Reasonable Doubt ✔ | Open Novella Contest 2020 | Complete

Four - Alex

My little stunt in the dayroom caused some waves with the Heartless Felons. Thankfully, the guy who'd squared up on me didn't carry much clout. Thus far, I've stayed out of the way. I get letters from Marta, my girlfriend, and Mama. The latter contained her work schedule so that I can talk with her when she's not running ragged at the restaurant.

I've phoned her twice the last three weeks. Just brief snippets of conversation, enough to relieve her anxiety. Her baby boy's been in prison a month.

"Mijo," Mama says through the phone receiver. "Please tell me you are doing okay. Are you making friends? Is everyone treating you nicely?"

I bite my cheek against the derisive laughter. This is prison. Not summer camp.

"It's not so bad," I reply in Spanish, as are all our conversations. "The food isn't nearly as good as your cooking."

"Ay," she laments. "You know, they gave me catalogues. I can send you packages, Mijo."

I close my eyes and press my forehead against the metal box of the phone station. "No, Mama. Don't do that. I'm okay."

I get three meals a day, plus whatever I can supplement with commissary. The state pays me to be in GED classes. I have funds to purchase all sorts of unhealthy junk food to share with Colt.

"Tell me about it," she murmurs. I imagine her twirling her black curls around her fingers anxiously. "Do you have a roommate? Is he nice?"

"I don't see him much, actually," I inform her. "He's a mechanic. Fixes the tractors and trucks that are used on the farm."

"There's a farm?"

"Dairy farm, si," I chuckle. "Did you know they keep donkeys in with the cows? Keeps the coyotes away."

That information thrills my mother. Thankfully, she starts focusing on her life in Puerto Rico rather than my current predicament. After two weeks of nothing but shouted orders and probing inquiries, I'm happy to talk about nonsense.

Pathetic as it sounds, it eases the homesickness. She chatters on in Spanish. Sad how much I miss it. To think I was trying to run away before.

"We got more news on your appeal, mijo," her tone turns serious. "Sharron should be down south to talk to you sometime. She tried to explain it to me." An exasperated sigh. "My English... I didn't understand very well."

"Oyame, Mama," I chuckle. "We'll get through this together. We'll – "

A dial-tone registers as two fingers press down on the toggle, effectively ending the call. Stunned and furious, I look over at the man who completed the action. "What the fuck?"

"Get off the phone, Spic," the man states, lip curling. "This phone's Konvicted Family property. You ain't a member, so kick dirt."

My pulse surges into my ears. Nobody truly owns these phones. The state pays for them and they're first-come, first-serve. Gangs police them, allow traffic in and out. Just like the dayroom tables.

I've been lucky so far to sneak in before the enforcers can truly pry me off without causing a scene.

Until today, it seems. Without thinking, I jeer, "I don't see your name on it."

The man shoves me in the chest. I drop the receiver, catching myself. "What did you say to me, Spic?"

Hushed murmurs surge. Other men on the phones stop their conversations and fixate on us. The dayroom grows rapt. Burke and his partner Mowery peer up from the CO's desk.

Red rims my vision. "Call me that one more time."

His fists curl and he squares up. "Spic-"

I headbutt him.

It strikes true – because nobody expects a headbutt – and snaps his nose. The fight is on. He's all wide haymakers and raw power. I'm in-fighting, dropping elbows, throwing knees, and generally using my smaller stature to my advantage.

My intake-physical saw me at 5'10" and 173 pounds. Not small. Not massive. Certainly not new to fighting.

As evidenced by how thoroughly I bloody my knuckles before Burke and Mowery issue directives for us to break it up. The other guy is on the floor, clutching his face as I'm cuffed up and escorted to medical for evaluation. It's through a gauntlet of meaningful looks, plotting remarks, and postured stances.

Once the nurses clear me of any serious injury, I'm plopped down in front of the shift commander. Captain Johnson, a lanky man with dark skin and deep smile lines regards me seriously. Security camera footage is visible on the screen behind his head.

"Rios," he greets.

I nod. "Sir."

He cuts to the chase. "You affiliated?"

"I'm not a gang member."

"So you squaring up on a KF enforcer..." he trails off meaningfully.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I state in a bold-faced lie. Even though there is video of me beating the brakes off him.

I remember the bruises on Colt's body and face. A fight he didn't admit to. I echo the sentiment: deny, deny, deny.

Captain Johnson peers at me over his spectacles. "Rios, I saw him shove you first. That implies something."

"Entiendo nada," I shrug.

He sucks his teeth, displeased with my answer. Just like the inmates, the staff have their own endgames. I'm not entirely certain of his, but I want no smoke.

Snitching isn't an option. Rolling over and taking a beating isn't either. Though I'm not entirely sure I see a middle ground.

Neither does Captain Johnson. My silence earns me a 15 day stay in segregation housing. The prison within the prison. Where the bad boys go for a bit to think and ruminate on their actions.

Segregation in L-Block at LECI involves being housed in a single-man cell for 22.5 hours a day. I'm only out for showers and recreation. Both activities take place in a cage.

Movement occurs with handcuffs, a belly band, and ankle-shackles. I complete absentee-work for the GED program, just like if I were sick in high school. Food is delivered to us and I'm afforded none of the luxuries I am in general population.

Not that I own many luxuries. I was broke on the streets, I'm broke in here. Without Colt's TV to distract me, I pass the time with novels (some even have all their pages) and doodling in my GED notebook.

Much as solitary-confinement sounds like a nice break from the chaos and roaring of the GP units, it's impressively maddening. Groundhog Day without the new people to interact with. Not that I talked to Colt much, but he was at least present.

Made the days more interesting.

AN: \\

Thank you so much for reading! :D. I appreciate any and all comments made on the writing.

Our boy got into a fight - thoughts?

Are we seeing a transition with Alex?

How's the prison? What do you think of segregation?

How's the pacing?

Thank you for all your support <3. Feel free to ask me anything - DMs or otherwise. I promise I'm not scary :3

Stay safe out there!

~ T