Episode 22

 A lonesome piano played in a melancholy minor, a sad tune echoing through the empty rooms….like an old person’s memories, when everything else has gone. Was she old? Was she that old? How did it happen? What had happened in between? She couldn’t seem to remember. She couldn’t even remember the beginning…just this music, which was strange because they’d never had music in the house. And who were they? Samuel. A disembodied name jumps to mind. Meaningless. Where is she? What has been happening?

A funny face hovers into view above her and smiles inanely. The lips move but she can’t hear any sound. Then the face is gone, but leaves a smell behind. Disinfectant. The music tinkles on. Time goes by. More faces appear in the sky above her. Black lips and green eyes glint over her foggy head…unmoving…expressionless…just watching her. She watches back…unmoving…expressionless. Other faces come and go. She gets tired of them and closes her eyes. 

When she comes to again it is dark. Perhaps she is blind. She closes her eyes and waits. She hears the sound of movement and the light comes on. Blinding. She screws her eyes closed and little tears pop out the corners.

“How are we feeling today?” asks the nice lady who appears above her. “Time for your medicine.”

She recognizes her bedroom now and feels a prick in her arm.

“Ouch. What is that?”

“Just a little sedative dear. A tranquillizer.”

She can smell the disinfectant again.

“It’s nice to see you’re awake. I will tell your husband.”

Samuel. Her husband. Beulah. Alice………..JOSHUA. She lurches up in bed but her muscles are too weak. She sinks back and drifts off to sleep.

“She seems to be improving. I’ll come back again tomorrow night.” The nurse tugged her cape about her shoulders and picked up her medical bag.

“Thank you very much. I do appreciate your help.”

“No problem. And don’t worry, I’ll see myself out.”

Samuel sat staring at the kitchen table after she had left; all he could hear were Clara’s last words burning in his brain. He’d never been screamed at like that since he was a child. Her words had stripped him to the bare skin. He’d never forget the venom in her tone. Is that how she really felt about him…when the gloves were off? Was he all those things she called him? Her words had pierced him to the core and laid his soul bare.

He remembered how his mother used to scream at him…and at his father…nearly every day. He remembered his father. A limp little man who never stood up to his wife….never defended young Samuel against her attacks. Was this what Clara was doing? Defending Joshua against his……….he was almost going to protest at that sentence and say that he didn’t attack Joshua, but then he remembered how often he’d clipped him around the ear; just like his mother had clipped him around the ear. Suddenly he felt very sick. He felt like he’d been clipped all over again. Clara was right. He was a bully. His mind tried to wiggle out of it but the facts were there in black and blue…undeniable. He’d never seen himself from the outside before…and he looked just like his mother. How had Clara put up with him for so long? He felt ashamed and embarrassed at the way he had treated his family. But why? This is what he couldn’t understand. Why did he behave like that? He had no idea. He was just being himself. He had no idea it looked so bad from another person’s point of view. One man’s casual clip is a child’s experience of hell on earth.

As luck would have it Beulah walked into the kitchen at that soul searching moment and he found he just couldn’t look at her. What must she think of him? He hadn’t been any kinder to her. He didn’t hit her, except for the occasional strapping…when he thought she deserved it…like he had never deserved it when his mother had strapped him. He remembered the pain and the humiliation….and most importantly, how he loathed her. And there it was again, the hate. Now he understood why Clara and the children hated him so much. Now he understood why Beulah called him an arsehole to his face. Here he was thinking that he was the big father protector and provider, Captain of the family boat…in the meantime he was just a vicious tyrant. He never understood his mother…and he didn’t understand himself now. The only thing he wanted to do now was crawl into a hole. He felt so…humiliated.

“Whassup?” she asked.

 “What?”

“You alright?”  He must’ve looked a sight because there was a rare look of concern on Beulah’s face.

He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear her being kind to him. He didn’t know how to speak to her with all this new found knowledge in his head. It would feel easier if she despised him like she normally did. He didn’t know how to face her like this.

“Dad?”

Suddenly the tears welled up in his eyes and he turned away so she wouldn’t see. But he couldn’t stop them so he ran from the room and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He had nowhere to run. He couldn’t go to his room because Clara was there and he couldn’t bear to look at her either. He didn’t know at this moment whether he hated himself more for being such a cry-baby or for being an arsehole.

 Beulah didn’t move, intuiting how sensitive the situation was, she waited in the kitchen until he had pulled himself together and had come back.

 “I’m…er…going out now,” he said with his eyes on the floor. “I was wondering if you could look after your mother for a while. Maybe sit up in her room. I know she’s just had her shot and should sleep for a while, but you know how determined she is. I don’t want her escaping again and wandering the streets.”

“Sure,” she said with a wan smile.

The wounds on his cheek throbbed where Clara had scratched him. He touched them gingerly.

“You alright?” asked Beulah again.

“Fine. Thanks. I won’t be too late,” he said, not daring to raise his eyes to hers. Then he turned and headed for the front door feeling like a thief in the night.

Alice appeared like a ghost at his side and slid out through the door with him. He wondered for a moment where the hell she went when she was not visible.

 “What are you going to do?” she said, rubbing the toes of her feet she had perched on his dashboard. She had on a very short skirt and her bare legs glowed in the light from the Odometer.

“I don’t know……yet.”

“What about this prisoner guy….the old lady’s kid?”

“No one escapes from there….” He said it like an old litany he used to recite to himself as a matter of pride in his work. It sounded hollow now.

“I think it’s very exciting. You busting someone out of your own jail. Bit of a turn on,” she said, wiggling her toes.

“Alice!”

“Alright already,” she said, taking out a bottle of black nail varnish. She opened it and began painting her toes very carefully. She had no idea what he’d been going through recently.

“I’m not going to ‘bust him out’. Well at least I don’t think so.”

“But the old lady said…”

“Old ladies say a lot of things. Anyway, it doesn’t mean she’ll keep her word. Our best hope is to find out as much about her as possible, and hope the police find her…or Joshua.”

“So now you’re a detective….Taraaaa. ‘With Shield and Gun…’” she quoted from a popular TV program.

“Alice.”

“Alright. Can’t a girl have a little fun?”

Why was he so lenient with her…letting her get away with murder…but being so hard on his own family? He could see there was something very inconsistent in his behaviour. Maybe he should go to a shrink. But that scared him. God knows what else was lurking inside of him. Nothing good, he was sure. He didn’t really want to know.

“There,” she said, sitting back and admiring her handiwork. When he did not say anything, she continued. “You’re getting tired of me, aren’t you? I can tell.”

Samuel didn’t know what to say. He waited to see where she was going.

“’s’alright Sam. I understand. You don’t need me anymore. You just say the word and I’ll disappear.”

This was her usual ploy. Playing on his pity. But Samuel was strangely mute tonight. Something going on, she thought. After a long while he spoke again after clearing his throat.

 “No, it’s alright,” said Samuel. “It’s good to have some light relief around the place. Otherwise we’d all be cutting our throats.”

Alice didn’t quite know how to evaluate ‘light relief’, but she took it as a compliment.

“Thank you. I aim to please.”

For a while they drove along in silence, Alice’s legs shining like a beacon in the dark.

“I’m horny,” she said.

Samuel smiled to himself. She was a real bundle of tricks. 

Keys clunked and bolts bolted. Shouts of ‘passage clear’ and ‘number four secure’ echoed round the prison halls. It was an old place, surrounded by dark, high stone walls with razor wire on top – electrified. Inside it was mainly bare brick walls that seemed perennially damp and cold. The dim lights hanging from tin lamp shields added to the grim appearance of the place. Even the bars and gates were painted a miserable grey that always looked dirty and dank.

 “You can’t go in with me, so you’ll have to wait here. There’s plenty to read…television, coffee, snacks.

“Any al…co…hol?”

“’Fraid not. I won’t be long.”

“You work here every day? No wonder you’re that way,” said Alice, trying not to touch anything.

 Samuel left her there and made his way over to the central block to sign in.

The moment Clara had told him the name of the prisoner, he knew who it was. He gave a little rueful smile. The fates were certainly conspiring to teach him a lesson.

The man’s name was Ronald……..or Ronetta as she preferred to be called. But technically, and for the sake of the penal system, Ronald was a man.

The big problem, Samuel had realized immediately, was that Ronald…Ronetta, was one of those prisoners who probably didn’t want to be freed. She had made a home for herself right here in prison, and found it infinitely more amenable than the outside world.

He had never met her because he worked mainly with the South Wing high-risk prisoners, but he knew of her. Everybody did. She was something of a legend and very popular with the inmates. As the story goes she was a sort of diva; singer, soother of souls, comforter and friend in the night…kind of thing. She was the Queen of cell block ‘J’: mother, brother, father, lover, teacher, confessor, and correctress. And it wasn’t only the inmates she took under her wing. Some of the wardens from cell block ‘J’ can truthfully be said to be amongst the happiest men in the whole prison. In cell block ‘J’ there was never a riot, no slovenliness, ill manners or lack of discipline. They all pulled together with a will. Ronetta always said, ‘a tight ship is a happy ship.’ Apparently when the boys went to sleep at night you knew who they were dreaming of. And there wasn’t a dry eye in the house…or so they said.

Remembering his recent revelations, Samuel made a conscious effort not to be judgemental about her, even though he was always polite to his prisoners, no matter who they were - much more so than with his family. He had taken a blow to his confidence and wasn’t so sure of himself anymore. He didn’t know if he could trust himself, and he needed Ronald….sorry, Ronetta, on his side. He didn’t want to alienate her with his old fashioned prejudices. To his advantage though, he had at least had some experience with transvestites when he had been a cop on the beat, so he more or less knew what to expect.

“Hello Darling. My, my. What an honour,” she said, extending an exquisitely manicured hand for him to shake. “Wardens get a special discount, you know,” she winked at him with such warmth that he couldn’t possibly have taken any offence.

Samuel’s face clanged shut like one of his steel prison doors. He froze on the outside like a man who had stepped on a mine. Inside however, his mind was a cauldron of chaos. An all-consuming desire ran rampant behind his wide staring eyes. He didn’t dare move a muscle lest it show on his face. He looked like a polecat in the headlights. And her headlights were on bright. A forty-two double D with no room to spare.

The effort of maintaining his cool was starting to show in little beads of sweat that crept out on his upper lip. This wasn’t a man with make-up on and an Adam’s apple. This was no pretty boy in a dress with a five o’clock shadow and hairy arms. This was undoubtedly the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

Samuel’s jaw was working up and down as he gasped for air and fought valiantly for control of his tongue. Samuel just wasn’t prepared for her. Nothing could prepare one for Ronetta. She was a force of nature; the kind of woman that Empresses are made of. Samuel looked at her but his brain refused to engage. Everything he had meant to say melted away. He took her hand and lightning bolts went off between his ears.

“How do you do,” she said, noticing his quickly reddening cheeks. This was something she was quite used to. “Please…do sit,” she said, taking the situation in hand until Warden Mitke could find his ball bearings again.

“I’m very pleased to meet you at last.” She smiled at him again. “I have heard such nice things about you.” Warden Mitke actually giggled like a nervous schoolgirl. Ronetta settled herself comfortably in her chair and waited for him to recover. By the looks of it, she thought, this could take all afternoon. Men are such easy meat.

“I hope you don’t mind the dress. I didn’t have anything else to wear,” she said, holding out her arms to display her indubitable charms. Warden Mitke made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a snort and tried to disguise it with a cough.

“Well. What can I do for you?” she asked.

Samuel’s blood was finally beginning to find its way back to his head and he gathered his thoughts together.

“Your mother sent me,” he said finally, and it was Ronetta’s turn to be gob-smacked. For a moment the beauty fell from her face like a mask, leaving Ronald, a slightly over-aged, overweight man with too much makeup on. Then Ronetta was back in full force.

She reached into her pocket and took out a cigarette packet. She handed one to Sam and lit them both.

After a few deep puffs, she spoke again.

“How is she? Okay?”

“I don’t know. I got the message via someone else.”

“Hmmm.” she thought for a while. “So she’s still alive. I haven’t seen her in ages.” She shrugged. “What does she want?”

Samuel had meant to be circumspect about the information he would share with her. He didn’t want everyone to know his business. But he found himself spilling the beans like some cheap, two-bit hustler under interrogation. There was nothing this woman couldn’t get out of him. In ten minutes he had told her the whole story. Ronetta listened intently.

“I am so sorry for your son, Warden. It must be terrible…him being in a coma as well. You must be worried out of your mind. Of course I’ll help in any way I can…but what does she want with me? That’s the puzzling part. She hates me. She kicked me out years ago…when she couldn’t change me. And boy, did she try.”

She took a drag on her cigarette and squinted through the smoke. “Perhaps she’s losing her mind. Dementia….or something. Look honey, I’m sorry,” she said, placing her hand on his and Samuel momentarily forgot what universe he was in. He had to work hard to remember that she was a man. But even that didn’t help. Samuel had to work hard just to remember his own name.

“I think you’re dealing with a crazy woman here. And seriously, not to frighten you, but I’d be a bit scared to go back to her.”

Samuel had to focus very hard on the words coming out of her lips. Then a word came floating out of the fog.

“Why?” he asked.

Ronetta dropped her eyes to the table. Samuel saw again how incredibly beautiful she was.

“She’s a nurse. Was.” She rubbed at a spot on the table. “She thought she could change me. With drugs. Testosterone amongst them. Every day she would come home from work with something new from the dispensary. I never knew what, except that I usually came up in bumps, or a rash, or swellings (in all the wrong places I may add), or got very sick for weeks on end. This was all in addition to the floggings and cold baths and…..things.” She sighed, and flicked the ash into the ashtray. “I shouldn’t think she’d hurt your boy, though I have no idea what she wants with me.”

Samuel took some time to digest all this.

“What’s her name?

“Isobel Watts.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

“If she hasn’t moved, it’s 130 Camellia Drive.”

“Does she have any favourite places? Where did she like to go?” Samuel noticed that his lower lip trembled when he spoke.

“You mentioned the City Limits motel. Is that where she wants you to take me?”

“Yes, but I’ve checked it out. She isn’t there.”

“She took me there once…to meet a girl. The idea was for us to spend the night together in a motel room, while my mother waited in the one next door. Listening at the wall I should suspect. But I’m afraid she listened in vain. Next morning she dragged me home by the ear, complaining about all the money she’d wasted.”

“What was the room number?”

Ronetta shrugged.

“How old is your boy?”

“Thirteen.”

“That’s about when she kicked me out. Maybe she’s having a déjà vu. Maybe she’s going nuts and thinks I’m still that old.”

Samuel looked at the table. It was the only way he could concentrate.

“Something like that,” he said.

“I’ll come with you…if you want. But I doubt if she’d recognize me. She hasn’t seen me since those days. I could try and talk to her, but….” She shrugged her beautiful bare shoulders.

Samuel could see the problem. He knew how things went when you’re dealing with crazy people…usually down the drain, but he had to try. The authorities might give their ‘consent of release’ for Ronetta, but the paper work would take weeks and they didn’t have the time. Alternatively he could ‘bust her out’. God knows he knew enough about the system to manage that, but he would have to think carefully about that and come up with some kind of plan. And there were all sorts on complications to worry about.

“Well. If you think of anything that might be useful…..anything about your mom that might help.”

“Of course.”

Samuel had pretty much reached level flight again as he took his leave….but deep down inside of him she simmered and seethed and slid her fingers into his soul.