The Simpatico Series Box Set (3 books in 1) Page 5

“Visiting time is during the day, Fi. They’re pretty strict about that,” Andrew said.

  “I’ll explain when I get the hang of it," Fiona said. "You probably won’t see me, not in the beginning anyway, but when I do, I’ll teach you too and we can meet anytime we want,” she said excitedly.

  “Fiona, don’t go all weird on me, okay? It’s hard enough—”

  “What if I told you that we will be able to see each other and hang out together any time we want?” she asked.

  “I don’t understand. Meet anytime we want?” he asked.

  “Andrew, we’re soul mates; it’ll probably work better for us this way… I mean that our souls, not our bodies, can meet anytime we want. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, not wanting to burst her bubble. “That would be amazing.”

  “I know, right?” she asked and almost giggled with the possibility and the thrill of it.

  “Yeah, Fi, that would be amazing,” he said, a sucker for her beauty, joy and optimism. He didn’t know what she was going on about and he didn’t care. “I’m so delighted to see you. Thank you for being in my life,” he said, and meant it so much that he almost cried.

  Andrew awoke in the top bunk of his shared cell and immediately checked the time on the beat up clock on the prison desk: 6:00 AM. His cell mate was already up and sat at the desk, studying a book that he had made drawings from. It looked like he had drawn lines going up and down a drawing of a human body.

  Andrew watched the bearded, older guy and wondered what his story was. He was maybe in his fifties and didn’t look like the other, more typical, gang member types. Even though his hair was long and scraggy, Andrew could imagine that the man would clean up well enough. Andrew thought that maybe he could be a store clerk or something similar in the outside world.

  He had shared the cell with the guy for several days but he still didn't know his name. Beyond a brief rundown of the rules, they had not exchanged any meaningful conversation. Andrew got the impression that the guy was a serious introvert that just wanted to be left alone. Even though the guy looked harmless enough, Andrew wondered what his crime had been and perhaps, even more relevant, if the guy was in any way a current danger or threat.

  “My name is Andrew,” by the way, Andrew said, leaning closer to the side of the bed in case the guy extended his hand upward for a handshake.

  Turning his head to look up at Andrew, the dude’s expression suggested that he didn’t want to be disturbed. “Just so we’re clear,” the guy said, “I’m not going to be your friend, no disrespect.”

  “Sure,” Andrew said, wondering to himself, what the heck?

  “I know that we’re sharing a cell together but that doesn’t make us roommates, you know?” the dude continued. “It’s not like I put an ad out on Craigslist, room to rent, know what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Andrew agreed. “Not a problem.”

  As the guy returned to the study of his book, Andrew wondered if he should sleep some more or get up and out. It being Sunday, he wondered if the daily routine would be any different. Not that he knew the daily routine, yet, exactly. Up to now it was simply a matter of doing what he was told whenever the guards showed up or the cell doors opened when it was time for food or outside exercise or something.

  “I’m just saying that if anything goes down or you get into some kind of trouble, I’m not going to get involved, you know?” the guy said, his head turned back around. “First rule of prison: unless you’re a gang member, it’s every man for himself, know what I’m saying?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure, I get it,” Andrew agreed. “Same goes for me, definitely.”

  “Just so we’re clear,” the guy said and turned his head back around.

  “We’re good,” Andrew said, hoping to sound like he was cool with everything. “What’s the book?” he asked casually.

  “The Yellow Emperor’s Classic of Medicine,” the guy answered. “You probably never heard of it, it’s only like, a few thousand years old.”

  “The book?” asked Andrew, immediately regretting the question.

  “Not this particular copy, obviously,” the guy said, turning it over to show Andrew the modern yellow cover, “they think he wrote it in the third century BC or thereabouts.”

  “Cool,” Andrew said, lost for a meaningful comment or question.

  “They knew more about health and the body back then than they know now, can you believe that?” the guy asked.

  “That’s pretty wild,” Andrew said, not believing it.

  As the guy returned to his study of the book, Andrew wondered how he could swing the conversation towards what the guy was in for. Was it rude to ask straight out or was it more like the movies where inmates talk and brag about what why they are doing time? “Have you been here long?” Andrew asked.

  “Long enough to know how to stay out of trouble,” the guy answered, his head not turning around.

  “Is there a Cliff Notes version?” Andrew asked, making a serious question sound like it was a joke. “How to Stay out of Trouble in the Modern Penitentiary,” he proffered a book title.

  “You want to know how to stay out of trouble?” the guy asked, his body now turning around.

  “Yeah, sure,” Andrew answered. “I do want to know.”

  “You do what everyone else has done since the beginning of imprisonment. You join a gang,” the guy said without a hint of frivolity or sarcasm.

  “Okay,” Andrew answered, wondering about that.

  “Did you know that most of the gangs on the streets were actually started in jails first?” the guy asked.

  “No, I didn’t know that,” Andrew answered.

  “It’s how people stay alive. On your own, without any protection, you’re a sitting duck. You get together in a group and you’ve increased your chances of staying alive. Basic survival strategy,” the guy said, “just like the nature shows on the Discovery channel.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense,” Andrew considered. “Do you have any recommendations?” he asked.

  “Do I have any recommendations?” the guy asked back, bursting into laughter. “Do I have any recommendations about gang membership?” the guy asked, now laughing hysterically.

  “Well, I didn’t mean…” Andrew said, and stopped because he realized he was coming across like an idiot.

  “Like you’re ordering a bottle of wine?” the guy says, tears rolling down his face. “This one is fruity and aromatic with a hint of spicy undertones?” he asked, laughing so much, he looked a little psychotic. “Or maybe you might like the one with the earthy flavors and the sweet and savory aftertaste?” he asked, trying to stop himself from laughing too hard.

  “Stupid question, I’m sorry,” Andrew said and tried to get the guy’s attention. “I was just wondering by what you meant by join a gang, that’s all,” Andrew said, wondering if the guy was a bit touched in the head.

  “I’m sorry,” the guy said and wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I don’t know why I thought that was so funny. You can get starved for humor in here sometimes, you know?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Andrew answered. “Forget I said anything, I’m sure everything’s going to work out fine.”

  “Seriously?” the guy said, taking a few deep breaths. “Joining a gang isn’t the answer, either. Then you’re just switching one prison for another and once you’re in that hell, they’re never going to let you out, know what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah,” Andrew answered. “I wasn’t really considering it.”

  “Just keep a low profile and try not to piss anyone off,” the guy suggested.

  “You do okay?” Andrew asked. “They leave you alone?”

  “Lifers and old geezers like me they leave alone for the most part. It’s the young guys they like to mess with,” the guy answered.

  “Good to know,” Andrew said and immediately felt scared.

  “Old guys and lifers don’t have any fear,” the guy said, as if answering
a question that wasn’t asked. “In fact, some lifers would welcome it, you know? Go ahead, punk, put me out of my misery, know what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Andrew said.

  “The more you reek of fear, the more you attract attention. It’s like those nature shows, when they go into the jungle or the ocean or whatever? Same thing in here. They can smell fear just like a tiger or a shark. You know how a shark can smell a drop of blood from like a mile away?”

  “Yeah,” Andrew answered.

  “Gets their attention and then they zoom in until they find the wounded animal and snap!” he said, clicking his fingers. “You’re breakfast.”

  “That’s pretty wild,” Andrew said, feeling spooked.

  “I help some of them out in the library; help them write letters to the courts or their girlfriends, whatever. Helping them out like that shows respect, know what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah.”

  “In here, it’s all about respect. Show equal respect and never, ever, dis anyone; that’s a surefire way of getting yourself killed.”

  “Okay,” Andrew said and nodded his head like he was taking it in.

  “You’ll know gang members from what kind of tats they have,” the guy continued. “They wear tats the same way an army guy would wear his medals, you know?”

  “I’ve heard of that, yeah,” Andrew said.

  “They go by ethnicity and they all hate each other, pretty much. And it’s not like you can go join a Mexican gang or something; you can only join the white ones, okay?”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t really thinking—“

  “Those Aryan supremacist dudes that were messing with you the other day?”

  “You saw that?” Andrew asked.

  “Let me tell you something. It might look like the place is in chaos or no one is paying any attention to anybody else? It’s the opposite. Everybody is watching everybody else, all the time, twenty-four seven. That’s the only way you stay alive and out of trouble, okay? Never think no one is watching what you do. This is not a rag-tag bunch of criminals and reprobates; this is one of the most organized places you’ll ever get to see in your life; don’t ever forget that.”

  “I won’t,” Andrew agreed respectfully.

  “Most of those gangs are run just they do in the army. Same difference. They got rules and hierarchies and command centers and ways of doing things and shit that even the Feds can’t break or understand. They may be criminals but some of those guys at the top have IQ’s like you wouldn’t believe, know what I’m saying?” the guy said and sat back in his chair like maybe he was finished talking. “Stay alert and live. Don’t pay attention and you’ll get hurt, that’s all I’m saying,” he then said.

  “I appreciate the tip, thanks,” Andrew said, feeling like he never wanted to leave the safety of the cell.

  “Henry,” the guy said, turning back to his book. “The name’s Henry.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Andrew said as he lay back in the bunk.

  “One more thing,” Henry then said. “You won’t read this in the newspapers but every now and then there’s a riot breaks out. It’s rarely a whole-scale riot, mostly put out pretty fast, but when it happens, doesn’t matter where you are, you need to hit the deck, you know what I mean? Shit goes down, you get down.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Andrew agreed.

  “Sometimes I hear about it in advance, in which case, I’ll give you the heads up.”

  “Cool, thanks,” Andrew said. “They plan riots so they can escape?”

  “No. They plan riots to keep order,” the guy answered.

  “Who does?” Andrew asked, looking confused. “The gangs?”

  “Yeah, the gangs,” Henry answered. “If they want to get someone: kill, hurt, get back at someone, keep someone in line, make a point, whatever, they’ll create a riot as a distraction. Soon as the smoke clears, whoever ends up hurt was the target. Some poor punks low down on the totem pole or someone trying to pass their initiation into the gang are ordered to take the fall and they’ll most likely end up in solitary or some shit but the gang leaders that planned it never get their hands dirty or take the rap. The guards know what’s going on but they can’t do shit except deal with the mayhem and try to keep some semblance of order. It ain't easy for the screws.”

  “Oh,” Andrew said, not knowing what to think.

  “Welcome to my world, dude,” Henry then said.

  Chapter 4

  Fiona sat on the floor in the center of her bedroom and, not for the first time, tried to have her spirit leave her body. Thinking that maybe she had got it wrong, she once again consulted one of the arcane books. Closing her eyes and concentrating hard, she willed her spirit body to fly up and out through the top of her head so that she could travel to Andrew.

  Feeling that maybe she was trying too hard, she tried to relax more and “let it happen,” as this particular book suggested. As she relaxed more while still maintaining her intent and focus, she began to hear a sound, as if a wind were passing through a tunnel. Feeling encouraged, she concentrated her focus even more upon what her spirit body would feel like as it detached from the physical body. As she did so, she could feel The Vibrations; a state of transition that the book explained was the result of the bodies being separated.

  As the sound of wind and the feeling of vibrations intensified in her body, Fiona smiled. It was happening. She could do it and soon she would be visiting with Andrew. The thought of seeing him made her feel delirious with happiness and excitement. As a faint light emanated from her body and she prepared herself for flight, she failed to hear the increased loud knocking on her bedroom door.

  Just as she felt she was ready to separate from her body, the door opened and the vibrations immediately ceased. Seeing her father standing in the doorway, Fiona reacted with fright. “Why are you sitting on the floor like that?” Simon asked, looking around the room for further clues.

  “I was taking a nap, dad,” Fiona immediately replied, without thinking.

  “Taking a nap? On the floor?” he asked.

  “It tones the body muscles,” she answered, coming more into her own self. “It’s the new yoga thing,” she said and indicated the open book beside her that she hoped he wouldn’t recognize as his.

  Not so easily assuaged or fooled by her responses Simon walked softly into the room and squatted down in front of her. “You’d tell me if your special gifts had arrived, wouldn’t you?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course,” Fiona answered.

  “You wouldn’t keep me in the dark, on purpose, would you?” he asked.

  “You’d be one of the first to know, dad,” she answered, hoping he would go already.

  “One of the first?” he asked. “I would have thought that I’d be the only one you would inform,” he said. “Who else have you talked to about this?”

  “No one, honest,” Fiona replied. “It’s a figure of speech and anyway you know how I am about making promises I can’t keep. You will be one of the first to know,” she said, smiling.

  “Okay,” Simon said, finally. “I’m not going to interrogate you; I know that you tell me only the truth. Enjoy your nap,” he said with a wry smile as he rose again to stand above her. “Doesn’t look very comfortable to me but then, my body muscles are perfectly toned.”

  “Yes, they are, father,” Fiona said facetiously as she checked out his middle-aged spread. “Beneath all that fat is a fully toned, athlete’s body just waiting to be let out.”

  “Well, maybe we can do what you’re doing together some time, if you’d care to show me,” he said, walking towards the door.

  “Just say the word, dad,” she said brightly.

  Smiling, he gave her a look that could be perceived as a warning look, and slowly left her alone and closed the door behind him. Fiona’s body almost collapsed to the floor with relief.

  Andrew awoke from a bad dream and wanted desperately to go to Fiona. Looking around the darkened room, he remembered
his new reality with an upset that brought him to tears. He wanted to hold Fiona in his arms so much that he felt like his heart might burst from the grief. For the first time in his incarceration, he felt like his new situation might very well be the end of him. Without Fiona in his life, he felt hopeless; like nothing else really mattered.

  Unable to stop crying, he tried to stifle it for fear of being overheard. The mangled faces of both Tony and Bobby shot into his mind as if a remnant of his bad dream. He was filled with so much nausea and dread, grief, sorrow and regret over the loss of his friends, that he thought he was going to throw up right there and then. Managing to subdue his stomach, he tried to wipe their images from his mind. Their bloody faces haunted his inner peace and he felt so pent up with emotion, he had a hard time stopping himself from screaming.

  The loss of his two friends sent a deep sadness into the core of his soul. He remembered their smiling faces in the happier times that the three of them had shared together. The guilt and responsibility he felt by the loss of their lives filled him with utter despair. He didn’t deserve to live, a voice inside his head told him. Why didn’t you die with your friends? Who do you think you are that you chose to live while you let your best friends die? Who do you think you are, asshole?

  “Andrew,” a voice called out and in his reverie, he could have sworn he heard Fiona call his name. Straining his ears to listen, he hoped that he would hear her voice again. After what seemed like an age, he relaxed his hearing. Was he losing his mind?

  He considered that maybe he needed to see someone, a therapist or something, before his feelings began overpowering him. Talking to a professional might help prevent the loss of what was left of his mind and his inner peace. Perhaps his very sanity was at stake, he reasoned, as he looked at the sorry state of his new living conditions.

  Wanting desperately to get up and move, walk around, drive somewhere, anything but be trapped in the tiny crappy cell, he felt like maybe he would go insane. It mightn't happen immediately, but it could happen so slowly and over time that he wouldn’t even notice he had lost his mind. By then, it would be too late.