Page 17

Chapter fifteen

Kace

Present Day

O ut of the seven years I’ve been in Darkwater, not once have I ever been as angry as I am now. No, this entire week. Spending time in seg, because of Nadia, has my blood boiling now that I am back in gen pop. The moment that door closed, and I was confined to a tiny four by eight-foot space, a part of me was ready to throttle her even if I was struggling to come to terms with solitary confinement.

I should have choked her the fuck out when I had the chance.

Here my dumb ass is, falling for the witch, and she went and slipped actual contraband into my jumper when I wasn’t paying attention. Now that I look back on it, I remember the moment she did it, when we were standing in front of Zurita, and he was grilling her about where we were.

I knew she was too damn close to me, but at the time, I thought nothing about it since I had just been balls deep in that tight twat of hers. I mean, the vile thing I said to snap her out of that post-sex haze wasn’t any better than what she has done to me now but still; she got me put in seg for the last week.

There have been countless inmates that were thrown into that shit hole, and every time they come back to gen pop, they seem a little more broken than normal, and now, I understand why. Do they tell you that when you’re down there, you don’t have light? Or that you only get to eat the minuscule leftovers from the cafeteria, if there are any? There were several days where I didn’t eat at all. Water? Nope. A toilet? I had a semi-working commode in the far corner of my tiny cell, but it never filled up with water.

I had to wait until there was enough urine in it for it to flush, causing the cell to fill with the smell of piss. I like to consider myself a clean guy; living in filth is enough for me to learn my lesson. Thank my fucking maker for no water because at least that kept my bladder empty.

Never mind the voices, I’m just going to chalk those up to me being hungry and tired.

Seg is vile, and I’m not letting that demon close enough to plant drugs on me again.

Once I was transported back to my cell on C Block, I immediately went for a shower. I had the water on the hottest setting known to prison-kind and just let it scorch the disgusting film of seg off me. I scrubbed myself about four times, then my junk another time, to the point I was raw and pink all over.

Now, I’m on my way to the front gate of the prison. I need to get as close as possible to the warden because if this cunt wants to fuck with me, I’m going to fuck right back.

I am a damn fool for caring about Nadia, but not anymore. The next time she gets me alone like that, I’m going to destroy her.

“Where do you think you’re going, inmate?” some guard I’ve never met asks as I start to walk past him. There are just a few remaking gates in my way before I can ask the secretary to get to the warden for me.

“None of your fucking business, boss.”

“Now, that’s where you’d be wrong. You’re not allowed through here, get your ass back to your block.”

“You going to make me?”

I turn on him and stare, hands dangling down by my sides though, fingers twitch and are ready for confrontation. I watch as he reaches for the radio receiver attached to his left shoulder and begins to speak into it.

“This is Officer Dalton; can I get back-up in the front corridor. I have an inmate not cooperating,” he says through the mic.

Instead of staying around much longer, I turn on my heel and head forward again. I have shit to do and I’m staying here to wait for his buddies to show up.

“Hey! Wait!” Dalton shouts.

No.

I reach the next gate before he grabs my left arm, and with a yank, tries to turn me towards him, but that was a goddamn mistake. Not today. Fisting my hand, I twist and swing, landing my knuckles into the bridge of his nose with an audible crack. His head snaps back from the force. Grunting in reply he returns forward, holding onto his nose.

“You son of a bitch.”

“Talk about my mom like that and I’ll do it again. I need a meeting with the Warden, and you keep getting in my fucking way.”

Blood starts to pool under his nose, and for the first time in my life, I am amused to see someone else’s pain.

“Get me a meeting. Now.”

“No,” he snaps.

Reaching out, I grab Dalton by the front of his tactical vest, yanking him close, glaring down into his deep brown eyes.

“If you don’t, I will come back. Again, and again. Next time I’ll bring something more painful to persuade you with, Officer Dalton.”

This guy has to be a cowboy; he pales at my threat. Though I’ve never been violent up until this point, I now see the appeal. It gets shit done, and if this is the way I need to be moving going forward, then count me in.

“The Warden,” I growl.

“F— fine. Let me go and I’ll radio.”

With a shove, I do just that. The falter in his steps make him stumble backwards and scramble for his balance.

Definitely a rookie.

Again, he reaches for his radio and calls off the dogs like he said he would, steadily watching me with a critical eye.

Good boy.

“Officer Dalton to base,” he starts on his radio again.

“I need a request sheet for an inmate to meet with the Warden.”

I stand in silence, listening to the one-way conversation. Now he knows damn well I’m not going to settle for a request. I am seeing the warden now or there are going to have another problem. It’s the stupid thing to do—telling the warden what Nadia has done—that would put another target on me as a snitch, but fact of the matter is, she needs to be brought down not just one, but several pegs, and I’m going to give that to her.

Once Dalton finishes up his conversation, we stand a safe distance apart and wait for the secretary to bring out the documentation. I know this is beyond my character, but some things need to be done the hard way.

Prison changes you; sometimes for the better, but mostly for the worse and that’s not my problem anymore. I’m here for life, until I take my last breath, then someone will shove me in some random hole out back. I might as well start being a different man.

“Inmate Patton, what a pleasure.”

“Secretary Rose. Good to see you, I’d like to see the Warden if you don’t mind.”

What fortune I have, Rose, the gatekeeper of all gatekeepers is on shift today. In her mid-40’s with curly and wild grey hair, wearing a flowy skirt, and a blouse like some sort of pre-school teacher. If I didn’t already know her, she would fit the part. However, this woman has a bite to her and when she is here, no one gets past her. Sure enough, there’s paperwork in her hand— the request for visitation.

“Little bird told me you need paperwork.”

“Yes ma’am. If you wouldn’t—.”

“You know the drill, paperwork first. Maybe a meeting later.”

“Please ma’am. This isn’t something that can wait. I believe I know who’s bringing drugs into the prison.”

On my way back to my cell, a little bit of the fury has rubbed off now that I have talked to the warden. I stop at commissary to grab a bowl of noodles because I’d be damned if I’m eating any of the slop from the cafeteria today. I’m not in the mood for anyone’s shit or being around others, aside from Ronald, I’d rather be alone. I miss those days, before people started wanting more of my attention.

The AB? Yeah, I’m not going there. Fuck them. Nadia? Fuck her too. Though Ronald and Matias haven’t done anything stupid lately, that doesn’t mean that they won’t. To avoid those tense situations, it’s just best that I take my ass to my cell and lock the hell up.

Forced to wait in line, I do so impatiently. Queued for my turn at the cage window, only two other prisoners ahead of me. I can hear them talking about their ladies and kids. One kid attending practice for sports, another in the drama club. Wives working full-time jobs, spending money on shit like coffee and blankets.

How fucking boring.

Yet, the more I listen to them, the more I ache for something I’ll never have. I may not have wanted someone to call my own, several years back, but not having someone to write home to hurts. Seeing photos, handwritten letters, and mementos from loved ones is not a part of prison I’ve been privileged enough to experience. I’m alone here, that’s what I want right?

I don’t know anymore. There is a part of me that wishes there was someone else that’d come to visitations or who would fight for my rights in here. I love my mom, but she doesn’t need to do all of that. I’ve caused enough shit in her life that asking for her to open some sort of case of abuse seems minuscule.

“You’re up next, inmate.”

Not realizing the line has emptied, I take the few steps needed to approach the cage and rattled off my request for noodles and a package of Reeds cinnamon candies—my favorite. This whole transaction typically takes about two minutes, but something feels wrong. Inmates behind me beginning to whisper amongst themselves. Something about the transport bus, the one that brings new prisoners from county and city jails all over the state.

Oh great, a bunch of new fuckers to deal with.

I guess there are a lot of new faces to get to know, charges to memorize, people to avoid.

“Patton, your funds are out again. You’ll have to come back once they’re filled,” the guy behind the cage says.

“What? No, the funds were there before I went to seg.”

“Yeah, and they’re not there today. I don’t know what to tell you, now get out of line.”

“Hold the fuck up, look again. Maybe you pulled up the wrong inmate.”

“Do I look like a dumbass to you?”

“You want me to answer that question truthfully or are you going to cry about it when I hurt your fucking feelings?”

This is bullshit. When he said the money’s gone, I know he’s telling the truth. There’s no reason to argue about it. I’m just pissed off and I’m secretly hoping that he did do something wrong, that way I can give him more shit for it later.

This is a normal occurrence for me, just another day in Darkwater Correctional.

“Guards!” the asshat shouts, catching the attention of two that like to linger close by.

Dammit.

“What is it?” asshole one asks.

“This inmate is holding up the line and won’t get lost. Can you make him move along?”

“You got it,” asshole two chirps up. “Come on, inmate, let’s go.”

If I didn’t want to stay the hell out of seg I would have caused a scene. I’m over being pushed around. When one of the goons reaches for my arm, to tote me away like a petulant child, I snatch it and march off. Guess I am going to chow after all, and please, to all that is holy, let Nadia be off this evening. And let Nate be off butt fucking some new inmate.

It’s goulash today, one of the better dishes the kitchen crew manages to put together. Noodles are a little soggy, but I’ll manage. At least there is salt and pepper mixed in, since the prison won’t invest in any sort of seasonings. Other than that, I sit on my own since Matias is off with the rest of the homies doing whatever it is they do; thanks, buddy. It’s like he knows when I need to be left alone without having to ask me. After a few years of friendship, you’d hope he’d have it figured out by now.

Staring down into my tray of goulash and the stale dinner roll, I push around some of the concoction while barely managing coherent thoughts. It’s like I am disassociating from everything around me, all because of that snitch.

I don’t understand how she can do something like that to someone who is innocent, well, I’m innocent in my eyes. I guess it was payback for what I said. I just didn’t realize she would go that far, yet here I sit, wrong as hell. I don’t like being wrong, to be honest, but I’m finding that I am, more often than not.

I know I’m angry, and don’t want to see her at all, but a part of me wants to ask her why. Why would she do such a thing when I’ve never once went out of my way to hurt her? Sure, I’d be a smartass and mess up her day, but to hurt her? No. That’s also going to change. There’s no more Mr. Nice Kace.

That sounds stupid.

Either way, it’s done—the damage that is.

Finishing up with my meal, I stand up from the table and walk over to the trash cans by the exit door. Throwing away what was remaining and dropping the tray on top of the shelf above the food encrusted hole. Stepping to the side, I turn and look over my shoulder towards a growing noise at the opposite end of the cafeteria, seeing two inmates clash together. Several others are watching from the sidelines. And then a disturbing scream echos in the hall just as one inmate rears back and stabs the other in the stomach.

Shaking my head, I spin and leave out of the door before the room is thrust into another lockdown.

God, I hate this fucking place.

I have one more stop to make before I shut myself away, others may likely be milling around in the common room until lights out, but I’ll be in my cell. You’d think I might want to get out and away from four constraining walls, like I was confined in seg, but my actual cell is comforting. Not to mention it has necessities such as a bed, blankets, and a working toilet. Part of me believes that seg wouldn’t have been that bad were those few things provided but I know better.

Stopping by the classrooms, I check to see if my professor has left anything for me, which he didn’t. I’m going to have to make it up like I have before by coming in early or staying late. This shit is really starting to mess with my plans and my means to help Matias.

Trudging from there, I stop at the library and find another book to read over but this one is more for pleasure reading versus studying. You get to a point where you need to drown yourself in something that doesn’t consume every waking minute of your day-to-day life. While I find interest in legal proceedings and the law, nothing compares to picking up a good thriller or horror novel.

I chose N0S4A2 by Joe Hill, hoping it drags me away from this reality and into another one.

On my way back to my cell, I flip through the pages when a shoulder rams into mine from the front. I snap my head up, brows pinch together in the middle, looking see who in the hell can’t watch where they are walking.

Stopping, and almost tripping over my words, I stare at the inmate before me. There is something hollow in his eyes and he puts off a wave malicious intent. While I have been here long enough to learn who I can pop off to, and who I can’t, he is hard to get a read on.

“My apologies, I am just roaming around, getting a feel for the layout.”

“Yeah—” I start, but then paused for a moment, noting all the details about this kid. From the unruly nature of his black hair to his sunken grey eyes, even the tattoos that peek out from the neck of his jumper. He is young, I can tell, but when they’re in here at this age it’s usually for one of three things. Conspiracy, assault, or murder, which I can see him committing all of three.

“Yeah, it’s an interesting one. The library is down this hall, and then there’s nothing but storage after that. Everything is boarded up and locked away so you’re better venturing down the other corridors.”

“Noted. N0S4A2 ? Good book. When you get done with it, maybe we can exchange notes. I read that one when I was in my last joint.”

“Uh, what are we a goddamn book club?”

“Watch your mouth. You don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

Ooookayyyyy, one of those.

“Sorry,” I quickly apologize.

“Apology accepted. I’ll see you around.”

My eyes follow the guy as he wanders away, his hands reaching into the front of his jumper like he is wearing a jacket and needs to warm up his fingers. Something is definitely wrong with that one. I’m not sure if I want to figure out what it is either. You learn real fast who to avoid and who to toy with, like the Pyro. He is funny but the second he gets that gleam in his eye, you better run.

Back in my cell, I spring up to the top bunk and get in. Leaning against the cinder block wall near my pillow, I flip to chapter one and let my eyes skim each word. I have a hard time concentrating at first, but eventually, it pulls me in, and I have cleared through ten or more chapters.

Ronald finally comes back into the cell, then it’s a good thirty minutes when Zurita walks by and proceeds with count. He stops at our open cell door and glares at me, like he knows something I don’t, but I do not pay him any mind.

Some things aren’t worth my attention.

When the lights flick out, I close the book and set it down by my pillow and slide under my covers. Pulling the blankets up to my hips before staring through the dark, letting my mind stew. The too-thin mattress feels like the most comfortable thing I have ever slept on, now that I have experienced seg. Even the block was quietening down early, like we are all beyond exhausted with the caged life we have lived through or that we are gearing up for something.

As I drift off, the last thing I remember is the whispers and that inmate’s sunken grey eyes.