Forsaken, Page 3

  Chapter 3

  Elaine had been in the prison for what she thought was five months, appointed as the new assistant director of mental rehabilitation. She couldn’t remember what she did before—who her mother or father was, where she lived, even what she did for a living before she became a counselor—but then again, no one could, save the warden and a few other lucky ones. There was mental tech all around them, put in place to keep the prisoners calm and to suppress the doctors’ memories. They were told it was absolutely essential and vital, a safeguard so no prisoner could reach out to one of their relatives outside. It also helped to alleviate the feeling of total isolation, as the doctors were not permitted to leave the facility for any reason. A couple of the doctors postulated to Elaine that it might be just as easy to suppress any memories of what went on inside the prison once they left as well.

  The prison was a tight place, all steel and stone, white and grey with bridges of plastic glass. A smell hung over the entire facility, no matter how well it was cleaned, that reeked of urine and sweat. Three hundred prisoners were housed in the facility, with two medics to service them, eight guards to watch them, and five counselors to help them. The decision to put counselors in the facility was a subject of much heated debate between the guards and the counselors. Though the counselors knew this particular prison was home to only the foulest, most despicable and depraved of criminal, they also felt that even those forsaken souls needed some reminder of their soumanity, some connection to a world other than one filled with steel and stone. The guards would just laugh and remind them of the reward each of them would receive for a successful tenure—living quarters of their choice provided gratis, and a plum posting in the government health administration system.

  Euals rounded out the prison population—a brand name of mechanical servant created by the OLMAC Corporation. Fifty of them sat in hibernation, ready to be called on in a moment’s notice, while another ten made routine patrols and still another fifteen assisted with various menial tasks like laundry, food preparation and dispensation, sanitation duties and housekeeping. Their omnipresence made them appear to be an aspect of the building itself—one would sooner expect not to see a eual, as not to see the ceiling or the floor. Elaine had never seen those in hibernation, but rumor had it that these were equipped with heavy weaponry and a very efficient pacification program.

  Few that worked in the prison—guards included—had any spacial sense of what the structure looked like from above. The only map was in the warden’s office, carefully locked in his computer under multiple firewalls. What could be seen was that it was made up of five levels in an apparent pentagon configuration. Solitary confinement was on the uppermost, while the fourth and third levels were for the cells themselves. The second level had most of the officers of the counselors, as well as meeting rooms for the administration. The lowest level had a medical bay and counselor suites on one side of a pentagon, the doctors’ suites on another, the cafeteria and kitchen on the third, maintenance on the fourth, and finally the main exit on the last side, which also led out to a small yard the prisoners had their recreation time in.

  The center of that lower pentagon was called the ‘Hub,’ a common area that could be called the heart of the structure. The main skylights shone down on it, and it was where counseling sessions were held when there was a state of lockdown. Elaine sat there now with three prisoners, trying to get things back to normal after the lockdown that was now in its third day. Michael and Oliver had only just been released from the medical ward, both having a few more bruises to prove where they were and what they were doing.

  Three guards hovered around the perimeter of the Hub, pacing slowly back and forth, watching her group and two others. No closed door meetings were allowed for the time being between the doctors and the prisoners, unless the prisoner was sedated. Elaine had heard muffled cries during the night after John’s attack, as the guards reinforced their authority on the entire population. The three prisoners in front of her—each one an amazing physical specimen—still had bruises on their faces, black and blue welts on their arms. Elaine was told of a time when the guards would hide their damage, but that time was long gone. The guards patrolled with tightly drawn lips and fists clenched around their batons. They hovered over the prisoners, aching for one to slip the slightest. Blake stood a few tables over from her group, with his arms folded over his chest and his baton resting on his shoulder. Elaine managed a wide smile.

  “So, what would we like to talk about today?”

  All three of the inmates before her shrugged, looking everywhere but at her. She always saw this after a period of increased discipline, as those prisoners who made direct eye contact were punished the hardest.

  It’s gonna be another couple of weeks before they look at me again.

  “How about we draw some pictures?”

  She gave them each a sheet of beige newsprint and a soft piece of charcoal. It was a messy ordeal, but pencils were absolutely forbidden. She watched as all three absently moved the charcoal back and forth, making wide black swaths on the paper.

  “Hey, Richard, don’t you want to draw something?” she asked gently. “You always have something to share.”

  He looked up at her with his wrinkled eyes that always bespoke of some hidden intelligence to her. One of the older prisoners, she had been unable to find out exactly what Richard’s crime was. Of course, she knew very little of what any of them had done. John was usually in her group, but was still in solitary confinement. Next to Richard sat Frank, one of the inmates Elaine could very easily see returning to society. He always carried himself with a degree of dignity, never getting involved in fights or shouting matches, always lending a hand if she called on it. Xiu and Ronald rounded out the group, two typical inmates that always regarded everything with suspicious eyes, seeking a way to take advantage of any situation. Twice she caught Ronald eyeing her supply locker, and though she may have hated Blake, at least he always made Ronald pay for the thought. But Richard was by far the most interesting in her group. Often she would come in with a lesson plan geared to uncover more of his self, but he would always not only thwart her efforts, but usually leave her wondering about her own self.

  “I draw, what I feel,” said Richard in a soft voice.

  “And all you feel is a big messy sheet of charcoal?” she asked gently.

  “What I feel,” he said, as he finished blacking in the entire sheet, “is the night. I feel I am in a night without stars, without light. I see nothing, hear nothing. I don’t know when the night began, and I don’t know when it will end.” He continued smearing the charcoal off the sides of the paper. “The night is all around me, in everything and everyone.”

  Elaine forced herself not to succumb to pity, not to let her compassion overwhelm her logic.

  “Even in me, Richard?”

  He looked up, at her, in her eyes. He rest with his gaze on her, until Blake suddenly hit him hard in the shoulder with the end of his baton.

  “You know better, Dick.” His voice was a growl tinged with laughter. Richard smiled sideways, as he shifted his attention back to the paper.

  “You’re stuck there too, Elaine.” Richard was the only prisoner to call her by her proper name. “The night swallowed you too, and I don’t know if you’ll make it out.”

  Richard always disturbed her, no matter how much emotional distance she kept from him. He had a way of saying nothing, yet everything. She sat back, and collected the other’s drawings, and tried her best to ignore him for the rest of their session.

  The guards prowled like feral animals, stalking prey with a hunger for flesh and blood. They hunted through the halls, taunting any who crossed their paths, whether they be doctor, counselor, or prisoner. The prisoners were merely the weakest, those whose spirits were broken; whose bodies could be the most easily abused. Even when the guards relaxed, they usually had their hand on their baton, as if it confirmed their status as a man. Their uniforms were always sloppy, their faces never shaved and clean. The only badge they were given often fell off when they bent down to pick a soda out of the machine, or retrieve some fallen candy bar. But the baton, the long, black baton, with a leather handle and long, wooden blade, was the only symbol they treated with respect. Elaine saw them religiously polish its stained surface before and after their shift. Their badges they’d fling around the cafeteria like Frisbees; their belts would be used to lasso a cold beer in their common room. But the baton was never twirled, never used as a plaything to tease. It was an instrument of pain and joy, a key that opened up their souls to feed in the light. When they wielded its weight, logic could be suspended, compassion forgotten. Their animal instincts could take over, given free rein to maim and kill. A few of the batons had been used to kill, and they were always retired, and burned. Except for the metal core; that was always taken and cherished as a prized possession, like the skull of a fallen foe.

  The guards sensed weakness, and preyed on it maliciously. Elaine could feel their eyes on her, knew the hushed whispers just out of her earshot were about her. She walked the halls, and felt more vulnerable than she ever had before. The guards were the only thing standing between her and the hands of the prisoners, and somehow, they needed to have their attention diverted.

  After her group, she went to see Todd, the warden, one of the few there who she somewhat respected. As she walked into his office, she couldn’t help but glance around, always amazed by the spectacle. Books crammed every bit of space on each wall, rising and falling in great, dusty waves. The frosted window seemed to be in a state of assault, as the books overflowed even its bounds. The titles were each and any that could remotely be called a classic. Todd wasn’t a man for anything modern, anything faintly ethnic. Only the
old and difficult to read, whether it be poetry or prose. He had plays, sonnets, novels and novellas, short story anthologies, epic poems, histories, essays, criticisms, religious works and philosophies all jostling for attention, praise, and most of all, space.

  The excess of his books was reflected in his own corpulence. He overflowed in the seat he was in, showing his equal appreciation for anything cooked, baked, fried, sautéed, grilled or roasted. Somewhere on his desk at any one time lay the carcass of no less than three meals. He smiled as he watched Elaine look over his books, wishing she would show the same interest in his own body. He was aware of its repulsion, in fact, that was part of what made him continuously aroused, was the looks of the thin and fit.

  “Well, Lainey, what brings you to my den?”

  “Todd,” she said, carefully moving some smaller tomes off a small chair, and cautiously taking a seat, “how long is the lockdown going to last?”

  “Well,” he gurgled, shifting in a chair that sounded as if it desperately wanted to die, “we need to make sure our guests know their place.” He picked at his teeth with the long nail on his index finger, one specially grown for just that purpose. Nothing nauseated her as much as seeing that. “I mean, Big Man seriously injured two of our counselors, and almost hurt you.”

  “John was just angry to have his world thrown in doubt.” She couldn’t help but try to plead her case—John always held a special place in her heart. “Oliver knew better—he’s just been dying to try to make John accept our reality.”

  “‘Our reality?’”

  “You know—John thinks he’s a superhero, and that’s what keeps him calm. It’s only when that delusion is challenged, that he loses control.”

  “Yes, I remember. And he’s too big to be allowed to lose control. After the things that he did . . .”

  “What did John do? There are some things, some crimes, I’m never told of.” She crossed her legs and drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, unable to hide her frustration. “You have no idea how that would help in the treatment.”

  “I’m sure it would, but I also know there’s a limit to how much a person can dismiss. I tell you prisoner A stole money, most people can dismiss it. I tell you prisoner B beat a homeless man almost to death, and fewer can accept it. I tell you C—”

  “Yeah, I know,” whined Elaine, “there are some crimes that are too difficult to accept, but—”

  “I tell you prisoner F killed three-thousand people and laughed about it while rolling over on their dead bodies,” shouted Todd, “and maybe you don’t even step in the same room with him ever again!”

  Elaine sat back, silent.

  “Maybe you even take the law into your own hands, and slaughter him like he slaughtered so many. Yes Lainey, a few of them have done things that bad. There was a grey time, after the war, when law hadn’t yet recovered. A whole lotta people got away with a whole lotta things. What you’re with are by far the worst of ‘em. These people are never seeing the light of freedom ever again. I know they’d be better off dead, but our sugar-laced senators can’t seem to stomach any sense!” He sat back, picked up a small volume, and ran his finger along the spine as a calm smile settled on his fat face. “So we gotta deal with ‘em—somebody’s gotta. What was the quote? ‘There is a time and place for all things; joy, peace, love, and happiness. There is also a time and place for pain and regret; for atonement, when those who have been forsaken may seek to redeem their fallen souls. We live in a world bordered by things evil and cruel, and as such, forbids us from living a life of innocence.’ This is a time, and place, for atonement. Where our forsaken charges struggle to see the error of their ways. Unfortunately, it’s not a place for redemption, Lainey. They have come too far past that point.”

  “I know, I know.”

  A sincere, soft smile graced his pudgy face. “You’re a sweet one, Lainey. I know the guards are a little riled up at you; after all, you actually got John to calm down. You saved yourself, not the other way ‘round. So keep yourself quiet, and calm, and in a few days, one of our guests will do something else stupid, and they’ll forget all about you.”

  She nodded, knowing no words would sway him, resigning herself to defeat. “Thanks.”

  She stood to leave, pulling down her skirt, drawing furtive glances from Todd who peeked carefully over his book.

  “Someday, we should have dinner, Lainey. I think we’ve got a lot in common.”

  She haltingly nodded. “We just might, Todd.”

  As she walked out the door, Todd pulled his book closer with one hand, while another hand descended to his nether region to accomplish his foul bidding.

  The prison was tense for the next couple of days. Elaine had her groups canceled, as Todd felt the prisoners needed more time. The guards worked to keep the prisoners off-balance; conducting cell searches at random hours during the night, executing full body cavity searches immediately after meals. A couple of prisoners even fought back out of frustration, but the guards raised their glorious batons, and the prisoners fell mute under their sway.

  Unfortunately it wasn’t enough fun for the guards, as most of the prisoners knew to keep quiet so they could get what little freedom they had back. So they yipped and snarled at the counselors, especially Elaine. Blake seemed to be everywhere Elaine wished he wasn’t—outside the bathroom as she was leaving, waiting by her office as she walked in first thing in the morning. Oliver and Michael could only nod their heads in commiseration at the treatment she was receiving. She tried to affect meekness and submission, tried to be uninteresting. But Blake saw through it all, saw that it really bothered her, and kept on pressing, prodding and pushing.

  “You need to learn,” he said, as she walked back to her suite earlier that night, “just who runs this damned pigsty!”

  The sad part was that Elaine shared their boredom, craved some excitement. While the confrontation with John was harrowing for her, it was also exhilarating. Some days she was fine being the model counselor, patiently listening to the problems of adult men. Other days, when she was done, when she came back to her suite and took off her clothes for a shower, when all the trappings of her position, all the symbols of duty were shed, she wanted them to shut up and die, to stop their simpering whining. Whenever she felt like that it made her shudder, and she showered even longer to rid herself of the stench of memory. After she was done, and she stood over her sink, brushing her teeth, the condensation would evaporate off her mirror, revealing, for a moment, an image she didn’t understand. It would always be just on the brink of clarity, when the glass was still half-fogged, and half-clear. She would bend down to spit, to gargle and rinse, and in that split second her peripheral vision would see . . . something. It disturbed her to no end, to the point that she had taken to dressing before brushing her teeth, but even then she took no pleasure in her reflection.

  Elaine wished she could get out, and travel around for a while, but she and all the other doctors were committed for a full year. The prison only allowed food to be shipped in, and that even arrived in tightly sealed boxes down a very long conveyor belt. Elaine lay back now, in her bed, anxious, trying to get some sleep.

  Her room was double the size of a cell, yet still it was tight to her. She had a small, single bed, a short couch, and a modest wooden table on which sat her computer. A single thin, long frosted window lay behind the head of her bed. She tried to soften the harshness of her room by adding a curtain to the window, some lacy runners to the bottom of her bed, even hanging a small print near her lone closet.

  She lay on silken sheets, a light blue, with a thin, white trim that ran along the edge. It was never cold in her room, but she still had a thick down comforter bunched on one side of her bed, near the wall. Nothing gave her comfort and solace like laying down on its cloud-like surface, making her forget, for a time, where she was.

  A picture from one of the prisoners hung on her wall. While it was forbidden to keep items like that—all the drawings done by the prisoners were immediately destroyed—she managed to steal this one. It depicted a figure in shadow, standing on some ravine, looking down at a city bursting with light and life. The stars hung overhead, and the figure could only just be seen, because the moon hung low in front of it. It was an androgynous figure, and the prisoner who drew it, Matthew, refused to tell her who the figure might be. She was taken with it the first time she saw it, as it seemed to convey a terrible hope, yet a beautiful resignation to fate.

  Matthew was one of the few prisoners she allowed herself to get friendly with. An intelligent man, he was always abused more harshly by the guards. She suspected it was because he had an awareness in his eyes. When he looked up at a guard, after being beaten with the baton, there was a pity in his gaze that the guards couldn’t tolerate. Matthew looked down on them, even when they beat him the most violently. Many times Blake, the most sadistic of the guards, had to be pulled off of beating Matthew, before he killed him.

  Elaine often thought of Matthew as a kindred spirit. Both of them were in their early forties, each with thick, black hair, both fit and lean. Though while Elaine had soft brown eyes, Matthew had fiery blue ones that sat as pearls in his brown face. Once or twice she lingered on his face, thought of having her hand on his rough stubble, feeling his chin resting in her palm. He had a masculinity that surpassed any and all others. In his placid demeanor, she saw a leader, a warrior, a general. She saw a man that could order the worst man to commit the most beautiful act.

  She lay now, under the sheets, the anxious tension building in her again. She couldn’t remember the last time she had sex, couldn’t remember the last time a man held her the way she needed to be held. The only men who brushed up against her were the guards, trying to see if she wanted to have a littl
e fun with them. The prisoners kept themselves at a discrete distance from her, knowing to cross that line would mean certain death for them. But John, those short days ago, was close to her. She thought on his massive body cradling her, his arms embracing her almost as a lover would. Something in her was sparked by that combination of danger and lust, and her hands felt their way down her chest, under the sheets, to the spot where her legs met. It was after she let out her first moan, that she realized she wasn’t alone. It was a smell—a familiar smell that stopped her hand. She knew that smell like she knew her own face. It was of urine, and perspiration, fear, and lust. She stopped, paralyzed with fear, not wanting to move, yet searching the room with her eyes.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” whispered a male voice.

  She pulled the sheet tight, bolted up, her mind racing with thoughts of where any weapon was in her room. The man shifted forward into the light, doing her the favor of showing his face.

  “Frank? What’re you doing in here?!” she shouted in a harsh whisper.

  “Nothin’, oh, just nothin’.” He stepped out of the shadow, and took a seat at her small desk. “You know, this reminds me of the time my dad caught me, with my hand where it don’t belong. You wanna know what happened?”

  Elaine finally calmed her mind, confident she could talk her way out of any situation. She relaxed her arms, and pushed herself to lean against the wall.

  “Yeah, tell me what happened.”

  Frank let his eyes trail along her outline under the sheets, shaking his head back and forth in silent approval. “Ya know, it’s dangerous asking one of us what we did. You might find out somethin’ that’ll keep you up nights.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, and kept her intense gaze focused on his eyes. “Go on, tell me.”

  “Well,” he said, leaning back a bit, spreading his legs like the alpha male he pretended to be, “it was late at night, and I’d just woken up. I had been out with a few friends, and there were a few girls with ‘em. I was sixteen, and hungry. Well, I got all alone with one of ‘em, pressed her up against the wall, thing’s was goin’ good, but she pushed me away, and just wanted to talk. Well, that was when I didn’t do everything my mind wanted me to do, so I just took it, and headed home. Well, when I woke up, I was pretty stiff. So there I was, workin’ things out, and in my dad stumbled—drunk. See he got the rooms mixed up!” Frank chuckled, and let out a long sigh. “He just stood there, lookin’ down at me, and he started to laugh. I mean, loud, hard yuckin’. He fell against a wall, just lookin’ at me, and laughin’. See, I’m not all that big, down there, and my dad, well, he was never the supportive type.”

  “What did you do?” asked Elaine carefully.

  “I killed him,” answered Frank matter-of-factly. While Frank certainly wasn’t as big as John, he kept himself in shape, and something inside Elaine knew that he was good with his arms and hand – that he might even know some skillful fighting moves. She could see him killing a man that was bigger than he, especially if he had the element of surprise. “And I did it in the nude. I had a big knife at the side of my bed, and I slashed at him on his face, right across his mouth. See, that way, he couldn’t scream.”

  “And he couldn’t laugh?”

  “Yeah,” said Frank, realizing it for the first time, “you’re right! Newer thought of it like that. He sure couldn’t laugh! I think he cried, after I put the knife in his chest, the first time. Imagine that, my first time, was the time I was caught with my hand between my legs, just like you, now.”

  “Then you better make sure you don’t laugh,” she said seriously, meeting his dark gaze.

  “I do like you, Lainey,” he said, chuckling to himself. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “See, the guards want you to be taken down a peg. Really, it’s Isaac wants this done. So, he put the word out that he wanted someone to do you. Real hard, real angry. When I heard ‘bout it, I volunteered. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna touch you. I might like to, but I’ve learned how to control my impulses.”

  “Yes, you have.” She carefully moved to the edge of the bed, her careful gaze fixed on him. “Do you mind if I put on a few clothes?”

  “Go right ahead.” He politely turned to face the wall, as Elaine hurriedly put on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.

  “Thank you, Frank.” She sat back on the bed; her legs pressed tightly together, her body tense and ready to fight.

  “Don’t mention it,” he said, turning back around. “Really—don’t mention it. To anyone.”

  She softened, as she could see the sincerity in his eyes. “But why, why are you doing this? Really?”

  He leaned forward as it they were having a polite conversation over a cup of coffee. “See, maybe you can’t tell, but there’s a struggle goin’ on. Blake and Isaac have got thing’s goin’ just the way they want. But Todd, well, he’s been peekin’ out from those books more than they’d like. He’s puttin’ pressure on Tannis to make some changes. All I know is if Blake and Isaac win, they’ll celebrate by cracking open all of our skulls. Now you docs, you’re all nice, peaceful people. I gotta think, that the more people that stand against Blake and Isaac, the better.”

  Elaine nodded her head. “I understand, and trust me; we will do whatever we can to protect you.”

  Frank exploded in laugher.

  “Oh, Lainey, that’s sweet and all, but I don’t mean it like that! All we want is for you to look the other way, while we take care of Isaac and Blake.” He looked at her incredulously. “You really don’t know what most’ve us’ve done, do you?”

  “No,” she answered in a hushed voice. “They don’t tell me that.”

  Frank nodded to himself. “Then maybe it’s time someone filled you in.”

  And for the next two hours, Frank related to her all he knew about twenty inmates who trusted him. What they had done, what they had been convicted of, and what they admitted to him and others about what they had really done. The scope and breadth of their acts was nauseating, from the number of people killed to the length of time they were able to continue offending. For some, Elaine learned they had done substantially more than what the authorities found out. When Frank was done, she wished she had never asked him, and he had never told her.

  “It’s true,” she said absently, her head swimming in disgust and fear. “Once you learn, you can never go back.”

  “You’re right, Lainey. You’ll never look at us the same. But it’s about time you knew that you’re not dealing with a bunch of schoolboys who got caught playin’ a prank. It’s all serious in here, Lainey, and like it or not, for the next seven months, you’re a prisoner in here, too.”

  She looked at him, for a moment, feeling like she could actually trust him. She wanted to tell him everything, about how she hated being here with each passing day, how she felt she didn’t belong, to how sometimes she didn’t even recognize the face in the mirror. But she held her tongue, and merely smiled.

  “That’s probably the smart thing to do.” He seemed to read her thoughts, see what was on her face. “I’m the last person you wanna trust. In fact, I don’t know a single person in here that you should trust; docs, guards, and wardens included. Well, maybe the euals,” he said with a chuckle. “After all, who’re they gonna tell?”

  Elaine nodded. “A person that tells you not to trust them usually is the one person you can trust.”

  “Thanks, Elaine.” He gave her the honor of pronouncing her name carefully and properly.

  “So, what will you tell the guards?”

  “That I had a good time. That you were too scared to fight back, and you laid there like a stick, and I came all over you. Sound good?”

  “Yeah,” she said, holding back the tears. “I guess it does.”

  Frank knelt before her, on one knee.

  “Know this, Lainey, I’m yours to command, when the time comes. I don’t know why, but I’ve known since the day I met you, that I would be yours. You have a power over me, one I can’t deny.”

  His words fired something within her, and she felt great joy in the power he gave to her. She nodded, and he stood, and walked carefully out the door. She lay back in her bed, after she locked her door, and stared at the ceiling thinking over her life.

  Why did I even take this post? I can’t seem to remember. It’s like everything before is just a blur, like looking through the mist on my mirror. I mean, I feel like I want to help them, I feel like, despite their crimes, that they even deserve to be helped. But who will help me?