Iron Cage Read online

  There’s no clock in here, so when the detective finally comes in, I’m not sure how long I’ve been waiting. He’s built like a tank, wide shoulders with muscles for days. If he didn’t have a scowl on his face, I’d think he was attractive. He wears a black suit with a blue tie, and his hair is cut short. The mustache he's sporting is dark and thick, but well groomed. He takes pride in his appearance.

  He stops in front of me and gives me a once over. It’s not in an approving way. Taking a seat, he opens up what I can only assume is my folder.

  "Peyton McKenna," he says.

  I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn't. He leans back and crosses his legs. Flipping through the folder as if he couldn’t care less about what happens to me.

  "We have the evidence needed to convict you. You might as well just confess.”

  Deciding not to talk, because really, what is the point? The painting was in my backpack. I lean back mimicking him and cross my arms.

  "We've got you on video casing the hotel. Not just once, but several times. It's clear your little heist was premeditated."

  I keep my face impassive, but inside I can't believe this is happening. If I had my amulet, turning the cameras would have worked. I should have double checked.

  "It’s your right to remain silent, but it doesn't matter, we have you at the scene, the anonymous tip, and we caught you with the painting on your person."

  "Lawyer.” My words come out as a croak. I haven’t spoken since the arrest, and it sounds like my vocal cords have frozen.

  "Sure," he says with a smile I'm not quite sure isn't evil. He pushes his large frame to the door and pauses before he walks out. “It would be easier if you spoke to us. Maybe the DA will take that into favor?”

  I give him a look that could cut glass. He walks out without another word, and the click of the door sounds like the last nail in my coffin. I have no idea what to do or how to get out of this mess.

  The silence in the room becomes deafening. I find myself trying to figure out how the cameras didn’t turn. My amulet always acted like a guide of some sort, but it wasn’t like it controlled all of it. And the anonymous tip. Carlo never wanted the money. It’s finally clear what this was all about. Getting me out of the way. The father I counted on for so many years, sold me and for what? Jealousy? Money? I can’t believe this is happening.

  I put my head down on the table and slam it a few times. I’m disappointed in my stupidity. I trusted someone again, and this is what I get in return. My life is over and the only thing left to do is fight.

  "Lawyer is coming, but it will be an hour. I'm going to grab some dinner, want me to bring you something to eat," the detective says, slamming the door open causing me to jump.

  "Are you joking with me? Cause that would be cruel," I say with more hope than I mean to.

  "No, I'm not, It’s required by law that we feed you. Turkey or ham. Those are your options," he grimaces. If it was up to him, I’d never eat again.

  “Turkey, no mayo.” I reply, my voice a whisper. Slamming the door once more, he leaves me alone to my wallowing.

  A guy in a rumpled suit strides into the room holding two cups of coffee. His energy is all over the place, eyes darting around the room, looking for what I don’t know. It’s just me and the table.

  "My name is Mark Champ, I’m your lawyer. Drink up, I need you alert to take in the information I'm going to give you." He pulls out a bunch of papers from his briefcase and spreads them over the table.

  "Okay," I say tasting the coffee and immediately putting it down. It’s disgusting and after the worst turkey sandwich of my life, I don’t want to risk the chance of throwing up in the corner.

  "Here's the deal they are offering you,” he states, shoving a piece of paper in my direction. “Ten years and then a year of house arrest. It’s a good deal."

  "Ten years? And then an ankle monitor?" I feel horrified at the thought. A whole decade could mean I'm a completely different person when I get out. My life is shredded and the reality of all this sinks in. I feel like I’m drowning. My lungs aren’t getting enough air.

  He must see the panic in my eyes because he softens his look. "Yes, you'd be monitored and have to stay at home, but the alternative is much worse. The maximum time for this type of crime is ten years. That’s double what they’re offering. With good behavior, you could be out in two to three.”

  "No deal, I'm not taking that. I want to go to trial and if you won’t help me, I’ll defend myself." My arms cross over my chest and a flush comes over my face.

  "Defend yourself?" He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. "You were caught on camera at the scene and found with the painting in your backpack." He releases his hair and looks deep into my eyes. "Take the deal."

  "No," I say, "I'm going to court. I think you can get me less than ten years, maybe even no jail." I'm not even sure if I believe that. I'm proud of the confidence I hear in my words.

  "I'm not a miracle worker, but it’s your choice. You’re going against counsel's advice. Be prepared for this not to go well."

  I consider what he’s saying, but the panic is fueling my need to get out of here. "I can't just accept ten years. I'll be thirty-seven. Do you know how much can change in a woman's life? The transition between the twenties to thirties is intense."

  He smiles at my little freakout, but it doesn’t last. "I’ll do what you want, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. This is a serious offense, and they have overwhelming evidence. This isn’t good for you."

  "I have to try," I tell him. The resolve I had leaking out into the open. I can’t lose hope. Being locked up could mean my powers would get discovered. I don’t know what it’s like to not have my amulet. I don’t want to hurt someone, and I don’t want to become a government experiment.

  "Can I post bail?" I ask. Sleeping in my bed will do wonders for my soul. “I have some cash.”

  "Doubtful, you're a flight risk, but we’ll see what the judge says. Arraignment is in two hours. Sit tight and I’ll be back for you.” He gathers up his mess and leaves again. This time the sound of the door slamming feels like my fate has been sealed.

  Chapter Six

  A week later we go to trial. It shocks my lawyer that the case was getting expedited, but I don’t mind. I want this over and done with.

  There is a small part of me that knows I deserve to go to jail. I am a thief, but then the little devil on my shoulder disagrees. It says, "At least you didn’t kill anyone."

  Mike stands from his seat and addresses the court. I feel like I’m in a different dimension hearing this for the first time. My ears are ringing and I feel light-headed. My hands begin to shake, and the pens on the table begin to rattle. I’m about to lose my control.

  "My client regrets her actions. Her ability to control her impulses is beyond her capabilities. Being diagnosed with severe ADHD makes her unable to function in normal society."

  He pauses for dramatic effect, watching the room. The frowns that I can see tells me he didn’t do very well. Considering he made the whole thing up and lied under oath, making this a very stupid risk.

  "What are you proposing, Mr. Champ?" the judge asks.

  "A year in jail and two years house arrest, Your Honor," he says.

  The judge purses his lips, looking offended by the implications.

  "Miss McKenna," the judge says, "please stand."

  The chair pushes back behind me, making a loud screeching noise on the court floor. I cringe as the judge starts talking. I can already feel the negativity in the air.

  "When you chose to forgo a jury, you gave up the option to have your case heard in front of a group of your peers. I’m sure counsel advised you against it?”

  I nod, waiting for him to continue.

  “You were caught with a painting worth ten million dollars. You stalked and broke into the Carlyle and hunted your target. All the premeditation that it took to execute your plan puts you into a very bad position.”

  My mouth feels dry as I take in the words he’s saying. My fate is sealed. There is no coming back from this. Carlo has won.

  “Your sentence will be eight years in jail with a year of house arrest when your sentence is completed. This is the offer the DA gave you, and you should be grateful that I’m willing to offer it after your refusal.”

  He bangs the gavel on the desk and I feel all the blood drain out of me. My limbs are numb and as they drag me out of the courtroom to my fate. They didn't really take a lot off my sentence, so I don't know if I'm really in any better shape.

  Chapter Seven

  The next few days are a blur as I wait to be transferred to my home for the next eight years. A bus awaits us as the sunshine hits my face for the first time in a week. I squint, trying to memorize the outside before it’s too late.

  The rumble of the bus and the smell of smog greets me as I’m pushed onto the bus. The trip to prison will be the longest journey I’ve ever been on.

  The prison comes into view, and a pit forms in my stomach. It’s something I’ve dreaded since the judge ruled the verdict, but now it’s truly real.

  We march off the bus and push into a waiting corridor. The other females with me crowd my space, my heartbeat picking up. Too many people, not enough room.

  "My name is CO Cortez. You will address me as ma’am. Think of me as a dictator. What I say is law. There is no room for discussion.”

  Her hard face and angry tone send a shiver of fear through me. There is no way I’m going to survive five years in this place.

  She walks down the length of us while we press our backs against the wall. A suffocating feeling comes over me as I try to gauge what will come next.

  The long plain hallway that stands in front of us gives off an ominous vibe. The lights flicker above our heads, and the gray stained walls make me think of how many hopeless souls have walked through here.

  “If any of you even think about stepping out of line,” she yells, “I'll end your sorry asses. I can and will make your time here the worst you’ve ever experienced. Do. Not. Push. Me.”

  We all fall in line and begin to walk slowly through the corridor, none of us wanting to move quickly.

  “Move!” she yells.

  We move forward in a line. Towards a room at the end of the hallway. It’s all tiled, and there are eleven showerheads by first glance. The floor is coated in mildew and the stink of wet laundry left in the washer permeates the air. I almost gag at the thought of all the germs.

  “Remove your clothes and put them in that bin. Once you’ve been inspected by an officer, you are to take a shower. No more than five minutes. On the other side of that divider is another officer with your uniforms. Put them on and stand along the wall.”

  We all rush to do as she says, stripping and showering. I try to avoid the other women’s eyes. I’ve never showered in front of another person before, and it’s the last of my pride floating out the window.

  “To the wall,” the CO yells when we’re all clean and dressed. We walk into a larger room filled with metal tables.

  Alongside the walls are individual cells, all holding two bunk beds. The other inmates see Cortez coming and jump up out of the way and move quickly to their cell and await instruction.

  The new inmates are assigned to their new homes. When it's my turn, Cortez grabs my arm and pulls me. She’s forceful, throwing me around like a rag doll.

  A rectangular room stands before me, sad and bleak. This is my life for the next five years.

  There's hard-looking bunk beds on the side, the lower one with a blue blanket and small white pillow. A toilet and sink sit on the other side, and pictures are hung up on the wall.

  I lay on the unoccupied bunk and smush my face into the pillow. I'm exhausted and too upset to even cry.

  I listen to the day pass and at one point I must fall asleep. I pull my face from my pillow and realize the cell door is closed.

  Shivering, I sit up and see feet dangling above my head. Fear pulses through me as I realize there is another person in here with me.

  “Might as well go back to sleep,” she says. “This hell doesn’t get any better.”

  Her words ring true and if I felt panic before it’s nothing like I am experiencing now. I search for my power, trying to lift the end of my blanket where she can’t see, but it’s not there. My magic seems to have died along with my spirit.

  Chapter Eight

  Shouting and laughing wake me up. The cell door is open, and my roommate has left. I quickly look around and notice no one is paying attention to me.

  “It’s now or never,” I whisper, going to the toilet to pee. Everyone outside can see what I’m doing if they walk past my cell. It’s the fastest pee of my life.

  When I’m done, I quickly brush my teeth with the awful toothbrush they gave me last night and splash some water over my face.

  Moments later, Cortez stands in the middle of the room with a clipboard. Her appearance is as it was yesterday, no emotion but anger shooting through.

  “Work detail ladies,” she says, “if you’ve not been assigned line up over here ready to go.”

  I walk over along with the other women to await my fate. All eyes are on us as Cortez starts rattling off names. When she gets to mine, I almost jump from the severity in her voice.

  “McKenna, kitchen duty,” the CO says.

  I try not to show relief on my face, but inside I do a little happy dance. At least it’s not scrubbing toilets.

  We file out and come to a cafeteria. More inmates are crowded around tables, shoveling food in their mouths and watching the people around them.

  Once I’m out of the queue to get my breakfast, I sit at a table in the far corner, hoping everyone will leave me alone.

  Oatmeal, or what appears to be, sloshes on my plate as I put the tray down. Water and a piece of an apple accompany it. No coffee. Gods, I’d kill for a coffee right now.

  My solitude is over too soon when the officers start breaking up lunch and inmates head to their work detail.

  I make my way over to the kitchen and open the door to where I think I’m supposed to be.

  The kitchen is small with an industrial-sized stove and oven. Aside from me, there are two other inmates already working and a woman who seems to be in charge.

  "Hello, I'm starting today," I tell her, forcing her to whip around and look at me.

  She grins, and her smile lessens the tension coiling in my stomach. Her apron says, ‘Kiss the Cook’ and her long gray hair is wrapped in a bun on top of her head. I get the feeling she's not an inmate.

  “What's your name, sweetie? I'm Birdie." She grabs my hand and shakes it a little violently. She smells like fried onions and cake flour.

  "I'm Peyton, they told me I’m supposed to help you," I stutter, pulling my hand back as soon as I can.

  "You can get started on the potatoes," she points to a stack of potatoes and a peeler. There is a dull knife sitting next to the stack and I pick that up instead.

  I have no clue what to do. I’ve never cooked for myself, so I cut them into long strips, hoping they want french fries.

  "No! I should have been more specific," she says, "just peel the potatoes. I'm going to cook them down."

  She gives me a compassionate look like a grandmother would do a small child, and it instantly makes me feel horrible for not pleasing her the first time.

  "Oh," I say, "sorry. I didn’t know. I’m not much of a cook. In fact, I’ve never cooked."

  She laughs, a bright joyous sound. I want to lean into it and take comfort, but I freeze, hoping she doesn’t reprimand me.

  "What are you in for?" she asks, showing me how to operate the peeler.

  "Stealing a ten million dollar painting," I reply, shrugging my shoulders. It feels odd to say something about it out loud. I’m not used to admitting it.

  "Wow," she whistles. "That's a lot of dollars. What were you going to do with the money?"

  "Get back something important to me.”

  I don’t know why I’m opening up to this woman, but it feels good to at least lessen some of my burden.

  "Well, maybe you still can when you get out of here," she adds, dismissing the conversation.

  "Bring those potatoes over here, I'll show you how we cook them."

  The rest of my shift goes by rather fast as I realize how pleasant it is to be around her. The other two women don't speak at all and are done earlier than I am, leaving the two of us alone.

  Birdie fills the silence with interesting stories about the women who have been through the kitchen in the past. It makes working through the day tolerable.

  An officer retrieves us a little while later and I’m released into the communal area. I try not to make contact with anyone and head straight to my bunk.

  "You smell like potatoes," my roommate conveys as soon as I walk in. She’s sitting cross-legged reading a book with a guy and a sword on the cover.

  “Sorry, it’s what they had me do in the kitchen. To be honest, before today I didn’t know potatoes had a smell.”

  She shakes her mess of red curls and lies down, giving me her back. I plop onto my bed, thinking it could have been a hell of a lot worse than it was today.

  Chapter Nine

  The next two weeks are supremely boring. I do the same things daily and realize the prison system doesn't vary their meals that much.

  Everything we eat is based on the same ten ingredients. A lot of it includes potatoes. There's potato pancakes, potato soup, mashed potatoes, and I have to peel every one of them.

  I’m stealing things to pass the time. It's a direct result of boredom. The rush I feel reminds me of home and it lightens the load.