“Hey fish.”
I shudder but don’t stop scrubbing the floor. Maybe if I at least try to ignore her, she’ll leave me alone.
“I’m talking to you fish.”
I’m kicked in the back and I cry out as I fall on my face. Somebody grabs me from behind and claps a hand over my mouth, and I’m helpless, forced to stay in this position as ‘Grenade’ steps in front of me, her arms crossed, the expression on her face telling me that she’s been looking for me, and she’s pissed that I’ve been hiding. “I thought I told you that you’re my property now?” She whispers as she crouches down before me, flashing me her toothless grin.
I think this is worse than the needle.
But I so deserve it.
The hand is gently lifted away from my mouth, but my arms are still being twisted behind me, so I can’t move. “I’ve just...I’ve been around, Gren,” I whimper. “I have been.”
She slaps me across the face. When I close my eyes, I can see Charlie doing the exact same thing to me.
It’s no different than before, except there are no drugs here, well...none that I’m allowed to have anyway. That’s only for the higher ups. The women who run this place, and they sure as hell aren’t sharing any of their contraband with me.
“I think you’re lying to me,” she hisses in my ear. “I thought we talked about what happens to the girls I own that lie to me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, praying to God that she doesn’t kill me right here and now. “Gren please,” I croak. “I...I want another chance, okay?”
It’s silent for a few minutes before I hear her snap her fingers. Then I’m carried off, so quickly that the guards have no opportunity to notice what’s going on. These women have trained themselves to whisk somebody away in under ten seconds. It’s amazing what you can do in prison.
“Strip her.”
My clothes are ripped off my body with makeshift blades and a pair of scissors Grenade’s girls somehow got a hold of. I’m naked in under a minute, and I throw my hands over my breasts, trying to shield myself from their view.
“She’s nice and fresh,” one of the sleazy women says, her eyes shining as she licks her lips. “I want a turn.”
“You’ll have your chance when she’s broken in,” Grenade reassures them, as she yanks my head back by my hair, and drags me into a far off corner of the room. “Now,” she smiles, her breath hot and stinky in my face. “You’re gonna do what I want to do. Or...” she trails off and pulls out a sharp piece of metal from the inside of her shirt. “You’ll be put down on this months ‘accidental death’ report.”
I don’t protest. I just let her lay me down on the cold tile floor. Then she’s all over me, kissing me, licking me, putting her fingers inside of me. Her friends are across the way, cheering her on. I can’t help but sob. Gren doesn’t care though. As long as I don’t fight back, she let’s me get emotional.
I think it turns her on even more.
“Now.” She pants, out of breath as she slides off of me. “It’s your turn.”
I nearly throw up in my mouth at the very thought of it. “Gren...”
She charges up against me and holds the blade at my throat. “Are you...are you protesting, fish? After all I’ve done for you?”
“No...no Gren. I’m not.”
She backs off a little, and slides her pants down. She’s disgusting...dirty. I can smell her from here.
“What’re you waiting for, fish? Earn your keep.”
It’s the most disgusting ten minutes I think I’ve ever had to endure. When she’s satisfied, she pushes me down, kicks me in the stomach a couple of times, and they leave me there, curled in a ball, naked and crying.
“Next time you hear that I’m asking for you, you better come, fish. You hear me?”
I just whimper.
A door closes and I know I’m alone.
**************************
That was my second week here in prison.
But before I go on about my current situation, let me backtrack just a little bit.
When Craig walked through that door I think I forgot just about everything that had taken place. We hugged for the longest time, and Bill even had the decency to give us some privacy. My brother and I barely talked about him...what happened to him, where he’d been all those years he was missing. He didn’t want to talk about it. He only wanted to talk about me and what my choices were. Naturally, I was still in shock, so I blurted out the first question that popped into my brain.
“What about mom and dad?”
His worried expression fell into a solemn one. He stared at me for a few minutes, then stared down at the table.
I knew something was up.
“They know...they know everything. I tried to get them to come here with me but...”
“It’s okay,” I said automatically, because most of me was expecting his answer. “I get it. I just...I’m so glad you’re here,” I sobbed.
He reached for my hand from across the table and I took it. “I wouldn’t have left you here alone, Sammy. I don’t really know what you went through while I was gone, but you’re my sister. I...I love you, you know?”
We hugged again, longer and harder. Then Bill came and told us that I had to be taken back to my cell. Naturally, this only made me cry harder. My brother had been missing for years and I was only allowed to spend ten minutes with him. Craig helped me to calm down the best he could. He said he was in touch with a few great defense lawyers that had mentioned taking my case pro bono, most likely for the publicity. I just nodded. I had no idea why I even needed a lawyer since I was guilty as sin. I told him that too, at which he only sighed, and told me he would take care of things.
But I didn’t want him to.
I wanted to go to prison because I’d kidnapped somebody and it was where I belonged. I wanted to melt away in there, let society forget about me. Hell, they could have killed me that very day and it wouldn’t have mattered.
The only thing that mattered to me, and still matters to me, is that Justin survived.
I tried not to think about him so much after Bill told me that. Sure, from time to time, when I was lying awake at night, alone, I would remember the few good moments I had with him. How genuine our friendship seemed to be despite everything. I hoped he was spending all of his time with his family, and I guess my one wish for him was that he would forget all about me.
I didn’t even deserve to be thought about in a positive light by him anymore.
I met with a lawyer the very next day. He was very accomplished, expensive, and he wanted nothing more than to get me a get out of jail free card any way he possibly could. Craig was there, smiling and happy because he thought my problems would be taken care of. That a jury wouldn’t convict me because of my drug use and ‘overwhelming abuse’ from Charlie.
That was the first time I thought of him since Bill told me he would survive the gunshot wound I’d given him. It occurred to me that I didn’t even know where he was or what kind of a predicament he was in. The smallest part of me that was still attached to him wanted to help him out, get him out of jail...
But I knew it was nuts. He was going to kill Justin. I stopped him. He was ruthless, insane...
And as much as it hurt to admit it, I knew he never really loved me at all. The drugs made me stay.
It’s been hell getting off of them.
I’ve never been so sick in my life. I sweat and shake at night. They give me all kinds of medication to get over my cravings. Half the time I walk around in a daze, and the rest of the time I’m too sick to get out of bed. I’ve come to know the infirmary here really well, because of the drugs and...because of other things.
I was indicted for kidnapping in the first degree. The courtroom was filled with a million members of the press. Justin wasn’t there, thankfully, but in the very front row of the courtroom, sat a few people who I knew must have been members of his family. I suspected the two older people to be his parents, and the two younger people to be other members of his family. There was one young man, that I just knew was Trace, even though I’d never seen a picture of him before. He was giving me the dirtiest look out of all of them, and I could feel all the hatred inside of him, penetrate itself deep inside of me. I didn’t even look at the judge as he spoke to me, and wasn’t surprised when I wasn’t granted bail. I just wanted to get out of there, get away from those people who’d I’d put through so much pain. They didn’t need to be there. They needed to be with Justin.
I silently wished them luck with everything as I was led out of the courtroom, shackled at the waist and ankles.
The DA and Bill paid me a visit about a week after that. By this time I’d been transported to a federal holding facility to await trial. It was nothing like the FBI building. The new place was dirty and smelled of urine. I was forced to share my cell with a strange woman that talked to herself day and night. Apparently she’d abducted and killed a five year old boy. I didn’t get into specifics with her. I had enough problems. I wasn’t allowed to see Craig, either. They said I would have to wait three weeks before I’d be granted any visitation outside of my lawyer and other law enforcement officials. It was killing me. The only way we could communicate was by a weekly phone call that lasted fifteen minutes. Needless to say, by the time Bill dropped by again, I was on the brink of hanging myself in my cell.
“Samantha this is Tara Gracin. She’s the District Attorney,” my lawyer pointed out to me once we were settled at a table in a conference cell.
“Hello.” I didn’t look up at her, only down at the table and the handcuffs around my wrists. It was a safety. Like, if I didn’t have to look up into her face, I could avoid the situation entirely. I heard Bill clearing his throat after a moment though, and I knew he was trying to get me to pay attention. He’s always been funny that way with me, every since we met. It’s like, he doesn’t hold the kidnapping or the things I put Justin through against me. A small part of me even believes he’s always wanted to see me get an easier ride. It’s why I respected him enough to pay attention to the DA that day.
I guess I’m glad I did now.
“Miss Albertson, I’m here to talk about your options.”
She was young, not much older than me. As I stared at her, I started to wonder why I couldn’t have taken the road that she did when I was her age. Why I couldn’t have listened to my parents, not lost myself when Craig disappeared, and went to college instead of turning into a drug addicted skank. I didn’t have that answer, and I felt the tears crawling down my face before I could stop them.
“What options?” I croaked.
“The DA and I have been in talks,” my lawyer told me. “She’s willing to cut you a break.”
I just stared at the woman. She seemed slightly amused by my reaction, but I certainly wasn’t.
“Samantha,” she began, in an attempt to seem less formal. “Your lawyer and I, along with Agent Garner all accept the fact that you are not solely responsible for this crime. That said, we know who is mostly to blame, and in order to prevent the victim from facing anymore trauma, I’d like to work out a deal for you in exchange for you testimony against Charles DeRoy.”
I was silent for several minutes, trying to process what she was saying through my warped and damaged mind. “Are you saying...Justin won’t have to testify if I do?”
She nodded. “And you won’t have to go through a jury trial of your own. Life without parole is off the table. You’ll do thirty to life, with your possibility of parole at thirty years. With some good behavior, counseling, and participation in inmate enrichment programs, you wont’ have a problem being released at year thirty. I’m willing to oversee your prison term, and put in a recommendation for you if you maintain a clean behavior record.”
“It’s a good deal, Samantha,” my lawyer said softly. “Take it.”
I was silent for several moments. While I knew it was the right thing to do, what I had to do to protect Justin from having a meltdown in a courtroom filled with press, the fact that I was going to attempt to send Charlie to prison for life was nagging at me, telling me...it wasn’t my place. He was a son of a bitch, sure, but he’d also provided for me. I was so damn torn. I knew he wouldn’t expect me to do it. That he probably thought he would be able to get a lesser sentence.
“Without your help, Justin will have to testify,” Bill spoke up quickly before anybody else could. “At this point he’s still in the hospital, and his family has been adamant that they don’t want him put through this. We dont’ want to force him into anything, but without your testimony, we can only hope that he’ll testify, and if his family pushes hard enough, he won’t. Charlie could potentially walk. None of us want that, and I know you don’t want to take the fall for him, Samantha.”
I didn’t want any type of special treatment. At that point, all I wanted to do was rot in jail. But at the same time, I knew how Justin would feel if Charlie got off and I was the only one who went to prison. He’d be scared, let down, and hate me for letting it happen. Not to mention the fact that he would want to testify if I refused, and I knew that no amount of pushing from his family would stop him. He was too strong willed. I knew It was up to me to keep him away from all of it. “I’ll do it,” I whispered. “I’ll take the deal.”
Charlie’s trial was quick. His lawyer tried to plead him down to an accessory charge, but when I took the stand, I don’t think the jury could have considered that an option. I knew too much about who Charlie DeRoy really was, and didn’t hesitate to tell them all what he did to me. How he beat me up, how he got me addicted to cocaine, and left me with no choice but to go along with his plans, for fear of my life. I felt his eyes on me the entire time, trying to intimidate me, to bring me down, but I refused to let him. For once, I was going to stand up to Charlie, not just because of the hell he’d turn my life into, but for the hell he put Justin through. I was fighting for him, for his justice, even though he would never really be able to know that.
Justin’s family was there for the whole thing too, but this time I was able to ignore their presence for the most part, even though I knew they were looking at me with hatred in their eyes when I took the stand.
The jury sentenced him to life without parole, and the judge, so I’m told, highly recommended he remain in solitary confinement for the first five years of his sentence. It was harsh, but my heart shed no sympathy for him.
I knew he deserved everything that was handed to him, and ninety eight percent of me hopes he rots in hell when he finally does pass on. I guess the other two percent will always have that soft spot for him, but I pray that one day I can overcome it.
But I barely have time to think about him, or what’s become of his life anymore.
I’m too busy trying to stay alive myself.
Being taken to prison is a harsh and scary reality to face. You’re thrown into the back of a tiny van with four or five other women, shackled to each other at the waist, wrists, and ankles. It’s awkward, because you don’t know them and they don’t know you. They could have killed twelve people, or simply held up a convenience store. I tried to act tough during that first hour of the road trip to Chowchilla Prison, like I was a hardened criminal, but the looks on a few of their faces told me they could see right through my pathetic act. I was terrified and they knew it. They were the type of people that had been in an out of prison their whole lives, and being in the van with them for that short amount of time, I would learn, was only a glimpse into how life at Chowchilla really was.
I was fresh fish, despite how much I’d prepared myself for prison life.
When the doors to that van opened, it was like a door opening into another world. A world of large stone walls, barbed wire fences, and guards with guns everywhere you turned. I may have been given a lighter sentence thanks to the DA, but that didn’t stop the judge from sending me to a maximum security prison. I knew how harsh life was going to be as they ushered us out of the van and into the prison’s processing center. The women in the yard hooted and hollered things like ‘fresh fish’ and ‘you’re all mine.’ They whistled and howled as we walked by too, and although I tried to convince myself that it was all just an act, I would soon realize how serious some of the women were about getting their ‘pleasure time’ in.
You’re stripped of everything you ever considered normal once you’re through those prison doors. Your clothes, gone, your rights, gone, your dignity, gone. One badly stained jumpsuit later, you’re on your way to being welcomed by the Warden, who couldn’t seem to care less how scared you are, only about how well you behave on her watch. Then you’re brought to a cell, the handcuffs are finally taken off, and when those bars slam shut...
When they slam shut, that’s reality.
When they slam shut, all you’re left with is every memory of what happened to get you stuck in prison.
I used to think that was going to be the hardest part.
But I was so wrong.
That first week was the hardest. The withdrawl from the coke was still going strong, and I couldn’t focus on much of anything. I was too sick, I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and nobody cared to help me. The guards knew I was a cracked out criminal...they wanted me to suffer. So when my cell mate informed me that I could get a certain amount of relief, by talking to an inmate that went by the name of Grenade, I thought my prayers might have finally been answered.
I wish I never approached her that day in the yard.
Sure, she can get you things, like aspirin, fresh bottled water, cigarettes...pretty much anything you want, and you don’t have to pay her a dime. She approached me gently that first day when I told her about the problems I was having. She seemed to care, and since I had nobody else that cared besides a brother that was over four hours away, I embraced whatever help she could give me. Gren told me not to worry, that my suffering would be over in a matter of a couple of weeks. She said she liked me. That I was special...
I wish I had known what she meant at the time.
Gren doesn’t want money from her little pets. She just wants pleasure, and has to get it when she wants it. By accepting the ‘gifts’ she can smuggle into the prison, you become trapped in a binding contract. She considers you her property when you take that first gift from her, like I did a few days after speaking with her, and there’s no turning back after that. She’s ruthless, she’s killed people before, and at the rate I’m going... I could be next.
I’m so scared, but there’s nobody around that understands, and I know if I go into protective custody, she’d find a way to get to me. She has eyes and ears all over this prison, people in protective custody that are loyal to her because she helped them get in to that part of the prison. I just... I don’t have a chance unless I give her what she wants.
So I have been. After that second week, when I tried to hide from her and she stripped me, raped me, I knew I had no other choice.
It’s awful. I hate touching her, and I hate when she touches me. She tells me I’m her favorite, that I make her feel complete, and she wants us to be together. The last I heard, she was pushing for a rooming assignment with me, and she’s a lifer...so she gets her way most of the time. I have to smile and pretend that I don’t have a problem with her, even though I know what life is going to be like once we become cell mates.
Lately, I’ve been trying to think of a way out. No, not an escape. I’m beyond that, I wouldn’t last a day, and wouldn’t be able to bare Grens wrath if I was captured and taken back behind Chowchillas walls.
The way out...the escape from Gren, is death, and...I’ll be damned if I let anybody else take my life. No, I can take my own. At least one thing will have gone right in my life if I succeed.
And I will succeed.
I’m getting stronger, physically, all the time. The drug cravings are less and less, which makes it easier to concentrate, find things to do during down time, or cell time. I’ve started writing when I’m by myself. Mostly poetry. I send it to Craig, and he always writes me back to tell me how much he liked one thing or another. I haven’t been able to have a visit yet. Warden says you need four months of good behavior before she’ll allow it, and since Gren pinned something she did on me last week, it’ll be another four months before I’ll have a prayer of seeing him. It’s hell. The inmates are the only people I’m allowed to socalize with, and if Gren sees me talking to the wrong one, there will be hell to pay. Because of that, I keep to myself mostly. It’s a lonely, miserable existence, and at times I forget myself, question why my life has to be so hard.
But then I remember him. Remember Justin. Remember how he looked at me when he was shot, bleeding, and my gun was on him.
Then I remember that I deserve this, all of it, even Gren.
Sick as it is, I still remember his address, and so I’ve decided to write him a letter, even though I know it could hurt him more than anything else. But if I do this, if I take my own life, I want him to know my true feelings about the kidnapping, and the way I’ve always felt about him. I want him to know that he captivated me that night at the club, that his kiss took my breath away, and, even if it was only for a split second, made my life a little bit happier. I think I can die knowing that I got it all off my chest, even if there’s a chance he’ll rip up the letter without reading it.
It will give me peace of mind, and at this stage, I need all that I can get.
I look over my shoulder before I start to write, just to make sure Gren isn’t coming yet. No, she’s probably out in the yard right now, coaxing some new sucker into her contract program. Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll set her sights on somebody new for a week or two. I chuckle, because the idea is so crazy, and decide to simply concentrate on the letter, and worry about my new life partner later.
Justin,
I just want you to know that I will always care about you. In another time and place, if none of this had ever happened, if it had been like you said and I was at that club for pleasure, I know I would have stuck by you, because you made me happier than anybody else in my life ever had. You were right, that was the real me you saw that night. The person I wish I could have been for you from the beginning...
I stop writing, and stare at what I’ve jotted down. It sounds crazy, will probably sound insane to him, but I don’t care. It’s how I feel, and I have to let him know before I can’t do it anymore. I feel the tears gliding down my face, as I continue to write to him, telling him about everything that’s going on with me, knowing this might very well be the last thing I ever write to anybody. In a way, I guess...it’s almost like a suicide note. Right now, at this moment, all I can think is that it would be great if I could just die in the next couple of weeks and not have to worry about anything anymore. Not have to be tortured day in and day out by Gren anymore. A plot of exactly how to do it forms in my head as I put the final touches on the letter, and I sign it with more love in my heart than I’ve ever had before.
I love you always,
Samantha
Story Tags: love celebrityj breakupj justin
