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Mark was punished like any other man already in prison is punished – thrown into solitary.
For two days he sat there, not knowing what had happened to Vernon, not knowing what would happen to him. For two days he waited for someone to come and tell him what was going on, but no-one speaks to you in solitary, even when they bring you your food. He asked question after question of the guards that came, but his only answer was silence and the hard slamming of the door.
At last, a guard opened the door and held it open for Mark to come out. The guard looked at him with disgust, as did the second one who waited to cuff him. Mark had committed the ultimate crime within prison walls – attacking a guard. Now for as long as he was in an institution, this crime would be with him everywhere, every guard who looked over him would know he had harmed one of their
own and would make his life hell.
The two guards led Mark down to an interview room. Waiting for him there was Stephen Burrows, Mark’s lawyer. Mr. Burrow’s face was stern. Mark sat down opposite him.
“Vernon Callan is dead.”
“What?!”
“Dead, Mark. You killed him in that riot.”
“I didn’t mean to, I just …”
“Just like you didn’t mean to kill the kid in the petrol station? Do you realize how many times you stabbed Mr. Callan? Seven times, Mark. That’s not an accident.”
Mark dropped his head. His hands were shaking. He tried to remember doing it but couldn’t. He pressed his mind to think back, to recall what he had done with the knife, but all he could remember was holding the knife, seeing Vernon lying on the ground bleeding, and then being pushed against the wall by the guards. Then he was in solitary. That’s it.
“You hit three of his internal organs, and he died a very slow death.”
“Jesus,” Mark muttered and shook his head, still trying to remember.
“Why, Mark? I’m well aware of your anger problem, but right in the prison? A guard? You may as well have just stabbed yourself, you know. Do you realize how this is going to effect the rest of your life?”
“I can’t remember any of it, I really can’t,” Mark swallowed hard. His throat felt like it had closed up on him.
Mr. Burrows sighed. “Seriously?” He seemed doubtful. “You remember killing the petrol station attendant.”
“I know, but that was different. This time I … I don’t know … I just saw him there, and he was so close, and I was so angry, and then everything is blurred until it was over and …”
“It is quite common that people with extreme anger problems can black out during times of stress, but Mark,” Mr. Burrows looked at him hard, “this is not going to help you. Two murder charges? You’ll get sentenced for Vernon separately, and any chance we had of getting you out within ten years for the petrol station murder is gone now, completely gone. You’ll be lucky if you get out alive now, and I mean that in more ways than one.”
“But he harassed me, constantly. Always telling me off, and banging on my bars, stuff like that, all the time, from the moment I got here.”
“You never said anything to me, Mark. Did you make any formal complaint to the senior remand warden?”
“Jesus, he was a guard. As if anyone was going to listen to me …”
“You have every right to complain if you think you’re being treated unfairly,; it doesn’t matter if you’re in a remand centre or anywhere else,” Mr. Burrows said. Mark looked down at his hands and said nothing. “So I take it that’s a no, you never said anything to anyone?” Mark shook his head. “Well, it’s not going to help you if his record is clean. I’ll check it out just to make sure he hasn’t had any prior complaints, but it’s going to just look like you attacked him without any provocation. I doubt very much that any magistrate is going to take your word about this.”
That was it; Mark was here for the rest of his life. There was nothing anyone could do to help him. Not even his long lost father.
His father. He hadn’t thought about him since the riot.
“Did you get the statement from my father?” Mark asked with the only hope he had left. “Will that help at all anymore?”
Mr. Burrows looked at Mark for a long time, considering his answer. “Yes, we got a statement from him and your mother. We are compiling some late evidence to hand into the court in your defense. He claimed that he had hit you several times as a child, even though there was no medical evidence of it, you were never taken to hospital, and your mother never took photographs of the injuries. From what we can tell, they were basically bruises and what not, but they still should have been recorded. Unfortunately, most wives tend not to do that in order to protect their husbands. It’s going to be tough to prove, so again it will just be our word. Your father has missed any chance to be cross-examined about it, so a statement is all we have. We can’t submit that until we’ve verified that he is your father though …”
“So is he or isn’t he?” Mark was confused.
“Well he and your mother both say he is, but we’re having a hard time tracking the name changes back. There are a few gaps that shouldn’t be there. But we’re working on it, we’ve got to have it submitted well before next week.”
“Next week?” Mark couldn’t remember the significance.
“Your sentencing.”
© Cynthia M. Piromalli
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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