Jason
Clink!
I glanced behind me at the finality of the sound as the security gate of Kenworth maximum security prison slid into place. After eight long years, with two years suspended service, I was finally on the other side. A little older, a little wiser, and a hell of a lot more jaded. If the judge had worried about the threat I had posed to society all those years ago, he had no idea what I was capable of now.
I was only twenty-two years old, a man or rather a boy, with future plans when I was tried and found guilty for my crime. My age hadn’t given me any reprieve. In fact, it had made me a walking target. It didn’t matter that I was in for involuntary manslaughter. My fellow inmates took one look at the baby face and scrawny frame and only saw fresh meat.
That first night had been hell. I barely made it out with my life. A bruised liver, four cracked ribs, a myriad of cuts, and a broken jaw had put me in the infirmary for six weeks.
Battered and bruised, with my jaw wired shut, I lay there wishing someone would come finish the job. But to my dismay, no one came. The ribs healed, and the bruises faded; physically I recovered, but my soul was forever tainted and bruised.
The pretentious state doctor even had the gall to say, I wouldn’t have any lasting effects from the incident. But apparently, the four-inch scar that ran diagonally down over my right eye and down to the corner of my mouth, made me look less like a pampered princess and more like a hard-core criminal to be feared by my inmates. I had damn near lost my eyesight. If I hadn’t tripped over a crate and fallen backward, the blade would have sliced through more than just my brow and cheek. It would have taken my eye with it. It was that defining moment, as the bandages came off and the doctor smirked at me, as if I was a no-good piece of trash, that I realized I was truly on my own.
The assault continued, throughout most of my sentence, and although the incidents that followed weren’t even close to the extent of the first one, I feared for my life day in and day out. Closer to my release, Warden Saunders took pity on me and offered me six months of solitary confinement. I eagerly accepted.
I didn’t spend those six months in solitary confinement feeling sorry for myself, hell no! Instead, I focused on getting stronger, meaner and craftier. When I was locked in my cell, I spent every waking hour working out, using my own body-weight as resistance. I was only allowed outside for one hour a day, but I made the most of it, using the gym equipment, come rain or sunshine, mentally and physically preparing myself for the day I walked out of this god forsaken place.
At first, I could hardly do one rep without my arms quaking with the attempted effort, but it was the steely resolve within that enabled me to ignore the snickers and taunts from the guards, that kept me going. When my muscles screamed with fatigue and tears burned the back of my eyes, I forced myself to do ten more reps.
I ate every scrap of food I could get my hands on. It wasn’t difficult to put on weight in prison, the food mostly carbs and saturated fat. But, turning it into muscle took time and discipline. I had both.
When I wasn’t lifting weights, or doing endless squats, I was shadowboxing in my tiny four-foot by the six-foot cell, working on my technique and speed.
In solitary confinement, I could read as many books as I wanted. Although they limited my book choices, no martial arts or boxing how-to books, I found ways to get around it by reading biographies on Evander Holyfield, Royce Gracie, and Muhammad Ali. I was even able to get my hands-on books about Pilates and tai-chi and adapted their moves to create my own unique fighting style. I was determined to be ready when I was moved back into general population. I was relentless in my pursuit of strength, speed, and power, and for a good reason.
My skills were tested the first night back in my normal cell, and a few times after that. But this time I held my own. I had managed to put on twenty pounds of solid muscle but more importantly, I had improved my speed and my agility. I quickly made a name for myself as being dangerous and ruthless. That reputation had served me well.
Dwelling on the past wasn’t something I liked to do; it was the one closet full of skeletons I would rather keep locked up. I took one last look at the place that had been my own personal living hell. There was nothing else left for me there. Determined to close the door on Kenworth just like it had closed the doors on me, I turned my back and headed down the road toward the rundown bus shelter that sat across the street a few yards away from the prison. The vestibule had seen better days and reeked of stale cigarettes and urine. Not much different to prison. I chose to lean against the frame, figuring it was the least contaminated spot as I waited.
There was no bus schedule posted on the shelter, and I had no watch to tell me what time it was, but the bus ticket in my front left pocket read 8 pm. Besides the clothes on my back, a piece of paper with the name and phone number of my parole officer and an old wrinkled photograph were the only things I was taking with me upon my release.
The sun was beginning to set, and it would be dark soon. As if on cue, the lone streetlight flickered to life, emitting a dim glow. They had begun processing my release at 5 pm, and that had taken all of fifteen minutes. Assuming it had taken another fifteen minutes to walk through all the security checkpoints and the gate, I was in for a long wait. It wasn’t like I wasn’t good at that. These past eight years, I’d had a lot of time on my hands and patience became my best friend. For many months, hell even the first couple of years, anger and hate fueled my determination. It lit a fire in my belly and kept me focused. I would lie in bed plotting my revenge on the people that had doubted my word, the court system that had failed me, and the people who had failed to protect my baby sister from that child predator.
Gladys Winston’s pinched face came to my mind, a withering old crone. The rage that I thought had long been suppressed threatened to boil to the surface at the thought of that old hag. I refused to think of her as family, despite her son Wallace Jr., having married our mother a few years after our father had died. I blamed her for ending up in prison in the first place. She just couldn’t believe that her one and only son could be such a monster. She had blatantly lied under oath to protect the sick bastard, claiming that I had violent tendencies even as a child. Fake tears had trickled down her cracked cheeks as she claimed to have desperately tried to persuade her precious son Wallace to send me to a home for wayward boys. To get me the help, I so desperately needed. But his kind heart wouldn’t allow him to give up on me. The lies just flowed freely from her thin, dry lips after that. She went on to claim that I had not had the best male role model growing up, implying that my biological father had been an alcoholic and that’s why he had died. The jury had eaten it up like sweetcakes at a fair.
It probably didn’t help my case when I had jumped up from the defense table and screamed that she was a lying cunt and that she was just as sick as her sick bastard of a son. It had taken the bailiff and two officers to restrain me. The judge finally had me removed from the courtroom. My state-appointed attorney never bothered to call me to the stand in my own defense. The jury had come back with a guilty verdict in less than thirty minutes. I had been sentenced and convicted of manslaughter and given fifteen years with the possibility for parole after serving seven.
None of that mattered now. I had served my time. I was a free man. I had done what needed to be done to make sure that my sister didn’t have to face that monster ever again. I only wished that I could have stopped him in time. But, she was safe from him now. He would never hurt her, or anyone else, ever again.
The thought of Jaime gave me peace. Three and a half years younger than me, she was a pesky teenager always committed to sticking her nose into my business. But, I would have walked through fire for her. And that I did. I pulled out the old wrinkled photo that I had carried with me everywhere for the last eight years. The colors were faded, and the edges were worn down from the constant wear and tear of keeping it tucked in my pocket. I always kept it on my person, not daring to leave it in my cell. I never trusted the other inmates, or even the officers, with that precious photo. Wallace’s family had influence, even at Kentworth, and I wouldn’t put it past Gladys to have them destroy anything and everything I held dear.
I ran my thumb over Jaime’s sweet face, as I had so many times before. The picture had been taken during happier times before my mom had remarried. It was a picture of me, Jaime, and her best friend Ally at Waukegan National Park. I had been twenty at the time. Jaime and Ally were both eighteen and in their last year of high school and practically like sisters. Ally was full figured with curves in all the right places, and although I always caught myself staring at her, it was awkward considering she was the babysitter’s best friend.
I still remember the look on her face when I caught her watching me have sex with a girl. She’d been red-faced and embarrassed at being caught, but I could also tell she was aroused. She had tucked her bottom lip under her teeth and her eyes had been almost fully dilated. The pupils so large I could barely see the creamy jade of her piercing eyes. Her nipples had also been hard, stretching her already snug t-shirt tight across her chest.
My dick twitched at the thought of her in my arms. I knew I should have left her alone, but I just couldn’t help myself. She was just too tempting.
The sound of a car approaching drew me out of my reverie, and the memories of that day faded. I shifted uncomfortably against the vestibule as I tried to adjust my hard-on. The best I could do was put my hand in my pocket to hide it. I tucked the picture into the back pocket of my jeans as I waited for the car to pass by. No reason to linger over the past. I doubted Jaime and Ally were still friends after all these years and everything that had happened.