Edward's Dilemma (6 page)

“You’ve got that right,” Josh chimed in.  In the background, the dinging continued for approximately 10 minutes.  And then it suddenly stopped.

Stuart Co. Jail, Tank 3D

31
August, 2:15 PM

AFTER HIS trip to the clinic, Josh had returned to his tank.  He hadn’t been there long when he was told by a CO that he’d be moving to Tank 3D; in the New Jail.  Apparently, his “classification” was such that he could be housed with other inmates who were not considered high security threats.  This meant that he no longer had to share a tiny little cell with another inmate who might possibly be a robber, rapist, or murderer.  Instead, he’d once again be housed in a dormitory-style tank similar to the one where he’d been after he was booked-in.

The move over went without a hitch, and Josh settled into his new surroundings.  He could tell immediately that he’d like this tank a lot better than the previous one.  The atmosphere was far less oppressive, and the inmates seemed much nicer.  For entertainment, there was a little bookstand filled with paperbacks, and he could even borrow a board game from the CO if he felt so inclined.  Josh was happy, but still on his guard.

It didn’t take long before he’d become acquainted with the daily routine of his new tank.  Breakfast was served at 4 AM, lunch at 10 AM, and dinner at 4 PM.  In between those times, and mostly on the weekdays, there were various other things that took place.  Besides courts, clinic, lockdowns, and med pass, there was also visiting, recreation time, and attorney visits.  On certain days of the week, there was linen and laundry exchange.  On Sunday, there was commissary.  During the rest of the time there was TV, people-watching – and, of course, boredom.

Stuart Co. Jail, Tank 3D

Visiting Room #2

31 August, 7
:20 PM

WITH A piercing voice the CO yelled out Josh’s name, and then followed up by saying that his visitor was waiting for him in Room #2.  Josh had been looking forward to this visit with his brother, Ben, for the last few days, so he quickly got down off his bunk and proceeded towards the door of the tank.  He was met there by the CO, who opened the door and then escorted him to the visiting room.

Upon entering through the doorway, Josh immediately noticed his brother seated in an old fiberglass bucket-shaped chair on the “visitor” side of the room.  Between the two men there was a one inch thick glass partition which was clearly designed to limit the degree of physical interaction between
inmates and their visitors.  Though he couldn’t touch his brother, and give him a big hug as he had been hoping, Josh was nevertheless overjoyed at the mere sight of his brother.

“
Yo, Ben, how’s it going?” Josh said with unmasked exuberance.  “It’s so good to see you!  You can’t believe how glad I am to see you!”  Unable to actually touch his brother, Josh placed his right hand firmly against the partition in order to be as near to his brother as possible.

“I’m doing well.  But what about you – are you doing ok?” Ben replied with similar enthusiasm.  He reciprocated Josh’s greeting by placing his own hand up against the glass partition, on the opposite side of the glass from where Josh’s hand still remained.

The two brothers visited for the next half hour.  They talked about jail-life, and Josh’s charges, and family news, and whatever else came to their minds.  Towards the end of the visit, Josh brought up a topic of conversation that had been bothering him ever since he’d met with his attorney.

“Hey, Ben, there’s something I want to ask you to do.  I talked to my attorney several days ago, and he mentioned something about private investigators.  Do you think you could do a little
snoop’n around for me?”  Josh proceeded to explain his situation, and what he hoped to learn by having Ben snoop around.  He ended his request by strenuously demanding that if he decided to help, he must be extremely cautious and discreet.

Ben agreed to help.

A few minutes later, the visit ended.  Josh watched as Ben departed through the “visitor-door” on the other side of the room, and then a few seconds later he, himself, left through the “inmate-door.”  As he trudged back to his bunk, Josh experienced a range of emotions.  On the one hand, he was very sad to see Ben leave.  On the other hand, however, he was both grateful and hopeful.

Stuart Co. Jail, the Hole

1 September, 2:51 PM

STILL IN the Hole, Edward was stirred from his bed by a dinging sound.  With nothing better to do, he got up and walked over to the door of the cell.  Through the window, he could see a commotion in another cell which wasn’t too far away.

The door was open, and an inmate appeared to be convulsing on the floor.  Two COs knelt over him, and were doing their best to keep him from banging his head against the wall or the floor.  Moments later, a whole cadre of medical personnel showed up to offer assistance.  The two COs quickly moved to the side, and two nurses moved in close to the inmate to begin an assessment.  Because of the inmate’s movements, they were unable to do anything right away other than observe.  They did, however, continue to take the necessary precautions to ensure that the inmate did not inadvertently injure himself as he seized on the floor.  The seizing lasted for a few minutes.  When the violent movements in his legs and arms had subsided, the nurses moved in again to check for vital signs.

Edward was fascinated by what he observed.  This was, after all, the most stimulation his senses had experienced in several days.  As he stood there, gazing out of his 6 x 6 inch window, he noticed a number of other inmates throughout the tank with faces pressed against equally tiny windows.  Everyone, it seemed, was desperate to see and experience the fleeting excitement taking place a few feet away.

After a while, the inmate who had been seizing was helped up, and into the wheelchair.  The dinging stopped, and he was wheeled away.  Within a few minutes, everything returned to normal – and the faces disappeared.

Edward considered his predicament
:
  Alone – I’m – completely alone,
he thought
.
 
Does anybody see me?  Is anybody aware I’m even alive?  Does anybody care?
  Edward backed away from the window, and returned to his bed.  His thoughts continued. 
Oh, God, how am I going to survive this?  I can’t take it anymore. 
He began to cry.

As he lay on his bed, sobbing, memories of his parents and siblings flooded his mind.  Although Edward truly loved each and every one of them, he hadn’t told any of his family members that he was in jail.  Surprisingly, when he was booked-in, he said he wasn’t interested in bail
.  “
What a mistake that was,” he mumbled to himself.  He pondered his motivations, even though at one time it had all been very clear. 
Why was that?
 
Was I embarrassed – or proud?  Did I not want to burden them, and impose on them a financial obligation?  Did I think I’d only be in jail for a few days, so why bother?  Heck, right now I’d pay any amount of money to get out of here.

Dinner was served, but Edward wasn’t very hungry.  His misery grew and his depression deepened as he sat there on his bed, staring at the slop he’d been given to eat.  He did taste it, at one point, but it had already gotten cold.

THIS WASN’T the first meal that Edward had skipped – and people were beginning to notice.  Several days earlier, one of the COs had asked him why he hadn’t eaten his lunch.  And then, more recently, another CO had asked him about his eating habits.  This second CO had also asked Edward if he’d like to speak to a Mental Health Professional, or MHP.  At the time, Edward had declined the offer – but the CO must have contacted Mental Health, anyway, because an MHP showed up at his cell door just yesterday.

Edward didn’t have much to say to the MHP.  Mostly, the guy had asked Edward how he was doing,
whether he’d spoken to his family, and why he wasn’t eating and taking care of his body.  Somewhere in the conversation, the MHP had also asked him whether or not he was feeling depressed.  When Edward had replied that he was, the MHP said he’d make arrangements for him to see a psychiatrist.  He’d also see about getting Edward started on an antidepressant medication.  This seemed agreeable to Edward.  After giving him a word of encouragement, the MHP had left.

PRESENTLY, AFTER the dinner trays were picked up, Edward was given his daily allotment of one hour out of his cell.  On several occasions already, he had taken advantage of this time to shower and stretch his legs.  Today, however, Edward decided he didn’t want to leave his cell.  Instead, he just curled up on his bed, and covered his head with the blanket.

Sleep did not come easily for Edward that night, but it did eventually take hold.  Suddenly, in an instant, he was transported from his dreary cell to the grand cinema of his dreams.  Once again, he inhabited the world of bright colors, and laughter, and good smells. But something was different:  His dreams were changing.  They were darker – foreboding – even frightening.

♦   ♦   ♦

HE HAD always enjoyed early autumn, and today was a jewel of a day.  The weather was dry and warm, but some of the trees were already beginning to turn colors.  A puff of wind stirred a few fallen dry leaves, causing them to casually skid across the driveway.   In the front yard his mother was filling the bird feeder with seed, while in the distance a yellow school bus remained at a standstill.  Five or six kids were dispersing from the drop-off point.

Edward got out of the car, and approached his house.  As he did, he noticed some movement overhead – and instinctively he looked up.  High above, in the clear blue sky, he spotted a flock of geese flying south in their characteristic “V” formation.  Their cackling calls were loud and distinct, and could be easily heard over the ground-level sounds.  It was all too perfect, and Edward loved it.

That evening, during dinner time, it was obvious that his mother had outdone herself.  For some reason, the spread of food on the table was exceptionally bountiful.  There was lasagna, and green beans, and fruit salad, and jello, and green salad, and pickles, and olives.  Everything tasted so good, and smelled heavenly.  To top it all off, his mom brought out a huge apple pie and a half gallon of vanilla ice-cream – Edward’s favorite dessert.  By the time the family retired to the living room, everyone was completely stuffed.

After watching TV for awhile, Edward went upstairs to his bedroom.  He grabbed the book he’d just started reading the day before – “Journey to the Center of the Earth” – and crawled into bed.  Before long, he was completely immersed in the story.  When his brother came in later to go to bed, Edward hardly even acknowledged him.

Sometime after midnight there was an unusual noise downstairs.  Everyone had already gone to bed, and Edward was the only one who seemed to be awake.  At first he dismissed the noise as an anomaly. 
Maybe it was the wind, or just a far-off sound.
  He looked up from his book for a second or two, but then resumed reading.  Suddenly, there was another noise, a kind of cracking sound – and then another noise.  The hairs on his neck and arms instantly stood up, and his heart began to pound. 
There’s an intruder in the house!
he thought.  He knew he had to do something – anything – before it was too late.  But there was a problem!

When he tried to sound an alarm,
he was horrified because he couldn’t speak!  The words were stuck in his throat, and wouldn’t come out no matter how hard he tried.  He struggled to get some air into his lungs, but he couldn’t breathe.  Gasping for air, he frantically tore at the blanket which was tangled around his head and neck.  Once free, he again screamed – but still, nothing came out.

Edward was paralyzed with fear.  He tried to get up out of bed, but his arms and legs refused to move.  He felt weak and helpless, yet his mind continued to scream. 
Move it, Edward.  Move it!
  A feeling of impending doom clamped down on his thoughts.  Meanwhile, a short distance away, his brother continued to sleep like a log.

The noises downstairs could still be heard, and were now getting closer.  Edward could hear the creak of the stairs as the intruder began to ascend.  For each creak, he counted off another stair.

“Creak...”

“Creak...Creak.”

“Creak...”

At first, the creaking noises were slow and measured.  But then, the pace quickened.

“Creak...Creak...Creak”

“Creak...”

“Creak...Creak...Creak...Creak.”

Edward knew the intruder had to be near the top of the stairs.  He was petrified with fear, and dying insid
e.  His thoughts were screaming. 
God help me!  HELP!!  HELP!!  HELP!!  Someone, PLEASE HELP!!

Suddenly, as if in answer to his silent c
alls for help, a light switched-on in his parent’s bedroom, and the creaking noises came to an abrupt halt.  Edward could hear his dad beginning to stir from his sleep, and then came more sounds as he fumbled around in the nightstand for his gun. 
Oh,
thank God.  Thank you!
  He was overcome with relief and gratitude.  He hardly even noticed the sounds of the intruder as he hurriedly bounded down the stairs and out the front door.

“SLAM!”

And then, quiet.

Edward cautiously walked over to the top of the stairwell.  He could hear his dad in the living room, and then several lights came on.  Glancing down, Edward noticed a toothpick on one of the stairs.

Five or ten minutes later, the walls and ceiling of Edward’s bedroom were lit up with red and blue lights.  In the driveway, he could hear the barking of police dogs, and the crackle of walkie-talkies.  His father’s reassuring voice could be heard, downstairs, talking to a policeman.  The policeman’s voice was stern – almost angry.

♦   ♦   ♦

Stuart Co. Jail, the Hole

2 September, 3:53 AM

EDWARD AWOKE from his dream.  For a few minutes, he didn’t move.  His hands trembled, and his clothing was soaked in sweat.  Around his torso, a gray blanket was wrapped like a pretzel.  He remained in his bed, since it was still very early in the morning, but he couldn’t go back to sleep; over and over again, Edward’s mind replayed the disturbing dream.

For the most part, the dream was a no-brainer to understand.  Edward’s home had actually been broken into by some drifter, whom the police had arrested months later.  In fact, many of the details in his dream mirrored precisely what had happened, both before and after, the traumatic event.  Even the meal his mother had served that night had been similar, but embellished a little in his dream. 
But the smells, those heavenly smells, those were not embellished,
he thought.
  Oh, how I wish I could enjoy a meal like that again.
  Edward dwelt on the food aspect of his dream for quite some time, before moving on to consider something else.

The next thing Edward focused on was the last part of the dream.  He had always trusted his father, and had great respect for him, so it was easy to see why the dream painted him in such a positive light. 
But the policeman – why was his voice so disturbing that I awoke from my dream because of it?
  Edward considered this for a while.  After a few minutes of thought, he concluded it was probably because of his inherent uneasiness around certain authority figures.  Another possibility, he thought, was that his incarceration was having a negative affect on the way he looked at anybody who wore a uniform.  He asked himself:  “Am I losing faith in humanity?  Or am I just losing my mind?”

Stuart Co. Jail, the Hole

2 September, 12:12 PM

EDWARD WAS his own tank boss.  Other than the officers, he didn’t have to answer to anyone.  He was basically free to do whatever he wanted to do – in his cell, that is.  He could sleep all day, or read all day.  If he wanted to live like a pig, in a sty of filth and garbage, he could do that as well.  If he wanted to smear feces on the walls, and scream like a maniac, then that was his prerogative.  Edward was king, but his domain seemed to be getting smaller with each passing day.  Eventually, even the stone fortress of Edward’s soul – his last defense against loneliness and madness – began to show signs of cracking.

Although he’d been taking his antidepressant for a day, already, it didn’t seem to be helping him.  Edward was, unfortunately, ignorant to the fact that it could take weeks before his medication produced the desired effect.  In the absence of this knowledge, and in a desperate plea for help, he’d sent a second Kite to “Mental Health” requesting another visit.  He was gratified when a Mental Health Professional, named Sean, showed up at his cell door a day or two later.

WHEN THE CO opened Edward’s cell door, Sean was a little repulsed by what he encountered.  Besides the filth, there was a pungent stench that seemed to hang in the air.  Sean surmised that it was probably a combination of feces and body odor that produced the smell.  He tried not to breathe too deeply.  Upon taking two or three steps into the cell, he noticed that portions of the floor were wet and slippery.  Reluctantly, he advanced even further into the sarcophagus until he was finally standing in its center.  He then began to interview Edward, who was seated on his rumpled bed.  The conversation between the two was short, but nonetheless revealing.