First Degree Innocence (14 page)

The door squealed open. Ogden’s portly figure appeared in the cell. “You ready, Lang?”

Carrie grabbed her few belongings, a smile on her face. She meant what she said. This wasn’t her fight. She’d refused to do Jet’s dirty work and got a cell change in the deal. The joke was on Jet.

Ogden grabbed Carrie’s elbow. “C’mon.”

“Wait,” Jet called out. She sidled over to the guard. “You might want to check inmate Lang’s belongings. I believe I saw some sort of weapon in her laundry bag.”

Carrie’s mouth gaped. “B-but you—”

Ogden knocked Carrie’s belongings from her arms, and as soon as they hit the floor, the portly woman hunkered over the laundry bag and dumped out the contents. A long, serrated knife clattered against the tile.

“Aha,” Ogden exclaimed, holding the blade by the handle. “Looks like contraband to me… and dangerous to boot. That’s gonna get you some time in solitary.”

Carrie stared at the weapon. Anger boiled her blood. Why hadn’t she suspected Jet would stoop to something so low? She raised her gaze to her cellmate’s smug expression and felt nothing but hatred for the woman.

Solitary? The reality of the moment screamed the words in her head, and fear iced her heated anger. She shook her head. “But, it isn’t mine. Jet got it from the kitchen.” As soon as the words left her lips, Carrie realized she might as well spit in the wind. No guard, especially Ogden, would believe her over their pet inmate.

Jet laughed. “Why in the world would I put a knife in your belongings? You’ve been so unstable lately, I’m not sure I even trust you anymore.”

“B-but…” Carrie couldn’t muster a believable excuse, especially when the two in front of her were in cahoots. She dipped her chin to her chest and took a deep breath.

“There’ll be no changing cells for you, Lang. At least not at the moment,” Ogden said. “The warden will decide exactly what to do with you, but I think you can pretty much bank on spending some time all alone in the dark.”

The duet of cackles stirred Carrie’s ire and brought welling tears to her eyes. She was a victim once again, and just like when her conviction had been handed down, there was no one she could rely on for help.

* * * * *

Carrie stood on trembling legs before the warden’s desk and waited for the slender woman with glasses to announce her decision regarding the knife incident. Dressed in a gray suit, her hair the color of charcoal, the senior matron blended in with the drab cements walls.

“Ms. Lang,” Warden Petarski looked up from a folder. “I’m sure you realize you’ve committed a serious offense.”

Defensive words rose in Carrie’s throat, but she swallowed them and nodded. Why would the warden believe her over a trusted guard? A bizarre smile threatened. How ironic that Carrie now faced the same fate she refused to inflict on Susanna.

“You have nothing to say?” The warden fixed a steely gaze on Carrie.

“No, Ma’am.”

“Then I have no other choice but to order you be placed in solitary for two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Carrie leaned on the desk to steady herself. “But this is my first offense.”

“And,” the warden smiled, “your last if I make the punishment stiff enough. I plan to make an example of you, Lang.” She turned to Ogden and the other matron standing by the door. “Get her out of here.”

Ogden stepped forward and yanked Carrie’s arm so hard her shoulder popped. “C’mon you skanky bitch. We have a special room reserved just for you.”

Carrie prayed the warden had a heart and would at least admonish the guard for her apparent abuse and disrespect, but the woman simply turned her attention to the files stacked on her desk. Any hope of decency Carrie expected melted like a snowflake on a hot coal.

Dread filled the pit of Carrie’s stomach as she accompanied Ogden and her cohort down a long basement hallway. A dank smell wafted in the air. Coldness seeped into her bones. With doors of solid metal, there was no way to tell if any other inmates suffered her fate. Oh for those awful steel bars she hated. At least in her cell, she could glimpse people passing, overhear conversations, and get a feel for the time of day. Here in the bowels of the prison, she’d not see a hint of sunlight or enjoy time with friends. No rec, and as Ogden had already warned, no blanket until bedtime. Just her and four walls for two weeks. The urge to beg for mercy crossed her mind, but she wouldn’t give the guards the pleasure. Her chin quivered and she hugged herself for warmth.

Stopping mid-way down the corridor, Ogden inserted a key and yanked open the door. A musty smell rushed out and overpowered the dankness. The air turned even colder. Carrie squinted to adjust to the darkness inside.

Ogden gave her a shove. “Get inside.”

Carrie stumbled, but steadied herself against the far wall. The interior, lit only by overhead lights in the hallway, held a cot and toilet. “Where’s the sink?”

Ogden nudged her cohort and laughed. “She wants a place to wash up. Isn’t that precious?” She turned an icy stare on Carrie. “You won’t need a sink. You can piss, shit and sleep, and thanks to rules that say we have to be humane, you’ll still get your three meals. Someone will bring your dinner. Enjoy.” She slammed the door shut.

Darkness cloaked the room. Carrie’s breath hitched at the absolute silence and feeling of abandonment that surrounded her. She sank onto the cot and buried her face in her hands. Two weeks of this hell? Two minutes hadn’t passed and it felt like a lifetime already. Drooping onto the mattress, she curled herself into a ball and cried. She trained her mind on Seth’s face and drifted to the garden in a dream.

“You gonna take this or not, Lang?”

Carrie opened eyes heavy from crying and spied someone handing a dinner tray through a slot in the door. How long she’d slept, she didn’t know, but she leapt to her feet and charged toward the light. She accepted her food and bent to peek out, but the moment of illumination was fleeting. The opening creaked shut, its hinges obviously in need of oiling.

Left in the darkness again, she carried her tray to her cot and sat. She squinted to see what delightful treats made the menu, but in the end relied on taste. Never did she imagine she would savor prison meals as a break in the looming monotony.

* * * * *

Carrie huddled beneath the thin blanket given her for bedtime. The guard collected it along with the breakfast tray every morning, and there was nothing in the room to indicate how many hours she had left to garner as much warmth as possible from her meager bedding.

Her skin itched, and the stubble on her legs caught against the frayed woolen cover. She grimaced at how she must smell. By her estimate she’d been in solitary for almost a week, and the daily showers she counted on were lost with the rest of her privileges. The blanket provided her only hint between night and day, but catnapping had become her method for passing time, and now sleep evaded her.

Her gaze wandered to the light filtering through air vents in the door. Thin slivers shone onto the floor and provided enough illumination to barely see in the dimness. Something small skittered across the cement floor. A rodent, no doubt. But strangely, she wasn’t frightened. She’d always been braver than most girls, and was always the one to take the lab rats out of the cage in high school science class. Knowing another living creature shared her space brought a hint of comfort to her lonely existence.

The food slot dropped open. The small amount of brightness from the hallway seemed a flood of light compared to the perpetual darkness. A hand appeared and gestured. Carrie rose, slugged across the floor and crammed her blanket through the opening. In return she received her tray. Without speaking, the server closed the small door and left Carrie craving just one word from another human. Despite her earlier lack of fear at sharing her quarters with a rodent, she took giant steps back to her bunk and drew her feet up off the floor. Knowing one lurked somewhere inside wasn’t what raised her hackles; not being able to see the creature bothered her. She’d had enough surprises.

She tore a piece from her slice of bread, leaned across her tray and dangled the bit near the floor. “Here, little mousey. Come share my breakfast.” She smiled, feeling a bit stronger than those women who jumped on chairs to avoid mice. Unable to focus, she tossed the tidbit to the corner where she’d last heard the skittering sound.

She grasped her coffee cup with both hands and soaked in the warmth. The aroma conjured pleasant images from her days of freedom—stopping occasionally at Starbucks and splurging on a latte, or sharing a cup of Joe with a fellow employee. Her anger grew. Why was she being punished for someone else’s crime? She wanted to scream—throw something, break something. She took a deep breath and released it in slow increments. “One more week, Carrie. You can do this. Life in a regular cell is like a vacation compared to this.”

Seven more days, but what then? She raised her gaze and peered into the darkness. “Lord, what have you got planned for me next?”

* * * * *

Carrie reveled in the strength of Seth’s arms and shivered as his warm breath caressed her neck. Finally, she’d tasted his kiss and loved it.

“Wake up, Lang. Time to go back to civilization.”

She drew her knees up as cold air conflicted with the sensual moment, and an out-of-place voice invaded her mind. Carrie sat up and squinted. Ogden, silhouetted in light, stood over her, dangling the blanket she’d just snatched away.

“I said, time to go.” She nodded toward the open door. A sneer formed on her wrinkled lips. “Or would you rather stay here?”

Rising quickly made Carrie dizzy. She steadied against the mattress for a moment, then stood ramrod straight. “Oh, no, Ma’am, I’m ready to get out of here.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“No, y-yes…I mean no, I hated it.”

“Good, then you’ll remember who’s boss and do as you’re told in the future.” The guard grabbed her elbow and escorted her into the hallway.

Carrie smoothed her wrinkled uniform and splayed her fingers through her unwashed and disheveled hair. She hated to ask, but had to know. “Am I going back to my same cell?” Her gaze rested on the floor, but she watched with her peripheral vision.

Ogden’s head snapped around. “Of course, why would you think otherwise?”

No use in pleading. Carrie had already learned that the hard way. With her eyes adjusting to light after so long, she trudged alongside the guard. Nerves knotted her stomach. The only sounds: Ogden’s raspy breathing and the soles of Carrie’s slip-ons slapping the floor with each step back to Jet and her demented mind.

Carrie stood in the hallway, her chin sagging to her chest, while Ogden unlocked and opened the cell door.

“Well, well, look who’s come home.” Jet’s mocking tone drew Carrie’s attention. She shuffled into the cell, unsure of what to say or how to act. Lowering her gaze again, she sighed.

“You look like you could use a shower and some clean clothes.” Jet sounded almost cordial.

Carrie’s head bobbed up. “I’d really appreciate that.” The past two weeks without those luxuries had been pure torture.

Jet flicked a glance to Ogden. “Towels and some clean clothes for my cellie, please.”

Ogden nodded and left, closing the cell door behind her.

Jet inched to the edge of her bunk and sat. “You look like hell. Sit.” She patted a place next to her.

Carrie fought growing repulsion and plopped next to her. If they shared a cell, she had to act civil, at least. “I wasn’t quite sure how you’d react to having me back.”

“No sense in holding a grudge.” Jet crossed her legs. “We still have to exist together, right?”

“Right.” Carrie muttered the word but the hatred she held inside for Jet screamed for release. A little voice tamped down the anger, reminding her that the time would come to get even. How and where she didn’t know, but she’d figure it out.

Chapter Sixteen

The resulting steam from Carrie’s shower formed droplets on the tiled wall and drizzled lazily to the floor. Languishing beneath a hot mist, she lathered her hair with shampoo then tilted her face upward and let comfort and warmth seep into her pores. Two weeks in solitary had left her with a permanent chill—one she never wanted to experience again.

She finished by shaving her legs, drying and dressing in clean clothing. Why she worried about hairy legs she had no idea. And who would have guessed she’d be so happy for dingy undergarments and being back in bright orange. Gone was the blue suit that heralded her trustee rights. A nagging ache tugged at her heart. She’d not only lost her right to work in the garden, but more importantly, her access to Seth.

Carrie gathered her wet towel and dirty belongings and slipped her sock-clad feet into her rubber slip-ons. The slapping of her soles down the hallway from the shower announced her arrival, and the door was already open.

“You look refreshed.” Jet rose from the toilet and pulled up her bottoms.

“I feel better… probably smell better, too.” Carrie stuffed her dirty clothing into her laundry bag, tossed it atop her bunk, then crossed to the sink. Picking up her comb, she ran it through her shaggy, wet locks. She squinted at her wavy reflection in the chrome mirror. “I don’t like having long hair. I need a cut.”

“I can arrange it.”

Carrie whipped around. “Is there anything you can’t arrange?”

Jet lay on her stomach, her feet at the end of the bunk where her head usually rested. She thumbed through a magazine. “Not that I’ve discovered.”

“So …” Carrie waited.

“What?” Still on her belly, Jet cycled her feet back and forth in the air like a child.

“What about Susanna?” Carrie’s heart thudded like thunder. She swallowed hard.

“Oh, I see.” Jet flung the magazine away, rolled to her side, and crooked her elbow. She rested her head in the palm of her hand. “You think because you took the fall, I’m going to forget all about Crane.”