The Bars That Hold Us (6 page)

Women never forget their first love, no matter how badly it has ended. It’s not the infatuation kind, the lust-filled kind or the brief, whirlwind kind. It’s the kind of love where, you’re away from them and you have a negative physical reaction. You feel… lost, and sick—miserable, almost. I guess I was a little late to the party. I didn’t fall in love until I was twenty-four. Many years later it ended badly. And no, I will never forget Daniel.

My new job was supposed to be a way that I could exist, stumble through life without feeling anything, without dealing with anyone, so that I could pay the mortgage and put food, that I wasn’t going to eat, on the table.

Instead, I’m left feeling horribly confronted and vexed. I can’t describe it, but the way he looked at me was… ambitious. Like he wasn’t going to just stand there and be looked over. And how could I when he looked like that? I may be a grieving widow, but I’m human, too. It’s hard not to stare when someone like that commands your attention.

But I’m resilient. And stubborn.
And sane
. Sane people do not give prisoners a second look. It’s people like him, who kill people like Daniel.

So because of the way he looked at me, and because of the way I want to look at him, I’m going to make sure I stay the hell away from his cell.

I like the predictable routine of prison. I imagine it’s like raising children. When inmates know what our expectations are, they’re easier to meet. It doesn’t ensure the days pass without disruption, but for the most part we maintain order.

I’m standing at my post during lunch service, staring seemingly into space, but I see everything. The looks, the smirks, the too-loud comments that accompany lewd gestures intended to unnerve me and make me feel weak. I know weak. Grief makes me weak, but these prisoners do not. They think they will break me, but how can they do that when I’m already shattered? The only thing that can hurt me more than these people trying to pull me apart is if someone wanted to put me back together. To do
that, I would have to let go of the past, and that would be like losing Daniel all over again.

I sense eyes on me, but I’m not about to give in and look. He can stare all he likes, but he will not tempt me into any kind of reciprocation. So I just stand there, stern and unwilling to be lulled into the despair that is these people’s lives. I have enough of my own despair to contend with.

I look at my watch. There’s only five minutes left of their chow time before the prisoners are to be escorted outside for mandatory recreation. I’m just about to get ready to move when Karl skirts the outside of the metal tables. I’ve already learned that he’s a stickler for policy and procedures. Nothing wrong with a company man, but he tends to take things to the extreme.

‘Cole.’ He refers to me by surname, as most of the guards do in here.

‘Fisher.’ I acknowledge him with a slight nod of my head, eyes still trained on the masses.

‘We’ve had Vic go home sick, so we’re a man down until the evening shift get
s here. Clarence has requested you escort prisoners Miles and Hennegan to the visitors block near section G. You’ll be on your own; do you think you can handle that?’

‘Sure, no problem, I’ve been there before.’

‘Just watch yourself with Hennegan.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Good. I’ll see you back on F Block when you guys are done there.’

He leaves me to go and round up the cattle to take back to their stalls.

‘Prisoners Hennegan and Miles.’ I yell loud enough for my voice to carry across the men. My eyes flick from one face to the next, waiting to land on the faces that show ownership of their name. A tall, rake-thin man with rat-like features stands up. He has a shit-eating grin that exposes yellowed teeth that have definitely seen better days. His hair is long and scraggly with about two months’ worth of grease piled up in it.    

‘I’m Miles.’
A warm voice next to me makes me jump. My eyes tear away from the slime that’s working its way towards me, persuaded by the smooth tenure of his voice. I inwardly cuss, because he’s the last person I want to see.

My eyes can’t help but flick from his square, stubbly jaw
to his thick, muscled forearms. His jade-green eyes wait patiently, not minding in the slightest that I’m giving him the once over. His manner is almost lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world, which, I suppose he does. I wait for Hennegan to join us before addressing the pair of them.

‘Fisher said you guys have visitors. Let’s go.’

‘Wooo-eee! Well if it isn’t my lucky day.’ Hennegan grins like a fool. Smiling does nothing to improve his look. He starts for the door, Miles falling into step behind him. They wait while I swipe the security lock with my magnetic pass card, the lock falling into the recession as the buzzer alerts us we have access.

I follow them out, securing the door behind us. They’ve been to the visitation area many times; they don’t need to be told where to go. I follow their green prison garb down the halls, on high alert, one hand ready at the baton just in case they want to get fresh. I may be a woman, but I’m no pushover.

My security card allows us entry through several more doors before we come to the visitation section of the prison. Both men recognize their friends or family waiting for them on the other side of the Perspex.

My job is to wait, so I do, making note of the time. Each prisoner is only allowed two hours of visitation rights per week – no more, no less.
On the other side of Miles is a younger man, although he looks more aged than even some of the prisoners doing hard time here. I guess you don’t have to have bars to have a life sentence. Sometimes the physical pain is enough to hold you stagnant in your life.

There are similarities to the men, like they’re from the same gene pool, although the man on the other side, the free side, doesn’t have the bulk that Saxon Miles has. He’s gaunt and
disheveled and, while he seems happy enough to see Miles, he doesn’t look like he sees much happiness on the outside. He looks like a user, although I’m confident the security check-point the visitors go through before being admitted to the visiting area are sufficient enough to produce any drugs if concealed on his person. I guess shit breeds shit. Most of the guys in prison have another family member who has spent some time in the penal system. It’s a hard cycle to break.

They talk, both aware the clock is ticking. I have to issue a caution twice to Hennegan for being too loud with his visitor. It’s like the guy has no off switch. Miles, meanwhile, can’t help but keep pilfering glances my way. What is with him, anyway?
I’m not about to give him a warning, because that would mean that I acknowledge that he’s even looking my way, which I don’t want to do. But his looks are unsettling. It’s like he’s willing me to break my resolve and look at him. Right now, I think he’s fighting a losing battle.

When
their time’s up, they’re both reluctant to leave their visitor. I can’t blame them. They’ve only got the monotonous routine of prison life to go back to. Single file, we walk the walls that hold them captive. Thankfully Hennegan doesn’t give me any trouble, and I secure him in his cell without any mishap. It leaves me to walk Miles back to his own cage amidst the loose words and catcalls of other inmates.

‘Hey, do you need a screw?’

‘Do you need a hand, Screw?

‘I’d like to screw that
—’

The prison lingo is much different to that on the beat. Them making fun of our moniker name is not lost on me. A prison can be a dangerous place for a woman, but I’m confident I can keep my wits about me enough to stay out of trouble. Most of these guys don’t push the boundaries too much with women because of the disciplinary action if they step out of line. Not only can they lose privileges and visitation rights, but they can also have their meal times replaced with Nutraloaf
. It’s a dense block of food-like ingredients that gives prisoners all their nutrients and calories but deprives their palate of any pleasure whatsoever. Because of these punishments, most of these guy stay in line when it comes to female guards. Most of these guys only get the Nutraloaf diet if they’re caught masturbating in front of  a female corrections officer, but nine times out of ten it’s a matter of circumstance not intent.

Miles ignores their suggestive comments, too.

‘Hey man, how was she?’

‘Was s
he a good screw, Saxon?’

We make it to his cell without incident. He walks in, compliant. Then he stands there at the bars, watching me intently, too close as I lock the door. His hands grip the bars between us, his knuckles turning white against the steel
-grey metal. I can smell the prison-issued soap on his skin, the cheap shampoo on his light brown hair. It’s kept short, like the rest of the prisoners.

‘Chief?’

‘What is it Miles?’ I don’t look at him, distracting myself with the lock instead.

‘Do you think you could ask Clarence if he can come and see me?’ His voice is distracting
. Commanding, without being demanding.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Chief?’ And then I do it
. He’s waiting, pausing on purpose. Normal conversation requires you to look at a person when they’re talking to you, it’s unavoidable. Yet I don’t want to look at him, because he makes me feel… something. Something I don’t want to feel or even acknowledge. This guy is a crim. A law-breaking, man-killing, achingly beautiful crim. I don’t want to look at him, but I do.

Lazy eyes are already waiting to dive deep into mine. He blinks slowly
, seductively, his lashes moving in a painfully leisurely motion as they close and open again. There’s regret there, but resolve, too. And hunger – a neediness that’s hard to fathom ever being sated from where I’m standing. He pushes his face closer to the bars, drawing my eyes downwards towards the cupid’s bow of his lip. He needs to shave, but in this setting, it’s perfectly acceptable. It’s not like he’s about to put on a suit and tie.

‘Did you want something?’

He licks his lips, suggestive of other things on his mind, his pink tongue working in a measured way across his upper lip.

‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For seeing what you can do
… you know, with Clarence?’

‘Oh, well that’s my job
, Miles.’

‘Saxon.’

‘How about prisoner—’ I look at the paperwork in my hand, ‘224702.’

It’s not unusual for guards to refer to a prisoner by number but
, in this kind of setting, it’s rare. I’m just being cruel, but he needs to know his place. I will not be calling him on a first name basis. There are rules and boundaries within these walls. Boundaries he needs to acknowledge, yet seems fully intent on crossing with zest. His eyes sting me, conveying every little offended thought he’s feeling. Good, because nothing useful will come of me being nice to him. Nothing.

Our close proximity has being going on for too long. I need to move on before I start drawing attention to us.
The last thing I need is fuel for any fire.

Walking away from Saxon Miles isn’t easy. I can still feel the burn of his eyes on my back as I go, and long, long after I’ve left the cell block. 
 

I must be losing my touch because cold-hearted springs to mind. My ma once told me when I was young that I was going to melt hearts when I was older. I guess that’s not the case with Mercy. Hers is still frozen like a duck pond in winter
. There’s not much going on about the surface but, deep beneath the thick, icy layer, there’s still substance that keeps her alive.

She’s the kind of woman that
makes me want to ask questions yet, here in jail, I’m not in any position to ask them. I’m considered a criminal, and treated as such. There are no chance meetings, no rendezvous. There are only routines and scheduled recreation times that certainly will not facilitate the kind of relationship where trust can be built enough to open a person up. When you’ve got a lot of time on your hands, you’ve got time to think about these things.

Like Groundhog Day
, the doors to my cell open up right on time, ready to release us for scheduled shower times. We go on a rotational basis, carefully managed by the guards. The bathrooms have no mirrors, just polished stainless steel to see our reflection. It’s good because, besides being a safety feature, it disguises some of the ugly staring back at it. You want to shave? No problem; but you don’t get to keep the disposable razor as it’s too much of a safety risk.

Four of us are taken down to the cubicles at the end of our block. We have ten minutes in the stalls to wash, and shave if we want to. A guard watches over, making sure nobody pilfers the razors. You can forget your modesty at the door because in here, at some stage or another, everybody is gonna get a look at your prick. I can’t remember the countless times the jail has undergone a shakedown and we’v
e all been subjected to a strip-search along with the surreptitious squat and cough routine. It’s unsettling as a new comer, particularly if you’ve never had to throw away your dignity because the rules of the house demand it.

We’re only two minutes into the shower, the hot water not even fully come through yet, when the prison alarm goes off. The guard’s radio squawks; the crackle alerting him to a code of unrest within the jail. All of us stay right where we are,
waiting for instruction. One minute later we hear the fast approach of rubber soled boots on the linoleum flooring.

She doesn’t acknowledge or even take a look at our nudity. She’s out of breath and has been running hard.

‘Vic, you’re needed in D Block now!’

Victor takes off, not even waiting for her to fill him in. In places like this, seconds can mean the difference between life and death. With the male guard out of the room, the atmosphere suddenly adjusts dramatically.

I have the decency to turn around, offering her nothing more than my white backside to look at if she should choose. The inmate next to me does the same thing. He’s relatively new here and I know not looking for any kind of trouble. He came to Silverwater on a transfer so that he can get parole in little more than a month’s time. A man that close to release, there’s nothing he’s going to do to fuck that up. The two pricks in the furthest stalls I’m not so sure.

While I hurry to finish and get out of the stall, the two monkeys down the end seem intent on giving their dicks the best soaping of their life. Mercy, meanwhile,
is doing a great job of ignoring the bunch of us while she stands to attention, inert at the doorway.

She may be relatively new on the job, but I’m sure she’s no idiot. Generally female staff are never posted as the sentry for obvious reasons. Whatever’s going down in D Block must have been pretty big for her to get left here with the naked likes of us.

I tie the white towel firmly around my waist so that I can shave over at the sink without giving Mercy an eyeful. In the reflection of the stainless steel, I can see that we’re going to have some trouble of our own soon if we’re not careful.

While I lather shaving cream on my face, the two guys down the end are starting to masturbate with serious intention. Most would be discreet enough because nobody wants the Nutraloaf or solitary punishment for doing the act while a guard is nearby, let alone standing in the same room as them. This sends off warning bells, because I get the feeling they’re not going to stop there.

I hurry to finish, wanting my hands free if shit goes down. You could cut the air with a knife right now. Most of my face is shaved clean when the first guy speaks. He’s a Lebo from the area, a convicted rapist that was part of the gang that raped a fifteen year old girl a few years back.

‘Guard, I think there’s something in my eye.’ He grins at his mate next to him, pointing to his prick. Both of them have full-blown hard-ons. To her credit, Mercy ignores them. But she shouldn’t question their intent at all. I know better. They’re going to make things w
orse in a matter of minutes. The new guy who was next to me turns off the water and quickly towel dries before starting to put on his clean clothes. He doesn’t seem keen to be here anymore than I do.

‘Guard, I have an itch that needs scratching.’ Same guy, same foul leer that’s clearly being ignored. In the reflection of the stainless steel mirror, I see him and his mate start to move.
Shit
.

Mercy doesn’t know what the fuck’s going on when the two of them, dripping wet
with throbbing erections, grab her from her post. They must be doing a bit of time to take a gamble like this. You may hear of conjugal visits on the television, but that shit doesn’t happen in real prisons. I’m as horny as the next guy for a bit of pussy, but I’m not about to rape a woman to get it. These guys don’t look like they’ve got the same qualms. I have to admit, though, I’m fucking shocked as hell when one grabs her under the arms and the other kicks her feet out from underneath her.

It h
appens so fast, she doesn’t have time to even reach for her pepper spray. I think naively she wasn’t expecting them to take this approach with her. To be honest, neither was I. The guy who is holding her under the arms stares over her head, sending me a warning look to butt out.

She’s not going to go down easily, figuratively speaking, of course. She’s kicking at the guy who’s trying to pin down her legs, the other now flat on his
ass with her wriggling about his crotch. She’s trying to get away from the bulging penis that’s smacking the side of her face like a turkey slap. Her struggle to free herself makes me all kinds of mad. 

So
I welcome my old friend—white, hot rage. Her eyes find mine amongst the chaos and plead for me to do something. I’ve never been one to deny a damsel in distress, and now is no different. I guess with Mercy, I don’t need to melt that fucking ice; I need to smash it wide open in order for her to let me in. Smash I do.

The first guy goes down when
I shove his body sideways and his head connects with the tiles on the wall. A little trickle of blood mingles with water and washes beneath his body as he lays inert.

The second guy, the one who wanted me to mind my own business, has a smirk on his face, eager to dance with me. He licks the side of Mercy’s face, sending a repulsive cold streak down my spine. I can see the excitement building in him. He gets his rocks off from being in a position of power over women, I can see that now. He’s not going to give up his prize easily.

I half-turn towards the other inmate behind me, keeping my eyes still on the guy on the floor who has Mercy by a choke-hold and gasping for breath.

‘Go raise the alarm, right now,’ I instruct. He may not earn any
favors with the other inmates for doing it, but it’ll certainly earn him all the brownie points he needs to get out of this fucking joint when the parole board views his jacket next month.

‘Better watch your back from now on,’ the guy
holding Mercy calls after him, hoping to intimidate him as well.

‘So, you want to play, let’s play,’ I growl.

He pushes Mercy to the side as I come at him, knowing full well he’s going to need both hands to block what I’m about to dish out. Both arms come up seconds before my shin tries to connect with his face. He takes the sting my tibia delivers quite well, grabbing behind my Achilles’ heel and tipping me off balance. I stumble backwards which is just time enough for him, in all his naked glory, to get to his feet.

We face off, while in my peripheral I can see Mercy getting a pair of cuffs on the guy passed out on the floor. Without waiting for the guy in front of me to make the first move, I charge, ninety-two kilos of pure muscle bearing down on him.

He’s slippery with water and soap, but it doesn’t stop me from lifting him off his feet so he’s flat on his back on the floor. The wind is knocked out of him; I can tell by the whoosh of air that expels from his lungs. I don’t wait for him to recover. I pound his face with the fists that took another’s life not too long ago. I swore I would never be that violent again, but there was no way I was going to deny Mercy’s plea for help.

My rage doesn’t
ebb, it just fissures outwards. It finds a way to continue as his bloody face fills my vision. It’s only when I feel a hand on my shoulder and hear her calm voice that I’m able to stop.

The
towel that hugged my hips just minutes ago has come loose, making my modesty questionable in front of her as well. The other two are much worse, though, both spread out naked, unconscious on the floor. Neither of them have hard dicks anymore, both flaccid now the wind has been knocked out of their sails.

I stand, panting hard as I re-cinch the towel around my waist. Both of these guys are going to need a trip to the infirmary for a little R and R if I’m not mistaken. Too much adrenalin i
s coursing through me to feel the pain in my knuckles just yet, but the bloodied skin tells of the damage they just inflicted.

‘Saxon?’ Her voice fills me. She called me by my first name. It’s progress, I guess.

‘Yeah?’

‘You okay?’

‘I’m good. How about you?’

‘
Shocked, but I’ll live. You should wash your hands,’ she motions to the sink where I was shaving just moments ago.

While I rinse the blood off my hands, she puts a second set of cuffs on the other guy on the floor. Moments later we hear the familiar thudding of several feet running towards the bathroom.

Clarence and Vic come charging through the door with Tasers drawn, not knowing what they are about to walk into. I put my now clean hands in the air, while Mercy takes a very noticeable step in front of me, making it clear to the guards that I’m not the one they should be worrying about.

‘What the fuck happened here?’ yells Clarence.

I remain silent, letting Mercy do all the talking. It’s better if it comes from an official, that way nothing I say will be questioned later.

‘These two thought that raping me seemed like a good idea while there were no male guards present.
Saxon here managed to wrestle them off me while prisoner Ross went to raise the alarm.’

‘And what’d he do, kick the ever-loving shit out of ‘em?’

‘No, he used whatever means was necessary to subdue them and no more.’

‘Hmm, I can see that. Vic, get Karl to help you with these two clowns. They’ll no doubt need the infirmary followed by a nice stint in the hole.’

‘I’m sorry, Clarence, I should have seen it coming, but they overpowered me before I could get my Taser out.’

‘Not your fault, you shouldn’t have been the one left here with them in the first place, although the warden is going to want a full report from you on this.’