Shhh...Mack's Side

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, dead or alive are a figment of my imagination and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s mind's eye and are not to be interpreted as real.

  All rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2014 Jettie Woodruff

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Kswiss for always being there, for listening, for caring and for her amazing editing. If you’re looking for an awesome editor, she’s your girl.

  [email protected]

  https://www.facebook.com/kristen.c.switzer

  www.SwitzerEdits.com

  I would love to name every one of my Facebook friends, because that is what I think of each and every one of you, but I can’t. There’s too many of you. You know who you are, and you know you always have a place in my heart. Thanks for the love and support.

  To Team J, you’re my Rock Stars!

  Last but not least.

  To my family who I neglected while bringing this story together. You are all my rock, even if you think I’m too busy to show it sometimes. I love you all.

  To anyone fighting with what you’re about to read, and can relate to the troubles you’ll see McKenzie face during this story. My heart goes out to you. I can’t imagine dealing with what McKenzie had to go through on a daily basis.

  With a heavy heart, I would like to acknowledge Robin Williams. I don’t know a person alive that didn’t love him. Mr. Williams generously gave his time to raise awareness and funds for St. Jude. This is also where his daughter Zelda asked that donations be made in honor of her father. God bless him and his family.

  https://shop.stjude.org/GiftCatalog/donation.do?cID=13003&pID=26254

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Epilogue

  Gia’s Side Prologue

  All the preparation in the world couldn’t have equipped me for this. I swallowed the hard lump while the lights went out on cellblock number 518. To say I was scared shitless would be an understatement. The Amazing Grace tune, being hummed a few cells down, did little to calm my fears. I didn’t belong here. I didn’t know how to survive something like this. I didn’t know if I could. I was never around people like this. I didn’t know how to interact with guys like this.

  “You the guy that raped those two kids?” I heard the inmate to the right of me ask. “How long you get?”

  I didn’t answer. I sat on the thin mattress and buried my face in my hands. Ten years. How the hell was I supposed to be here for one night, let alone ten years? I had held it together for almost a year while I endured a long drawn out trial. Not one tear did I shed. Grown men didn’t cry. I couldn’t remember the last time I had cried. It had to have been when I was a little boy. Never as an adult. I cried that night. I buried my face in the bend of my arm and silently cried.

  I did my best to keep to myself. You learn pretty quickly how to survive when you’re thrown into an environment like this. Anger and fear became my only feelings. I tried to stay focused and steer clear of dangerous situations. Knowing from observation the way you’d be put back inline if you stepped out, I kept my nose clean, never making eye contact. Unless, of course, it was one of the guards or Warden Randy Potts.

  Potts was quite a leader. The one and only time I spoke to him, I took a billy club to the backs of my knees. I didn’t need to be broken down to know who was in charge. That one painful drop to the floor did it for me. I did as I was told, even when I thought it to be unfair. I listened without speaking until I was told to do so, and I became the obedient little prisoner. The ideal inmate.

  I went three consecutive years without one mishap. Not until Shank was transferred from a psych ward in a maximum security state prison, that is. I was lucky enough to be graced with his presence.

  I didn’t know what this guy’s beef was with me, but he screwed with me every chance he got, tripping me in the cafeteria, dumping my tray on the floor, knocking books out of my hand, anything he could do to get to me. Had I known the guy, I would have said he had a personal vendetta and was out to get me. Thing was, I didn’t know anyone in prison. I’d never come close to a place like this.

  “What’s the matter, pretty boy? Can’t handle somebody your own size?”

  I knew what he was getting at. News traveled fast. I was known as the teacher who raped his two female students. I still didn’t get why he was up my ass all the time. Other than I didn’t really look like most of the guys here. Not that I am bragging, but I was a nice looking man. I used my recreation time working out or playing basketball on the court. I had always been physically active, which in turn, showed in my fit physique.

  I stopped doing that, too, when Shank showed up. I never understood how I’d been there for three years without a friend, and he shows up out of the blue with a mass of groupies following him, or whatever the hell you call the gangs behind the razorblades. I never cared enough to learn about the gang slang. I stayed as far away from it as possible, staying in close proximity of the guards.

  The newbies coming in were sized up. You could almost bet they were going to fall into one of three categories. Either they would join a gang, easily be taken for granted and robbed of every possession they had, or be punked. I did learn the meaning behind that argot word. I wasn’t about to be forced to be anyone’s sexual plaything. Punk. That just so happens to be the one I inherited from Shank. He wanted me.

  I stayed as far away from him and his boys as I could, staying on the other side of the courtyard, cafeteria, and showers. I came in a virgin, I was leaving a virgin. On the nights that I needed satisfaction, I took care of it with my right hand, thinking about her. The thought of shoving my cock inside her was always enough to bring immediate pleasure.

  The first time I witnessed one of the assaults was before Shank showed up there. I was in the shower room. I ran, promising to stay in the first open shower. It wasn’t hard to be thrown behind a wall and held down by gang members while a leader had their way with you. Sure, I was offered protection when other gangs witnessed what I was dealing with from this guy, but I didn’t want it. I thought it would make me look weak. I wasn’t about to be brought to this guy’s level. Not on my life. I wouldn’t be bullied.

  I did just that, holding my own when I was made to leave my cell. Had it been up to me, I would have stayed right there in my safe little box. Away from Shank and the rest of the monsters I was forced to share an address with. I would have called a guy a pussy for being like I was. I was a strong, authoritative figure on the outside. I was a pussy on the inside. Pretty Boy James. That was my name. No matter how hard I trie
d to not look pretty, I couldn’t change my looks or my body.

  I didn’t see them come in. I was rinsing soap from my hair when a hand cupped my balls, digging fingers into my sack. I couldn’t even scream. The pain was excruciating. The next thing I knew, I was around the corner, out of sight.

  “What’s the matter, pretty boy? You don’t like knowing how it feels?”

  Shank. Fuck. It was Shank. Between the excruciating pain from my balls being squeezed, my face being shoved into the wet block, my arm being twisted, and my hair being firmly held, I knew I was in trouble. I didn’t even fight it. I couldn’t. I didn’t know where I felt the most pain. Everything hurt. Once my head was shoved to the misty, concrete floor, I was done. I knew I was finished. “Give me some soap,” was the last thing I heard before I was raped by Shank first, and then three other guys.

  Shank tried to get me to suck his dick, but I didn’t care how bad it hurt. I wasn’t opening my mouth for his or nobody else’s cock. Not until I saw the shank. It was either Shank’s cock in my mouth or the shiny shank in my ass. The mere touch of the cold metal was enough to convince me to open my mouth.

  No matter how much I tried to stay clear of him. He always managed to win. I never did get the chance to fight. There were four of them and one of me. Shank always won. I was never so happy in my life when he was transferred out again. I didn’t know why. I didn’t care. I heard that he beat a guy almost to death. I assumed he was going back to the maximum security prison. Good. He could stay there.

  I did ask someone after he was gone what he was doing time for. Shank’s name was Jarod and he used to be a normal civilian, the older gentleman, Tom, explained. A loan officer at a fancy bank some place. The guy shot his wife in the head after catching her in bed with his brother or some shit, left behind a newborn baby. Poor kid, never had a chance.

  That year was the worst one I had in prison. Once Shank was gone, I focused on getting out, revenge, getting out, and revenge. Freedom and retaliation. That’s what I waited for.

  I’ve known Gia my entire life. Our mothers and fathers were all college friends. I can vaguely remember the three of them visiting before Gia moved next door when she was four. Our fathers went into business together, and although our mothers didn’t work for the same company, they did the same thing.

  They both worked for real-estate companies in Providence, but not for the same firm. It never made sense to me, Gia, or our dads. They would get into screaming matches over one landing a deal the other one had been working on. They played dirty to get ahead of the other, but at the end of the day when we were in our backyard, the gloves came off and they were friends, drinking wine and watching their daughters in the Olympics.

  I smiled remembering our Olympics. We’d jump in one end of the pool, swim the entire length, jump out, run to my pool, do the same thing, and run back. Gia and I always made up dumb games. We could entertain ourselves for hours. I knew they moved from Shayla Harbor. My mother told me about it a couple years back. She didn’t stay in touch with Melanie either. That day hurt a lot of people, not just Mr. Nichols, me, and Gia. It destroyed families, friendships, and brought a community to its knees.

  I don’t really remember life before Gia. It was always Mack and Gia. Gia was nine days older than me. Our mother’s used to tell us they planned it that way, but I found out later that was a lie. Everything was a lie. We were both accidents. The truth always came out on Sunday afternoons when our families would be sitting around the pool, grilling burgers. My mom and Melanie would always argue about something work related, calling dibs on the listings, fighting over who got what property. Alcohol always played a role in secrets being revealed. Apparently, we were both accidents, conceived out of love, or was that alcohol? It was always alcohol.

  Nonetheless, Gia and I practically grew up as sisters. She lived next door for as long as I can remember. Our parents insisted on the same sitter, same pre-schools, and same play dates. The thing I hated most was sharing my birthday with Gia. Gia’s dad was the one that finally told our meddling mothers that we wouldn’t be sharing any more birthdays together. He explained with Gia on his lap and a kiss to her cheek, that she and I had our own little personalities.

  I scooted close to my own dad, observing the relationship Kyle had with Gia. I couldn’t remember sitting on my dad’s lap. I lifted my leg to slide to his lap like Gia, and he moved me away, telling me I was going to spill his beer. That wasn’t the first time I had felt rejection, but it still stung a little.

  I didn’t want one more party with Gia. Of course, both our mothers argued the fact that it was easier to plan one party. I tried to tell my mother about it that year, the year we were seven. I wanted my own birthday. Emily Waters got her own birthday party. The rejection I still feel from my mother is real, although I have learned to deal with it, accepting that it was her hang-up and not mine at all.

  I use the word “real” lightly, but strongly at the same time. “Real” flows from my tongue easily, but yet the intensity of what real is for me is strong.

  I sat beside my mom on the sofa the night before our seventh birthday party. She was busy with her laptop with papers of houses and maps strung about. Looking down at me, she removed her glasses.

  “What, McKenzie. I’m terribly busy tonight.”

  “Oh, well, okay. I’ll just tell you later,” I said like a coward. I didn’t tell her that year. I had the Amelia Doll birthday party that Gia wanted. Don’t get me wrong, I had the time of my life that day. It was great. We had the whole shebang at the Davenport hotel in downtown Providence. A host came in and set up a doll store. We both got beautiful new Amelia dolls and picked out clothes that cost as much as our own clothes. Thinking about it now, I’d say our parents had around three thousand dollars in that party.

  A banquet room full of little girls in frilly dresses and white gloves sat around tables, giggling and showing off their Amelia dolls, all envious of mine and Gia’s newest birthday presents. Gia’s came in a pink, lace dress. Her name was Vanessa May and her hair was long, clear down her back with curls at the end, just like Gia’s. Her skin was tanned like Gia’s and she had big green eyes.

  My doll came in a purple gown with black hair like mine, straight as a board. Her eyes were the same ugly brown as mine and her skin was ghostly pale, just like mine. I never understood my genetics. Most humans with coal black hair have dark skin to go with it. Not me. I had ghost skin, the color of bones. Amelia dolls were the thing that year. A doll that cost too much money. Gia and I would forget them by the end of the month.

  I tried to have the same conversation with my mother that Thanksgiving.

  “Mom, I think we should go to Grandma and Grandpa’s for Thanksgiving,” I explained, climbing to the stool in front of her. She stopped chopping the carrots she was preparing for supper and looked at me perplexed.

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “We always have Thanksgiving with them. I want to go to the farm.”

  “We’re not going to the farm, McKenzie. Why don’t you go do your homework?”

  “I need help.”

  “You don’t need help. You didn’t even try.”

  “Yes, huh. I have to look up definitions for words. I can’t find them.”

  “You didn’t try,” my mother accused, continuing her chopping.

  “Well, I don’t want to have Thanksgiving with them.”

  “With who? Get down, McKenzie, you’re making a mess.”

  “I don’t want to have Thanksgiving with Gia’s family. That was already there. I didn’t do it,” I lied, sucking up the spilled chocolate milk beside my glass with fish lips and a slurp.

  “McKenzie Noel. Stop. Get down and go do your homework.”

  “Where’s Dad?” I wanted to know, asking the dumb question. He was where he always was. At work with Gia’s dad.

  “He’s not home yet. I said get down.”

  “I want to go to Grandma’s. We didn’t go there for a long time.”

>   “We haven’t been there for a long time. Talk like you have some upbringing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s manners, Mack. Will you go?”

  I slid off the stool when my mother’s cell phone rang.

  “Hey, Gia!” I yelled out the glass doors, seeing her in her back yard.

  “McKenzie. I’m not kidding. Get your homework done,” my mother scolded and then answered her phone.

  “Hey, poop face. Whatcha doing?” Gia called with her long hair hanging to the ground from the swing.

  “Stupid homework. Did you do yours?”

  “Don’t you dare go out that door, Mack,” my mom said, holding her hand over the speaker of her phone.

  “Mom, I’m just going to talk to Gia,” I whined, stepping out to the pool patio.

  “McKenzie, I’m not kidding,” she pointed with a stern, straight finger, walking to me. I couldn’t help it. She made me do it. I giggled when she lunged for me, jumping back to keep her from succeeding. That got me the look.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, going anyway.

  “I’ll do the first five and you do the next five. We’ll copy each other’s on the way to school,” Gia offered.

  “Thanks. That’s better than doing them all. I hate definitions. I’m never going to use the word oblivious anyway,” I said, grabbing the rope of the tire swing, heaving her around a giant circle.

  Gia grasped the rope and squealed. “I thought that word was oblevision. I thought it was going to have something to do with seeing stuff, like x-ray vision,” Gia explained, pulling back on the rope and kicking her legs to get more momentum.

  I pushed her again. “I think it means you can’t microwave corn on the cob, ‘cause it’ll pop into popcorn,” I gave my opinion, spinning her again.

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes it is. I watched it on Hey Arnold.”

  “I know. I was with you, dork. That’s a cartoon. It’s not real.”

  “Let’s go try it,” I offered, stopping the swing in a dead stop.