Locked In
Jesse scratched off another day on the calender; one down, an untold billion or so to go. It was hard to get up in the morning anymore. The hope had been that he would get out some day, be free to go where he wanted when he wanted but he always seemed to be going the wrong direction.
It was the walls, he decided, that were getting to him the most. The same white-washed gray day in and day out, never a change, nothing he could do to make it feel more like home. Not that he wanted to call it that; nobody wanted to end up here, and he'd like to think that had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Really, it hadn't been his fault.
He sighed as the picture fuzzed again, then leaned forward and slammed one hand down on the hard plastic top of the television. The thing was from the 80's, at least, maybe even further back and only got the four basic channels – when the weather was good. He shouldn't complain, he knew – convincing the warden to put them in for “good behavior” had been hard enough, and if too many guys abused them they might just get taken away.
Shifting in his seat, Jesse wondered if maybe a cushion could be next on his reward list for good behavior, but he doubted it. The warden was very specific about what he let in and out of Smithshold, and a lone request for a better way to sit wasn't something he was going to take seriously, not that Jesse had anyway to communicate with the man directly. They were on different levels, he and the warden, the big man in his fancy office, overseeing one of the nation's most effective prisons and Jesse, wallowing in the muck with everyone else. Sure, everyone else down here could commiserate, but that didn't do much good.
At least he wasn't one of those poor bastards in solitary; he had no idea how they made it through in there, even for a day. Maybe they had stronger minds than he did – maybe it was the promise of something better, of getting out of here someday, getting back to a wife and kids or a girlfriend that kept them from the screaming habdabs. Even walking by the hallway was bad enough; he didn't know what he'd do if he was ever forced to go inside.
His own thoughts wouldn't be much protection in there; likely as not they'd come looking for him, looking to squeeze him out of his own mind for all the dumbass mistakes he'd made and times he'd screwed things up. His story wasn't out of the ordinary – talking to the other guys had shown him that much – but that didn't make it hurt any less. A broken family, a kid he never saw, money troubles from here to the butt-end of time, he had it all and it weighed heavily on him, some days.
Others, he just sat, starting at the TV and wondering if he was ever going to get out.
The commercial playing on the screen showed a happy couple, arms around each other and enjoying a beach sunset somewhere too perfect to be real. Overly white teeth and faces cracked from grins pierced him, made him feel all the more keenly what he lost and long for what he'd never had. He wasn't a bad guy; not as bad as a lot of the guys in here, anyway, and he deserved better than he'd been given. Sure, he'd made some bad choices; hell, he was even willing to take the blame for some of this whole mess being his fault. If that wasn't the act of a stand-up guy then what was? Didn't that count for something? Didn't that make a difference? It should. It had to. Right?
An inkling slipped into mind. Maybe there was a way out. Maybe. If he just thought about it hard enough. It should be simple, really – he was a bright enough guy. Everyone always told him so, always encouraged him to get out there and follow his dreams. What had happened? Where did he go wrong?
Oh yeah – her.
He pushed her face out of his mind. She wasn't going to distract him this time with her bobbing curls and off-center smile. They'd told him not to marry her, told him she'd do wrong by him, and he should have damn well listened, should have gotten out. She'd twisted him up, chomped down hard and spat him out to the pavement – and now he was here.
Not this time!
She wasn't going to get away with it any longer. All he had to do was this one thing, this first step, and the rest would be easy. How hard could it be to get out of Smithshold, really? He'd heard about other guys doing it, a few that had made it upstate and one or two that went out east. It was possible; it had potential.
It wasn't going to work.
The thought hit him hard and he slumped back down, his sudden burst of energy gone. He'd never be able to start fresh, to get around what he owed. They'd chase him, he knew that; the government was relentless like that, going after small timers like him when they had so many bigger fish to fry.
Alarm bells went off outside and he stood, resigning himself to his fate. Another inspection, another day wasted. Another day spent under the watchful eye of Uncle Sam, just trying to figure out a reason to keep going, to keep living. Frankly, Jesse was running out.
The door banged open. “Jesse, let's go!” Al, white shirt soaked with sweat, rushed off down the corridor once he saw that Jesse was awake.
Slowly, Jesse stood and cinched the belt around his waist, making sure his gun was seated properly in its holster.
One more down.
- D
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