Inevitable Sentences Read online

  “It gave me the creeps. Ya know what I mean?” she said to Chad later. Lizzie shivered at her own comment. After that Chad and she both tried to keep an eye out for the warden. The Ghost could still sneak up without anybody knowing.

  STUMP QUICKLY NODDED TO the prisoners and turned his full attention to Lizzie. His face clearly took on a glow as he eyed her. “How is everything today, Ms. Chatfield?”

  “Fine, sir.” Lizzie’s voice quavered. She walked to the oven to check the Chili Mac, even though it couldn’t possibly be ready yet.

  Chad hovered close by to eavesdrop. He even casually shifted near them each time they moved.

  Stump followed closely behind Lizzie, his steps nearly overtaking hers.

  She bent to check the food. When she straightened, their bodies touched. She stepped to one side and walked around the warden to check the steam table. He followed her like a puppy. “You’re not working this evening, are you, Ms. Chatfield?” His words slurred slightly.

  “No,” Lizzie answered but gave him no further information. How could Stump be this obvious about his intentions? Careless of him.

  “Have plans, do you?” Stump teetered and he rested a hand on the sink.

  “Yes.” Lizzie turned from checking the temperature gauge to face him. “Is there something I can do for you here?” She swept her hand around to indicate the entire area. “If not, I got a lot of work to do to get the meal out on time.” Where did she finally gather the courage to confront him? “You don’t want a riot because the food’s not served when it’s scheduled.”

  “No, we wouldn’t, would we?”

  Chad had had his fill of Stump. He sauntered up to them. “Ms. Chatfield, we need your help with the salad.” Although he’d like to slug the warden, he was careful not to even look at him. No need to give away his concern about Stump’s sudden appearance in the kitchen, or his irritation about the warden’s unguarded attention to Lizzie. Did Stump think he’d catch Lizzie alone again, taking inventory like before? Chad crinkled his nose. He smelled alcohol. Stump probably didn’t even know what day it was.

  “Okay, I’ll be right over,” Lizzie said with too much enthusiasm. She shrugged at the warden. “I hope you don’t mind, but I gotta go help the guys.” She slipped away to the prep table.

  “No. Go right ahead.” Stump ogled her, wiped drool from his mouth, and shifted from foot to foot. He left the area without another word.

  Mackey had been hanging back. Now he walked up to Lizzie and said, “That guy is such a drunk. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing.”

  Lizzie stared at the officer. She grabbed his arm and pulled him off to the side. “You shouldn’t be giving away trade secrets in front of the prisoners.”

  “Ya think they don’t know?” Mackey snickered. “They’ve given him a new tag—the soaked spirit.” Mackey nudged Lizzie. “Spirit, get it?”

  “Right,” she said. “Still, keep control of that mouth of yours, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Ms. Uppity Chatfield.” Mackey started to walk away and abruptly stopped. “Don’t forget that I’m the officer here and you’re a civilian employee.”

  Lizzie offered him a crooked smile. “And don’t you forget that the warden likes me better than you and that tips the scale in my direction.”

  Mackey pointed at her. “Does the good warden know about your past?”

  “He hired me, didn’t he?”

  Mackey winked and headed back to his desk.

  Chad had come as close as he could to hear their conversation. When Mackey left the area, he asked Lizzie, “What does he mean about your past?” This was no time to find out that Lizzie might be unpredictable or, worse yet, was hiding something he’d rather not have to deal with. Perhaps her past, whatever it was, would catch up with them when he broke out of prison.

  “Chad, darlin', you know everything you need to know about me,” Lizzie said demurely and batted her eyes. She leaned against the prep table and licked her lips seductively. “Besides, I don’t question your past.”

  The oven timer went off and Lizzie straightened. “We got fifteen minutes to get ready before the chow hall fills. Let’s move it,” Lizzie ordered. “You, too, Chad.”

  Chad’s face reddened and his mouth formed a thin line. He counted to ten to calm down. He couldn’t afford to get upset at her. He relented and did as she ordered. He surely didn’t want to stir up any suspicion about the two of them. She’d get what she deserved once he got out of this place.

  Chad set the large stainless steel serving containers onto the heated table in the mess hall. Charlie made sure the milk machine was full and running, while Lou checked the coffee and water.

  “Chad,” Lizzie yelled. “Grab that cake and cut it into serving squares. When ya got that done, put it at the end of the line.”

  His shoulders tensed. How much more could he take? Again, he did as she commanded. Once the cake was carved, he slammed the pans on the serving table.

  Lizzie paid him no mind and checked the area, which resembled any cafeteria. “Okay, boys,” she said. “Get yourselves a tray and eat.”

  As the three prisoners ate, the inmates who would serve the food and do the cleanup walked into the kitchen in their clean whites. “Looks like you’re wearing your dinner, Charlie,” one teased as he pointed at the brown and red spatters across Charlie’s shirt.

  “The way these guys cook, that may be the only way to deal with the meals,” a second inmate added.

  Everyone laughed but Chad. He didn’t like to be made fun of, and he sure didn’t like to be lumped in with the other inmates. He was better than that. He’d stay cool, though. He had to. He’d only have to take the bullshit a few more days. They wouldn’t be making fun of him then.

  The newly arrived crew wolfed down their dinners. As soon as they finished, prisoner voices filled the chow hall. As the hungry masses approached the food line, the room vibrated with their energy. The servers sprang into action. This was one ravenous crowd no one should keep waiting.

  Chapter Five

  SECRETS

  FROM THE KITCHEN CHAD walked reluctantly into his cell block. Although glad to be away from Lizzie’s imposing blather, he hated facing his bleak life on the block. At least at this time of day most of the prisoners were either at work or in the chow hall. The unit briefly hosted an uncommon peace, unlike at night, when the block filled with babbling, often screaming inmates. Their voices seemed to merge into an almost tangible body, a physical heaviness that snaked up and down the gallery unrestrained and without consideration.

  Chad entered the block with hardly a sound until the door sucked closed. An officer stood at a raised counter behind the circular station in the center of the unit. He never lifted his eyes at the sound of Chad’s approaching footsteps.

  Chad flipped his work pass at the officer, who gave it no response. He didn’t even raise his head from the sheet of paper on which he was making notes. Instead he let the pass float to the countertop. It landed in the middle of the page the officer had been writing on.

  After several seconds the officer calmly picked up the pass, signed it, and placed it into a file. Finally, he lifted his eyes up to Chad and handed him a clipboard with a form attached. Chad snatched it, scribbled next to his name, and wrote the time he came in. The officer glared at him with such hate in his eyes that a person with less self-assurance would have felt threatened. Chad glared back with equal loathing. He couldn’t be easily intimidated. He had never been afraid of any guard. The officer should know that.

  Chad dropped the board onto the counter. Its clatter echoed down the long, silent hallways that extended at right angles from the station. Chad twisted his face into one final disapproving, fierce scowl before he turned and walked to his cell. The whole routine was completed as it was every day without one word being uttered between the prisoner and guard.

  Still in his soiled kitchen whites, Chad flopped onto his bunk. He placed both hands behind his head and surveyed his surroundings
. Only a calendar adorned the walls. He smiled. Soon he wouldn’t have to look at the beige cinder blocks. Soon he wouldn’t lie upon the thin, musty-smelling mattress that made scraping sounds each time he moved. Soon, his own clothes—none would ever be navy blue—would be hanging in a proper closet and not stuffed into a footlocker like the one stowed at the end of his bunk. Clothes? He snickered. He owned no personal clothing. No inmate did at this security level. Although he had collected enough money from his many female admirers to buy whatever he wanted, everything he possessed was state-issued. That was prison policy.

  Chad had never hung up the so-called mirror, which was a square made of reflective plastic issued by the prison. Instead, it sat on top of the stainless steel sink with the “glass” facing the wall. It was hard enough to brave his reflection when he shaved. He didn’t like to be reminded how much he had aged since being incarcerated nearly a decade ago. The time had passed at a painfully slow pace and stolen his youth. He didn’t want to see his face absent the tan, his signature that gave the impression of days spent on the beach, or sailing, or playing tennis. No matter. He would soon recapture the image he preferred—that of a man of leisure. Never again the aging inmate in prison blues. Chad admitted fear of only one thing—the loss of his youthful image. Inmates and arrogant guards who treated him as though he were invisible? None held any terror for him.

  Chad sat up and swung his legs over the side of the narrow bed, bolted in place and more the size of a cot than a real bed. The fire-retardant stuffing crinkled when his weight shifted. He planted both feet squarely on the cement floor and stared at the bars covering the tiny, grit-covered window that faced the forest beyond. Winter’s darkness crept into his chamber like a sleek panther and wrapped around him, filling every fold of his body. The darkness blanked out his vision. It was harder for him to remember things when he couldn’t see.

  He jumped from his bunk, rubbed his eyes, and stood straight. He breathed deeply a few times. He turned and brushed the wrinkles from the threadbare gray blanket that covered his bed and that had been purposefully tucked military-style when he arose that morning. Satisfied with the tautness of the spread, he went to the stainless steel desk bolted to the wall like everything else in his cell. He turned on the desk light and stared at the calendar taped above the desk. Each month displayed a location in the Upper Peninsula. November flaunted a picture of the Big Bay Point Lighthouse basking in autumn sunlight. He picked up a pencil and crossed off Thursday. He laid the pencil down next to a yellow legal-sized pad, sitting square with the desk’s edge. He raised his hand and with one finger circled Sunday. His finger crossed over to the lighthouse. He flattened his hand against the picture and held it there, lost in the visions of his future.

  Time for his daily correspondence. Chad checked the dim light shining from the ceiling fixture. Barely enough. He kicked the stainless steel stool that was secured to the floor in front of the desk. “I want flexible furniture that I can move whenever I want. And a decent light.” The words were forced through clenched teeth held so tightly together his entire head trembled. Sitting down on the stool he detested, the coolness held by the steel seeped through his pants to his legs. He placed the yellow legal pad in front of him, and began writing in pencil, the only instrument allowed.

  Dear Lovely Elaine, he began.

  Soon we will be together. How wonderful it will be to finally hold you in my arms, kiss your lips, and taste your body. I have longed for the day we will no longer be separated by a Plexiglas window and when I can feel you breathe every word deep into my soul. Only a short while longer, and we will have it all, my love.

  On a different note, but just as loving, please don’t forget to deposit the money as we discussed to make sure we have enough to get started on our new life together. Your addition to what I have already saved will ensure we are comfortable until I can get a solid footing.

  I count the seconds until I’m with you.

  All my love always,

  Chad

  He signed with an elegant scrawl, tore the sheet from the pad, and set it aside. On the fresh page he began again: Dear Lovely Nancy. Elaine, Nancy—only the names changed as Chad wrote his many female pen pals and visitors, reassuring each that he would soon be with them.

  An hour later Chad had completed ten letters and envelopes and added them to the ten he had written the day before. He placed a stamp on each envelope making sure that every one was absolutely square with the upper right corner. As he finished each one he stacked it neatly on the others, checking to be sure all the corners aligned.

  Content with his work, Chad returned to lie on his bunk. He raised his head like a howling wolf and sniffed the air. He’d never get used to the wretched stench of urine and sometimes shit, sweat more powerful than in any gym, and mold that he could lift from the cell walls with his fingernails. Soon he wouldn’t have to smell it. Would the scent embedded in his nostrils ever leave?

  “They’ll pay for what they’ve done to me. Every one of them.” His hoarse whisper cursed the fetid air in the cell block.

  Shifting his back against the cold, damp wall, he reviewed the list of women he wrote to—each deserving to be his victim—the bored housewife who got her kicks through Web sex, the wealthy teenage groupie who liked to live on the edge, the born again Christian who planned to save him, and many—too many—more. He never stopped being amazed at how needy, gullible, and just plain stupid those women were. Yet those qualities guaranteed he would get up to a thousand dollars from every one of them. Some had already deposited more than half that amount into the account he gave them to use at a bank near his mother’s house. It gave him a kind of joy that it was money they no doubt had to sacrifice a lot to save. Money he was worth and ought to have.

  Lizzie wouldn’t like that he was still having relationships with women other than her. Chad grinned in the dim light. She believed Chad had stopped all communications with them after she had threatened his visitors. How dumb could she be? Who did Lizzie think she was that she believed she could control him or anything he did? He, and only he, had power over others, not the other way around.

  Besides, Chad’s personal business would stay his secret from all of them, except his mother. He told her everything. She had always been his only true ally, though he both loved and hated her. He loved her for her constant care, and hated her because in his eyes she was a whore. The line of men coming and going from his childhood home haunted his memories. Among those men was his wealthy father, a notable figure in his community who abandoned Chad’s mother rather than having his reputation tainted by a bastard child.

  CHAD UNBUTTONED HIS KITCHEN whites and eyed the inscription across the back of the shirt: “Michigan Department of Corrections.” He wouldn’t be a part of the department’s chattels for long. He tossed the whites into a laundry bag. At least he wasn’t subjected to washing his own clothes. That nasty job was done by other inmates in the prison’s laundry. He untied his boots, crusted with droppings of food, and removed them along with his sweaty socks. He slipped his feet into flip-flops, wrapped himself in his state-issued towel, so worn that if he held it to the light he could almost see through it. The rag hardly could dry his hands let alone his entire body. He snickered, grabbed soap and shampoo, and headed to the shower. Suddenly, he needed to scour away the acrid odors from a day in the kitchen.

  As he scuffed his way to the shared shower at the end of the block, Chad’s thoughts moved on to the women he had murdered. In many ways they were like his pen pals. They all had given in to his charm and good looks. And when he was finished with them? He had no choice but to eliminate them.

  Chapter Six

  THE PACKAGE

  CELESTE WAS REACHING FOR her parka when she spotted a white panel van pull into the driveway. She squinted at the lettering on the driver’s door, but the print was too small for her to make out what it said.

  “Who is it?” Adrian came into the kitchen with a tray of coffee cups and breakfast dish
es. “I heard a car.” She placed the tray on the counter near the sink.

  “I’m not sure.” Celeste continued to watch the man at the wheel who, for the moment, hadn’t made an effort to get out. He only looked up from a piece of paper he held in his hand and studied the lighthouse. A dark knit cap hid any hair he might have had.

  Adrian peered over Celeste’s shoulder. “I don’t recognize the van. Do you?”

  “No.” Celeste stepped away from the window and faced Adrian. She felt a prickling sensation at the back of her neck. “I don’t feel right about this. He may be lost, or he could be looking for someone here.”

  Adrian cupped her hands over her eyes and leaned against the window. “I can’t get a good look at the guy.” She stepped away from the window. “Maybe it’s Joe, the regular delivery guy. Sometimes companies add trucks during the holiday season. The rush is about to begin.”

  “Joe doesn’t have a beard like that man,” Celeste said. “Unless he’s grown one in the last couple of days since he delivered the sheets I ordered.”

  Adrian looked out the window again. The man was getting out of the van. “You’re right. It’s not Joe,” she said.

  “Take the other women and children and go to my bedroom,” Celeste gently directed. “Don’t come out until I tell you it’s okay.”

  “Who do you think he is?” Adrian asked. She picked up a dish towel and carefully matched the corners as she folded it. Then she shook it out and folded it again. “Do you think one of the men found us?” Her fear of that reality nearly froze her in place.

  “I honestly don’t know.” Celeste shook her head and took the towel from Adrian. “It could be nothing. However, we should act on the side of caution. I do know one thing—I’m not taking any chances.”