Justifiable Means

  With a loud bang that reverberated through Melissa’s body and made her jump, the doors to cellblock C slammed shut behind them. “The cellblock doors are open certain hours during the mornings and at night, so people can get to their jobs in other parts of the facility. Most of the time, the cell doors are open, too, so inmates are allowed to go in and out of each other’s cells. They’re locked down at night, and if you want your cell locked during the day when you’re in it, you can ask the CO. I wouldn’t recommend locking Chloe out, though. She holds grudges.”

  Melissa followed her down a long hall with metal doors on either side, not at all like the cells with bars she had expected. Women she assumed were prisoners milled around the cellblock, smoking cigarettes and watching her make her way up the hallway.

  “Most of the gals are working right now,” the guard said. “They’ll be back in a couple of hours. Some of them go early and get off early. Some of them play sick every day so they don’t have to lift a finger. They get time added onto their sentence when they miss, but that doesn’t matter to them, I guess.”

  Two women standing beside one of the cells turned to see the new addition to the block, and Melissa averted her eyes. Her arms were trembling, and she almost dropped her load. Stopping, she tried to get a better grip, but the CO looked back. “Hurry up, will you?”

  She fell back into step behind the CO, breathing heavily and beginning to perspire. The guard stopped at a closed door, opened it, and peered in. A huge black woman who could have played linebacker for the Miami Dolphins lay on the lower bunk, and she turned to look at them as Melissa came in.

  “Chloe, this is Melissa,” the CO said brusquely. “She’s your new cellmate.”

  “Hi,” Melissa said, wishing the corners of her lips would stop trembling.

  “I told you I don’t want no cellmate.”

  “Well, you may have noticed that you don’t call the shots around here, Chloe,” the guard said. She pointed to the small table where Melissa could set her load, but Melissa only stood motionless, paralyzed.

  “Oh, I’ve called some shots,” Chloe smarted back. She gave Melissa the once-over, then sat up. “And you can’t have the bottom bunk. This is my bunk.”

  “That’s fine,” Melissa whispered. “The top’s fine.” She turned back to the CO, her eyes beseeching her to reconsider and find her a smaller, more compatible cellmate, one who didn’t terrify her.

  But this was not a college dorm, and no one cared whether they got along or not.

  The CO barked off a few final instructions that seemed to bounce around and echo in Melissa’s head as she tried to take it all in—the bunk bed that was bolted to the floor, the small sink and toilet on the other side of a half wall, a wooden chair, two metal lockboxes. Beside the bed was a nightstand, also made of metal, with a small drawer. In one corner, Chloe had stacked some boxes that she used for shelves. Torn magazines lay crumpled on them, and a radio, and a little vase with some dead flowers.

  “Well, do you?” the CO asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  Melissa turned back to the woman. “Uh—beg your pardon?”

  The woman smirked. “I asked if you had any questions.”

  “Uh . . .” She struggled to find some just to keep the CO from leaving her alone with Chloe, but her mind was drawing a blank. “No. I guess not.”

  The CO left, and Chloe lay back down, ignoring her. Melissa set her things down on the dirty floor, slowly, quietly, carefully, then turned back to Chloe. What did one say to one’s prison cellmate? What’re you in for?

  Though it was a pressing question on her mind, she didn’t feel free to ask it. It might make Chloe mad, and she might take time to show Melissa how she got her fighting reputation.

  “So what’re you in for?” the big woman barked.

  Melissa tried to think. “Uh—perjury.”

  “Do what? You didn’t shoot nobody? Didn’t rob nobody? Didn’t steal nothin’?”

  “No.”

  “And they put you in jail?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Abomination!” the big woman said in a voice so gruff it made her jump. “They really are tryin’ to fill up this joint, aren’t they?”

  She turned over then, as if to go to sleep, effectively dismissing Melissa.

  Quietly, Melissa got her sheets, pillow, and blanket and threw them on top of the bed, then grabbing her bag, she climbed up the steps at the end of the bed and sat down on her bunk, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them with her trembling arms.

  Tears started to flow immediately, but she bit back her sobs.

  Sandy, I can’t believe this is happening . . .

  And then she looked up at the ceiling, beseeching the Savior who had seemed so forgiving just a few days earlier, when she had decided to confess, when that feeling of peace had flooded her spirit. Had he left her now? Could he even find her here?

  If there was good for her in this, or for anyone, she couldn’t think what it was just now. Quietly, she opened her bag and pulled out her Bible. It had been dusty when she’d found it under the seat of her car, where she’d left it the last time she’d been to church. She’d have plenty of time now to catch up for all the years that she hadn’t been reading it.

  She heard the noise of the cellblock door opening down the hall. Voices echoed up the hall, voices of women coming back from their jobs and heading for their cells. She glanced at the open door, wishing she could close it. But it would make noise, and that might disturb Chloe, and she didn’t want to have to deal with that just now. She didn’t have the courage.

  So she sat still, wiping her face and hunched like a little doll on her bunk, waiting for the next shoe to drop, for the next act in this nightmare she had written.

  An alarm sounded when it was time to convene in the prison dining room. Melissa felt the bed shake as Chloe awakened and pulled herself up. As the woman stood, Melissa realized she had to be over six feet tall and weighed probably over 230 pounds.

  Chloe gave her a cursory glance. “That’s supper,” she said.

  Melissa glanced out the open door and saw the other women ambling by amid shouts, laughs, profane insults. “Uh . . . I’m not really hungry.”

  “So what you gon’ do? Starve? Take it from me, honey. You gon’ need your strength.”

  She felt nauseous at the thought of eating in this atmosphere. That would be all she needed, she thought, to throw up in front of everyone her first day here. If that wouldn’t make her look vulnerable, she didn’t know what would.

  “Do I have to go?” she asked in a raspy voice. “I mean, is it required?”

  “No, it ain’t required. You can eat in your room, if you have something. But I don’t see no food.”

  “Where—where are you supposed to get it?”

  “Your family can bring it. Up to thirty-five pounds every two weeks. Or you can buy some things from the commissary, if you got money.” Chloe went to the sink, bent over it, and tossed some water on her face. Drying it on her sleeve, she went on. “There’s one hot plate per cellblock, and you got to stand in a long line for it. Ain’t worth it, you ask me. I like my meals hot. You know, if you don’t eat, you won’t sleep tonight. You’ll probably keep me up all night blubberin’.”

  It was true, Melissa realized. It was going to be hard enough to sleep tonight as it was. She hadn’t eaten much in the last few days, and she would need her strength here.

  Quietly acquiescing, she slid down from the bunk. Chloe stood a good head and shoulders taller, and the look in her eye revealed impatience and a low level of tolerance for Melissa’s fragile state.

  “So what’d you lie about?”

  “What?”

  “You said you were here for perjury.”

  “Oh. I kind of—I set someone up for a crime they didn’t commit.”

  “Who was it? An old boyfriend? Dumped you, so you got him back?”

  “No,” she said. “It was someone who really had committed that crim
e earlier. He got off, and I just—I wanted him back in jail.”

  “Hmmm,” Chloe said in that gruff voice. “Too bad you got caught.”

  “I didn’t get caught,” she said. “I confessed.”

  “Say what? You mean to tell me you in here because you confessed to somethin’ you hadn’t even been caught doin’?”

  “Yeah, basically.”

  “Man, I thought I was dumb. How long you got?”

  “Six months,” she said.

  “It’ll be the longest six months of your life.” She went to the doorway, then looked back, as if waiting.

  Melissa looked beyond Chloe to the women streaming by. The looks in their eyes frightened her, and she wondered if they would be able to see her fear.

  Chloe stepped out into the stream of women heading for the door, and suddenly Melissa felt even more vulnerable, even more afraid. Following, she stayed as close as she could to Chloe all the way to the dining room.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Larry didn’t want to hear the doorbell ring that night. He didn’t feel like company. He had sat alone in his apartment, with the shades drawn and the lights out, until dusk had fallen. Now it was almost dark in the apartment, but he didn’t care.

  The bell rang again, and he got up and headed slowly for the door. It was probably Tony, he thought, with some lame invitation to go get a pizza, trying to pick up Larry’s spirits. But when he opened the door, Lynda and Jake stood there.

  “We just wanted to make sure you’re all right,” Lynda said.

  “Me?” he asked, turning his back on them and going back to his living room. They closed the door and followed him in. “It’s Melissa who’s not all right.”

  “She is, Larry,” Lynda said. “I checked on her this afternoon. She’s okay.”

  Tears came to his eyes, and he covered his face with his hand and plopped into his chair. Jake went to the couch and sat down, leaning his cane against the arm, but Lynda kept standing.

  “Every time I picture her there, I just . . .”

  “I know,” Lynda whispered. “I’m so sorry. I did everything I could.”

  “I know, I know,” Larry said, cutting her off. “Tony and I didn’t help a whole lot. I keep going over and over the things I told the DOC, wondering if something I said tipped the scales, if I could have worded things differently. Maybe I could have said something better, different, at the sentencing. Maybe I didn’t plead hard enough.”

  “You did the best you could, Larry. And as for the DOC, you didn’t have a choice. You told them the truth. That’s all Melissa wanted you to do. Nothing you said would have made that much difference.”

  He sighed, then leaned his elbows on his knees and looked down at his feet. “Sometimes it’s just so hard to understand. I prayed and prayed, with all my heart. I felt God listening.”

  “He was listening.”

  “Then why did this happen?” he said through gritted teeth, getting to his feet. He walked to his window, pulled back the blinds, and looked down on the parking lot. The streetlights were on, making it seem even darker in the apartment, but he didn’t care. “Why didn’t God answer this prayer?”

  Jake got up and went to stand behind Larry. With his hand on Larry’s shoulder, he said, “I’ve asked that question myself, buddy. More than once. I’m not smart enough to answer it.”

  “I don’t get it,” Larry said. “Why wouldn’t God intervene? What purpose could it possibly serve to have Melissa in jail?”

  Jake’s eyes misted. “I’ve never been to jail, Larry, but after the crash, when I lay flat on my back, not able to move from my waist down, that was as close to prison as I ever want to get. I lost my job, my friends, my looks . . .”

  Larry glanced up at the scar on Jake’s cheek. He hardly noticed it anymore.

  “I asked over and over what purpose there could have been in that. For the life of me, I couldn’t see any good in it. But there was a purpose, Larry. A big one.”

  “But she’s in jail. There’s not a purpose in that!” Larry cried, turning sharply away from Jake and marching to the darkest corner of the room.

  Lynda and Jake said nothing. Finally, Larry shrank a little, as if the anger were draining out of him. He turned on the lamp and dropped back into his chair.

  After a long silence he said, “I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just—you’re the only ones here to yell at.”

  “Yell away,” Lynda said softly. “It’s okay.”

  He wiped his eyes, then looked at Jake. “I wish I could believe it’ll all work out. That good will come of it. That there’s a reason. That it makes sense, somehow.” He leaned back, studying the ceiling. “See, when I think about it, I do trust God. I do know that he’s in control. It’s just that sometimes it seems like things are so out of control. How can anything good come out of all this?”

  “He’s God,” Lynda said. “He made order out of chaos. He created the universe. He also created Melissa, Larry. He’ll take care of her.”

  Lynda saw Larry’s Bible lying on a nearby shelf, picked it up, and flipped through it. “There’s a verse in Psalms that I quote to myself, whenever I watch a battered wife go back to her husband, or whenever I have a client who winds up serving time. I didn’t know this verse when I was going through all my trouble, but it’s important to me now.” She found the page, then handed the Bible to Larry. “There it is. Psalm 91. Read the whole chapter when you get time, but for now, just verses 11 and 12.”

  Larry looked down at the verses. “For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.”

  “That’s what he’ll do with Melissa, Larry,” she whispered.

  “Do you think so?” he asked, his pain arguing against this simple expression of faith.

  “I know it. She’s there because she decided to tell the truth. To right a wrong. God will honor that.”

  He studied the verses again, and slowly felt his tension and bitterness easing a bit, leaving him only bone tired. “Thanks,” he whispered. “I’ll hold onto that. I really don’t have any choice.”

  They sat still for a moment, then finally, Lynda stood up. “Would you like to come over and watch a movie with us or something? I could make popcorn.”

  Larry shook his head. “No, thanks. I have something else I have to do. But I really appreciate you guys. You’re good friends.”

  Lynda hugged him quickly, and then they were gone.

  Quiet settled over the house. Returning to his seat, Larry read the whole psalm again, feeling the peace that it held. But behind that peace was a growing sense of guilt. Who was he to feel peace while Melissa was where she was? It was Melissa who deserved to feel peace, not him—not after the decisions he’d made.

  He set his Bible back on the shelf, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door.

  He hadn’t lied to Lynda and Jake. He really did have plans. He was going to watch Pendergrast. As he had promised Melissa, he was going to catch him at something. And he didn’t care if he had to give up sleep for the next six months to do it. Somehow, Pendergrast was going to pay.

  With God’s help—if he still had any right to expect God’s help—Larry would be the one to make him pay.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The women spoke in low tones and sat where they were supposed to sit at dinner, unwilling to start trouble—and no wonder; guards were everywhere. Still, Melissa felt the eyes of some of the inmates on her, assessing her, testing her for that look of fear she knew she wore like a banner. Chloe sat next to her, saying little to those around her, just scarfing down her meal with a zest that Melissa had not seen in many others.

  The food was bland but nutritious, so she ate. She thought back over the meals she’d eaten with Larry, when they had shared deep heart-to-hearts, with Melissa sharing parts of her truths with him and Larry probing for more. The memories of time wasted and time lost
brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back, desperate not to let anyone here see her crying.

  When she’d eaten all she could, she set her napkin back on the tray and waited to be told where to go next.

  “They give you an assignment yet?” Chloe asked after she’d polished off her plate.

  “Laundry,” Melissa said.

  “It’s hot in there,” Chloe said. “They got me in there, too.”

  Melissa looked over at her roommate. She was a brooding woman, and she still sounded gruff, angry, frightening. But she had made a stab at conversation; that was a hopeful sign.

  “You watch TV? You can go to the TV room after dinner.”

  “No. I’ll just stay in the room and read.” She couldn’t bring herself to call it a cell.

  “Look,” Chloe said, as if growing weary of the timid act. “Your best bet is to get a look at as much as you can this first day in. See what you’re up against. Besides, if you stay in the cell by yourself, I can’t promise you’ll be safe.”

  “Well, I can lock it, can’t I?”

  Chloe grinned and breathed a laugh. “You are dumb. Girl, these doors lock from the outside—not the inside.”

  “Oh.” She looked around, noted that more inmates had spotted her. A group across the room to her right were staring at her and whispering among themselves, and to her left others were wrenching their neck to see her. “Then I guess I’ll go.”

  Chloe shook her head at her idiocy, and again Melissa stared down at her food, unable to make eye contact with any of the threatening eyes around her.

  The TV room was a big room full of couches and game tables, and a television sat up high in the corner, in a metal box that kept anyone from vandalizing it. The biggest, most ominous inmates among them controlled the station selection, and the others sat around in clusters, talking.

  Melissa watched two women get up as soon as they saw Chloe come in, and Chloe ambled over to the chairs they had abandoned and sat down, as if they were understood to be hers.