Incarceration

Chapter Seven

I rub my eyes and begin to stand up, shakily at first, and then all at once. Crossing to the other side of the room, I peer out the window into the brightly lit hallway. A gruff, huge man shoved uncomfortably into a white bodysuit stands at the end of the hallway. He leans against the door, alert, and stroking his gun. I recognize his stature and, thinking a little too optimistically, stick my hands through the flap in the door and wave them around wildly.

I catch his attention and the figure rushes over to my cell. I feel a pair of thick, callused hands wrap around my own and forcefully shove them back through the flap and into my room. I put my mouth up to the door and hiss, "Nash!"

He hisses back, "Max, what the hell? If someone else saw that, you wouldn't have a hand anymore and you could forget about the Honor Hall. You'd be off to General Pop before you could say a word!"

Nash has always been a stickler for the rules and is far too paranoid to tolerate anyone breaking them. But I thought that just maybe I could convince him to help me with something no one else would. Please, Nash, I hope desperately.

"Sorry, Nash!" I hastily apologize. Just listen to me!

"Maxwell, I can think of a million more effective ways of getting my attention that don't involve risking both your safety and my own!" Nash continues to scold me.

"I'm sorry!" I repeat, desperate for him to talk to me. But to my dismay, the flap promptly shuts. I try to force it back open, but Nash is holding it down. Eventually I stop pushing and, defeated, retreat to my bed. Damn it.

I've got to get out of the prison—and not only myself now, but everyone else, too. It's what he would have wanted. As I lie in bed, I remind myself what my dad told Grayson and I growing up.

"This prison is a nasty place. Not because of the prisoners. Not because of the crimes they supposedly commit, but because of the way it's run. Ranum doesn't try to rehabilitate. It's a destructive business that destroys hope and innocents to keep its prisoners locked up. No one ever leaves Ranum. The prison refuses to let their customers go. Instead, they will beat down on you until you turn into the monster they promise you are."

Grayson may have pushed away the lesson, but I will never forget it. I will save these people.

I spend the next few hours of my day filtering through ideas. Searching desperately for a way to save over one hundred and fifty prisoners. By the end of my relentless brainstorming session, I have come up with absolutely nothing. Frustrated, I get out of bed and pace the cell, talking out loud, scheming, and coming up with the most ridiculous plans.

A loud chiming rings through the hallway, interrupting my thoughts. Once again the doors swing freely open. It's Sunday. I had almost forgotten. I tuck the small pack of cigarettes into my pocket. I wasn't sure what I would trade them for yet, but I decide bring them just in case.

My feet greet the cool tiled floor of the cell before I slip into my shoes and emerge into the hall crowded with people. We walk past the cafeteria and out into a cool courtyard. Just before we step out, a guard pats us down and hands us a jacket. I take mine, putting it on hastily as soon as the cool air hits my skin.

The rest of the prisoners crowd out into the cold winter air. I watch as they talk excitedly to one another, their breath puffing from their mouth and floating visibly away. I look to my right and spot a maze of high concrete walls. Solitary. They get an hour of fresh air like the rest of us, but it's spent in a small, closed off concrete cage. Alone.

I first visited Solitary when I was about eleven years old. I'd been training as a guard for a couple years, and my dad finally decided to take me down the stairs I had been so curious about. Eleven-year-old-me was extremely excited; it was about the closest thing I ever got to a field trip.