4
Vera’s radio buzzed as she reached the door. “Code black! Code black!” she heard Will’s voice yell, “corridor D, north end.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in. This was it. In her left hand, she felt the screwdriver carefully wrapped in the handkerchief that Joan had returned earlier. The metal tool was such a small thing, and yet it felt heavy, weighing her down.
She tried not to think about the fact that she was carrying a murder weapon back inside the prison.
She could feel Joan’s eyes on her back, watching her, waiting for her to stop, to cry, to break down.
Not this time. Vera was not the “pathetic mouse” that Joan had once called her. She was strong. She was the Governor. She was making the hard decision—the one that would save Jackson, Lawson… and herself.
Never again would Joan Ferguson ruin her life.
“All guards return to duty,” she heard herself bark into the radio. “Institute prison-wide lockdown.”
She pulled the door open.
“Vera?” she heard Joan call. “Send someone out with my personal belongings. Perhaps Lawson rather than Jackson, unless you want more blood on your hands.”
Vera stepped inside, neither turning back nor acknowledging Joan.
“And don’t forget to move the brawler!” she heard Joan’s voice order as the door shut behind her.
She was inside.
***
Kaz Proctor was absently wiping the final counters in the kitchen, having already dismissed the rest of her team. It was surprisingly warm and peaceful here between mealtimes. As she wiped, she contemplated all of the changes that she would institute now that she was Top Dog. A small smile appeared on her face. She hadn’t wanted the position, but if it was the will of the women…
She dropped the cloth and leaned against the counter. There was so much that she could do. Education, first. The majority of the women in this prison were as much victims as they were criminals. They were beaten wives, desperate prostitutes, junkies whose only fault was trying to drown out the horror of their lives. They were women who had been oppressed by all manner of circumstances; victims of a system that hated them, and then punished them for that hate. They needed to learn, so that they could stand up for themselves when they were released. Fend for themselves.
Never again be dependent on men.
Kaz’s smile grew: she would do that. She would change this prison into a place of refuge for these women—a place where they could heal, nurture each other, and learn.
She had twelve long years here.
She would make them count.
She nodded to herself, once again picking up the rag to continue wiping the counter. Bea Smith would help. She didn’t have to do anything—Kaz knew Bea well enough to recognize that she would shun the whole idea—but once again she would make Bea into a symbol for them all: a victimized woman who had grown strong within the walls of the prison, who had taken control of her own life. A woman who had healed enough to find love again.
Kaz scrubbed at a spot. It was always important for the women to have a symbol.
She was startled by the wail of an alarm.
She dropped the cloth.
“Attention, compound,” came the voice across the intercom.
Right, Kaz thought, her body already moving into attack mode. Like hell was she going to stay alone in the kitchen when her women might be in danger.
She ran.
***
“Attention, compound,” the voice repeated. “The prison is now in lockdown. All inmates are to remain where they are. Repeat: all inmates are to remain where they are.”
“What? Why?” Boomer Jenkins wailed, throwing down a nearly-folded towel.
Liz Birdsworth sighed, leaning on the countertop. She looked up at the clock. “Work detail was almost done,” she noted. “I wonder what’s going on?”
Doreen Anderson hurried toward them, pushing a large cart of laundry. “I overheard the radio as I passed the guard station,” she whispered, leaning in toward the two of them. “Mr. Jackson called in a code black!”
“Code black, eh?” Liz asked, putting her hand on her hip. “I reckon someone’s been pretty seriously hurt.”
Boomer smiled. “I hope it’s someone we hate! Hey—how about Juicy Lucy? Or Tina?” She punched her palm with her fist. “I’d be dead happy if someone offed her!”
Liz ignored Boomer, instead looking back at the clock. “Hey,” she said slowly, “where’s Bea?”
Doreen looked startled. “She’s not back yet?”
They silently exchanged glances.
“Let’s see what information we can get from the guard,” Liz threw over her shoulder, already hurrying toward the guard station.
“I’ll pound it out of him, if I have to,” Boomer muttered, following closely behind.
***
Kaz rounded the corner before skidding to a stop. At the end of the corridor she saw Will Jackson, crouched alone beside the prone body of an inmate. “What have you done?!” she screamed, rushing forward.
Will looked up, his face a mask of guilt.
***
Joan stood against the side of the building, listening to the quiet that followed the cessation of the alarm. It had been so long since she had heard true quiet. Even in the isolation wing, she had been surrounded by endless jarring noises.
General had been worse.
The sound of so many women, caged together…
She shook her head, forcing herself to forget. She was free now—free in the quiet.
Or, almost.
She looked down at her bloodied hand, at the stains that saturated her shirt and sweater. Once again, the feeling of contamination washed over her. Disease… she was covered in disease…
She placed her back against the wall, forcing herself to remain focused. Think. Plan. Lawson would come soon, bringing her personal belongings. She could don her blazer over the soiled articles, and then simply walk away. No one would ever know.
And when she was home, she would burn the clothing and take a long shower, washing all of this filth away.
Yes. She would be clean again.
As soon as Lawson came.
She punched the wall with her fist.
Focus. Think. Plan.
As soon as Lawson came.
***
“What have you done?” Kaz repeated in a strangled whisper, pushing at Will as she knelt next to the body. “Bea?” she asked, trying to feel for a pulse. Giving up, she gently pushed the hair away from Bea’s face. “Bea?”
“Get back to your unit, Proctor,” Will ordered halfheartedly, trying to pull Kaz away. “Don’t disturb…” he faltered, “disturb…”
“Who?” Kaz asked, rounding on him. “The woman you killed?” she screamed, suddenly punching at him.
“What?” Will asked, falling back, throwing up his arms to protect himself. “This wasn’t me!” he shouted in return. “You can’t think that I would do something like this! This was—” he abruptly stopped.
“This was who?” Kaz yelled. She clutched his shirt, pulling him close as they both fell to the floor. Will tried to look away, but Kaz grasped his head in her hands. “Who, Will?” she asked desperately. “You know, don’t you! Who did this?”
“Proctor!” Vera’s steely voice echoed in the hallway as she rushed toward them, flanked by two guards. “Step away from Mr. Jackson.”
Kaz ignored her, focusing on Will. “Who?” she demanded again, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “Who?”
“Slot her,” Vera ordered.
The guards pulled Kaz from Will. She kicked and shouted, trying to get back to him. “You know, Will Jackson!” she screamed as she was physically carried away. “I know you know!”
Left alone, Vera looked angrily at Will. “What have you done?”