”
That stopped her breath. With guards not intervening, the biggest bully would reign. He’d confiscate everything, make everyone do his bidding. “But … what about food? People could starve.”
“Not worry, guards feed rice. Everything else”—he pointed to his chest—“buy from Smiley.”
“What if a prisoner doesn’t have money?”
Smiley shrugged. “Eat lotsa rice. Wear rags.”
Jake had no money. That, at least, would soon be taken care of. And letters from Jake would be nice, especially for Crystal. Poor child. She’d been so happy to see Betty two days ago. And shocked to hear about Jake’s deportation. Betty shouldn’t have withheld the information. Crystal was no longer the crybaby she’d been before their year on the island.
They left the paved road for one pocked with holes and ruts. Smiley didn’t slow down but drove it with twists and turns that jostled every one of her joints loose. She felt herself disintegrating into a pile of bones inside a bag of skin gurgling with stomach juices. Soon the stench of swampland overrode the underarm bear smell. Mosquitoes blew in the window.
Smiley pulled out a red and purple can of bug spray and liberally applied a mist to the front seat area. Betty barely made it to the window to thrust her head out and release every bit of fluid in her stomach. She passed the rest of the trip in a daze.
When the vehicle stopped, she breathed deeply; reassembled bones, mind and dignity; and tumbled out of the vehicle onto shaky legs. Before her, the prison rose dark and desolate like something out of The Lord of the Rings. She shivered. Had Smiley said this was the Sauron Prison? She approached its entrance, half-convinced it was a duplicate of the Black Gate of Mordor.
Smiley trotted up to her from the gate, where he’d delivered the prisoner. “Guard say no visitor.”
She blinked as if he’d spoken a foreign language.
> He lowered his voice. “You have money?”
“Only what I gave you for the ride.”
“You bring money tomorrow, you visit Pris’ner Jake.”
Tomorrow? Endure that ride again? For something she shouldn’t have to pay for in the first place? “No! It’s my right to see him now!” She shoved Smiley aside and hobbled to the gate.
Two guards were inside, removing chains from the prisoner Smiley had transported. A third guard stood at the gate, watching them, his back to Betty. The gate was slightly ajar.
Just wide enough for Betty to slip through.
Chapter 31
Betty crept alongside the gate until she reached the gray concrete of the prison wall. She flattened her back against it, as if, chameleon-like, in spite of her coral sundress, she would blend in. The two guards unchaining the prisoner spied her and yelled to the guard at the gate. Her heartbeat spiked, shaking her from head to toe, shutting her down. “Jake,” she mewled. Her lungs had no oxygen to shout his name.
To her surprise, the guards hastened to the gate, exited, and pulled it shut. Behind them, Smiley wasn’t smiling. His eyes were wide, his mouth spewing words, his hands gesticulating wildly. He must be demanding they fetch her—and the guards were refusing.
They wanted her inside the prison.
Her five senses returned with a wallop. Smiley’s shouts, the stench of human sewage, the bile coating her tongue, the flies settling on her skin—all were eclipsed by the sight of the three guards hovering at the gate, eyes fastened on her, smiles curving their lips.
She was here for their entertainment.
A whimper crawled up her throat.
She bit her lower lip to stop its trembling and focused on the courtyard. Jake, where are you? The unchained prisoner stood with his back to her, immobile, his hands fisted. Beyond him, on the ground, lay dozens upon dozens of half-naked men in rags.
Movement beyond them shifted her heart into a rapid thud. Men, hundreds of them, emerged from arches in the prison walls and strode toward the lone prisoner. Surrounded him. Salivated over him.
Until they spied her.
Pretty coral dress, bare legs, bare shoulders, dainty little fingers and toes. Didn’t matter she was seventy. She felt their eyes consume her. Mouths open to taste her. Hands tremble to touch her. Noses flare at the scent of her.
Her intestines knotted. She mustn’t let them come closer.
Inhaling a searing lungful of air, she stepped forward, right hand high over her head, palm toward them. “I am Jake Chalmer’s mother.” Her words flamed hot at them.
The men halted.
“Bring him to me!”
They stared at her. A man at the back of the crowd broke away and disappeared inside an archway.
She lowered her arm to her side and gazed at them as a queen might appraise her subjects.
An eternity of seconds passed, and then Jake emerged from an archway and ran toward her. It was all she could do to maintain the sham of control before she crumpled into his arms.
***
Jake clasped Betty to his chest until his heartbeat slowed to normal. He set her on her feet, holding her arms to steady her. “Betty, what are you doing in here?” His insides twisted at the thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t come.
“The guards wouldn’t let me visit you.” Her words shuddered out of quivering lips. “They said I had to come back tomorrow with money.”
Jake clenched his jaw. Somehow, he needed to gain the upper hand with the guards.
Murmuring, the prisoners disbursed with the new inmate to the far side of the courtyard. A half-dozen men from Jake’s group stayed back to form a protective arc around him and Betty. Shouts of a fight testified to the new inmate’s fate.
Where have you been? Jake wanted to demand. Why has there been no legal action? He caught himself, ashamed at the hostility so quickly elbowing aside his concern for Betty’s safety. “Catch me up,” he said instead.
She did. His emotions rode a roller coaster. Eve, Crystal, Neal Oakleigh. None of her news was good. It was hard not to seethe with anger.
He told her about Emilio, but not about the fight.
“He’s here?” Her face paled and she clutched his arm. “What are you going to do?”
“Finish what he started.”
“You mean …” Her grip on his arm tightened. “Promise me you won’t harm him.”
“Harm him? I’ll do worse than that.”
Her face crumpled into a precursor of tears. “No, Jake, please! We’d never see you again. They’d …” She put her hands on either side of his face. “Losing your wife was awful, and I wish it had never happened. But it wasn’t all loss, Jake. There was gain for Crystal and Eve and me on the island. Meeting you changed our lives. Good came out of Ginny’s death. She’d like that, wouldn’t she? Please, don’t take that away from us.” She collapsed onto his chest, weeping.
He held her, patted her back. Good things had happened. And he’d shared in their joy. But what Betty didn’t understand was that it was over. Going forward was a futile dream.
The fight on the other side of the courtyard grew louder. Betty stepped back and dried her tears with tissues stuffed in her pocket. “I have something important to tell you.” Her words came out in little jerks. “I’ve redone my will and taken legal precautions to protect our little family.” He frowned, and she reminded him: “Our island family. You, Eve, Crystal and me.”
“Oh.” His cheek twitched. That reunion was pure fantasy now.
“I’ve adopted you as my son. Legally. All you have to do is sign this consent form.” She pulled a leather wallet from her pocket and removed a document and pen.
He couldn’t help a chuckle. “Adopt me? Why would you do that?”
“So you can take care of Crystal. I’m making both of you my heirs, with you as Crystal’s trustee and Eve as her guardian.”
“You don’t need to adopt me just so I can be Crystal’s trustee.”
“Yes, Jake, I do. Otherwise Neal will usurp you. Somehow—maybe as her grandfather—he’ll get you kicked out and take control of Crystal and her inheritance. Please, Jake, sign it.”
“I don’t like signing without reading it first.”
The shouts across the courtyard quieted. She thrust the pen at him. “The guards are opening the gate. Trust me. I’ve had three lawyers go over it.”
There was no time to dicker. Who knew if he’d ever see Betty again. And for sure he didn’t want Neal Oakleigh controlling Crystal’s life. He scribbled his signature wherever an x designated it. “What about having it notarized?”
“I’m sure Smiley knows someone.” She tucked the document away and pulled out a small package. “I brought your pocket Bible. Will they let me give it to you?”
He gasped and whipped the book into his waistband under his shirt. A big hug to Betty hid the move as the guards ran up, a furious-faced Smiley at their backs. They snarled orders and used their rifles to separate them. One marched Betty to the gate while the other held Jake at bay.
“I’ll come back as soon as I find a lawyer in Manila,” she called over her shoulder.
“I’ll wait by the gate,” he yelled. Hurry, he wanted to add. He didn’t like postponing matters with Emilio.
Chapter 32
Eve sat back in her chair as the waiter set a monster lobster tail in front of her. She couldn’t help but laugh in delight. “You’re right, it’s huge!” The fragrance of oregano, paprika, and cayenne pepper lightly mixed into clarified butter on the side teased her taste buds.
“You earned it—and it’s cheaper than a raise.” On the other side of the table, Brad Henshaw grinned at her. The invitation to dine was a last-minute reward. From somewhere in his office, her boss had pulled out a red plaid bowtie and donned it in place of his staid navy necktie. “For special occasions only,” he told her. He wasn’t exactly a dapper dresser, but the bright bowtie brought out a … well, a jolly dimension to his otherwise sober p
ersonality.
She poised her fork for the first bite. “Thanks for giving me those cases.” The first two she had handled well; the third stumped her twice before she could proceed.
“You did a good job—made me wonder if your memory had returned. Your law skills, anyway.”
“It’s more like rust removal than a point-blank return of memory. But something’s working. The more I review, the sharper and cleaner my retention is.”
Brad smiled. “Wonderful. How about memories connected to the Romero case? The cruise ship, what happened on the island …?”
“No.” She put her fork down, appetite gone.
His eyebrows rose at her curt answer. “Difficult to talk about?”
“Nothing to talk about. Do you think I wouldn’t tell you if I remembered something?”
“I’m concerned you don’t want to remember.” He put his fork down too. The murmur of diners and the soft clatter of dishes and silverware bracketed their silence.
She forced her voice to sound reasonable. “The doctor said the bullet ricocheted enough times before it hit my head that the damage was minimal. But it still killed brain cells, Brad. Those memories are dead, not just buried. It’s October, four months since my injury. The gravestones are permanent.”
Brad countered by gentling his tone too. “I think trauma may still be a factor, in which case memories may yet resurface.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “You know I’m looking out for you.” She stared at his fingers, how easily their size hid hers. His palm was smooth against her skin, his fingernails trimmed square. He gave her hand a squeeze and withdrew his to take up his fork. “Now, let’s don’t allow these tails to go to waste.”
Her irritation dissolved. He was someone she could trust, wasn’t he? She picked up her fork, the imprint of his hand on hers still warm. She wasn’t sure how to take his touch—as nothing more than comfort, or as a prelude to something romantic?