by Rob Edwards
Contents
Also By
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Excerpt from American Psychology Magazine Article
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Excerpt from American Psychology Magazine Article
Chapter Five
GINfo Interview Transcript - Judith Higgins
Chapter Six
Two Rivers Correctional Facility Phone Transcript
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Michigan-Online Article 6-3
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
GINfo Interview Transcript - Judith Higgins
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Two Rivers Correctional Facility Phone Transcript
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
GINfo Interview Transcript - Rena Blossom
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
GINfo Interview Transcript - Dr. Warren Fitzpatrick
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Michigan-Online Article 7-27
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Michigan-Online Article 8-25
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
"Deep Dive" Editor’s Script
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Excerpt from American Psychology Magazine Article
Thank you for reading
Acknowledgments
Also by Rob Edwards
Threads of Life: Book One
PRISONS
A Novel
Rob Edwards
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance
to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No portion of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or delivered
in any form, by any means without the
written permission of the author or publisher.
Copyright © 2020 Rayn Media
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7340656-2-6: ebook
ISBN-13: 978-1-7340656-3-3: paperback
For Mom, Dad,
And Dayna Marie
Prologue
Noah Higgins stared at the bricks on the side of the school building, his eyes following the endless lines jutting out in every direction. He heard the scraping of the chalk sticks across the asphalt, and two kids arguing over the color blue.
The other children in Mrs. Schucard's first grade class drew trees or monsters on the blacktop. But Noah concentrated on the bugs on the window, then the tiny holes that dotted the wall.
“No, Adrian,” Mrs. Schucard called out. “We don’t eat chalk.”
A flash of red caught Noah’s attention. Looking out toward the playground, he saw a big red ball bouncing around among a group of kids. He wanted to go to the ball.
“Spit it out. Come on, spit.”
Noah stepped off the blacktop onto the grass. The change in texture under his foot stopped him. He looked down to examine the difference from the hardness of the blacktop to the softness of the grass. The bouncing of the ball grabbed his attention once more and he headed toward the bright red wonder.
“Hold on,” yelled a boy with light hair, and lots of freckles. “We got a special one coming over.”
The boy picked up the ball and looked at Noah with a smirk on his face. “What’s your name, dumbshit?”
The other kids giggled.
Noah, seeing only the red ball, reached for it.
“What’re you doing?” the boy said. He backed away. “Oh, you want the ball?”
Noah reached his hands up.
“Then catch.”
The ball hit Noah in the chest and bounced off before his hands could close around it. The force knocked him backward several steps. Noah let out an anguished cry. His hands began to flap.
Someone kicked the ball back to the freckle-faced boy, who picked it up again. “Ah. Poor baby. Too stupid to catch a ball?”
“Do it again, Tim,” a different boy said.
“Okay, dummy,” the boy named Tim said. “Get ready.” He threw the ball once more, and hit Noah in the head, knocking him to his knees.
Climbing back to his feet, Noah noticed many faces laughing at him. They were loud. Too loud. He moaned.
Noah clenched his right hand, and with another anguished cry, slammed it against the side of his face.
“Whoa, stupid,” Tim said. “Don’t beat yourself up. That’s our job.” He threw the ball again, hitting Noah squarely in the side of his head.
Stunned, Noah stumbled backward a few more steps. The noise of the laughter was too loud. Noah balled his fists once more and swung at Tim. The freckle-faced boy did not expect it, because Noah’s fist caught him squarely in the face and sent him to the ground in a heap.
Tim felt his nose, and pulled a bloody hand back. “You piece of shit. I’m gonna beat the crap out of you.”
But Noah dropped on Tim and swung wildly.
Tim cried and covered his bloody face with his hands. The crowd gathered around, even noisier now. Their screams and jeers were fuel for Noah’s swinging fists.
“Stop that, this minute!” A man’s voice said.
The following is an excerpt from the article “Special Needs + Special Rehab = Special Circumstances,” written by Dr. Warren Q. Fitzpatrick, of Marmont State College, and published in “American Psychology Magazine,” October 20xx.
As I compile my reports on this highly divisive topic, I find myself in the unfamiliar and uncomfortable position of having to defend the legitimacy of undertaking the project in the first place.
The endeavor itself was born from the extraordinarily successful programs which use inmates to train guide dogs, now active in several correctional facilities around the country.
In these programs, the inmates are given the task of caring for and raising dogs, while running them through intensive preparation to become fully functional leader dogs, explosive detection dogs, and veteran assistant dogs. The fact that well-trained, highly effective canine workers and companions come out of these programs is impressive enough to call them successful, but what is even more remarkable is the effect the process has on the interred. It becomes a time of healing, and offers the prisoners the realization that they can make a difference for the better in this world.
The multi-level success of these programs is what made me want to “raise
the bar” if you will, on what’s possible with this kind of project, in this kind of environment. The idea was this: if training dogs in prisons can have such a remarkable impact on both the trained and the trainers, what would be possible if we introduced special needs children.
For the inmates the benefit would be the chance to develop knowledge and skills they could rely on post-incarceration. The program would ready them to test for specific accreditations such as Direct Support Professional, or Applied Behavioral Analysis certifications.
For the children, the benefit would be sole and concentrated care and attention for a specific period of time, a commodity that is rare indeed for special needs such as theirs.
My hope was that the benefits to both parties would be totally transforming. For better or worse, that continues to be the debate raging throughout the nation today.
Chapter One
Judith Higgins stared into the vast sea of numbers that flowed across her computer monitor. After a few hours of work they tended to drift together, becoming nothing more than a blob of digits. She shook her head, sat back in her chair and stared up at all the memos pinned to the light blue fabric of her cubicle. Among the pages of highlights and redactions was her favorite picture, snapped by her sister when she brought Noah home from the hospital for the first time. Noah looked almost as if he were smiling, and she was beaming. Her blond hair still had hints of the beautiful highlights and lowlights she used to be able to spend a fortune on.
Looking back down at the computer screen, Judith shook her head and sighed. There were moments when dealing with all the number-crunching became overwhelming. That was the signal that she needed another cup of coffee. She pulled open her personal drawer where she kept her purse, bags of pizza-flavored Combos, and the occasional bag of Kit Kat Minis. She grabbed a container of sugar-free mocha creamer and her coffee cup, and headed to the break-room. Usually she took her coffee black, but she liked to treat herself, by adding a little of the chocolaty-flavored powder when it felt like work was besting her.
As an entry-level business analyst for Filmore National Life, there wasn’t a whole lot of diversity in the projects she worked on. Much different from her previous life as a Creative Director for Danser Advertising and Public Relations. She had her pick of the projects there, and every day was different, with a brand new challenge to tackle. Here the only difference between projects was the black name on the white sticker on the header of the manila file folder.
“Uh, oh.” Simon Bensinger, a senior analyst, breezed past her. “The lady needs a little java juice.”
Judith smiled at him. “Just a little. Fives and twos starting to look too much alike, and all that.”
“Ah, drink up then,” Simon said. “We can’t have that.”
Judith poured her coffee, added her creamer, stirred it in and reminisced about the days when she would be whisked off to New York, Minneapolis, or Las Vegas. She’d even been to London for work a few times.
She took a sip of her coffee to test the mocha-ness of it. Perfect the first time. She picked up her container and headed back.
The traveling days were long gone now. Her new world was contained in a 6x6, light blue square, and consisted of the numbers on her screen.
She put her creamer back in the drawer and slid her chair back up to her computer. In truth, it wasn’t the job that got her down. She was good at numbers, easily better than any other entry-level analyst Filmore had. But she was also the longest-running entry-level analyst Filmore had. She had yet to be promoted. In fact others had come after her, and had been promoted ahead of her. And it wasn’t because she was bad at her job. On the contrary. It was because….
Judith’s phoned buzzed and shook on her desk. She grabbed it to see Hanson Elementary on the screen. She tapped it and brought it to her ear. “Hello. This is Judith.”
“Hello, Miss Higgins. This is Ellen VanAmburg at Hanson Elementary School.”
Judith rolled her eyes. Ellen VanAmburg must have called her a dozen times or more in the past seven months, but she always started her calls by explaining who she was in her nasally, drawling voice. “Yes, Ellen. Is something wrong with Noah?”
“Well, Principal Wilcox asked me to call you. It seems he caught Noah beating up another boy on the playground and…”
“Wait, what?” Judith slid her chair back. “I think you mean Noah was beaten up. Is he okay?”
“Well, uh, no. Noah beat up the other boy. Pretty soundly too. Nose bleeding and all. Sent him to the school nurse.”
“That can’t be. Noah doesn’t like to be touched. There’s no way he would touch someone else unless he was defending himself or something.”
“Well, he’s here in the office. Principal Wilcox brought him in in a pretty agitated state. Put him in the safe room awhile till he calmed down. He would like you to come in and talk.”
Judith stood. “Of course. I’ll be right in.”
“Oh good. We’ll see…”
Judith tapped the screen, opened her personal drawer and tossed it into her purse. She bent over her computer, saved her files, and shut it down. She grabbed her purse and jacket and headed out to talk to Bernie.
Bernie Herbstreit, supervisor over her team, was not what one could consider a gentle man. He had little patience for the types of issues she had to handle with Noah. And he was an obnoxious oaf on top of that. Not to mention the singular reason she hadn’t been promoted.
True to form, he was racing out of his cubicle, constipated look on his face, eyes set squarely on her. He was bouncing his stomach in her direction as fast as he could waddle. “Did you think I didn’t notice you log off? I get an alert when that happens, you know.”
“No, Bernie,” Judith said, biting her tongue lest she say more. One day she would, but there was no way she could afford to lose this job now. “The school just called. Noah was in a fight and I have to go pick him up.”
“The kid again.” Bernie put his hands on his hips. “So will you be back to grace us with a little more work today?”
Judith turned and headed to the elevators. “I’m not sure. I have to talk to the principal. See what’s going on.” An elevator opened and she stepped on, hit lobby and the door close button three times before they began to slide shut. She looked out and saw Bernie rushing to catch up.
“Well, the Raymor account is your responsibility and I need to go over it before it can be turned….”
The doors shut.
Judith sighed.
Chapter Two
“So how is your foster family?” Delton Hayes said to his little sister, Danna.
“Okay, I guess,” she replied.
Hushed voices bounced off the cold cement block walls of the Visitors Center, at Two Rivers Correctional Facility. Huddled around five other small round tables sat inmates talking to their visitors, and an armed guard stood in every corner of the room, with another at the door.
“Just okay?” Delton realized that Danna was growing fast now. No longer was she the skinny little hungry nine-year-old girl she had been when he was sentenced seven years ago. She had been kicked from foster home to foster home in that time. Some of those people were nice and some were downright cruel to her. But it appeared to Delton that this family was the best yet. Danna’s dirty, crusty dreads were cut off and her hair was now short, and looked professionally cut. “It looks to me like they’re pretty good to you. They dress you up nice. Got your hair cut real good.”
She wore new jeans, a shirt with little pink roses on it, a light pink sweater and white shoes, with her ankles crossed. Danna looked like a proper girl in an upstanding family — not the product of a drug-addicted mother, a father who split before she’d entered the world, and a brother who was now in prison for armed robbery.
“Oh, we’re just getting started on the hair.” Danna ran her fingers through her short curls. “Once this grows a bit, Mama Rose says she’s gonna get me a weave.”
“And that’s a good thing?” Delton aske
d.
“That’s Beyoncé-style!” Danna dropped her hands and looked at him, wide-eyed. “And it ain’t cheap.”
Delton nodded. “That’s a good thing then.” He laughed when she rolled her eyes. “They’s treating you all right then.”
“They’s good to me, I guess.” Danna said with a one-shoulder shrug. “They’s just a little weird.”
“What do you mean weird?”
“Like I gotta be at the supper table at a specific time and all, or I get talked to.”
“Do they yell at you?”
“No.”
“They don’t hit you, do they?” This was one of Delton’s worst fears. Danna had a foster father once that hit her with a belt for sneaking out one night. Danna was removed from the house and they are out of the program now, but there’s nothing guaranteeing that won’t happen again, and there isn’t anything Delton can do about it from the inside.
“No. Nothin’ like that.” Danna said, squirming in her chair. “They just say they’s disappointed in me, they want me to feel like family, and like I’m at home with them.”
Delton laughed out loud. A couple of the guards and the other visitors looked over.
“What you laughing for?” Danna asked him, smiling.
“’Cause you silly, girl.” Delton said. “You complaining ‘cause they treating you proper. They dressing you all up nice and cutting your hair. How much more horrible can they be? Give you desert at every meal?”
“Yeah, but,” Danna sounded flustered but smiled back brightly. “No. You don’t get it. Sometimes I don’t wanna eat what they eat. They make weird stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like….” Danna thought for a moment. “Grilled cheese with Swiss cheese and tomatoes.” She crinkled her face. “That’s sick. Who ever heard of something stupid like using Swiss cheese for grilled cheese?”
Delton looked toward the ceiling for a moment, pretending to be thinking it over. Then he looked back at her with a confirming nod. “Okay, I’ll grant you, that’s a little weird.”