© SG Walters
2/22/14
The birds are out today.
Not surprised though. It’s a
lovely day. A warm, sweet breeze is
carrying the perfume of the next kitchen creation. A stroll across the yard to what has become
my favorite bench to sit and think in the shade of a sturdy oak tree while
watching the latest two on two game.
There’s even a glimmer of a rainbow where the sun touches the rain water
off the forty foot barbwire fence that surrounds me. Yeah, you heard me. Forty foot barbwire fence.
Its early spring.
The “yard” is a patch of grass and an acre of concrete where the weights
and basketball hoops sit. That
perfume? Ha! “Creation” is the only way to describe what
they feed us. Brown, lumpy globs of mush
with legs of the insect variety most times.
Makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it. Let’s just say I’ve lost weight since I’ve
been in here. Where’s here? You can call it the Fort Knox
I’ve been here four years so far. In that time I’ve learned everything I could
about the man and his family (I learned that later) that I slaughtered. It’s not much. His name was Maurice Flanagin and he was an up
and coming and wealthy politician who had his eyes on the White House. Yay me.
I aim big I guess. I’m honestly starting to believe that I’ll really
spend my last days in here. I just
turned 23. 23! I haven’t even had my first legal drink
yet!
Anyway, I’m still getting “fan” mail and usually I just
chuck it all. But this one letter came
that stuck out to me today. There was no
return address. And it smelled like
flowers. Of course it came pre-opened by
our lovely guards who like to get everything a good once-over first. Even had a few prisoners rough up other
prisoners for trying to take my care packages.
I always share my cookies and treats.
I even hold a regular card games and treats night with the other
prisoners. Gotta make the best out of a
situation, you know? So I open the
pre-opened envelope to find a single flat carnation. Explains the flower smell. I unfolded the notebook sheet of paper and in
the center it says “Enjoying your stay?” in purple smeared ink with a happy
face at the bottom of the page.
Enjoying my stay???
Seriously!!!
The possibility of me being innocent never crossed
anyone’s mind. Not once. Not even my lawyer’s mind. The first thing he said to me is that he may
be able to get me a shortened sentence of 50 years instead of a life one. He didn’t even put up a fight for me in
court. I’m done with this! I’m not living out my days in this neon orange
jump suit, never having a legal drink in a bar!! This note is the key. First things first – I gotta get outta here.
3/1/14
Getting out of here won’t be easy and it won’t go
unnoticed. But I’ll have to do
both. I normally keep to myself so going
unnoticed is the simple part. Time for
some serious recon. My assets – I’m
thin, I’m sexy, half the guards are either bi, gay, or just plain lonely and at
least a third of my fellow inmates adore my treat night. Hahaha, just found my “easy”. I’m most definitely due for another “cards and
treats” night – my last in this place. I
immediately grabbed my notebook and pens and wrote everyone who EVER sent me
something sweet and informed them of my next game night. I also took the odd note and carefully tucked
it away. If someone was able to get my
prints, maybe I can get theirs from the smudges where the ink ran on the
note. I’m not usually involved in any of
the activities they give us to do here but I know the schedule. There is a monthly thing where the feds will
bring a few spokespeople, inmates who’ve been released and reformed to come and
share their stories, how they got clean, how they were able to stay on the
straight and narrow. That’s my
night. Doesn’t leave me much time
though. If this all goes right, the
“reformed” will occupy most of the “I just want to do my time and get back to
my life” inmates, the “cards and treats” extravaganza will entertain at least
another third or more, while the few “friends” I’ve made will cover my path
through the “fun”. I’ll slip through the
laundry room and out in the back of the truck of a very sweet man who adores a
good cigar, a tender story, and a basket (bag) of sweet white chocolate
macadamia delights. Three weeks. I’ve got three weeks to make this happen. Let’s get it started!
The cookies and danishes and bonbons and homemade fudge
(had to save some of those for myself – so tasty all smooth, rich, and
creamy. Mmm! She added pecans this time! So keeping her address!) flooded the place over a two week span. The whole prison knows about my regular
“cards and treats” nights so as always my goodies are kept in the kitchen until
the big night. I made up my driver’s
goody bag, being certain to include some of the wicked fudge. He’ll appreciate that. Definitely maintaining my low profile. The catch to all this is once I’m out, am I
willing to be chased? Some of my inner
circle want to “make me” a very bruised, battered, and bloodied body
double. There’s a girl in here that
looks almost exactly like me in the general features and that most don’t like
and won’t miss very much. I’m surprised
at myself for even considering the idea.
But no, that’s just not the way for me.
I didn’t kill this politician and I’m not gonna be the reason for
anyone’s death. So the chase it is. I blend well.
They won’t find me easily that’s for sure.
The goody bag was delivered to the driver yesterday with
a slight suggestion about the next pick up.
Simply “lift with your knees, not your back. May be a heavier load next trip.” I heard it was greeted with a wink and a
smile. So my ride is a go.
I’ve checked the schedule of events and the feds will be
coming right on time too. I’ve also
collected several more decks of cards from my inner circle.
Whew! I’m
ready. In 3 days, I’m kissing this place
goodbye.
3/8/14
It’s time. I’ve
taken a bath in the sink in my cell for the last time. Never used the showers. Not after I saw one girl raped so bad that
she’ll never walk the same way again.
She stays in solitary confinement now and has for the last 3 years. I made sure her guard gave her some chocolate
cherry cookies like always. What?? Like I said, I was a celebrity for a
year! I made sure that note was in 2
plastic sandwich bags and shoved gently inside my sock, under my foot. I won’t lose my only lead. My hair goes past my shoulders but I won’t
cut it yet. All of me will leave this
cell. So I made one solid French braid
and tucked the rest under it. The feds
get here at 3 pm. The games start at 4
pm and I hitch my ride at 4:30 pm. I
can’t be a second late or I’ll miss my one and only shot out of here. Let the game for my freedom begin.
The feds came early today, 2ish. No problem though. The stage was already set up for the
reformed. We, the inmates, were just
setting up the metal chairs. Apparently
one of our own was chosen to come back and speak so they expect more to
participate this time. Perfect. The fewer loose bodies floating around, the
better. Usually “cards and treats” goes
on in this room but since it’s on the same night as the fed presentation, the
head chic, who always participates, suggested we use the middle of the cell
block and the cafeteria this time.
Almost everyone in the prison will be in one of these three places,
except me. The kitchen staff of inmates
laid out the treats while my inner circle got the game tables ready. There’s no gambling but I know some of the
girls do it under the table. I’ve never
once run one my “cards and treats” nights.
Like I said, I keep to myself. I
just supply the goods. So the “face” of
the event started her routine. Now is
when I start to disappear.
Don’t sit in the middle of the crowd – people will see
you walk out and not walk back. No eye
contact – the less eye contact, the less you’re remembered.
3:00 p.m.
The feds’ presentation started. I’ve been here long enough to notice the
repeats, the opening acts.
3:30 p.m.
The inmates and guards started coming and sitting for
“cards and treats”. I’m staying towards
the outside of the tables and away from the food, blending perfectly into the
background.
4:00 p.m.
Time to make my way to the laundry room.
“Hey Alex!”
No… not now! I
don’t have time! But I don’t need a
scene. “Hey Flo.” She’s so loud! Crap!
“Dis is really a spread dis time. What’s yo secret? Huh? I
neva gotta spread like dis!”
I pacified her for a while and sent her over to the
killer fudge that was missing from her plate.
4:15 p.m.
Shoot! I already
said my goodbyes’ to my inner most circle of four who threw me a surprise
“party” in my cell before lights out last night. Complete with gifts! A crowbar, a switch blade, a handmade shiv,
and a sharpened hair comb. All of which
I left in my cell. I didn’t actually kill the guy remember? Staying close to the wall, keeping completely
to myself, I passed the fed event when the reformed on stage caught my
attention.
“Special Agent Donovan truly changed my life. Yes, I did the crime and the time but
adjusting to life outside was hard, harder than I ever imagined. Agent Donovan actually listened, set me up
with a real support group, even a shrink.
I could’t’ve done none of this without her.” She pointed across the stage at, I assume,
Donovan.
I walked passed a table full of cards and pamphlets and
grabbed a card with Donovan’s name on it. Hmm.
Then I heard it.
“Alright ladies!
Five minutes till the speed round!”
The announcement that’s made during “cards and treats” a quarter passed
the hour when they start playing the game “speed”. It’s 4:25 pm and I’m 10 minutes from my pick
point when I walk at a normal pace. I
clenched the card in my hand, glanced up at Agent Donovan who glanced at me at
the same time, and walked towards the bathroom.
The direction completely opposite of where I needed to go with less than
five minutes to get there.
3/15/14
Now there’s no other choice but to run or I’ll never make
it! I hit the bathroom door at a full
sprint, flying through the showers and down the dang laundry chute which was not in the plan! It would be fine if the opening for this
wasn’t across the building from the truck pick up spot. I’ve never been down here at this time of day
so I have no clue who’s down here or what I have to go through to get to the
other side. Is there a card only access
door?? Dang it!
I fell down four levels to the laundry room almost
knocking over two huge stacks of towels when I popped out the exit hole. The machines down here are so loud that I
can’t hear if anyone else is here. The
fall had me disoriented. Where is that
door?! I looked around frantically. My ride is leaving any minute now. At this point it doesn’t matter who sees
me. I stood straight up and took off to
the only door that had a window that looked like the sky was behind it! Just as I reached the last barrel of dirty,
smelly clothes, the door opened. Is this
is? Am I really gonna die in this
place?? There’s no way to make enough
space in 30 seconds to fit me and all these clothes in a barrel that’s already
full. Am I willing to fight to get out
of here? To clear my name? I’m no fighter. What do I do???? The door opened and my heart stopped.
In walks my driver, fudge in hand, with a smile on his
face. He chewed his fudge without saying
a word. I just stared at him. Is he gonna let me ride? He’s never even seen me before. Will he know who I am? Does this happen all the time?? He looked at me, square in the eye, smiled
again and said, wiping the fudge from his mouth, “So you getting in or what?”
as he took half the clothes out the barrel.
I jumped in and squeezed in tight. He threw the clothes over me, tucking some in
the sides by me. He started to roll the
barrel on its end. I don’t know if this
is nerves or the constant rolling, spinning but I’m gonna spew at this
rate! The driver yelled with a laugh,
“No! I got this. Just gotta lift with my knees not my
back!” The barrel stopped rolling, doors
closed and locked, and the truck was going.
I did it. I just
escaped a maximum security prison. Now
what? I don’t have a cop kit tucked away
in security bank box to pull a print from my letter. I have no money, no place
to live, no food, no clothes, and I’m in a bin of dirty clothes in the back of
a truck going who knows where.
Seriously, what do I do now???
3/22/14
I must’ve fallen asleep because I didn’t know the truck
stopped till I heard the doors unlock and open.
My heart took off running again.
So much so that when he took the clothes off my head, I almost
screamed.
“Would you like to come out now? Stretch a bit? Maybe use the bathroom?” he smiled. All I could do was nod. He helped me out of the barrel. My legs were so weak beneath me. How long have we been driving? Where are we?
This man could kill me! Or
worse. I did not think this through… “Hang on a minute. Need to get the clothes inside. Stay in here.
We’ll drive a bit more then you can come out and find yourself.” I nodded again. I slid to the back of the truck so no one
else would see me. It took him several
trips to get all the clothes. I have no
clue what his name is. That’s best. Plausible deniability and all. Twenty minutes or so went by and we were off
again. I laid flat on my back in the
back since I’d been balled up for who knows how long. So stiff!
I need to get myself together.
Can’t exactly get a job, I’m on the run.
Even if my account is still active, that would be a red flag to anyone
looking for me. Hmm. Special Agent Donovan, I read on the card I
snagged. I need to start somewhere. I know no one. I have nothing. I won’t go to my parents.
The truck stopped again and this time it was dark
outside. “Come on out. It’s clear,” he smiled. Always smiling this one. What other choice do I have? He drove us all the way to his home and
invited me in. He owned this farm, like
chickens and cows farm, out in who knows where.
He cooked dinner (real food and it was amazing), let me take a real bath
with soap that didn’t stick to my body and actual shampoo and conditioner, and
let me sleep in his guest room (a real bed with warm sheets and a
comforter). Yes I’m rambling but you
don’t know much you miss something so basic until you don’t have it for four
years. Oh my gosh pillows!! Sleep. True, peaceful sleep. Wow!
It was truly a peaceful sleep, the past few days
actually. But I can’t stay here
forever. It’s time for me to prove I’m
innocent. I’ve had time to really
think. The evidence against me included
my finger prints and saliva on the gun, pieces of my hair, and my foot prints,
well shoe prints that match my sneakers.
The hair is easy. There’s hair on
my pillow right now. My hair sheds. Duh!
That’s easy to plant. My shoe
prints? I had a pair of my sneakers
swiped from my dorm room. Thieving
roomies with their guests! But my finger
prints and my saliva?? How the heck do you get my spit without
swabbing my mouth or kissing me? Who was
the last boy I kissed? Abe? I have no idea! Hmm.
But even that is a stretch. How
would Abe separate our saliva? He’s not that smart. When have I touched a gun? Gun.
Gun. Oh snap! A gun!! Where is her card?? Special Agent Donovan. My host has been wonderful. Never asked any questions. He’s fed me, clothed me, even gave me money
and helped me cut off all my hair, down to an inch. But it’s time to go. And to do that I need a pay phone.
3/29/14
He offered to drive me to town but he’s already done so
much for me, I wouldn’t dare get him in trouble by being seen with me. So I packed a bag with essentials and began
my walk. It took me hours to get to town
and only seconds to find a pay phone.
“This is Donovan,” she answered.
Here we go… “Agent
Donovan, I need your help.”
“Who is this?” she asked.
“Promise me you’ll listen. Promise me you’ll give me a chance to explain
to you and only you and I’ll tell you.”
“Alright,” she said.
“No, I need your word.
Promise me, please.”
She got quiet.
“Ok. I promise. You have my word. Now who is this?” she said sternly.
“Alexandra Mays, Agent Donovan. I need your help.”
“And why should I help an escaped felon?” she said,
almost laughing at me.
“Don’t bother dragging this call out. I’ll tell you where I am. No need for a trace. I’m at a pay phone in the city of Lexton Phillips Dr
“Oh please.
Everyone says that.”
“I can prove it, all of it. Will you meet me, alone, please?”
“I don’t make deals.
Were those shots fired??”
“I have to go!”
“Wait!” she yelled just before I hung up on her.
The next shot came through the glass of the phone
booth. I don’t know if these are meant
for me or random ‘wrong place, wrong time’ mess. Either way, I’m not waiting around to find
out. I bobbed and weaved through this
chaos of people and found a hole of a hiding place five blocks away from the
scene. I need a phone of my own. Just in case.
Yeah, just in case. I grabbed a
pay as you go type phone, bought a card of minutes, and loaded it up. I found a quiet enough place. Guess I can call Donovan back.
“This is Donovan,” she answered.
“Agent Donovan, it’s me again.”
She whispered, “Alex!
Are you ok? What happened?”
“I don’t know but I’m fine. I…”
“Meet me! There’s
a sandwich shop on Fig. Meet me in two
days.” With that she hung up on me.
Fun. Not only do I
have to find this place in a town I don’t know and can’t ask for directions but
I have to find a place to stay for two days and I am NOT walking back to his
house. Fortunately, there are homeless
shelters that don’t ask questions. Two
days passed and it took awhile but I found the sandwich shop. Would’ve helped if she said Fig was
Figueroa! She’s sitting at a table with
an umbrella, alone, in front of the shop.
She was looking down the opposite road and I sat down quietly in the empty
seat at her table, waiting for her to turn around. When she turned, I must have startled her.
“Alex I presume,” she said.
I nodded.
“Are you hungry?
Have you eaten? Order something,
on me.”
“I didn’t do this Agent Donovan.”
She just looked at me, my hands shaking. “Order.
Eat something. Excuse me,
waitress.” I ordered a little something
and inhaled it! Happens when you don’t
eat for almost 3 days. Donovan ordered
more fries and a bigger sandwich for me.
“I read your file. Everything
points to you and you have no alibi. So
talk. Chew first and swallow obviously
and then talk.”
I finished up another few fries. “I know what they think I did and the
evidence they have which can’t be disputed, but I can explain it all, if you’re
willing to listen. Really listen.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?
Go,” she said, sipping her drink.
“The hair they found,” I shook my head as the strands of
curly hair fell on my clothes, “Hair sheds.
How hard is it to pick up a few pieces?
My shoe prints? Those sneakers
they flashed at my trial were stolen almost a month earlier out of my dorm
room. I thought my roommate’s guests
took them. No, I don’t have an alibi
because I keep to myself.”
“Ha!” she laughed.
“That I believe! I didn’t even
notice you until you were already at the table.
Same thing at the prison. That
was you I saw. Your hair was straight
and long then but you grabbed something off the table and disappeared. Not that I was looking for you. Just didn’t notice you were gone after that.” The waitress came and refilled our
drinks. Once she left Donovan asked,
“Alright, well how do you explain your prints on the murder weapon?”
“The only gun I’ve ever touched was during a gun fight in
school.”
“Uh huh,” she said, not sounded convinced in the least.
“Yep. A few of us
were in the library before it closed, studying and the fire alarm went
off. So we got our books together and
headed outside like we do for every fire drill.
Before we make it outside we hear gun fire and take off running. I tripped on my untied shoe lace. I stopped to tuck it in. That’s when I lost my study group. That’s when my phone rang. That’s when one of the gunmen found me. He told me to come to him and I did. What else was I supposed to do?? He was pointing a gun at me! So I get to him and he pushes me and was just
plain rude! So I slugged him and he
fell. That’s when he dropped his
gun. I kicked him hard in the stomach
and grabbed his gun.”
“That doesn’t explain your saliva on the gun and…”
“I put it in my mouth.
Nasty thing!”
“What??”
“Well, when I got the gun, he was on his stomach so I put
my heel between his shoulders at first.
But then I figured I should tie him up or something. So I put my knee at the base of his neck, put
the gun in my mouth, took off one of his shoe laces and tied his wrists
together. It wouldn’t make sense not to
because if he got back up, I was through.”
“So if you reported all that to the police then why isn’t
it in your file?”
“Because I didn’t.
Look at me! Do I look like I have
nerves of steel?? I’m a kid! I’m holding a gun in a hall by myself with a
guy on the floor. I was scared! I tied the guy up, took the gun out of my
mouth, fired a shot so someone would hear it, and took off running.”
“Why did you fire the gun? That makes no sense!” she asked.
“I heard the police.
I figured if they heard the shot, they’d come and they’d find him. I didn’t want to be around for that!”
“This is… I mean,” she started before I interrupted her.
“A stretch. I
know. But check the police report. It was at the college the year I got
arrested, like January. I did report my
shoes missing to the RA who has to keep record of it to report to the higher
ups. Check the gun. Don’t you cops have to check for prints and
things? How much you wanna bet that the
gun with my prints and saliva on it is the same gun used on me in my
school? Check the bullet casings! It’ll be a match! Please??
I didn’t do this Donovan! The way
the guy was caught would have to be in the report. The guy I tied up. If not then ask him directly! He’ll know how he was caught. I’m begging you. I didn’t do this. Will you look? Please?”
Donovan sat back, not saying a word for a long
while. “Alright. Alright, I’ll look. But you need to turn yourself in. I can’t protect you out here.”
“No. No, not
yet.” The note I got in prison, I took
it out of my shoe and handed it to her.
“I got this note inside, flower and all.
Check the prints. Someone framed
me. The only way my prints and drool
were on the murder weapon is because someone on the inside used that gun after
I did. Who had it after me? A cop!
I’m trusting you Agent Donovan and only you. Please!
You have to believe me!”
She shook her head, thinking. “If I do all this, how will I find you?”
“You won’t. I’ll
find you.” I shoved the rest of my food
in my bag. “I have to go. It’s getting late and I have no place to
sleep tonight.”
“Then let me help you!” she insisted.
“I’m an escaped felon.
You can’t help me yet. Find the
connection. I guarantee the gun used to
murder Flanagin is the same gun used in the shoot out at my school and the
prints on that note belong to a cop. If
you find the connection, I’m yours. You have my word.” I offered her my hand and waited. We just stared at each other for a hot second
before she shook my hand. “I didn’t do
this Donovan. I just wanna go home. Get back to my life. Please.
I can’t do this on my own.”
She nodded. I
nodded back and was about to walk away, blending into the crowd as I do so
well, when shots were fired.
4/4/14
“Get down!”
Donovan yelled, grabbing me by the arm and propping the table up in front of
us. “Stay here.” Donovan disappeared around our table
blockade. People were scattering
everywhere.
I’m not
waiting! I’ve said my peace. But where do I go? I won’t steal a ride. Can’t ask for help. Maybe I can get a bike. How much money do I have left anyway?
“Alright, let’s
go,” Donovan said, leading the way to her car by the arm. Guess I took too long. Donovan drove on. “Maybe there is something to your story. Shot at twice in one week? Something is going on. You’re staying with me. No more running. You get me?”
“Now you believe
me?”
“Actually no, I
don’t. I follow the facts and right now
the facts tell me that you were charged with murder with some very compelling
evidence, you escaped from a maximum security prison, and apparently someone
wants you dead so right now I don’t
know what to believe. But you can bet
that I’m gonna find out!” Guess I picked
up the right fed card.
We ended up in
her office and she went to work! Pulling
files from everywhere and attacking them with highlighters and pens. I’m still in big trouble, of course, for
breaking out and I should be on my
way back to jail but Donovan brokered some deal for me to stay in her custody
since my life is in danger and my case has new holes in it. She even put a team together. Some serious conference calls and all nighter
sessions led to enough inconsistencies in my file to back the need for my
custody deal.
“There’s no way
to prove how your hair got there without you being there, unless it’s possible
to take finger prints from a piece of hair, which it’s not… right?” Donovan
asked the room and people shook their heads, laughing. “I’ve verified that the shoes from the crime
scene were in fact the shoes you reported missing. I already sent your note to forensics and got
a copy of the police report from your school shoot out which did happen before your shoes were snatched. So far, the facts are pilling up in your
favor Alex.”
Finally!! Something goes my way.
“But this police
report…” Donovan started to say but she was interrupted.
“What about the
police report?” smiled a local PD at the door to the conference room.
“Donovan,” said
her boss man, “This is Officer Wilhelm.
He’s here to see you.”
“Yeah, I saw you
pulled an old report I did. Figured I’d
make myself available if it’s the FBI pulling a standard open and shut case of
mine,” Wilhelm smiled, laughing to himself.
“Uh huh. I was gonna reach out to you later,” Donovan
explained. “You can wait down
stairs. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“And who is
this?” Wilhelm asked, pointing at me.
“The people in
this room don’t concern you,” Donovan said, standing now at the table. “Chief, will you escort Office Wilhelm back
down stairs please,” she insisted sternly.
“Donovan!! You won’t believe this!” called a man running
up the stairs towards the conference room.
“The prints came back on the note and it’s…” Officer Wilhelm hit the man in the throat
just as he came into the doorway, then in the face with his gun before grabbing
me in a choke hold with his gun to my temple.
Every weapon in the room was pulled.
“Let’s not be
stupid now Wilhelm. Something tells me the holes in your report were on purpose
and that the report that was about to be handed to me show that your finger prints were on the
note. Am I right?” Donovan asked.
Wilhelm laughed,
“Well, well, well. Aren’t you a smart
one Agent Donovan. And you,” he said,
tightening his grip around my neck, “I thought you would’ve liked that flower. Why couldn’t you just stay in your cage like
a good little monkey?”
Rude ass men! I flung my head back as hard as I could into
his. “I am NOT a monkey!!” Whew! That hurt. But regardless, it was enough to knock
Wilhelm off balance and he was arrested.
I was told later that he was interrogated.
Come to find out
that he was paid to murder Mr. Flanagin and his family. With another set of prints on a random gun
that no one else had seen, it only made sense to use it so he, himself,
wouldn’t be found out. Once Wilhelm had
my prints, he came to collect the rest of the evidence he needed to frame
me. Donovan’s team followed the pay off
money trail and discovered that the man behind it all was Walter McDougal, the
man who would’ve ran against Flanagin in the next Senate election. Flanagin would’ve won hands down if he wasn’t
dead and all.
As for me,
Donovan is my saving grace, just like the reformed chic said. Maybe I’ll become an FBI agent. Who knows.
What’s important now is that I’m free.
Free! And I’m not sure of the
details Donovan explained to me except that it’s all legit. My parents’ house was paid off and then some
and I get to go back to college for free.
Donovan said something about a “pain and suffering settlement”. Whatever.
I am free and
that’s all that matters to me. J
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