The 'N' Word, Book 1 (9 page)

Chapter Three

D
R.
O
WENS TURNED
another page of his book as the slight, stingy breeze from his plastic desk fan blew onto his clammy face. The morning had been particularly unkind, dragon-fire hot, and it didn’t help that his office had been a revolving door all morning, shepherding in warm, sluggish humidity from the hallway. Meeting after meeting, back to back, alerting him of the need for the prisoners to receive more mental health resources, was how the day commenced. On the previous, day the Warden himself had forewarned him regarding a specific inmate, one that he may have great interest in… a Mr. Aaron Pike…

As soon as the man’s name was uttered, the alarms inside his brain rang. The fellow in question had been in the recent news for brutally beating a black man nearly to death in front of a convenience store in broad daylight. He tried to not allow the details of the heinous case to cloud his mind during the discussion. After all, he was to be as objective as possible, but it was damn near impossible to get the grizzly imagery of the battered man out of his mind.

Warden Huckleberry had made it clear as he blew smoke around his office that Mr. Pike was a prickly thorn in his side, a man of great influence who he emphatically stated, ‘magically kept shit going.’ Magically…

Yes… he’d do some voodoo or hoodoo or ‘who-knew’ of sorts, orchestrating grown men to drop what they were doing and immediately carry out his orders,
almost
psychically.

Bottom line, Aaron was treacherous and hazardous to the health of the institution. Not only due to his unpredictable violent nature, extremist views, and apparent never-ending thirst for revenge, but also his severe manipulative tactics, surprising mental agility, and naturally deceptive ways. Regardless, he’d seen other ‘Aarons’ in the world, though this one was perhaps a tad worse than his previous encounters based on the briefing. He’d devised a special program for inmates there at Holman. One in which once they went through his specialized curriculum, they’d be eligible to get additional treatment, free of charge, after their release date.

However, the downside, as seen by some, was that they’d be labeled mentally incompetent—so much so, they may not qualify to return to Holman should they have another brush with the law. This was a definite drawback, the stigma of it all, yet some inmates would rejoice at the chance. They’d do anything to stay away from Holman, a prison notorious for being rough, hard, and ensuring that only the strongest survived. And, Aaron was definitely from strong, albeit dysfunctional, stock.

He’d taken the time to look at Aaron’s profile, and a few things stuck out to him as unusual and not customary with the typical racists he’d run across in his line of work. For one, there was a disturbing duality with which the man communicated, almost as if he suffered from schizophrenia, or some similar brain and personality identification abnormality. This conclusion partially stemmed from the man’s chosen style of communication, or lack thereof. Aaron was rather tight lipped. All inmates were required to speak to a mental health professional upon arrival and his previous stretches in prison demonstrated that he chose his words quite carefully. He knew
what
to say and what
not
to say, how to move and display himself to anyone and everyone to get what he wanted. He caused pause among the most learned in the field and made an interesting study, an extraordinary man with hidden traits… unnerving to say the least.

He is a psychopathic narcissist….

Of this, Dr. Owens was certain. On a sigh, he opened his wrinkled brown paper bag. The thing crinkled as he slid his hand into the dry material and clutched a saran wrapped honey ham, lettuce and tomato sandwich. On only three hours of sleep, he’d awoke and packed his lunch, which also included a blueberry granola bar that danced dangerously close to its expiration date, a hard boiled egg that held onto its shell with a foul death grip, and a half dozen pathetic, limp celery sticks that bent at the tips like Christmas candy canes.

Finally a moment to myself…

He sat back in his seat, taking the first bite of the thing. The sweet savory flavor of the honey mustard he’d spread on the toasted wheat bread gave his tongue a spicy-sweet delight. He looked lazily out of his window, noting the desolation. No one was out in the field at that moment, only the canvas of vibrant green grass, tetchy and dark barbed wire, and an area dedicated to exercise. The heavy silver weights were stacked neatly in a series of tin boxes, pushed up against the base of a thick gate. The sounds of Vivaldi’s ‘Spring’, from his Four Seasons composition, led him into a serene state of relaxation…

KNOCK! KNOCK!

With a piece of crisp lettuce jetting out from between his ever-working lips in mid-chew, he jumped in his seat as he stared at the closed door. Taking a big gulp of water, he set his sandwich down and cleared his throat.

“Yes, come in.”

The door slowly opened and revealed a fine specimen of the female sort…

“Hello, I, uh…” She looked down at a paper in her hand, then back into his eyes. “I believe I was supposed to stop by and see you,” came the sultry, calming voice, much like one you’d hear on an easy-listening radio station. “My name is Mia Armstrong.”

“Ohhh, yes… yes!” He quickly pushed his sandwich aside and wiped his hands on a crinkled napkin. “Please, come in.” He pointed to a seat in front of his desk.

“Thank you,” the woman offered a gentle smile as she quietly closed the door behind her and sauntered over. Standing approximately 5’8, the woman’s deep tan complexion was flawless. Lustrous blue-black hair hung in loose waves along her shoulders, with a bit of frizziness at the ends. A neutral lipstick shade emphasized the fullness of her lips and her slightly slanted, dark, honey-colored eyes adorned with lush, midnight black lashes. The svelte woman a small waist and ample hips brandished a silky silver-blue shirt and slate gray pencil skirt that came down to the knee. The conservative black heels on her feet did nothing to lessen her appeal and natural beauty.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt you from anything.” She took her seat before him, placed her folder upon his desk, then crossed her legs and clasped her hands over her knee. “It looks like you were eating your lunch.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” He waved her off and shoved his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. “It’s been a long, busy day but I’m glad you found time to stop by, per my request.”

“Of course. I was just in between classes, so thought I’d come by.”

“Yes, you teach three adult reading classes here, correct?” He quickly flipped through his notes.

“Yes, yes I do.” She nodded. “I also help some of the guys prepare for their GED testing.”

“That is really good, Ms. Armstrong. Well, I won’t hold you so let me jump right into why I asked that regular staff and volunteers come and speak with me. As you know, I’m the newest Holman psychiatrist here. I have been assigned to work with a specific segment of the custodial population that has had multiple stints in the prison system… repeat offenders if you will. Mr. Jordan retired, and Warden Huckleberry decided to take that time and restructure the mental health program altogether.”

The woman nodded in understanding, her focus keen upon him.

“I plan to do a different sort of assessment with the inmates in my care. At which point, I will possibly make new determinations regarding their treatment, if any at all. I am of the belief that an incarcerated person, even under the best of circumstances, is subject to psychological impairment if proper intervention is not administered in a timely fashion.”

“I agree.”

“I also believe that inmates that are diagnosed with a mental illnesses, such as bipolar or paranoid schizophrenia, receive continuous care and treatment long after the initial assessment. Some of these men, though definitely not all, will be back out there.” He pointed towards his window. “Out with society… There are certain psychosomatic issues that will arise even from going from incarceration back into civilian life. I wish to be more proactive along the way. Now, let me tell you a bit about my background.”

“Yes, please do.” The woman crossed her long legs… such beautiful legs…

Quickly, he moved away from the initiation of licentious deliberations.

“I have been a clinical psychiatrist for twenty-three years. I studied at the University of Alabama for my undergraduate work and received my Ph. D at King’s College in London. I am originally from Tennessee but moved here, to Alabama, with my family at the age of thirteen. I am a regular at the Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail, too.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed with mirth as a light, dainty laugh escaped her lips. He couldn’t help but to smile back.

“Now, here is what I’ve proposed. As I’m certain you are aware, Holman is home to many men who are serving life sentences with no chance of parole. Some of the inmates are on Death Row. This sort of situation leads undoubtedly to bouts of clinical depression, some of which can lead to psychosis, paranoia, and attempts at suicide, amongst other things. As stated, I only work specifically with the repeat offenders, and regardless if they are serving only three months or are on Death Row, we need to be proactive regarding every single one of them.”

Mia leaned back in her chair as she kept her eyes upon him.

“What some people seem to not understand is that you can’t treat a problem without offering a solution. A solution is basically a formula used to minimize, even possibly eliminate, a problem. In this case, we are speaking of psychological ones. I do not like throwing medicine at people, Ms. Armstrong. I am not opposed to treatments that will help one’s quality of life, however, sometimes pills and the like only mask the problem, and never get to the root of it. Therefore, the culmination of medication, therapy, relaxation techniques, and good experiences oftentimes will help a person who is under a great deal of psychological pressure survive such tribulations and become a better person. Or, at the very least, not become worse in regards to their reasoning skills, empathy towards others and accountability.”

Mia nodded and he went on.

“Therefore, I have proposed a pen pal system, here at Holman. I have gotten the ‘OK’ from Warden Huckleberry, and I wish for all staff to spread the word. I felt that you were particularly fundamental, seeing that you are a schoolteacher by profession and have a stellar reputation, as well as a large pot of people to pull from with a similar background as your own, Ms. Armstrong. You are well liked and respected here.”

“Thank you very much, Dr. Owens. I really appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you. So…” He scanned his stack of papers. “Ahhh, here they are… This is a list of inmates that I wish to pair up with companions via writing correspondence.”

She gingerly took the folder out of his hand.

“I believe these men would be great candidates for this program. You see, loneliness and alienation increase criminal behavior, Ms. Armstrong, and that is what Warden Huckleberry and many others wish to avoid. I believe that communication with a sympathetic soul can ease this situation. So, I am asking that you look that list over and make calls to your friends, church members, you name it, and try to couple them with an inmate to write to. The rules regarding such correspondence are enclosed.”

She opened the folder and scanned the sheets, turning page by page.

“Do you have any questions for me, Ms. Armstrong?”

The woman kept her head down as she continued to read.

“When would you like this completed?” She slowly glanced in his direction.

“As soon as possible, but please do not inconvenience yourself along the way.”

“Understood. I will not keep this long and will most definitely encourage people to get involved. I work with special needs children, Dr. Owens, and on a daily basis I see what a kind word and just someone who cares can do for someone who has a series of roadblocks in their way. Sure, my students at the school are children, but when it comes to desiring love, understanding and acceptance, we are all the same. Age doesn’t matter. Some people aren’t necessarily having intellectual or educational development delays… They are having psychological and spiritual delays, perhaps due to trauma. Trust me,” she said with a sad smile. “I get it.”

“I could not have stated it better myself!”

“Mia rose to her feet, grabbed her folder off of his desk, and placed both of them under her armpit. “It was so nice to meet you, Dr. Owens.”

He stood as well and extended his hand. They shook on it, locking eyes.

“It was a true pleasure to meet you as well, Ms. Armstrong.”

“Please call me Mia,” she stated as she turned her back and made her way towards the door.

“Will do, and thanks again for coming. Please enjoy the rest of your day.”

Looking over her shoulder, she nodded. “You do the same.” And then, she was gone.

He sat there for a good while, replaying her wisdom-laced words and still enjoying the lingering scent of her fragrant perfume. He coined himself a good judge of character, so he indulged in the notions that roamed his mind.

She seems like a very nice lady… quite attractive, sharp, and polite. I bet the inmates enjoy looking at her, if nothing else. Maybe I’m leaping, too much into the thoughts of others, but if I didn’t know any better, I think she were somehow attracted to this environment. Just something about her… as if a place void of goodness somehow balances her out… After all, aren’t we all looking for equilibrium?

He smirked to himself.

It’s a good thing they have that reading program…

He plucked his sandwich back up and gave it the once over, no longer certain of his desire to finish the damn thing. His stomach protested, grumbling beneath his hunter green, button down shirt, and letting him know that his deliberations to withdraw from the meal would not be tolerated. So, he took a reluctant bite, gulped, and disappeared in thought a tad longer. Soon, he grabbed the black phone receiver from his desk.