Finally, I began the journey toward my destiny. I loaded the address of the Pennsylvania State Penitentiary into my GPS and made it there in less than twenty minutes. Its imposing edifice loomed over the sparse rolling hills of the Pennsylvania winterscape. Spring was just around the corner, a month or two away, but the treeless countryside around the premises was barren of life, still held in the crushing grip of winter’s deep freeze. The enormous structure sprawled across several acres, surrounded by mile after mile of twelve foot tall chain link fencing, topped with razor sharp Constantine wire that curled along the upper edges of the fence like a lock of hair on a curling iron. It’s pretty typical of a State Penitentiary, I thought, based on countless movies I’d seen. It was not too much different than the one I’d visited Cortez at, upon first glance. On my approach, however, I could see one of Pennsylvania State Pen’s distinguishing features: the main gate. It was an old fashioned affair, made of black wrought iron, topped with wicked spikes but strangely decorative below their arrow sharp tips. Its double entrance was flanked on either side by massive concrete pillars and a stone pediment above. A plain black speaker box thrust out from the ground, sitting politely on the left side of my rental car, a white button its only feature.
I pressed the button, expecting a voice to emerge, but instead, the massive gates sprang apart and began to swing ponderously inward. I eased forward, slowly making progress down a neatly graveled road. I looked behind me in the rearview mirror and saw guards stationed on either side of the gates, watching me as they swung shut again, locking me in on the state prison grounds. Neither guard was smiling. I saw their portals then, on either side of the gate, housed in the concrete pillars where the video surveillance equipment was kept no doubt. The guards would be able to see anyone who was approaching for several miles, I imagined. It was also probably cold and quite unpleasant to many spend hours in. No wonder they looked so unhappy.
I continued along the gravel road as it gently rounded a small water feature in the front of the prison’s entrance. Chiseled into the stone above the entryway was the name of the place: Pennsylvania State Penitentiary, and a bronze plaque to the right of the double wooden entry doors informed me that it had been ‘Established in 1829’. A tall man with sandy blond hair in a policeman’s uniform was standing on the steps, waiting for me I presumed. Officer Shaw. I could tell from his photo, which portrayed him mostly accurately. I snatched my briefcase and purse from the passenger’s seat and stuffed the car keys in the latter. I headed toward the steps, removing my gloves to shake Officer Shaw’s hand. He had a firm grip, but not crushing like many men. He was very handsome in person, so different from his identification photo in my file, but I thought I detected something in his expression which put me off for a moment until I recognized it: relief. Officer Shaw was relieved to see me. A hint of my former trepidation returned upon this revelation. What sort of monster did he have inside this monument of stone and glass?
“Ms. Pascale, it’s nice to meet you,” he told me, his earnest baritone an auditory oxymoron. “Come right on inside and we’ll get started. We’ll need a few signatures from you and we’ll get you photographed for a temporary visitor’s badge, you know, standard operating procedures and all that. “
I kicked into ‘reporter mode’. This I could do in my sleep. I gave Shaw my best smile and replied, “Lay on, Macduff.”
He grinned back, transforming his face from handsome to downright drool-worthy. “A literature buff, huh?”
“A girl needs her hobbies, Officer Shaw.”
“Call me Brad.”
“And I’m Sophia.”
He nodded and held the door open for me. Hmm; chivalry’s not dead after all, I thought.
He led the way down a long white corridor, explaining the history of the prison and its layout as we went. “This place was built, as I’m sure you saw, back in the late 1820’s. It’s kind of a rat’s nest, the way they decided to lay it out. Or as we sometimes call it, the Octopus. Down this main hallway are the administrative offices, intake, processing, all that kind of thing. Also, the office of yours truly.” This was said with a small, proud smile and a nod toward a closed mahogany door bearing a brass nameplate which indeed said ‘Bradley Shaw’. He continued the tour. “In the center of the building is our main work area, where all the paperwork and daily schedules are handled. We call it ‘the hub’.”
My heels clacked on the ancient tiles of the floor as we made our way through the main hallway toward the hub. “From here, the place is just like a giant octopus, each hallway branching off of the hub. The ‘arms’ are designated with a letter. Arms A and B, for instance, are general population. Arms C, D, and E are lockdowns, lifers and solitary confinement cells are down that way. Arms F and G are infirmary and cafeteria areas. Arm H is where we keep prisoners who are on death row or awaiting extradition; the worst of the worst. Each arm ends in a yard for exercise. We can open up the yards and combine them, such as in general population areas, or we can keep them separate, if needed. The inmates are on a rotating schedule anyway, so we never have too many outside at one time. And that’s basically it. For your visit, we went ahead and set up a table and chairs in Catherine Meara’s cell. Safer to keep her in there, in my opinion. She’ll be cuffed, shackled, and bolted to the floor. I must insist I or another officer accompany you into the cell while you are interviewing her. One of us will always be stationed by the door. The other officers started calling her the Raven Witch Killer, and they have good reason so caution is vital in this situation. Your well-being is my priority. Any questions so far?”
“Why Raven Witch Killer? What is the purpose behind calling her that?”
“Everyone here is terrified of her. First of all, she’s the only woman we’ve ever had in here, except administrative staff and a few officers. No female inmates, until now. Her supposed crime is pretty horrible, if she actually did kill the girl who went missing out of Sunbury like she hinted. Crimes against children are not viewed well, even among prisoners. As for the rest of it, I’d prefer to tell you after you’ve spoken with her the first time. Let’s get those papers signed so we can get started. I’m eager to get her out of my prison as soon as possible.”
I signed round after round of papers in Shaw’s office, and had my picture taken by a long-faced young woman who assured me that my badge would be ready before I left. I thanked her, and followed Shaw back to Arm H. He paused and asked, “Are you ready?
I smoothed my skirt and nodded. He wasn’t exactly buoying my confidence with his statements about Catherine but what the hell, it was now or never.
“One last thing. No passing anything to her. Pens, pencils, papers, etc. And I’ll be right there with you the whole time. You’re going to be fine. Okay?”
I nodded stupidly again. He’d led me down Arm H to the very last cell on the right, near a barred glass door leading to what appeared to be a tiny fenced yard. The cell door was metal, black, with a small window slit approximately eye level. I’d seen a million doors like it in the movies and on TV, but never imagined I’d find myself standing in front of one, my heart beating so hard I could feel it in my fingertips.
Officer Shaw produced a key ring and selected the proper one from his collection. He nodded to the deputy standing guard to the left of the door, and placed the key into the keyhole, turning it so the tumblers made a clanking racket as they ground metal against metal. He swung the door outward, holding it open for me. His eyes caught mine and we gazed at one another for a moment, frozen in time, like two people who have just realized they are stranded together in the desert. He had a small scar across the bridge of his nose, almost between his dazzling blue eyes. A hint of five o’clock shadow traced his almost delicate jawline, lending masculinity to his nearly pretty face. What the hell? I never reacted to men this way. Get a grip, Sophia! I told myself.
With supreme effort, I broke eye contact first and stepped toward the woman whose story would change my life forever.
3-T
he Empress
Catherine was housed in a standard prison cell for the Pennsylvania State Pen. Nine feet by nine feet square, with a narrow cot bolted to one wall and a toilet and sink on the other. Aside from the table and chairs placed in the room for my interview, a single blanket was the only other thing in the room. Besides Catherine, of course.
My eyes took in the contents of the room, roaming around the starkness that filled the shadows. A single bare bulb, wrapped in a wire cage, hung suspended from the high ceiling. I was intentionally looking everywhere, anywhere but the side of the table facing the door, where Catherine Meara waited for me. I adopted a business-like manner and sat my briefcase on the table. It was a long wooden thing, the table, sturdy and beat up, with chairs to match. Shaw took up a post by the open cell door and crossed his arms, his face impassive. Only the gleam in his blue eyes betrayed his curiosity in the proceedings. I pulled my attention away from him again and sat in the empty chair waiting for me across from Catherine. Finally, I looked at her.
Catherine was a stunning beauty. Her mug shot photo had given no credence to the vibrant woman before me. Her eyes were her most arresting feature, green but with blue splotches in them. I hadn’t noticed a mention in her file that Catherine had heterochromia; it simply listed her eyes as light-colored. Her hair was a living thing made of flames, mahogany, burgundy, oranges and reds colliding together and tumbling in a massive cascade of curls down her shapely back. The prison uniform, a pale washed out blue jumpsuit, complemented her skin, which was slightly dusky and not pale and freckled like that of many red-heads. Her nose was small and even, her lips were a man’s dream come true, lush and full, slightly pink. I felt like a second generation Italian peasant girl in her presence. Even under the shapeless prison clothes, Catherine’s flawless figure was evident and her long slender arms culminated in perfect fingers, the nails pink and pearly, clasped together on the table in front of her while she waited for me to finish my perusal of her face and form. A small smile, a Mona Lisa smile I would become so familiar with, played about her shapely lips. I smiled back in spite of myself, forgetting momentarily that she was likely a killer, and supposedly a witch.
“Hello, Sophia,” her musical voice greeted me. “Thank you for coming all this way.”
I lifted an eyebrow at her while rummaging in my briefcase for my voice recorder. I pulled it out and held it up. “Do you mind if I record our conversations, Ms. Meara?”
“Please, Sophia. It’s Catherine. I insist.”
“Very well, Catherine. I don’t see a lawyer...are you sure you wish to speak to me, in the presence of Officer Shaw, without legal representation?”
“Absolutely. Again, I insist upon it.”
Good enough. I turned on my voice recorder, recited the date, time and location. “Interview one with Catherine Meara, Pennsylvania State Penitentiary, February 21st, 2014. Oh and prisoner number…”
“...0116152,” she finished. “Seventeen and seventeen, you know. It’s so fitting. Has a nice rotundity to it, don’t you think?”
I ignored this and pulled my prepared questions out of my briefcase, closing it and setting it on the floor next to my chair. Before I could begin, however, Catherine continued speaking.
“You desire him, don’t you, Sophia? Tell me, how long has it been since you lay with a man?” she whispered.
I blushed but forged ahead with my first question. “So, Catherine. You asked for me to be here and so, here I am. I’d like to state, for the record, you have no lawyer present and you stated you wish to continue without legal counsel. Is that correct?”
“My lawyer has been made aware that I will be speaking with you, regardless of his spineless presence. In fact, I prefer it that way.” Her tone was serious, but she still had that little smirking smile, her expression seeming to mock me for my professional tone. See, I can play your game, the look said, and I can play just as good as you can.
“Very well. Can you tell me why you turned yourself in?”
“Don’t you want to know why I asked for you, Sophia?”
“No Catherine, I don’t. My interests in your case are strictly professional and anything regarding your reason for including my involvement is irrelevant.”
She sat back in her seat, chains clinking softly beneath the table. She was openly gloating now, wearing her triumph like a queen’s crown.
“Exactly, Sophia. That is why I chose you to hear and tell my story. I remember you, though I can tell you don’t remember me. We went to the same school in that ratty town, but I ran in different circles, ran with an older crowd but I felt your power even then. Before I finished my project, I’d seen your picture in the paper and remembered the taste of that power. Some article you wrote about the occult, do you remember? You wore an evil eye amulet for the photo, the same one you are wearing beneath your oh-so sensible button down shirt, warm against your breasts. I knew you would be strong enough to resist me, to tell the story right.”
“I remember the piece, of course. I’m sorry, I don’t remember you from Pottsdown but I’ve moved on from my childhood. Your other comments about my supposed ‘power’, well, I hate to disappoint you but I’m just an ordinary person.”
Catherine completely ignored my statement. “Your grandmother gave you that amulet, I believe. Your parents died, in a car accident supposedly, when you were nine and you lived with her until you graduated. There’s something else too, another person...I can’t tell who, exactly, but maybe an uncle? Someone close to you…”
“Stop!” I choked out. My blood ran cold at her words. “Anyone can find out that information. Everyone who lived in Pottsdown knew about my parents, for Christ’s sake.”
“This uncle, he touched you, made you do things. That’s why you have so many problems with men, in fact, you’re practically frigid aren’t you? You’d love to spread yourself for Officer Shaw here but you won’t because…”
“Shut up, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
“...Because when a man touches you, you can only remember those dark, sweaty nights, living in terror when your uncle would come into your room, your grandmother was too blind to save you...”
The light bulb in the small cell started to flicker off and on. “Stop, please,” I breathed one last time before it blew completely, sprinkling us with small specks of glass which tinkled merrily onto the surface of the table in the suddenly tomb-like darkness. I heard Officer Shaw call for back up on his radio, felt the comforting light of his standard issue flashlight on my face as he probed the room with its beam. His voice, asking me if I was okay, sounded far away. Catherine’s laughter echoed in the empty chamber and insinuated itself into my brain where it set up an echo of its own.
Guided by Shaw’s flashlight, I stumbled from my seat, pawing at my recorder and briefcase as I went. I sank to the floor in the hallway outside the cell, where thankfully light still reigned supreme. Catherine’s voice followed me there. “I told you, Sophia. You’re powerful, though you may not be a match for me like I thought. How disappointing! There’s no turning back now...I choose you as the light to my darkness. Isn’t it ironic?”
Other guards arrived and collected my belongings for me, Shaw offering me a hand up. He gave orders to clean the glass and replace the bulb, and to remove the table and chairs for today, locking her in for the night. I ignored his hand, outstretched toward me to help me rise and got to my feet without looking at him, instead standing awkwardly with my briefcase hanging limply from one hand and the voice recorder gripped in the other. Shaw took hold of my elbow and led me to his office. He opened the door, gesturing to the empty chair on the near side of his desk. I sank into its leather embrace gratefully and willed myself invisible.
4-The Emperor
Shaw dropped into the chair on the other side of the massive oak desk. He opened a drawer and held up a flask with a raised eyebrow, questioning my participation.
“Hell, yes.” I reached for the flask and took a healthy swig of good Irish whiskey, appreciati
ng the glow blazing a trail down my throat to warm my stomach. I pretended not to notice Shaw watching me.
“I’m impressed. And dismayed to think you might be able to drink me under the table.”
I gave him a ghost of a smile and returned his flask. To his credit, he took a small sip before returning it to his drawer, rather than trying to outdrink me, to prove something. Of course, he was at work so maybe that was the real motive.
“So. Warden Ellis asked I give him a full report on today’s events concerning the interview but I think there are some things I’ll be leaving out,” Shaw said quietly, his eyes on me while he spoke.
I was momentarily taken aback. “A warden? You mean, you’re not in charge here?” I felt stupid for not realizing that.
“Well, on paper, no. Warden Ellis, however, has been with us several years and recently his golf game has been suffering egregiously under the burden of his workaday responsibilities, so in practice, you’re still stuck with me.”
I said nothing, actually relieved I wouldn’t have to report what happened to someone else, to relive those terrible words Catherine hurled at me like daggers.
He mistook my silence for something besides relief. “Unless...you’d rather work with someone else? I can ask another officer to...”
“No! No. Our arrangement is fine.”
“She does it for fun, Sophia,” he said. “When she first arrived, we had an officer, Edgar Pulton was his name. Ed. He was on guard duty for her night rotation. Ed wasn’t the greatest guy--don’t get me wrong, he passed all of the psych tests required to work here, and was with us four years before that bird bitch got here. Still, he was kind of a douche, you know? Kind of puffed up, self-important. Liked feeling in control of people.
Conspiracy of Ravens Page 2