Day 9
Wednesday, December 31
Lying here hour after hour. No more drugs, the doctor doesn't want him addicted, but it sure would've been nice if they'd kept him on whatever he was getting yesterday. Addiction be damned.
Nothing to do in this damn place except wish he were dead. Prison suicide watch - that means they watch while you commit suicide, Lennie said that once. His watch would probably like that. Except for one guard who was on shift last night, who talked to him for a while. He couldn't follow much because he was still a bit drugged, but the guy seemed nice enough. Told Rey where he'd be in case he needed anything. Said something about a shrink coming to see him the day after tomorrow. Apparently today is New Year's Eve. No regular staff until January 2.
Salar's yacking again. Somebody shut him up, please.
At least if he was dead he wouldn't feel so much pain, wouldn't have to work so hard to not think about how much he misses his wife and children. How desperately he wants all of this to end. How much he now wishes he'd cut deeper and actually meant to kill himself. He's willing to die for his family, but he's no longer willing to live for them - not here, and not like this.
Chen's being released and sent back to his block. No more yellow jello.
That Judge... she's not gonna let him out. It's just Father Morelli's word she's got to go on. She's not gonna let him out. He's here for six years at least - more, if he can't make parole. With Rico. Without Deborah and their girls.
Six years. With Rico Gonzalez.
He won't make it. He doesn't want to.
My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me, Christ said on the cross. Even Christ felt the loss of God's love, felt despair. He thought he'd felt it before too in the last few years, but never as bad as this.
He's asked for painkillers so many times. No, you don't need them, he's told.
Sleeping meds, then. Sedatives. Anything.
No, you don't need them.
Anything, anything, legal or illegal, to take him out of here. There's no point asking the staff, but the orderlies might be another story. Maybe at the next meal. There's good inmate thinking - drug it all away. He was already doing it even before he came in, but if he had the chance now he sure wouldn't stop at pot.
You used to be a cop, he had reminded Tim. Emphasis on the 'used to be', Tim had answered.
When it gets really bad, he thinks of Deborah's voice and that gets him through for a little bit. He can't do it too much though, because inevitably that turns into a hopeless aching longing to hear her voice for real, not just in his head.
An inmate is brought in sobbing hysterically - the young blond he came in with. He's been gang-raped, no surprise there. Nurses handle him impersonally, set a suicide watch for him too, and sedate him out of his agony.
"Two watches at once," the guard grumbles, "They don't pay me enough. Goddamn paperwork." He takes a seat next to Rey's bed and starts to fill in a report.
"Both pillow biters?" asks one of the guards who brought the blond in.
"Yeah, probably," answers the infirmary guard absently, writing quickly. "That one's a cutter too," he jerks his head towards Rey. Pillow biter, a prison term for rape victim. Biting down on a pillow to keep from crying out as they're brutalized.
"That's the cutter from Block H?" the other guard glances at Rey curiously. Like a museum specimen, not a human being. He's awake and no longer drugged into incomprehension, but he might as well be a piece of furniture as the guards continue to talk over him. "I heard Johnson was ripshit. He'll be filling out paperwork on that one till the cows come home. So much for his promotion," the two guards share a derisive laugh.
"Yeah, and now he's got blondie here, another Block H success story," the infirmary guard comments.
"That kid better get himself a Daddy real fast," the other guard nods towards the unconscious blond, chuckling humourlessly. "He ain't doing real good as a party favour."
"Yeah, well the other one has a Daddy," the infirmary guard says, "I heard he dissed him, and here he is. Guess he didn't like gettin' in touch with his feminine side," he chuckles, still writing. "Bet he's in for a real romantic homecoming when he goes back."
"He's Rico's boy though, huh?" The infirmary guard grunts a confirmation. "That's not a lot better'n being block-candy. Jeez, somebody oughtta do something about that sicko. Ain't this the third or fourth punk he's landed in here?"
"Sure, somebody oughtta do something. You gonna do the paperwork on it?" The other guard shrugs, conceding the point. "Besides," the infirmary guard adds, "You couldn't prove he's any worse'n anybody else. He just plays a little rough and messes with their heads is all, it's not like he's cuttin' off arms or nothin'."
God, please, if You're there at all... make this end. I've had enough.
Let me die, please, let me die.
Forgive me, forgive my selfish weakness for not wanting to stay alive for the sake of the family You entrusted me with. Forgive me. I can't. Forgive me for not being able to bear the cross You gave me. You never give us more than we can bear, if we just have enough faith. Forgive me for my lack of faith.
Forgive my sins and let me die.
Forgive my sins against my wife, my children. Forgive me for hurting them so many times, sinning against them in so many ways, being willing to hurt them again just to spare myself this.
Forgive me for causing my mother's death, for being so weak that she took her own life rather than add to my burdens.
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for all my failures.
O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who are all-good and deserving of all my love.
Forgive me for not even being able to finish the Act of Contrition because I can't firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more. Suicide is a sin that I would commit right now if only I could. I can't live like this. Forgive me, please, have mercy on me and let me die.
Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever and ever.
Deliver me from this. Have mercy on me. For once, hear my prayers. Let me die.
Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.
And let that hour come soon.
Please let me die.
===
Hours later, Jack and Lennie walk into the infirmary and despite Jack's warning, Lennie draws his breath in sharply at the sight of Rey on the bed. He looks awful, tortured, pale, unshaven, dark shadows under his closed eyes.
"Rey."
Rey opens his eyes. Lennie. Jack. What are they doing in Hell?
"The Judge made her ruling. She set aside the verdict," Jack informs him.
That doesn't make sense.
"What's that mean?"
"You're free to go," Lennie says gently.
That doesn't make sense either. "I'm free to go?" he repeats.
"Yeah," Lennie nods. Free to go. It's like they're talking a foreign language. Besides, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
"There gonna be another trial?"
"No," Jack smiles. "You've been declared not guilty. Silcox says he won't appeal."
Not guilty. Hold on. "What about Serena?"
"No charges are being laid against her. Your mother's death has been ruled a suicide."
What other catch could there be?
None.
This is... what should he feel about it? What does he feel? Numb, mostly. Like it isn't really real. He closes his eyes.
"It's over?"
"Yeah. It's over," Lennie tells him.
That means... that means he can be with his family again. With Deborah and the girls. "Where's Deborah?" he finally asks.
"She's waiting for you at home. We need to get some paperwork done here, get the infirmary to give you some prescriptions for the pain and for that forearm cut - it looks like it got a bit infected. Then they'll give you back your personal effects and release you," Jack explains.
"She gonna be there when I get home?" Not just a voice in his head, not just the memory of her that hurts as much as it heals.
"Yeah. So will your kids," Lennie adds.
"She gonna stay this time?"
There's a brief silence. "I think that's a fair bet," Jack says, his voice very low.
They're quiet for a moment, giving Rey time to process what's going on. He's emotionally numb, too exhausted and in too much physical pain to really feel much else. Finally he opens his eyes, indicating that he's with them again.
"You need to sign this," Jack shows him a piece of paper. Rey moves his right hand, forgetting it's still attached to the bedrail. Winces.
"I can't." The cuff's too short to allow enough movement to write.
"OK, I'll get somebody to unlock that," Jack hurries off.
Rey turns onto his right side, the only direction he can turn. At least he can go on his side now - he was flat on his back for the first 24 hours, an IV in his left hand, the cuff on the right. Hurt like hell when he forgot and tried to turn either way. Good thing he was so doped up he wasn't able to feel much discomfort for the first twenty hours or so.
Jack returns with a nurse, who's vehemently protesting his request.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir, not until we get a paper from the Warden saying he's no longer in custody."
"He's been declared not guilty! I have that paper right here, signed by the Judge!"
"I don't care if the paper says he's been declared to be the second coming of Christ, signed by God, he is in custody until we get a notice from the Warden. And until we do, he stays in restraints. That's policy. This is a maximum security institution," she explains that last slowly, speaking to Jack as if he were a particularly dull child.
"This is ludicrous! He has to sign these papers, and he can't if he can't even move his hand!"
"Are you seriously gonna give us red tape over this? Just gimme the key, I'll do it if you're so damn afraid of him," Lennie speaks up. He's getting pissed off too, his shock at seeing Rey so sickly turning into anger at seeing Rey still handcuffed to the bed like a common criminal. It was hard enough to take having his ex-partner treated like some lowlife perp before, when Rey was legitimately an inmate, convicted by his own words in a court of law. It's intolerable watching him be treated like a dangerous animal that needs to be tied up when he's already been cleared of the crime. Especially when he doesn't look like he can even stand up, let alone pose any kind of threat to anybody.
Rey closes his eyes, wishing everybody would just stop arguing. This is giving him a headache.
"You don't have the authority, sir-" the nurse begins.
"I'm a cop. I deal with real criminals and most of them are a little livelier than this. And I've got insurance, I'll take the risk," Lennie says sarcastically. "Gimme the damn key."
"Sir, it's not just our safety we have to be concerned about," the doctor has now joined the fray, "He's on suicide watch and he's under our care. We can't release him, we'd be liable for-"
"We're all right here!" Lennie exclaims, exasperated, "Who do you think he is, Houdini? Think he's gonna try anything with four of us standing right next to him? Would you just unlock this damn thing?"
"His guard is doing a walkabout and under no circumstances is an inmate to be unrestrained without a guard right next to him while on watch in the infirmary. The regulations are quite clear on that," the nurse stands her ground.
"So how is he supposed to sign the papers I need to take to the Warden to get him officially released?" Jack demands.
"Oh for god's sake," mutters Rey, not bothering to open his eyes, "Why don't you just cuff my left hand, release my right, let me sign the damn thing, then everybody's happy." He can't believe that in a roomful of people, he, still groggy from sedatives and blood loss, is the only one who seems capable of figuring out something so damn simple.
There's a brief silence.
"He shouldn't be restrained at all," begins Jack, and the doctor draws a breath to argue with him again.
Rey wearily interrupts before they can go at it again. "Jack, save your breath, I don't give a damn. If I have to spend a couple more hours locked to the bed, who cares. Just let me sign the damn paper."
The nurse nods reluctantly, sure that there must be something wrong with Rey's solution, and moves forward to change the cuffs. Rey signs and turns onto his left side, closing his eyes again. He's so tired, and his arms and ribs hurt so much...
Lennie hears his low gasp of pain as he rolls over, and looks at him, concerned. He settles into a chair next to the bed while Jack goes to find the Warden.
"They not giving you anything for the pain?"
"I mighta been on morphine or something yesterday, but they don't like to give too much 'cause it's addictive. They cut back as soon as they can," Rey says weakly, eyes closed.
"I think you still need whatever they were giving you," Lennie notes beads of sweat on Rey's forehead, mouth set in a grim line. He looks like he's hurting pretty badly.
"I'll live," he says, his voice toneless.
"This is one hell of a suicide watch. They leave you alone for hours on end, in pain and cuffed to the bed?"
"I'm a con, remember? Doesn't matter how I feel. They just need to keep me alive, not comfortable," he opens his eyes and notices brown something dulling the gold of his wedding ring. Dried blood. Guess they didn't clean it all off. He idly wonders how they cleaned the rest of him - as far as he can remember, he was soaked in blood from head to toe. Probably sponged him off while he was unconscious. He doesn't envy the orderly that got that job.
"Still."
"Whatever," Rey mutters, thinking it's a pretty minor thing to get upset over, considering everything else that goes on behind the barbed wire. "You expect them to hold my hand and sing me lullabies just 'cause I cut myself?" He pulls the ring off and rubs it, trying to get the blood off. Lennie suddenly realizes what he's doing and offers to help, going to wash off the ring while Rey rubs at the dried blood on his ring finger. Ugh. Must have been drenched in blood.
A while later, Jack comes back. "OK, everything's signed, we have your clothes-"
"Until he's signed the property releases, he wears State Issue," says the guard.
"That's ridiculous, he's not an inmate any more."
"Until he signs for his personal effects, he is. He has to go claim his personal items from his cell, then go to Storage, then sign for his effects, then he can change. Until he does all of that he's still an inmate."
"I don't want anything from my cell," Rey puts in weakly.
"You still have to go look. Regulations."
"That's ridiculous-" Jack begins.
"No fucking con walks around this institution in civvies," the guard says, jutting out his jaw.
Jack gathers his breath to give him a thorough tirade, but Rey interrupts him again. "Jack, give it a rest, OK? I don't care. Let's just get this over with."
"Fine," Jack concedes, realizing that what he's taking to be affronts to Rey's dignity are really not making much of an impression on Rey. Which is probably only natural. Cuffs and prison tans are pretty minor affronts to your dignity compared to repeated sexual assaults and attempted rapes in the full view and with the full approval of the other inmates and even the prison authorities who are supposed to be protecting you. He bites his tongue, determined to just get Rey out of here as quickly as possible.
The guard approaches and unlocks Rey's left hand, placing a pile of tans on the bed. Rey sits up slowly, rubbing his wrist and closing his eyes in dizziness.
"Are you OK?" Lennie asks, concerned at his pallor.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Gimme a minute."
"OK. You need help getting dressed?" Jack asks.
"No thanks... just privacy, OK?" No sense having Lennie see the bruises covering his torso. They're probably worse now, he doesn't know and doesn't care to look. Just then the doctor shows up to give him the prescriptions and do a final check-up before releasing him.
There's no curtain around the bed, so Lennie and Jack settle for just leaving the room while Rey is seen by the doctor and changes. They return about fifteen minutes later to find him lying on the bed, back in the State Issue and exhausted.
"You OK?"
"Yeah, just tired," Rey mutters, eyes closed.
"You look worn out."
"I lost a lotta blood. And I've been lying down for almost two days. And they really snowed me with sedatives," Rey swallows, feeling ill. "Plus they made me take my pills in the morning instead of at night."
"I'm surprised you're awake at all, then," Lennie remembers how Rey's medication wiped him out for days when he first started taking it, and that was when he took it at night.
"Are you going to be able to walk to your cell?" Jack asks. Rey thinks for a minute, then shakes his head in defeat.
"No. No way. It's too far."
"OK. I'll see if they have a wheelchair," Jack moves off. Lennie stays next to the bed, gazing at Rey worriedly. Rey looks like he's been to Hell and back... although Lennie's not too sure about the 'and back' part.
"What?" Rey asks, taking in his frown.
"Jack told me it was bad... he didn't say how bad. Are you gonna be OK?"
"I dunno, Lennie, I don't have a lot of experience with how long it takes to recover from slitting your wrists. That's probably a good thing, yeah?" he jokes weakly, and Lennie smiles.
Jack returns with the wheelchair and Lennie helps Rey down off the bed. As the guard locks Rey to the wheelchair, Jack opens his mouth to protest again.
"Don't even start with me, pal," the guard says irately, "Regs say any time cons are moved from one area to another with only one guard the cuffs go on. It makes my job more of a pain in the ass than it has to be, but some pencil pusher in Albany decided last year that that was the new policy in Max and so we all gotta do it. Don't blame me."
"He's just doing his job, Jack," puts in Rey wearily. "And I told you I don't care, I'm used to it."
"Yeah, listen to your friend. Besides, he's just getting a taste of his own medicine, right, Detective? He knew what he was getting into. If he didn't want this, maybe he mighta thought twice before committing a crime, doncha think?"
"He's been cleared!" Jack exclaims indignantly.
"That just means some legal eagle got him declared not guilty, which ain't the same as innocent. You know how many of these assholes get declared not guilty every week?" Rey gives Jack a warning look before he can argue and cause any more delays.
Lennie and Jack trade a glance, the same thought occurring to both of them. Rey's on record now as having been accused and convicted of murder. The guard isn't the only person who'll assume that the reversal of the verdict is just another example of the legal system failing. Not guilty isn't the same as innocent.
As they're waiting for the guard to hand in some papers and rejoin them, a young blond patient starts shrieking hoarsely and a nurse quickly approaches and sticks him with a needle. He falls back into unconsciousness almost immediately. Lennie sees Rey watching the patient with an unreadable expression on his face, then swallowing hard and crossing himself.
"You know him?"
"Not really, no," Rey says quietly, turning away. "He was on my block."
"What's he in for?" Rey shrugs.
A few minutes later, they're on their way out to Block H. Rey rests his head on his free hand, dizzy and disoriented, thinking that it's a good thing it's the middle of work-up; he wouldn't relish the thought of going back into the block in the middle of social hour. There'll probably only be a few inmates about, which is fine by him. He doesn't particularly care to have Jack and Lennie see the fine folks he's been living with for the last week; he really can't take building up any more pity points with these two. The security situation has done quite enough in that department.
As they move down a corridor, a guard escorting two inmates passes by and one of the inmates stops. "Curtis. Hey hey, you're looking a hell of a lot better," he grins widely and Lennie winces. If this is better, he'd hate to think what Rey looked like before.
"Thanks," Rey smiles up at Stephens. He didn't think he'd be able to say goodbye to him, since Stephens wasn't on shift at the infirmary today.
"I heard you're outta here."
"Yeah." It's true - prison gossip does travel faster than light.
"Congratulations. Some guys have all the luck," Stephens grimaces as soon as the words are out of his mouth and clears his throat, embarrassed. "Christ man, I'm sorry. That's a fucked up thing to say to you after the last couple days." Rey shrugs, don't worry about it. "Sorry. Anyway. Too bad we won't be on shift together any more - it was nice working with somebody who actually had a work ethic."
"Thanks. Sorry to leave you short-staffed again."
"Ah, no problem. I'm used to it. Hey, I'd shake your hand goodbye, but, uh," he shakes his cuffs and smiles ruefully. Rey chuckles and rattles his own cuff against the side of the wheelchair.
"Yeah, same here. It's the thought that counts."
"Isn't this your favourite duty, Piper?" Stephens jokes to Rey's guard. "Helping a jailbird fly the coop?"
"Nobody likes a smartass, Stephens," Piper says good-naturedly.
"Let's go, gentlemen," Stephens' guard says impatiently and Rey clears his throat.
"Stephens, uh... thanks for... thanks for everything."
"No problem," Stephens smiles warmly. "You take care of yourself."
"Yeah. You too," Rey has a thoughtful expression on his face as Stephens and the other inmate are led away.
"Who was that?" Jack asks.
"Stephens, I don't know his first name. He's an orderly. I worked with him a couple of shifts."
"You were an orderly?" asks Lennie. He realizes he hadn't really thought much about how Rey spent his days in prison, other than trying to avoid Rico Gonzalez.
"Yeah, it got me outta the cell block. I think he also took care of me for most of the time I was out of it." He seems to remember Stephens' voice through a lot of the haze of the last two days.
"Yeah, he did," Piper confirms. "He's a pretty good guy, compared to mosta you worthless humps." Jack starts to bristle and Rey makes a sound in his throat and gives Jack a look. Please don't start.
"What's he in for?" Lennie asks curiously. Piper snorts and Rey smiles slightly.
"Killing a cop."
Lennie and Jack glance at each other, eyebrows raised.
"Did he know you were-"
"Everybody knew, Lennie. It just didn't make any difference to Stephens." Funny thing, that. A cop-killer, the highest of the high in the prison hierarchy, and he'd been decent and kind to an ex-cop, pretty much the lowest of the low.
As they arrive at Block H, Jack can't suppress a low 'Oh my god!' at the amount of blood all over Rey's cell. The floor outside the cell has been mopped, but the mopping very obviously stops at the entrance to the cell. There's a large stain on the floor and spatters on the walls, bars and bunk beds. A middle-aged black man looks up in surprise from the bottom bunk as Rey is brought into the cell.
"Harris? What the hell, why didn't anybody clean this up?" Rey asks, glancing around the cell, profoundly disturbed. He remembers a lot of blood, but it's something else seeing it like this.
"It's the maid's year off. How come you're outta the infirmary? Shouldn't you be on suicide watch?"
"No, I've been released. You mean you gotta live in the cell like this?"
"I coulda cleaned it myself, but I was waiting for you to come back. I figured you made the mess, you could clean it up. And I didn't wanna catch anything."
"I don't have anything to catch. And I'm sorry, man, I'm leaving. I'm not gonna be able to clean it up."
"What, you finally going to Seg?"
"No, I'm going home."
"Just like that?"
"Yeah. My verdict was overturned."
"No shit." Harris seems only mildly surprised. "Wow. Congratulations, I guess."
"Thanks."
"Hey, uh, I'm sorry about... you know, the day that, uh... I just, I mean, I didn't have a choice, man, you know Rico-"
"Yeah, yeah, no problem," Rey interrupts him quickly, dismissing his apology, carefully keeping his eyes away from the floor near the sink, where Rico and his friends threw him down. Don't think about it, nothing happened. Couple of bruises, some buttons torn off. No big deal.
"I mean, I didn't... it wasn't personal or anything..."
"I know, I know. Don't worry about it."
"'Cause I'm out in a couple years, and, I mean, you being a cop and all..."
Rey gives a wry chuckle. "I'm just a desk cop. Or I was. I don't even know if I'll get my job back. I wouldn't hold a grudge anyway."
"OK. Thanks, man. Good luck."
"Yeah, thanks." Rey looks up at his guard. "OK? Can we go now? I really don't want anything from here."
"Toothbrush, hairbrush, pictures, letters?"
"I didn't bring any pictures. And-" he gestures at the blood-spattered sink, "I don't want that stuff."
"Fine. Let's go," says Piper, and Rey gives the cell one last look, sickened by the sheer volume of blood he must have spilled there. As much as he's used to crime scenes, this is pretty disturbing, knowing all of it is his. Even Lennie, who can stare impassively at the most gruesome things, is looking a little green. Rey supposes seeing a crime scene is different when you know the victim. Perpetrator. Whatever you call a person who slashed himself.
"What did he mean about Rico?" Jack asks.
"Nothing. Storage next?" Rey asks Piper. He nods and Rey sighs wearily. "Good. It'll be nice being back in street clothes."
"Hey, you know," Piper says helpfully, "you could use an empty conjugal visit suite and take a shower if you want, wash the blood outta your hair. You did a pretty good number on yourself," he says wryly. Rey looks back at him curiously. "I was one of the guards that took you to the infirmary. My wife's still bitching about the extra laundry you cost me."
"Sorry."
Piper shrugs. "Eh, that's why they pay me the big bucks," he says dismissively.
===
"Here we go, personal effects shipped in from Riker's for Curtis, R, #65B713, check that you've got all of it, wallet, ID, $13.23-" the clerk at Storage mechanically recites the contents of his bag of personal items, everything he had on his person nine days ago when he walked into the 27th precinct with his daughter and confessed to murder. Everything except his badge, that is. He signs for everything and it all goes back into the bag, except for his wallet, which Lennie hangs onto until he's dressed in something with pockets. Piper unlocks his cuff and it falls to the side, still attached to the wheelchair.
Rey rubs his wrist thoughtfully. Never gonna wear one of those again. Hm. That's good. He was starting to get used to them, and that bothered the hell out of him. He looks up and meets Lennie's eyes. "Look Ma, no handcuffs," he says softly, and Lennie chuckles. Rey grins briefly, then carefully stands up from the wheelchair. Whoa. Take it slowly. If this is how unsteady Deborah feels every time she stands up, he's amazed at her willpower, making herself do this every day.
===
It's nice being in a shower by himself, not having eyes crawling all over him. Not that he had to worry about the shower hawks, as they're called here - the first day he wasn't a target and the next few days he was considered off-limits because of Rico's 'protection', so as long as he went when he knew Rico wasn't on the block he was OK. But it still made his stomach churn, knowing he was being checked out.
The water comes off pink at first - the guard was right, there was still blood in his hair. It's a little awkward washing around the cuts, even though they've given him plastic wrap to go over the bandages.
He stays there for a while, leaning against the wall weakly, warm water pouring over him, mind blank. As he gets out he remembers thinking he could stay in a shower for a year and still never feel clean again. He knows all the blood and sweat and filth from the last few days are gone, but... it turns out he was right. Damn it.
Don't think about it. It's all over now, and you'll be OK once your mind gets around the fact that you're not an inmate any more. Look, no more prison tans, there's your own jeans and sweatshirt. See? All better now.
===
At last, the front gate of Sing Sing. Rey's shivering with cold as they wait for the guard to open the gate. It's early evening, but dark already and freezing outside. Then the gate's open and he's stepping through it, in his own clothes, no cuffs, no guards, just a regular civilian walking out of Sing Sing Correctional Facility like he walked in and out of so many of these places before, when he was a cop.
Well, not quite regular civilian. Ex-con. As he follows Jack and Lennie to the car he idly wonders if that's the correct term for somebody whose verdict was overturned as opposed to somebody who served his sentence. He wonders if he'll ever be a cop again or if his conviction, however fleeting, will prevent him from being reinstated. Well, if it does, maybe he can get a job as an orderly. He wonders why he can't seem to care one way or the other.
Finally, they're pulling out of the Sing Sing parking lot. Rey leans back in the back seat and asks tiredly, "Do you guys mind if I just sleep till we get to the city?"
"Sure, uh, we're gonna stop at a pharmacy in Ossining, you want us to wake you up for that?" Lennie asks.
"I'd rather just take everything when I get home," Rey yawns. Home. Sounds strange. "Oh, never mind, you'll have to wake me up."
"Why?"
"I don't have any cash to give you, I'll need to use my credit card-"
"Don't worry about it, we'll get it," Jack interrupts him. "No, it's not charity, the doctor at the infirmary said it's covered anyway. You were injured while in custody so the State of New York picks up the tab for the antibiotics and all of that." Rey nods OK. Sure. Thanks a bunch, State of New York. You gonna pick up the pieces of me too?
No, don't think like that. No pieces to pick up. You're fine.
Lennie looks in the back mirror and sees Rey watching the institution recede behind them. It must be disorienting to be coming out of a place so horrible, a place you'd resigned yourself to be in for the next six years, so quickly, he thinks. Rey's face is completely impassive though.
He can't quite figure Rey out right now. He didn't know what he expected, but the whole time they've been moving through Sing Sing today Rey's been oddly subdued, fairly unemotional, except for that one flash of a smile when Piper took off the cuffs. It's partly the blood loss and drugs, but Lennie's still uneasy. Rey's almost... almost the way he was when Lennie first came into contact with him again, when he was first called to investigate his mother's death. He seems hollow somehow.
What must it have been like for him to be in such danger that he risked his life and almost bled to death in his cell? What was it like being in Sing Sing? Lennie wonders if he'll ever know, if Rey will ever talk about it or if he'll just do his best to forget it. Wonders if he'll be able to forget it.
In the back seat, Rey watches Sing Sing disappear behind a hill. All over, he thinks. Nine days, felt like an eternity. But it's over. Bye bye, Sing Sing.
What was that old Johnny Cash song? Lennie would probably know. San Quentin. His dad used to listen to Johnny Cash. Cash had a lot of prison songs. San Quentin, you've been livin' Hell to me...
He leans his head back on the seat, closes his eyes and starts to drift off immediately. San Quentin, what good do you think you do, Do you think that I'll be different when you're through...
===
"Rey, wake up. We're here," Lennie's saying, shaking his shoulder.
Here? Where? Oh.
He gets out of the car stiffly, everything aching, and barely registers where they are before his daughters are almost knocking him over and hugging him. Serena hugging him - that hadn't happened in so long, until they were at the precinct and he was going to prison for her. Nine days ago. A lifetime ago.
God, that hurts. They're crushing his bruised ribs, brushing against the burning cuts on his arms.
His sister is wheeling Deborah over, and he approaches her chair and gives her a quick kiss and hug. It doesn't feel real. He thought he was never going to see her again, hold her again. Hold any of them again. This feels like a dream.
Lisa's holding Tania up to him, since he can't pick her up, and she squeals in delight as he gives her a kiss. He feels like a ghost among the living. They start to move inside as the crowd outside starts the countdown. New Year's Eve, soon to be New Year's Day. That feels more real than his presence here.
"What happened to your wrist, Daddy?" asks Isabel and Rey carefully keeps his face blank as he pulls his coat sleeve down and dismisses her question.
"Nothing, sweetie. I'll tell you some other day. Let's just get inside." Some other day, right. Never.
"Hey, Dad, there's firecrackers out there! Wanna see?" Serena asks.
"Not really, Serena, I'm a little tired."
"Yeah, they look kinda dinky," she says, and tells him, "We had Chinese takeout for dinner! We saved you leftovers - shrimp and noodles."
"My favourites!" he says, winking at her. They always used to say that when they got Chinese takeout, although they haven't in years. Chinese takeout is the equivalent of a splurge for his family now.
He's struck by how much colour there is out here, even at midnight. Everybody's coat is a different colour, the kids' bright red, blue, green, purple. The stairwell is a bright yellow that he's always hated, but after days of institutional green and grey walls, tan and white clothing, the riot of colours is both disorienting and comforting.
Finally. Their floor. He feels like he just climbed Mount Everest. Never thought he'd be here again. He'd said goodbye to all of this.
Back from the dead.
They enter the apartment and he takes off his coat. God, he's so exhausted...
Fuck!! Rico's grabbing him and his body is instantly in overdrive and he's gonna kill him and he whips around and throws Rico against the wall, don't TOUCH ME you sick disgusting freak -
Jack. Jack is across the room from him, winded and holding on to the wall for dear life, where Rico was just moments ago.
"Christ, Jack. I'm sorry. Shit," oh my god what did he just do - Rico was here, he was right here, he could feel Rico's breath on his neck, Relax baby, I'm gonna enjoy this - "I didn't mean to, I, I thought-" Rico was right here, in this apartment, more real than any of them. But nobody else can see him, none of them know he's here. In Rey's mind. He's trembling, covering his eyes, fighting the urge to kill or scream or cry or throw up. Rico was here.
"Rey. Sit down," he can barely hear Deborah's voice through the pounding of his heart as she pulls him down to the couch.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he hides his face in his hands. Rico's still here. You wanna put on a show? You're gonna wish you were dead before I'm done with you.
Deborah's sitting next to him, pulling on his shoulder, and he can hold her this time. He can hang on to her and try to get a grip. Fear and rage coursing through him, Rico Gonzalez you son of a bitch, how can you have left a piece of you still in my head, why am I carrying you with me, how am I ever gonna get away from you?
Deborah. Deborah's real, holding him in her arms but he doesn't feel safe even there. Even being in his own apartment, Deborah holding him, doesn't take away the terror and anger. All it does is keep him from going to the kitchen right now and getting a carving knife and slashing his wrists for real this time, bleed his life out, get away from Rico the only way he can.
He can feel his family gathering around him and he desperately tries to ground himself. Deborah's here. She's not an illusion, Rico is. Lisa's here. Olivia, Isabel, Tania, Serena. They're real. They're here. Rico isn't. Calm down. You're gonna freak them out. Calm down.
Then Serena says softly, "It's OK Daddy. It's over. You're safe now, you're home."
He's safe. He's home.
Oh God.
He's not.
Suddenly everything he's trying so hard to hold in bursts out and a sob rips from his throat and then there's nothing, nothing he can do to stop the tears. He's not safe, he's not home, he's still in Sing Sing, still in Hell. It's not over. It's not over.
His body's shaking with sobs as he holds on to Deborah, Deborah please help me, please take me out of here, but how can she? As far as she can tell, he is out. When he was in the infirmary and she talked to him - or maybe that was a dream - he felt safe. Now he's out and she's holding him, and he doesn't feel safe at all. He's not. Too much roiling through him, every emotion he's felt in the last nine days warring for supremacy, and he's crying harder than he has since he was a little kid and he's helpless to stop, tears soaking Deborah's blouse, and there's nothing he can do about it.
Rico's not here. He's not here. It's over, you're safe, you're home.
He repeats those words to himself over and over again like a mantra, trying to quell his raging emotions. You're safe. You're home. He will never touch you again. He will never, ever make you do anything again.
But he did. He did, and that's with you forever.
He's being battered by a storm of images and emotions, a hurricane sweeping over him, and he's trying to hold fast to the only solid anchor he has but he's still being swept away.
You're safe. You're home. Stop crying.
Deborah is real. Serena and Lisa and Isabel and Tania and Olivia, they're all real. Rico isn't. You're back among the living, and you're one of them now.
Deborah's stroking his back as if he was a child, talking to somebody. Her body's trembling too as she holds him tight.
"No, I'm staying with him," Serena's saying, leaning against him. "He needs us."
He needs us. His daughter's saying that. Anguished sobs are racking his whole body. He must be scaring them all to no end, it must be terrifying to little girls to see their father break down like this and he can hear Tania whimpering, but he can't pull himself together. He tries to catch his breath, tries to force himself to settle down, and can't. Can't turn the switch off, can't clamp down. He's done it too many times and he has no strength left to do it again.
"Nalo, it's OK," Lisa's saying softly, stroking his hair. "Take as long as you need. We're all right here. We're not going anywhere. Let it out."
He's just gonna have to ride this out until he's too tired to keep going. Part of him wishes his family would just leave him alone because it's agonizing to be so helpless before all of them. At the same time most of him is just grateful to them for being there, helping to ground him, making him feel their presence, reminding him that he really is home.
You're home. Your wife and sister and daughters are surrounding you. You're safe.
You weren't, though, says another voice in his mind. You weren't safe. That man scared you, used you, hurt you, and enjoyed every minute of it. Will you ever get rid of him? Will you ever feel clean again? Will you ever want to share your body with Deborah again? Will you ever get past what he did to you and accept what you were forced to do to him... and to yourself?
He drove you to almost kill yourself. You almost died, you spent the better part of today wishing you were dead, praying to God with all your heart to let you die, and that's with you forever as well.
Six days in Sing Sing. That was enough to bring down everything you worked so hard to build up.
That's how fragile you are.
But now you're home, he tries to convince himself. You'll build up again. Your family's here. You'll be strong again some day. Some day.
But will you ever trust that strength? Will you ever feel confident again, knowing how quickly everything can be swept away? How little it takes to break you down?
It doesn't matter right now. All that matters is that you're home.
You're home.
He makes himself focus on Deborah's steadying presence, her hands still rubbing his back, her dampened blouse against his cheek, her hair. Makes himself push away memories of other hands on his body, violence and violation and terror and degradation. Just think of Deborah now. Think of the girls.
The weeping is slowly dying down. He's so exhausted. It's so hard to come back.
You're safe. You're home. It's over. It's over.
It's over. Finally. He feels spent, drained, but finally calmer. He hasn't moved, face buried against Deborah's neck this whole time. She sighs, wiping her eyes. He stays where he is, still hiding his face from the rest of his family. They're here. They're all around him, keeping the demons away.
He draws in a deep, shuddering breath.
"Are you OK now, Daddy?" Olivia asks gently. He nods wordlessly. He feels completely worn out, a little bit numb. But Rico's gone - for now, at least.
"I'm s-sorry," he stammers, resting his head on Deborah's shoulder, his face no longer buried in her hair but not looking at any of them. Lisa hands him a handkerchief and he wipes his face, breath still shuddering.
"Daddy, it's all right," Isabel says softly.
"Girls, it's time for bed," Lisa says quietly, and one by one his daughters stand and leave, giving him reassuring pats and kisses as they go.
"I'm glad you're home, Daddy," Serena whispers into his ear and hugs him. Tania reaches up to touch his face, her eyes wide and curious, and he strokes her soft baby cheek, taking comfort in her innocent presence for a moment before Lisa takes her away.
Finally they're all gone and it's just him and Deborah. Jack and Lennie must have left at some point, he didn't notice. He lets go of Deborah, shakily sitting back on the couch, biting his lip and looking away from her. She touches his shoulder gently.
"Rey... are you OK?"
"Y-yeah. Yeah. I'm... I'm sorry," his voice is rough as he tries to steady his breathing. She makes a small noise in her throat and strokes his hair.
"There's nothing to be sorry about."
"I didn't - I didn't mean to..."
"It's OK." He shakes his head. It's not OK. "Rey, you're home. That's all that really matters. Anything else, we'll deal with it together." He hesitates, then nods, willing himself to believe her words. She gently touches his cheek, and he reluctantly meets her eyes. They're reddened, weary, full of love and compassion for him. There's acceptance in those eyes. They're telling him he doesn't need to feel ashamed of his lack of emotional control, doesn't need to apologize, not to her. He tries to believe that.
"Can we go to bed?" he asks, not really wanting to talk right now. She nods, and he gets her ready for bed, thanking God that he's able to do this again. He can't lift her out of her chair because of his cuts, so Lisa has to help out once she's done with Tania. As she puts Deborah to bed, Rey gets ready for bed himself, sighing as he looks at all the little bottles with his name on them. Antibiotics, anti-depressants, prescription pain meds... jeez, he's almost taking more pills than Deborah. He changes the dressing on his forearm - apparently he ripped a stitch open at some point and the wound is bleeding a bit, and it itches like hell from the infection.
It's not my name, but it's gonna stare at you for the rest of your life, snaking down, saying I claimed you. Everybody's gonna be able to see it. Your friends... your wife...
Lisa touches his shoulder as he exits the washroom, pausing him on his way into the bedroom.
"Nalo... are you all right?" He nods automatically, eyes turned away from hers. "Hermano, don't bullshit me. How are you feeling?"
He shrugs. She purses her lips, dissatisfied, and he snaps tiredly, "How do you think I feel, Lisa? I just got outta prison, OK? I feel lousy." Lisa steps closer and puts her arms around him. After a moment, he hugs her back. His big sister, always wanting to make things better for him, ever since they were kids. And so often just as powerless as he to do anything about any of the crap that's gone wrong with his life.
He gets into bed next to Deborah. He remembers that first night in Riker's, when he couldn't go to sleep because she wasn't next to him, how much he ached to hold her. The nights in Sing Sing, in the top bunk of Cell 651, in the infirmary, when he wouldn't even let himself think about her. And now she's here. And the last thing he does before he falls into a deep sleep is take her into his arms.
He's safe. He's home. It's over.
===
For Mel, Ozzy, Shawn, Walter B, Walter W, Big Poppa, Ken, Frank P, Jimmy, Dawn, Mandy, Angela, Crystal, Peter P, Peter C, Peter W, Mike, Youngblood, Glasses, Terrell, Dougal, Derek, Ng, Ed, Dead Ed, Chuck, Felipe, Stephen, Courtney, Raja, Trevor, Scott, Daryl, Ryan, Hamed, Dreads, Jose, Kia, Charley, Tranh, Steve, Sarge, Bill P, Lobo, Keith P, Keith, Wayne, Crazy Joe, Robert, Roberto, Smash, Chris, Gary, Diego, Larry, Andre, Sean B, Sean, Mohammed, Nate, Ric, Carl W, Carl, Carlos, Lenny, Tom, John C, Jason, Trevor, Scott, Yvon, Bill, Aubrey, Frank, Ruben, and all the other men I met at Bath and KP who taught me more than I really wanted to know about human depravity and suffering but also taught me a great deal about dignity and endurance.
And especially for Andy and Herbie.
