I try to clear my head, but the cobwebs cling stubbornly to the corners. Carlos leads the way. Lester is on my right arm, Hitch on my left. Hitch’s stare is palpable, a beating thing of hate. My pulse picks up. What now? Where the hell are we going? And a reminder: A guard tried to kill me last night.
That’s the headline here, right? Curly had taken me into an abandoned corridor in the hospital and tried to stick me with a shiv. The wound on my forearm from that blade is wrapped now in thick gauze, but I can feel it pulsating.
The four of us trudge down a corridor and through a tunnel lined with light bulbs protected by metal cages. The walk is doing me some good. My head clears. Not completely. But enough. At the end of the tunnel, we head up a flight of stairs. I see daylight through a window. Okay, so the clock was at eight a.m., not p.m. Made sense. A sign lets me know we are now in the ADMINISTRATIVE WING. It is quiet, but office hours don’t start, I know, until nine a.m.
So what are we doing here now?
I debate trying to make a move of some kind, just to make sure someone would know where I am. But what good would that do? Like I said, it’s just after eight in the morning. No one is even here yet.
Carlos stops in front of a closed door. He knocks and a muffled voice tells him to come in. Carlos turns the knob. The door opens. I peer inside.
Curly is standing there.
My stomach drops. I try to backpedal, but Hal and Lester have both my arms. They shove me forward.
Curly sneers at me. “You son of a bitch.”
Our eyes lock. He is trying yet again to look so tough, but I can see that once again, Curly is scared and close to tears. I am about to protest, to ask him why he tried to kill me, but again, what’s the point? What’s the play here?
Then I hear a familiar voice say, “Okay, Ted, that’s enough.”
Relief floods my veins.
I lean into the room and turn to the right. It’s Uncle Philip.
I’m safe. I think.
I try to catch the old man’s eye, but he does not so much as glance in my direction. He is dressed in a blue suit and red tie. He stands by the window for another second before crossing the room and shaking Curly Ted’s hand.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Ted.”
“Of course, Warden.”
Philip Mackenzie’s gaze sweeps past me and finds the three guards who escorted me here. “I’ll handle the prisoner now,” he says. “You all go back to your regular duties.”
Carlos says, “Yes, Warden.”
I hadn’t really thought about this before, but I am still clad only in my flimsy hospital smock, which opens in the back. I wear socks that I assume are hospital issue. I don’t have my canvas shoes anymore. I feel suddenly exposed and near naked, but to them, all of them, I must also appear like no threat.
Curly heads toward either me or the door, it is hard to know which. He slows as he gets closer to me and tries again to give me his toughest gaze, but there is nothing behind it. It’s for show.
The man is terrified.
As Curly reaches the door, Philip Mackenzie says, “Ted?”
He turns back toward the warden.
“The prisoner will be with me for the rest of the day. Who is working your block?”
“I am,” Ted said. “I’m on until three.”
“You’ve been up all night.”
“I feel fine.”
“Are you sure? You can take this shift off. No one would blame you.”
“I’d rather work, Warden, if that’s okay.”
“Very well then. I doubt we’ll be done with him before your shift is through. Just as well. Tell your replacement.”
“Yes, Warden.”
Curly steps out of the room. Hitch Hal greets him with a buddy-clap on the back. Philip has still not so much as glanced my way. Curly and Hal start down the corridor. Lester follows. Carlos leans his head in and says, “You need me, Warden?”
“Not right now, Carlos. I’ll contact you if I need a statement.”
Carlos looked over at me, then back to Philip. “Okay then.”
“Carlos?”
“Yes?”
“Please close the door on your way out.”
“You sure, Warden?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Carlos nods and closes the door. Philip and I are alone. Before I can say anything, Philip signals me to take a seat. I do so. He stays standing.
“Ted Weston says you tried to kill him last night.”
Label me surprised.
Philip folds his arms and leans across the front of his desk. “He claims you faked an illness to get him to take you to the infirmary. Because of your earlier altercation with an inmate named Ross Sumner where you sustained injuries, he took you at your word.”
Philip turns his head to the right and points to the shiv—I assume it’s the one Curly used last night—on his desk. The blade is sealed in a plastic crime-scene bag. “He further claims that once you were alone, you pulled this on him and tried to stab him. You two fought. He wrestled the weapon away from you, slicing your arm in the process. Then you ran down the corridor. Another correctional officer heard the commotion and subdued you.”
“It’s a lie, Philip.”
He says nothing.
“What motive would I have?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Didn’t you come to see me yesterday for the first time and beg me to get you out?”
“So…？”
“So maybe you became desperate. You get in a fight with a high-profile inmate—”
“That psycho jumped me—”
“And that gets you to the infirmary. Maybe that’s part of your escape plan, I don’t know. Or maybe you get the weapon from Ross Sumner once you’re there. Maybe you’re working together.”
“Philip, Curly is lying.”
“Curly?”
“That’s what we call him. I didn’t do this. He woke me up. He walked me to that corridor. He tried to kill me. I got injured trying to defend myself.”
“Right, sure, and I guess you expect me—and the world at large—to take the word of a convicted baby-killer over the word of a fifteen-year correctional officer with a spotless record.”
For the moment, I say nothing.
“I saw your father yesterday.”
“What?”
“Your aunt Sophie too.”
He looks off.
“How are they?”
“Your father can’t talk. He’s dying.”
I shake my head. “Why did you go see him?”
He doesn’t reply.
“Yesterday of all days. Why did you go to Revere, Philip?”
He starts toward the door. “Come with me.”
I don’t bother asking where we are going. I stand and follow him. We start down the corridor and down the steps. We walk side by side. Philip keeps his spine ramrod straight, his eyes straight ahead. Without turning to me, he says, “You’re lucky the correctional officer who subdued you was Carlos.”
“What?”
“Because Carlos called me right away. To report the incident. I immediately ordered three correctional officers, including Carlos, to watch you around the clock.”
I stop and take hold of Philip’s sleeve. “So no one could finish the job,” I say. “You were afraid someone would kill me.”