by Susanne Beck
"Can I ask you a question, Ice?" I winced as the words slipped past my lips. They always seemed to be the first ones out when I talked to her and some part of me wondered if she’d ever get tired of hearing them so often repeated.
She turned to me slowly, a small smile playing across her lips. "What’s on your mind, Angel?"
"Well, I was wondering about your . . .trees. I don’t know if I’m breaking some code of conduct, but I’ve been thinking about them a lot. They’re each individuals, but when I look at them as a group, they seem to tell a story. I was wondering if, maybe, you could tell me what that story was."
She looked away again, scanning the fat clouds strolling across the sky for so long that I was sure she wasn’t going to answer me. When she turned back, her face was less open, but her eyes weren’t completely shuttered and that gave me some hope. "I call them the Four Freedoms," she said in a voice soft as the wind rustling through the grass.
"The Four Freedoms?" I asked, careful to keep my tone neutral. There were times, especially ones like this, when Ice reminded me of a skittish colt, all fire and nervous energy. One wrong word and I knew she’d bolt. I sensed I was going to get to the bottom of something very important here and so I did my best to keep things as calm and peaceful as I could.
Nodding, she tossed the blade of grass into the wind before picking another and looking down at it. She took a deep breath, as if contemplating whether or not to go further, then tossed the second stalk away and interlaced her fingers. "The one on the very left, the small one that’s kinda wild? That’s the Freedom of Innocence. The one next to it, the big one, is the Freedom of Power. The next is the Freedom of Love, and the last is the Freedom of Wisdom."
As I sat there, pondering her words, I tried desperately to think of what to say next. Knowingly or not, she had just given me a huge insight into the workings of her soul and I wanted to dig ever deeper to bring out the person who could see freedom in concepts like innocence and love.
But I also knew that if I gave in to my urgings and pushed too hard into the rich subtext, I’d soon find myself alone. Backing off a bit, I decided to attack the general overriding concept rather than look too hard at the specifics.
"Do you think about freedom a lot?" While it sounded like a stupid question, there was a method to my madness.
She shrugged. "Not too much anymore. I’d rather not waste my time thinking about things that can never be." There was a deep sadness in her eyes and I sensed, with a sinking heart, that she was talking about far more than simple freedom from this prison we called home.
"You’ll get out someday, Ice. Your sentence carries a chance of parole, doesn’t it?"
Smiling sadly, she nodded after a moment. "A slim chance, yes. But it’ll never happen."
"Why not?"
"I’m a murderer, Angel. Simple as that. I was convicted of killing a government witness." She shrugged again, then shook her head, laughing mirthlessly. "Not something the parole boards like to hear when they’re looking at your release papers."
And with that statement, I realized I’d blundered into yet another hidden landmine. In all the time I’d known her, I’d never asked whether she had indeed committed the crime for which she was convicted. She’d never volunteered the information and as far as I knew, only Ice herself knew where the real truth lie.
I felt, in that moment, how I imagined a novice firewalker must feel. Afraid to go forward and risk getting burned; afraid to step back and risk losing face.
Faced with those choices, I picked the third. To do nothing. Leaning back slightly and letting my arms bear the weight of my upper body, I looked up at the robin’s egg blue sky as I felt the gradual ebb of edgy tension from the body close to mine. I smiled internally, knowing I’d made the right decision. The comfortable silence stretched out between us and, for once, I wasn’t inclined to break it.
After several long, peaceful moments, Ice softly cleared her throat. I could feel the heat of her eyes upon me, but I continued to look up at the sky, waiting for her to share whatever was on her mind. "How about you?" she said finally. "Do you think about being free again?"
Smiling, I turned to face her. "Not as much as I used to, but yes, almost every day."
"What do you think about?"
"Mmmmm." My smile widened, unbidden. "A walk in the park at dusk. Eating an ice-cream cone. A nice, long, hot bath." Trite, but true. All of it. Especially the bath part. It had always been one of my favorite things to do, especially on a cold winter’s evening. "But when I really feel like the walls are closing in on me, I remember this place I used to go to in the summers when I was a young girl."
Ice nodded at me to continue, her eyes bright and interested.
"My father had a friend who owned a cabin on some property in Canada. It was a wonderful place, all glass and wood, with a huge porch that ran along the front, a loft upstairs where most of the bedrooms were, and a fireplace so big my father could fit inside without bending over." Shifting slightly, I stretched my legs out, running them back and forth over the nubbly grass. "It sat in the middle of a huge pine forest, about fifty yards up from a beautiful lake. The path from the house to the water was covered in a carpet of pine needles and if you tried to make the walk with bare feet, you’d wind up covered in sap."
I felt a warm tingle begin inside me as the pleasant weight of my memories settled in. "There was a short green dock by the shore where my dad’s friend kept his speedboat tied. It wasn’t a very big one, but it was fun to go out in. I can remember sitting on the dock, feeling the sun on my shoulders as I looked over the lake at the colorful sailboats that raced almost every day. They reminded me of butterflies in a meadow and I remember envying the passengers their freedom. My father had something against girls learning to sail, but he couldn’t stop me from watching. They were so beautiful."
I shifted a little, plucking at the grass with my fingers, not really seeing it. "There were a couple of kids my age there and I remember us racing out to another dock which sat out in the middle of the lake. Well, it wasn’t really the middle, but it seemed that far when I was young. All I knew was that the water was over my head and that scared me, at first. But once I learned to swim, it was fun to go out there and dive off the dock. My friends used to go underneath, where there was an air pocket." I found myself laughing at the memory. "Not me though. Never was brave enough."
Some more grass came loose under the relentless assault of my fingers. "We’d go up there for a month every summer. We never had a television, but my dad would bring his radio. At night, after dinner, he’d build a big fire in the fireplace and sit listening to baseball while my mom did her famous jigsaw puzzles. I’d sit there, listening to the crackle of the fire, and read. Then, when it got late, I’d go upstairs and fall asleep to the sounds of crickets, bullfrogs and the wind whistling through the pine trees."
I hugged my arms tight around my knees, awash in the memories. "Those were the happiest times of my life." I sighed. "My father bought the cabin and land from his friend when I was thirteen. The cabin burned down the next year. But one day, when I walk out of here, I’m gonna go back up there and rebuild that cabin from the ground up with my bare hands and spend the rest of my life there, free and at peace."
When I turned my gaze back to my silent listener, I found her eyes so full of utter longing that it made my heart stop just looking at her expression. I felt my hand go out to her, felt her own capture it and cradle it tenderly as a sad half-smile crooked the corner of her mouth. "It sounds . . .like a good place to dream about."
I smiled. "It is. It’s a wonderful place. I can share it with you, if you’ll let me."
Compressing her lips, she gently let go of my hand, then drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her long arms around them. "No, that’s alright. It’s your dream. Something that belongs to you and only you. Something this place and these people can’t take away from you. You keep it."
I sidled closer until we were almost touching. "I�
�d like to share it with you, Ice. The only thing better than having it all to myself is being able to share it with someone. With . . .you."
Catching the odd expression on her face, I allowed my grin to broaden. "C’mon, it’ll be fun! Just close your eyes and imagine you’re in the middle of a forest, surrounded by trees. Feel the warm wind brush against your skin. Smell the pine all around you." I took in a deep, bracing breath. "Isn’t it wonderful?"
"It’s crazy."
I laughed. "Of course it is! That’s what makes it so much fun! C’mon, Ice, let your hair down a little. Just close your eyes and think about what I told you. Think about the warm sun on your face."
After rolling her eyes at me, she lowered her chin onto her knees and closed her eyes. Taking a chance, I closed the last of the distance between our bodies, then reached up a hand to lay gently against her broad back. The muscles I felt were pronounced and tense and I couldn’t resist rubbing them gently in a smooth, circular motion. She began to relax just the slightest bit. "That’s it. Can you hear the birds chirping? The water lapping gently against the wooden dock?"
There were several long moments of silence interrupted only by our breathing. "Well? Can you?"
Faintly amused eyes opened and met mine. "Nope."
This time I rolled my eyes. "That’s just ‘cause you’re not trying hard enough. Let me help you." Pursing my lips, I proceeded to deliver my rendition of "water gently lapping against a wooden dock", followed close behind by "chirping birds".
I felt her muscles clench under my hand a split second before a deep, rumbling laugh burst up from her chest. It was one of the most joyous sounds I’d ever heard and, within seconds, I was joining her, tears of mirth streaming down my cheeks as I realized just how horrible I must have sounded.
When my laughter finally tapered off, I wiped my arm over my watering eyes, brushing away my tears as I looked into Ice’s radiant face. "God, you’re beautiful." The words came out before I could edit them, but this time, I didn’t want to take them back. She was beautiful, and I wanted her to know that.
Both of our expressions turned serious and I felt more than saw her head incline toward mine. I could feel myself moving at the same time, my lips suddenly aching to meet hers.
I could feel her warm breath tickle the fine hairs of my face as the incredible heat of her body radiated against mine. We were a hairsbreadth apart, my eyes already closing in anticipation, when the sound of a softly cleared throat startled me out of my bliss.
Before I could even fully open my eyes, Ice’s arm shot up, grabbed a handful of jumpsuit and yanked a startled Critter’s upper body down so that her face was just inches from ours. "The prison better be burning down," she growled, "or you’re gonna find out how well you can walk with two broken legs."
"I . . . just thought you needed to know . . .that Psycho’s loose again," Critter wheezed, her face turning an interesting ashen color.
"Great," Ice muttered, letting go of Critter’s uniform and jumping to her feet. Reaching down, she grasped my hand and hauled me up as well. "Thanks for the dream, Angel," she said, laying a quick hand against my cheek before turning and running back into the prison.
Turning, I looked over at Critter, who was rubbing her throat and coughing. "Are you ok?"
She cleared her throat again, then nodded. "Yeah, I’m alright. I should know better than to interrupt her."
"What’s going on with Psycho this time?"
Critter shrugged as she straightened her uniform. We both broke out into a trot as we headed back into the building. "She’s got another knife to the throat of some newbie."
"Newbie? I didn’t think we had anyone come in in the last month."
"Neither did I. I heard she was brought in last night after everyone was asleep. Real hush-hush."
Coming to the top of the stairs, we were confronted with an almost exact duplicate of the scene a month before when Psycho had captured the prison guard. The guards were standing around in a tense knot, their batons out and clutched in tight, knuckle-whitening grips. The prisoners stood behind them, the shorter women up on their toes trying to get a glimpse of the unfolding drama.
As before, Critter led me around to a more open space off to the side where I could look into the circle of tense women. Psycho had what looked to be a butcher knife, though how she managed to get a hold of one of those I have no idea, to the neck of a striking woman. The woman looked to be in her late forties, with long, black hair shot through with strands of the finest silver. Her skin was olive-hued and her eyes dark and shining. She had a regal, old-world elegance that even her current circumstances did nothing to diminish.
At the front of the pack stood Sandra and Ice, who was gesturing wildly with her arms, more demonstrative than I’d yet seen her, even when fighting. My ears strained to pick out her low toned words among the excited chatter of the other inmates.
"Alright, Cassandra, you’ve made your point. Now drop the knife."
"No can do, my dear Ice. This little fishie has to die. I’m sorry if that upsets you, my love, but some things just can’t be helped."
The woman’s eyes widened as the sharp edge bit cruelly into her neck. "Morgan, please!"
Cassandra yanked the woman’s dark hair back, baring her neck even further. "I told you already, you miserable piece of dung, her name is ‘Ice’! Use it!"
"I’m sorry!" the woman cried out. "Please stop hurting me!"
Cassandra bared her teeth in a malicious grin. "Oh no, my pretty. I haven’t even begun to hurt you."
"Drop the knife, Cassandra!" Sandra shouted, raising her baton.
Turning toward the head guard, Psycho’s grin broadened. "I’m sorry, Sandra, did you say something? I’m afraid I couldn’t hear you with this poor dear fishie moaning in my ear. Would you care to repeat yourself?"
"I said drop the knife!"
"That’s what I thought you said." She shrugged. "Sorry." Closing her eyes, she slowly drew the knife across the captive woman’s throat, drawing a shallow cut from which thin trickles of blood streamed. "Ahhhh, nothing like the smell of fresh, hot blood, is there."
"Cassandra!!"
The blonde turned her gaze to Ice, mouing her lips in a coquettish pout. "Oh come now, Ice. You above all others should know just how good it feels to draw your blade against the tender flesh of an innocent victim." She giggled girlishly. "Just the thought of it gives me shivers. How about you?"
"Cassandra, please. I’m asking you to drop the knife."
"Oooooo. Begging! I like that in a woman! Try getting on your knees next time though, Ice. It enhances the effect."
From my vantage point, I was able to see Ice’s expression as her eyes darted intently between Cassandra, her knife, and the terrified woman in Cassandra’s deadly grasp. It was quite obvious that Ice knew the captive on some level. I turned to Critter, a question in my eyes. She shrugged and shook her head.
As I turned back to the action, Sandra took a small step forward, her empty hands upraised in a gesture of placation. "At least tell us why you’re doing this, Cassandra. I want to help you if I can."
"You can’t help me, you pitiful excuse for a cop wannabe. I’m crazy, remember? Nuts. Crackers. Off the deep end without a net. I’m Psycho!"
"Please, Cassandra," the head guard tried again. "Just tell us why."
After a moment, she nodded, relaxing her grip just the slightest bit on her captive. "Alright. That’s a fair question, I suppose. Why don’t you tell them . . .what was your name again?"
The woman choked.
"Her name is Josephina," Ice said, her voice firm and deadly serious.
Cassandra smiled brightly. "That’s right, Josephina! How stupid of me to forget such a beautiful name. Josephina, tell our admirers here just why you’re in such an uncomfortable position."
"I . . .I don’t know!"
"Of course you do, my darling. Speak up loudly so everyone can hear you, dear. Mustn’t let the people in the back miss your words of
wisdom, you know."
Josephina remained silent and Cassandra shook her like a rag doll, her brows knit low over her eyes in a fierce scowl. "Mustn’t keep our public waiting, dear Josephina. Now spill it."
"We . . .we were talking," Josephina gasped out, "this . . .morning. In our cells. And . . .and I mentioned that I was a friend of Ice."
"You liar!" Screaming in rage, Cassandra tightened her grip around the older woman’s neck, bringing the knife up against her chin once again. "Ice has no friends except me!! I’m the one that she loves, do you understand me?!?!? I’m the one that she thinks about at night when she runs her hands down that exquisite body of hers! Me! Only me! Do you hear me, you sniveling piece of trash?!? Do you???"
Josephina screamed hoarsely as Sandra and Ice took identical, purposeful steps forward. Cassandra’s head jerked up and she dragged the terrified woman back a step, waving the knife in front of her. "Back! Get back before I cut her pretty little head off! And you know I’ll do it, too."
Both women halted their forward progress, still several feet from Cassandra and her knife. I wondered if Ice would try for a disarming blow, but for some reason, my friend seemed hesitant, as if unsure of herself. It was a strange thing to see and I had to fight down a sudden sense of dark foreboding, watching her.
Cassandra’s left foot slipped slightly in a spot of wetness on the prison floor. The knife bit deeply into the juncture of Josephina’s neck and shoulder, causing the older woman to scream as a gout of blood streamed forth. The blonde chuckled as the blood flowed. "That’s gonna leave a stain," she remarked conversationally, reaching up to run her fingers through the blood, then reaching still higher to wipe her wet fingertips across her captive’s cheek.
"Morgan, please," Josephina moaned.
The slap of Cassandra’s palm against Josephina’s cheek echoed through the prison like a rifle shot. Spinning the older woman around toward her, Psycho brought her face down so close their lips were almost toughing. Her eyes were wide with rage. "I told you, you bitch! Her name is Ice!"