By Brutal Beauty Bent
By Brutal Beauty Bent
I've been scared out of my mind for months now. How do you compare varying states of terror? From being suddenly surrounded by screaming cops with guns to hearing the jury say guilty and the judge say life and the guards say this way to your next cell it's all been a horrifying progression though ever-deeper levels of hell.
I certainly didn't kill my next-door neighbor - though I've confessed to a sick obsession with her. Three years my senior, I grew up worshipfully ogling and eventually spying on her. She was just so hot! From climbing a tree to peek in her window at night, I eventually progressed to climbing a trellis when I knew her whole family was out so I could pop free a screen and sneak into beautifully stacked Madison's bedroom.
All I wanted was a pair of her panties - and the chance to sniff her pillow and rig her computer camera so I could peep at her from her own desktop. I never dreamed leaving fingerprints and blood from scratching my hand would see me sentenced to life in prison at eighteen. I mean it defies common sense!
At five foot-four and one-thirty-five, I could never rape and strangle someone - much less a bigger, older woman I'd revered for years. That didn't stop the prosecutor however. Whoever did kill her used roofies and my public defender was pathetic. So here I am, just about finished with the admissions process at the state prison I must henceforth call home.
I'm scared shitless yet again because I'm sitting here naked and shivering only minutes from joining my new cellblock. For the first time I'm going straight into general population. And like everybody else I'll have walk in unclothed.
By some miracle I've escaped being raped so far. Surely that can't last. Indeed I expect my reprieve to end at any moment. Still while I can I treasure the relief afforded by this interruption, this unexpected extra step in the usual procedure.
I have no idea why I've been brought from the admitting physical to this small interrogation chamber. Everyone else has been led away to their next designated cage. They've already met their no doubt predatory cellmates. In any case I'm beyond grateful for the delay.
Uncomfortable but uncomplaining, I shift my bare butt on the un-cushioned seat.
With my cuffed hands locked to the back of this simple metal chair, that's all I can do. I certainly can't kneel, lie down or stand up. A tauntingly more comfortable chair sits across the small table from me; a file folder with my name on the tab rests there in the center of a bright circle of light. Other than that harsh overhead lamp and my timid, skinny reflection in the wall-length mirror (no doubt concealing cameras and/or observers) the obviously soundproofed room is empty. But then a door in that mirror opens and that fact changes in a really big way.
The woman who emerges is enormous - and I don't mean just the bosom beneath the badge.
She's the largest guard I've ever seen and that includes the offensive line of our divisional champion high school football team. Her ash-blonde hair is secured in a tight bun and her brow well lined with responsibility. Her forty-something face would be attractive if it wasn't so forbiddingly set; the gray of her gaze is pitilessly flinty. With only a scowl she takes the chair across from mine. Picking up my file she taps it against the tabletop and eyes me quietly. Finally she sets the folder back down without opening it.
"You didn't do it."
I'm so surprised I forget to stay silent. She frowns thunderously down
"You're a filthy little deviant. But you never killed that girl. Look at you. You couldn't kill a kitten. Still, prosecutors got to become DAs, DAs got to become governor and so on up the ladder to the presidency. I've seen it over and over again. Got to rack up those convictions, justified or not. And nobo