Back at Crowmill, I was taken to the basement of the main building and locked up in a very small, whitewashed cell with a barred door. The nurse was there and took blood and urine samples, for drug tests, I supposed. She didnīt talk to me or even look me in the eye. The cell was too small for lying down in full length and there was no bunk, either, only the bare floor and walls. I was still in irons and still wearing my own _f_u_c_k_ing stinking clothes. Well, at least they were dry enough by now. I had no idea of how long I was going to be kept there and I didnīt want to think about what would happen to me. Time passed slowly and it was dead silent down there. I went over my short outing as objectively and calmly as possible. What I did wrong, how to avoid making the same mistakes the next time. Iīd been too _f_u_c_k_ing desperate, that was the whole thing. Too desperate and too careless. Relying on luck instead of caution. Supposing instead of knowing. Freaking out at game over against better knowledge. Well, _f_u_c_k_ it all for the time being. Iīd get new chances later on.
After maybe an hour of leaning against the wall I decided there would be no speedy trial. I managed to get down on the floor and curl up to get some rest.
If youīve ever been lying on a cold concrete floor in a basement in January, poorly dressed, with your arms and hands aching and numbing from the cold and from being cuffed on your back for eight hours and your feet shackled, you know itīs almost impossible to go to sleep and forget the present or even to let your mind stray. There was no way to call for attention, nothing to do or look at to distract myself and I was hungry and thirsty. My ass still hurt, but that was no big deal, Iīd known far worse pain. I thought about what mr Jackson said, that I had to control my emotions better, and I decided he was right about at least that issue. Iīd make a fresh start from now on, showing appropriate remorse, then get the hell out at first opportunity. I wouldnīt do it as clumsily as I did for starters. I had to get out of here before something serious happened to my mental sanity. At reform school I was the fairytale master. I ran off nine times but always managed to turn the odds to my favour and get my privileges back faster than most. Maybe Mr Jackson was a smart _f_u_c_k_er, but so was I.
I donīt know how long I lay on the floor before I heard someone coming. I got up on my knees and waited anxiously. It turned out to be mr Trent. I knew him by the slight limp, his right leg seemed a bit stiff. He also coughed a lot, from smoking probably. Anyway I held my head low and kept quiet, not wanting to provoke him in any way.
He didnīt say one single word to me. He just put a bowl of water and a chunk of bread on the floor next to the bars, locked up again and went away.
I felt the old anger stir in me. So I was being fed like a dog? Who the hell did they think they were dealing with? I wasnīt having any more of their _f_u_c_k_ing bull_s_h_i_t_. Iīd refuse to eat and drink until they had to let me out of here. Still, my mouth was very dry and I hadnīt had a bite to eat since the pizza ages ago. Mr Jackson and mr Donovan stopped for breakfast around 6.30, the car with me left inside parked by the diner window. The only thing they brought for me was a small plastic cup of water, and that was all I had on the whole seven hour trip. I asked for more water when I was taken to the loo later but had none. Mr Donovan told me that if it hadnīt been for the risk of ruining the car upholstery I wouldnīt have been allowed to take a leak, either. I had used up all my rights, he said.
I was tossed between pride and need for a while, then I started on the bread and water. I even licked the bread crusts off the floor. Then I curled up again, feeling very sorry for myself and the fix Iīd got myself into. I had to get up soon, though, from the cold. I tried sitting on my poor ass with my back to the wall, but the cold was just as bad.
Mr Trent came back some time later, and I managed to stand on my knees. I asked for permission to speak and he denied it. He first refilled the water bowl, then told me to stand with my back to the bars, where he undid the cuffs. I was ordered to face him and had them put on again in front. Then I was left alone and shortly afterwards the lights went out.
That night was one of the worst Iīve ever lived through. I was freezing to my _f_u_c_k_ing bones and shivering so badly I had to move around most of the time, and it was pitch black all around me. I stepped into the bowl twice and spilled most of the water, and later I had to piss in my pants because I couldnīt undo them. I tried very hard to stay calm but was getting more miserable by the minute. For what I knew they were fully capable of leaving me like this for days, maybe weeks. I was on the edge of having a major breakdown when the lights went on again. It didnīt ease the cold but made me feel a little better.
I had more water and another chunk of bread brought to me by a screw I didnīt recognize. He was as silent as mr Trent. Again I asked permission to speak but he gave none. After Iīd eaten I started moving about, feeling dizzy and weak and very tired. I had to piss again, getting a brief relief from the cold only to feel even colder when the warmth disappeared but the wet stayed. I was served another diet meal at what I supposed must be lunch time. As the hours went by into the afternoon I realized that nothing would happen today either, I wouldnīt get out and would have to spend another _f_u_c_k_ing night in the abyss. Thatīs when I broke down from fear and self pity and let go until I heard steps approaching. I got down on my knees facing the bars, because I figured the screw wouldnīt give me the bread and water otherwise and I needed all energy I could get. This time it was mr Donovan bringing my meagre supper and a woolen blanket. I didnīt dare to open my mouth, fearing he would take the blanket back if I did. He said nothing, either, just left, and I wrapped the blanket around me as snugly as possible, then I ate the dry bread very slowly with half of the water. I tried to reassure myself that Iīd get out the next morning, and that this night would pass quicker than the last, maybe I even could get some sleep with the blanket and all. I wasnīt very successful, though. When the lights finally went out I panicked, throwing myself against the bars, begging for somebody to let me out. I had no answer and after a while I got a brittle hold of myself and sat down in a corner, feeling very odd. My thoughts ran wild and I imagined things out of the darkness like figures from cartoons and giant spiders and people coming at me. Then I guess my brain just short circuited. I fell asleep for a while, only to wake up to the same darkness, feeling even colder, once more forced to piss down my pants. I had no strength left by then, neither of mind nor body. The rest of the night I spent freezing like hell and crying m! y heart out, feeling certain Iīd die on that _f_u_c_k_ing concrete floor.
When the lights came back on I lay with my eyes tightly shut, shivering and twitching from cold and crying. I heard steps outside the cell but was too exhausted and numb to get up on my knees. I was past caring by then, just wanted to be left alone. I even thought dying wouldnīt be that bad. I heard the barred door open and the clinking of the water bowl being pushed aside. Someone was entering the cell. I didnīt move.
"Youīve had enough of this yet, Jennings?" I recognized mr Donovanīs voice. He put his boot on top of me, shaking me. "Get up on your knees!"
I curled up tighter and started weeping feebly again, still not wanting to open my eyes. He grabbed me by the hair, pulling my head upwards.
"Get up, you sorry piece of _s_h_i_t_", he shouted, "or youīll stay down here for the rest of your miserable _f_u_c_k_ing life." Then he let go of my hair and my head knocked against the floor, and he kicked me kind of symbolically a couple of times. I tried to obey but couldnīt master my body at first, I fell sideways twice. Finally I managed to stand on hands and knees, head throbbing and spinning. I could feel my own raw body stench rising with me.
"Youīre for the govenor this morning, Jennings. You want me to drag you up the stairs?"
"No, sir", I got out, teeth clattering. At last I gathered enough strength to stand on my knees. I felt like I was going to flake out any second, but it passed.
"On your feet, then." He had to support me and did so rather harshly, then he grabbed me by the arm and the unknown screw from the first day was waiting in the corridor and grabbed the other.
I wasnīt chained to the bench this time but to the wall, which meant I had to wait standing up with my hands a bit above my head. I was grateful not having to sit down. Some people passed by this time, chatting in an ordinary way, and seeing me there as some sick wall decoration didnīt affect them at all, they barely seemed to notice, just trudged on and kept yapping. This place was as freaky as a sci-fi movie.
There were another two screws in the chiefīs office. I made the first out as mr Davies, the one who was very decent to me once, and the other was mr Trent. I was halted in front of the big desk and kneeled immediately. I could feel fright digging in my belly and squeezing my heart and I could barely breathe from it.
"Thomas Jennings", the chief said. "The con artist. Twice through Step One and still no improvement. What the hell is wrong with you, boy?"
Since he paused there I supposed he wanted an answer.
"I donīt know, sir, " I said, and immediately he roared:
"Keep your dirty mouth shut! If I want you to talk, Iīll tell you to talk. Youīre nothing but crap, Jennings, and crap donīt talk." He moved fastly around the desk and I crouched with fear, a sledge hammer where my heart used to be. Then he stopped in front of me. The toe of his left shoe tapped an irregular, silent rhythm against the floor.
"Running away is the cowardīs game to avoid responsibility. Men donīt run. Men face reality and deal with it. Men accept that punishment follows crime and pay the price without questioning or self pitying. Youīre a coward, Jennings, and I doubt youīll ever be worth calling yourself a man."
Clichés, oh clichés. He wouldnīt get punished for talking like a _f_u_c_k_ing John Wayne. He walked away only to return for the third part of the sermon.
"You were out of here for 34 hours. In that short time you managed to steal a car, commit at least one burglary and several thefts, smoke marihuana, drink alcohol and have _s_e_x_, probably unprotected. Apparently you havenīt learned anything these four months. And despite the promises and insights you put in your papers youīve had no intention of changing your life style, either. Youīve been lying to me and to others all the time. Iīm forced to punish you severely this time for your own good, and I can assure you it will be very long before you get a chance to even think about running anywhere again."
Another walk. I kept staring down on the floor, sick with fright. I wanted to defend myself, to tell him what actually happened on Step One, tell him that I had learned a lot and that all I had written werenīt lies and that change isnīt brought about only by beating and humiliating someone, there has to be hope, too, there has to be a future, not just the present, not just pain. But even if heīd allowed me to speak it wouldnīt have been of any help to me. Chief had already decided upon my guilt and punishment, like he did last time. And apart from then I really had _f_u_c_k_ed up.
The chief was back behind his desk and I felt the others closing in behind me.
"On your feet, Jennings."
I obeyed. It took some time getting up, though, from wearing the shackles.
"Do you have anything to say before your punishment is decided?"
"No, sir", I said. Whatever I could think of saying would only make this worse on me. "Except that Iīm sorry."
"Youīll be even more sorry the next three months. First of all, you are going to make up for the crimes you committed during your run. You are to leave a full and thorough confession and repay the victims. For these crimes you will also receive 100 lashes of the whip twice. You will be whipped in public, the first time after youīve compensated the victims, the second time when your three months are up."
I swallowed hard. I was really feeling sick now. Three _f_u_c_k_ing months. 200 lashes. This was far too much already and I knew it wasnīt the end of the story.
"Your term of punishment will start with two weeks in Special Confinement on bread and water. The rest of the time you will do hard labour. You are to maintain absolute silence and obedience, and you will also wear irons. You will not be allowed to make or receive phone calls, to meet with other apprentices or to have visitors. Twice a week you will be given an assignment. The outcome of those will decide what punishment you are to receive that week. No points are given during this period. You will also be publicly exposed for one hour in the dining hall three Sundays in a row, showing other apprentices how runaways are treated."
The chief made a brief pause. I was shivering all over. This couldnīt be happening to me.
"Mr Jackson has offered to tutor you two hours a week. Itīs a very generous offer which you donīt deserve, but heīs convinced you will benefit from it. I will be informed of your eventual progress and will see you again in six weeks. Get him out of here."
I was taken to a shower room downstairs for the usual treatment, but I didnīt see the doctor and I had new clothes put on in there. They were different from the common suit. These were real jail classics, striped in black and white, and the shirt had a big round red spot on the back. Both shirt and trousers had buttons instead of side seams, allowing them to be removed despite irons. Irons were off for the time being, though. I was brought to a room nearby where all my goods were on a table. I had to tell where every piece of it came from and explain exactly what happened. They were well informed, apparently having done some snooping around on their own. Some stuff I couldnīt remember where I nicked, but in the end most of it was sorted out and the few things remaining would be brought along for identification. I was told Iīd spend the rest of the day and the night in Special Confinement, and tomorrow Iīd meet with the victims.
Mr Trent and Mr Davies escorted me to Special Confinement. It was located in the Step One building and I didnīt like going in there again, brought back bad memories. We went left instead of right inside the entrance hall, down the same corridor I had walked too many times to get whipped, past the door of the punishment room and down a stairway. An underground corridor ran the length of the building, and we stopped around the middle of it in front of a steel door. I could see similar ones to the left and the right.
The door was unlocked but not opened by mr Trent. All my clothes were taken off and the cuffs removed, and then I was led into the room, one screw on each side of me. My first impression was that of blinding snow. I stopped at the threshold with a strong sense of uneasiness.
"Come on there, Jennings. You donīt want to get yourself into any more trouble, do you?"
I was half pulled into the room, blinking from the intense white light. The cell was rectangular and narrow and had no window. The walls, ceiling and floor were white and the light came from three long tube armatures. I spotted two cameras high up on the walls. All sounds were muffled in here. The room was empty except for a green hose in a roll on the wall and a white bunk in the middle, looking a lot like a doctorīs examining table but they usually donīt come with straps. I immediately realized what was going to happen to me and tried to back away from it. Mr Davies gave the door a kick and it slammed shut behind me, then they dragged me up on the table, and for once I fought back, not wanting to be strapped down and left in here. As always, resisting was of no use, and they soon had me where they wanted me to be, face down on the table, strapped hand and foot with a broad leather strap across the small of my back and one across the back of my neck. I couldnīt move but my fingers and toes and turn my head very slowly. I figured Iīd get whipped for putting up a bit of resistance but nothing happened right then.
Mr Trent squatted and did some screwing job under the table, and a square hole opened under me in the middle of the table. My _c_o_c_k_ was pulled through it and something like a rubber was attached to it, fastened with what I supposed was surgical tape. Then I had a thin blanket put over me.
"Now here are the rules of Special Confinement", mr Trent said. "You are not allowed to talk or make any sound at any time. If you do, you will be punished and your confinement may also be prolonged. The cell is video monitored around the clock and you will be checked on every third hour, but not in between unless something serious happens. The warder checking you out will ask you a couple of questions that you may answer by nodding or shaking your head. He also will feed you three times a day and clean you up when necessary. Got it?"
I nodded, and then they left and I was alone. At first panic began building inside me, little by little, but I managed to fight it back. God, I wished intensely that I hadnīt made that _f_u_c_k_ing stupid run. Iīd be studying and training and sleeping in an ordinary bed, getting three squares a day and tasty ones, too, for that matter. Iīd be talking with the others now and then, reading, playing a game of cards Friday night or getting a permit to use a PC, if Iīd earned enough points, or listen to music, they didnīt approve of metal but anythingīd do, even the _f_u_c_k_ing stupid halfassed Corrs. It seemed like paradise right now, even with mr Jackson as the King Snake right in the middle of it.
I had to keep some track of time. I estimated this was sometimes between 12.30 and 1.30 p. m. I hadnīt had anything to eat since morning and I wouldnīt be checked on for another three hours, which would be around 3 or 4.30 p. m. My stomach ached from hunger and my mouth was very dry. I figured I īd have to get used to that. At least Iīd get out again in the morning, but the next time I was taken here it would be for a fortnight. And Iīd also have been heavily flogged then. Well, I wasnīt at those bridges yet, and I couldnīt change anything by worrying.
I was very tired from the basement experience and the strain of the last couple of days and actually fell asleep, not waking up until somebody shook me by my shoulder. The brightness around me hurt my eyes.
"Are you feeling calm?" the screw asked. Iīd never seen him before, a guy maybe in his late twenties, with a pair of big, reddish, protruding ears and a silly little blond moustache. I nodded.
"Are you experiencing any pain?"
I kind of shook my head. Then he checked my pulse and blood pressure and studied my eyes, using a small flashlight. He also took my temperature and meddled with something under the table, I guess he was checking out the urine container. Finally he asked if I was hungry and thirsty, and I nodded to both. The strap on my neck was slackened and he first gave me water that I had to sip through a straw, then alternatingly small squares of bread and more water. He asked the first two questions all over again, then left.
Exactly the same procedure was executed another five times, the only difference being the bread and water, which I had twice. I felt reasonably OK through the whole thing and fell asleep a couple of times, too. Then I was unstrapped and marched naked to the shower room, where mr Jackson was waiting for me.