Ghosts Anonymous

I Don't Want to Cause No Trouble

EVP Session Transcript

Dawson, Bruce - Age 19 at departure

Dr. Patrick

Bruce: I did a lot of bad things. Really bad things.

Me: What kind of things?

Bruce: [moment of hesitation] I killed two people.

Me: Do you feel guilty?

Bruce: Of course I feel guilty. I was drugged out of my mind when it happened. Meth. I barely remember anything.

Me: What was your sentence?

Bruce: Twenty years, maybe less for good behavior. Of course, I didn't make it in prison for a month.

Ralf Henson was the largest 5'6'' man I had ever seen. Not just because of his rock-hard density, but his enormous presence. When he entered the room, not a man breathed for fear it would aggravate him. They didn't want to be his proverbial flavor of the week, his new plaything. Modesto Juarez was new. He didn't know that yet.

The poor kid was framed for drug possession. Some thug left their stash in his car, and the cops found it in the glove compartment. Modesto's English, which was broken at best, wasn't enough to convince them he was anything but guilty.

Ralf dropped himself in front of Modesto, who was prodding a hill of beans with his fork at the lunch table. The bully grinned, revealing a missing tooth, "Hey, small fry, what'ya in for?"

Modesto cocked his head at Ralf in confusion. He stammered one of the few English phrases he knew, "I'm fine, thanks, and you?"

Ralf laughed in his face, inciting a similar reaction from his posse, who were too afraid to not be in his posse. Modesto stood to empty his tray in an attempt to avoid an encounter that he knew wouldn't end well. Ralf stuck out a leg and Modesto fell over it face first, his cheek colliding with his uneaten rice. The prisoners guffawed. Ralf pulled Modesto up by the back of his jumpsuit, "Where you think you're goin', little man?"

"Please," Modesto murmured.

I rose from my seat in the corner, "Hey, knock it off, Ralf." They were the first words I'd ever said to Ralf, or any of the others, really. I knew remaining uninvolved was the safest option, but I had lost that the second I stood up.

Ralf met my eyes and let out an incredulous laugh, "He speaks," he shoved Modesto aside and swaggered over to my end of the room.

"The murderer," Ralf mused.

"Look who's talkin'," I countered, not quite believing the words that left my mouth.

"You're a brave son of a gun, you know that? Why you wanna stick up for the little Mexican all the sudden?"

"He's Puerto Rican."

"They's all the same to me."

"Just leave the kid alone, awright? I don't want to cause no trouble. Pick on someone else or somethin'."

"Someone like you?"

"I told you, I don't wanna fight."

"Is that what you told that lawyer?"

I swallowed hard. My lip twitched.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" Ralf's followers chanted, encircling us like a boxing ring.

I folded my arms in dismissal but Ralf wouldn't have it. He punched me across the mouth. I spit blood onto the floor.

Ralf raised his fists, "Fight me, you coward!"

I caught Modesto's eye. He frowned at me apologetically and I returned the expression.

I wiped the blood from my face with the back of my hand, "I'm not the coward here, Ralf."

"You son of a-"

Ralf slipped a piece of metal he had whittled into a shiv from his shoe. A moment later it was submerged in my chest. Now I know how that lawyer must have felt.