The walls are so white. So white that they nearly blind me. There is a single light bulb that is starting to flicker on and off. Need to tell the warden or nurse the next time they come in. They usually enter my cell every four hours. To empty my bed pan, bring me my meals, or just to check on me.
I am lying on a small wooden bed. The mattress is so thin, I can feel the bottom of the bed. Well, that is, the top half of me can feel the bed, but not the bottom half of my body. At least they managed to take the bullet out, after a several hour long surgery. The hospital was equipped to handle this kind of situation and they had wasted no time to operate when I was transferred to this hospital prison.
Life here is dreary. I can only read. The only thing I actually look forward to, are the weekly visits I get from Joyce O'Donnell.
My, that lady had such a unique mind. It was such pleasure just to sit here and answer her questions. She told me that she was aiming to understand people like us, people that have been termed as "monsters." She wanted to know what went on in our minds. Why we kill. She had such a naive mind. All the better for me, it was a mind that I could shape and mould to my liking. A master potter with his lump of clay.
I hear the click clacking of her heels. She really is a fashionable lady, that O'Donnell. There is a slight pause of the sound as the guard opens up the door. And there she stands.
The four-inch heels add to her already lanky sixty five inches. Her auburn hair is coiffed to artistically frame her face. She stands at the entrance for a while, before walking in and sitting next to me, on the chair provided by the prison.
"Doctor Hoyt, good to see you again. I trust that you are doing well?"
I merely nod in reply. This were just mundane pleasantries performed before the start of each session. A ritual that needed to be properly acted out before we could start.
"All right, then. Let's just start. Last week, you told me about one of your murders. The Rizzolis wasn't it? Today, I would like to focus on your childhood. You know, there is a theory that says a person's upbringing greatly affects them in their later life."
I smirk. There are so many things I could tell this lady about my childhood. Should I tell her about the time I killed my dog's puppies with my bare hands, as soon as they were born? The time I held one of my neighbour's kid's under the trough just to see how long it would take for him to pass out? Or what about the time, when I was in medical school, that I got caught fondling that corpse? My, my, so many stories. Which one to pick?
"I hope you are not hurrying to go anywhere, Joyce. This would probably be a long session."
The fire from the hearth casted a warm, cosy feeling around the room. Jane was sprawled out on the floor, near the fireplace, writing something down on a piece of paper. Maura sat in the rocking chair Jane had carved for her and was now in the process of stitching up one of Jane's torn pants.
They had gotten married the day after they arrived back in town. It was just a simple ceremony - more of an exchange of views vows and a paper to show that their marriage was legal.
Of course, there was a bit of gossip going around the town. One doesn't just get married and not get any news spread about them.
So far, not a single person knew of Jane's real gender. To them she - he, was still Jedidiah.
And Jane had no problem keeping up the act as she had done for so many years.
Maura herself had already said, "I think you are actually a male, born in a female's body."
Maura's house was now quiet and peaceful. When the army had left, they had taken the soldiers that were left in Maura's house. Well, that is, except for one soldier that had to high a fever, he could hardly move.
All the volunteers and Pike had headed home too. Oh, and talking about Pike, he didn't leave too much of a mess behind, for which Maura was thankful for. And now, the two of them had the time to just simply relax.
Maura peeked over to where Jane was. She saw that the book that Jane had been carrying around with her since the day Maura met her, was opened. Jane was glancing repeatedly at it as she bit her pencil and tried to think of what to write next. "Hey, Jane. What have you been writing there? You've been silent for quite a while now."
Jane stopped biting the tip of her pencil and replied rather abashedly. "It's nothing. Just some stuff."
Maura saw the blush that Jane was trying to keep. Not wanting to pry, yet genuinely curious, Maura asked, "What stuff? I would love to see what you have been writing down. Please?"
Contemplation flitted across Jane's face before she decided to let Maura have a look. "Let me explain something, though." Jane said as she sat up and took the book up, showing it's worn-out, blank cover to Maura. "This book here, was my mother's. She didn't get to attend school, but, she worked hard and taught herself to read. When she married my Pa, she found out that his parents had a few books of poetry. She fell in love with them instantly.
"Not being one who liked to take or ask for things, she started copying down the poems that she loved the most out of the few books. She made her own book of collected poems and even tried her hand at writing a few. When I was growing up, she would read me some of it, and also taught me how to read, using this very book.
"She would let me bring it out to read, as long as I kept it in good shape, which I did. This is also the only thing that I still have from her. All because I had accidentally left this book at the Huntingworths when I was playing with Frost.
"Seeking inspiration from my mom, I am now trying to write a poem myself." And Jane handed Maura the piece of paper.
Maura looked down at the rather untidy handwriting that scrawled across the face of the paper -
You know how it feels,
When you look into her eyes.
And all the world around you,
Seems to disappear.
When you wrap your arms around her,
And all your worries cease existing.
She makes your heart melt,
And turns your insides soft as felt.
She holds your world within her palms,
She's there to be your Gilead's balm…
Jane saw the shiny film of tears that appeared in Maura's eyes. "I know, it is poorly written. I'll just tear it up and throw it into the fire." she said as she reached for the poem.
Maura hastily snatched the paper back before Jane could grab a hold of it. "No! This is so beautiful, Jane! Are you done writing it?"
"Well, uh, I don't know. I think I like it the way it is, but I might work on it more." Jane looked into Maura's eyes. "Do you truly like it?"
"Jane, this is such a pretty poem. I didn't know you could write like this. Could I, maybe, have this?"
"You really do?"
"Jane, you know I can't lie."
"Well, then I want to write you a tidier version. I'm glad you like it. I wanted to write something that expressed the joy I have when I am with you."
"Thank you, Jane. I like this poem. But, I love the one who wrote it."
AN: Hey, there! Just a little bit of fluff that I have worked on. I wanted a chapter to be about the book that Jane has been reading from, and also explains how Jane knows so many poems. I will most probably continue this – if you guys want. That's why I wrote the first half of this chapter. Let me know what you guys think.
By the way, I wrote the poem that Jane wrote. So, sorry if it sounds crude. I do write some of my own poems, but never have tried to write one especially for a character in a story.
Okay, peace out. :)
