By John Newton
A long prison watchtower shadow traverses the yellow prison yard sand from wall to wall and dawn to dusk. For the ten years I’ve been here it has been my hour hand for every day I’ve been in this cell. I thank the harsh Texan sun that gives me this timepiece. Without it I would certainly have gone mad.
I remember arriving in this place mentally dead from the terrible year of arrest, trial and sentence, standing in the Governor’s office for examination and interrogation.
A huge hard-eyed man leaning back in his chair, running eyes over me and wearing the large, brimmed Stetson that all these people use, indoors and out, he flicks through my file and says, ‘So you’re a Britisher hey? What are you doing in a Texican jail?’
‘That’s what I keep asking,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t be here at all.’
‘Shouldn’t be here at all,’ he says, in a poor mimic of my cultured English accent. ‘I guess you didn’t do it, hey, Buddy? I guess you didn’t kill that guy.’
‘If I had, no one would ever have known.’
‘Let me tell you Pal, that my jail is full of innocent guys. Not one killed or raped anyone. Not one should be here. They say.’
He points at a page. ‘This here says you’re a doctor. What sort?’
‘I’m a psychiatrist.’
‘Just what we need here Doc, Baby. You may be of use.’
I stare at him, silent and resentful. He dismisses me to a dark and lonely cell in the bowels of the building. After two weeks he summons me.
‘Well Doc,’ he says, ‘I have a job for you.’
‘No.’ I say. ‘I’ll work for no one while I’m in here.’
A month goes by and he calls me in again. ‘Listen Doc, I got a dozen baddies in special security. They’re brutes I can’t control. I need your help to calm them down. You gotta do something to help me. You are a psychiatrist, right?’
‘I am. And I’ve dealt with and improved many such men. I’ll help you if you help me. I need a cell with a window and sunlight. I need a desk and chair. I need a bookshelf and all books I tell you to buy, plus paper and pens. And I need a comfortable bed with clean sheets every second day.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes. I need a proper consulting room to see these men one to one and all together for joint sessions with no guards. I’ll give you three months and see how it goes.’
‘Jeez, Doc. They’ll tear you apart. These guys are beasts.’
‘That’s my risk.’
‘I’ll fix it all, Pal.’
That is how I come to sit facing a semicircle of twelve murderers, rapists, paedophiles and vicious kidnappers. All huge men, muscled to the ears, covered in violent tattoos advertising their speciality.
Except for one; a small sweet-faced fellow with blond curly hair, soft eyes, a shy smile and no tattoos at all. He turns out to be the cruellest and most vicious of all. He frightens me more than all the others put together, but client confidentiality bars me from telling you why.
I ask each for identification and get only prison nicknames. Sweet-Face they call “Darling.”
‘Nothing naughty in it, Doc’, he says in a soft voice. ‘It’s just the way I look.’
I ask the rapists to hold up their hands. I point at the largest and say, ‘Why?’
‘I needed a bit of sex Doc. Fast. And that seemed the best way to get it.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But there are other ways of understanding why. I’ve read up on your case. The way you rape indicates a personal crisis; perhaps something long hidden. From your childhood, for instance. That is what we should discover and discuss. Not the rape itself. Tell us more.’
He half closes his eyes and starts to explain. The others join in. And on it goes for three months. Conversations of disgusting crimes that ruin my sleep after every session. At each dawn, I lean on my windowsill watching the long tower shadow of my personal day, month and year drag from prison wall to prison wall for twelve hours and I hope to die soon.
I quickly realise that these terrible men are not boasting. They are telling me a truth never heard in court. They are confessing to a sympathetic stranger. I start meeting them individually. Together, face to face across a table, we analyse crimes and dig deep into reasons and reasoning.
It works. Before the three months end, I stand again in the Governor’s office.
Leaning back in his chair, he squints at me and says, ‘Hey Doc. You’re a success. Those guys can’t get enough of you. They’re calm and want to cooperate. How the hell do you do it?’
‘Trade secret,’ I say. ‘If I tell you, we’d have to swap. You take my cell and the sessions. I’ll come in here and run the prison.’
He chuckles and says, ‘Love your British sense of humour. You’re doing something for me, so I’ll do something for you. Here’s the deal. Keep going for six months and I may be able to make your life more comfortable. Now get outa here and back to your classroom.’
Five months later I’m in his office again. I guess something must be happening because he stands to greet me.
‘Well, Doc,’ he says, tipping the brim of that ridiculous Stetson, ‘I’m about to lose you. In a week you’ll be gone. Free.’
Shock sweeps through my body. I shiver. I feel the room sway. ‘How?’ I ask.
‘Didn’t want to tell you before, Buddy, but six months ago your lawyers appealed. They won last week. After all this time, you’re innocent. How does it feel?’
‘The same. I’ve always been innocent. I told you when I came in here.’
His eyes turned shrewd.
‘You can tell me Buddy. I’ll never say a word. Honest. Did you kill that guy?’
‘Of course not.’
But of course, I did. I could have injected him so no evidence would ever be found. He’d have died with a simple heart attack, no questions asked. But I deliberately left evidence to be caught, so shewould know what I’d done. And how I’d done it. Revenge is sweet, especially when I gave him a lingering and painful death and her the mental agony of knowing she had caused it.
Before I stepped into my waiting limousine, I stood in the hot Texan sun, looking up at the high tower, knowing exactly where the long shadow would be at this time of day. And knowing it will be forever with me.
‘Are you comfortable, Sir?’ asks my chauffeur.
‘Very comfortable, thank you. Drive slowly so I can rest.’
I lean back with closed eyes and start planning how to deal with her. Not too much pain, I think. I want her gone fast. I know exactly what to use. And this time no one will ever know what happened.
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This is one of the short stories from the book John Newton’s Short Stories Volume One, which is available on Amazon – Click to buy
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Author Bio:
I have written around 500 short stories which are starting to appear in Amazon Books entitled “John Newton’s Short Stories Volume One”, based on my writing style of telling the stories through my characters. This works by each character being different with their own individual style of speech. I find this technique interesting and enabling me to present characters who sound like real people.
Contact Author:
Email: nbi.john@gmail.com
