Keys in my cell door wake me, and this time there's no doubt that it's night time. I pull my makeshift curtain back and look up to see Hector in my cell.
"You have to pack out, Eric." He says quietly.
"Pack out? For what?" I ask.
I look at the doorway and see Mike standing there as well, "What's going on?" I ask again.
"We're not exactly sure, we got orders to pack you out for a transport. We're going to need all of your personal items in these envelopes and boxes, the boxes will stay here for your next of kin to pick up and the stuff that fits in an envelope will be sent wherever you're going." Mike says.
"I have visitation with my son tomorrow…"
"Eric," Hector squats down and looks at me, "You have to get up and pack. I don't know what's going on, but we have Marshal's here to escort you. I'm going to pray for you, and for whatever is going on. Mike and I put our personal contact info inside of a book that's already in your envelope. If we can help, or anything just call. We can't say a real goodbye, but please just cooperate."
I can see that both of these guys are rattled, and I need to get a move on. I stand up and get dressed, and then Mike and Hector help me to determine what to pack to take with me, wherever that is. I put most of my personal belongings in the box, because I have no fucking clue where I'm going, and I don't want to lose the sentimental things I have from Miles or Tris.
I ask them to hold those boxes for Tris, and I quietly follow them outside in the starry night to a dark vehicle that's waiting for me. This is my first time dealing with US Marshal's and to say I'm scared would be an understatement. I wait inside the vehicle, with my arms uncomfortably chained behind my back, while Mike and Hector pass my paperwork and large envelope over to the transport team.
Once the two men are back inside of the vehicle, one sits in the back with me and turns to face me, "Full name?"
"Eric James Coulter." I state.
"Inmate number?"
"543896IL5" I reply.
"Okay. We're good to go." He pats the back of the driver's seat and the other man starts the vehicle.
The Marshal next to me has a thick folder on his lap, and he moves it into a briefcase before placing it back on the floor.
"Can you tell me where I'm going?" I ask.
"El Paso." The man next to me answers without looking at me.
"Why?" I stammer.
The Marshal reads me my rights, something I could recite by memory at this point, and when he's done he glances over at me, "You have been charged in connection to the murder of Juan Torres."
"What? Who? Murder?" I stammer and the Marshal begins checking something on his phone, effectively ending our conversation.
I have no idea what this man is talking about, but all I can think about is murder.
How the fuck am I being charged with murder?
The ride to the airport is silent, as is the process for me to board the plane. We are on a commercial flight, so as always I get many looks of curiosity and disgust in my direction. Thankfully this is a red eye flight, so there aren't many other passengers.
I can't sleep on the flight, I am a nervous and fidgeting mess, and by the time we get to El Paso I am barely aware of my own surroundings. There is a transport from the prison waiting for me, and the Marshal's sign me over to the waiting guards.
I don't recognize the three men who are driving me to the El Paso prison, and I'm thankful that none of them try to make small talk with me. Once we arrive at the familiar prison, I'm processed in, given the usual welcome sack with bedding and scrubs for me to change into and then escorted to a cell.
There's no more privacy now.
Once the cell door is opened, I see a head pop up from the bottom bunk, "Oh hell no, your big ass is not sleeping on top bunk." A wiry man says as he begins unmaking the bottom bunk.
The cell door slams behind me, and the guards walk away without a word.
"Sorry you had to move." I say quietly and the man looks up at me.
"Oh shit, what up Coulter?" The man asks. In the dim light of the cell, I can't tell who this is, "It's Martinez…. Fernando…. Nando, ring a bell yet?"
"Nando, what the hell are you doing here?" I ask.
Fernando Martinez was a lab worker in Erudite, someone who walked out to live factionless once Jeanine started demanding they break the law and mass produce the mind controlling serums. He's a stand-up guy, never heard any bad stuff from him or about him, and he's someone I grew up with in Erudite. We were close friends many years ago, and I'm definitely surprised to see him here.
"Man, they got me on some bullshit. That bitch Cara Phelps ratted on me for some shit and suddenly two months ago I got feds on my ass. She testified that I was helping to develop that serum that she was working on. I mean, I did work on it before I knew what it was, but that didn't seem to matter. I got three years to serve." He explains as he makes his top bunk.
"Fuck." I shake my head.
"What the fuck are you doing here? Last I heard, you were in Chicago working on getting parole." He says.
"I was, and now here I am." I reply. I begin to make my own bed and he crawls back up to the top bunk.
"I'm gonna get more sleep, they wake us up early as hell for breakfast man." He replies.
I hear his light snores almost immediately and I lie down on my bunk and stare up at his.
Murder.
How am I getting out of this?
I don't sleep at all the rest of the night. Nando wasn't kidding, they do start making a shit ton of noise first thing in the morning, which is not something I remember from the last time I was here. I go ahead and follow him down to the cafeteria for breakfast, and I make my way through the line for a tray full of shitty food.
I had some amazing sex last night, I'm starving.
I eat, while Nando gives me the run down on how things are run now. He wasn't down here for that brawl, but he's heard all about it, and knows that the stricter rules and heavy guard presence are from that. I stab at my cold eggs, and limp bacon type substance, just grateful to have something on my stomach.
"Coulter, come with me." A guard says and I nod my head. Nando grabs the rest of the bacon from my tray before I turn it in.
I'm cuffed and chained and brought down several hallways until we reach the destination, it's where the more violent prisoners are housed, kept in a cell for twenty hours a day, minimum.
Ad-Seg.
I have a new bed pack waiting on my single cot, where I also have a sink, toilet and small desk.
"This is your new home, you shouldn't have been put in gen pop." The guard says.
"Can I call home? I was packed out of Chicago overnight, my son and girlfriend were supposed to visit me today. They have no idea where I am."
"Nope. You don't have any approved time yet, Coulter. Try back tomorrow." He says as he closes the windowless cell door.
I see my envelope under the bed pack and I open it up. Most of my sentimental gifts were packed in the box to be sent to Tris, but I kept some of Miles' drawings with me. I run a finger over the paper, and it's then that I break down in tears.
I'm stuck in the cell for hours before a lunch tray is slid in. I grab it and begin eating the plain bologna sandwich, finishing anything that appears clean and edible before I slide it back out for pickup.
Mostly, I just sit.
I think about my son, on his way or already at the prison for our visit, only to be turned away. I hope they at least tell Tris where I am. I pace, I do pushups, sit-ups, yoga, stretching, running in place, anything to work up a sweat and keep my mind off of why I'm here.
Murder.
The rest of my day is spent in the cell, and after getting a restless night of sleep I'm awoken by a breakfast tray being slid into my cell.
"Hey!" I shout, "Hey… can you hear me?"
"What do you need Coulter?" A voice growls from the other side.
"Can I call someone?"
"No. Check back tomorrow." He says and I hear the thud of boots walking away.
I learned that ad-seg only gets let out of their rooms for shower time, and for any attorney visits or personal time. We spend around twenty hours a day in our rooms. It's already starting to get to me.
The next morning, I hear someone unlocking my room door and I bounce up from my cot.
"Arms out." The guard commands, and I comply.
Once I'm chained I am led down several hallways until I reach a conference room. There's two men and a woman inside, and I'm pushed in the room and chained to the table before the guards leave the room.
"Eric, I'm James Whitby, these are my partners Aaron Cork and Tanesha Branch. We're your court appointed attorneys."
Each lawyer shakes my hand, even though it's difficult with my shackles.
"What am I being charged with?" I ask.
"Eric, there was a brawl that happened right before you were shipped back to Chicago, there was a gentleman who was seriously injured during that brawl. The gentleman, Juan Torres, recently died from his injuries. They have arrested and charged you based on the eye witness testimony, putting you at the scene."
"I protected him. I threw myself over his body and took the beating that was meant for him. I didn't hurt that man." I argue.
"We have subpoenaed the security footage from that day, can you tell me everything you remember?" Cork asks.
"Yeah. We were all in the general area, you know how gen pop is there's a common area we're allowed to be in. Usually just watching TV, shooting the shit with our neighbors, or even playing some cards. I don't know what happened, but shit hit the fan. People were fighting, and I wanted to get back to my cell so I started walking towards my hall. They put the riot gates down, and it caged all of us in that common room. I stayed to the side, until I saw them kicking the shit out of that guy. I pushed my way over to him, and they were fucking him up. I just laid over top of him, he was so small. They kept kicking me, but I just stayed there because I knew if those assholes kept up on that guy, he was dead. I didn't do anything."
After answering more questions, I feel like they actually believe me. They have plans to gather more evidence and interview other inmates who may have witnessed what really happened. We just need that video to prove my story, and the prison is stalling.
What if it never shows up?
When the guards come to pick me up from my meeting, I once again ask if I can make a call. I'm told no, but this time the guard is slightly kinder and promises to check to see if my phone list has been transferred from Chicago since it's no longer the weekend.
It's nighttime before they come back, but I'm chained and led to the phone bank.
"Fifteen minutes, and don't try to dial anyone not on your list." The guard barks.
I dial her number and wait as the recording finishes, "Tris?" I say over the loud hum of prison noises.
"I'm here, are you okay?" She asks.
"Today's the first day they've allowed me to call. They didn't even give me a chance to call you before I left Chicago. I couldn't speak to my own son. Is Miles okay?"
"He's fine, he's at home with Jo and Pedro. I told him I needed to come here to be with you..."
"You're here? In El Paso?"
"I am." She replies.
"Tris, baby, I never expected you to be here." I reply.
"I love you, I am committed to you, and I will follow you wherever I need to get you out of there." She says.
"I love you too. You have no idea what it means to me that you came here."
"I know that you didn't do what they're accusing you of." She says and I cut her off.
"I didn't do any of this shit, Tris. I have no idea what they're even trying to accuse me of here. I helped that guy. When that fight went down and I saw how he went limp, I got over to him and I fucking protected him. They know this, and yet I'm being brought here, away from my family when I was weeks away from a possible parole to be brought up on some bullshit charges. I did nothing wrong." I say angrily.
"I know baby, I know. There's already a legal team being put together, and Jack sent Silas here since he cannot participate due to conflict of interest. Silas is one of the best lawyers in his firm. I'll be there tomorrow night for visitation too. We've got you."
"I'm so sorry, you shouldn't have to deal with this shit."
"You did nothing wrong, Eric." She argues.
"I let myself get sent here. If I had of just told the fucking truth when Jack put me on trial, we could have had such a great life. But, I almost get myself killed multiple times, I deny you, I deny our son, I get into multiple fights everywhere I go…"
"Stop. Now." She commands.
"I fucked this up."
"Eighteen year old Eric made mistakes, twenty eight year old Eric is a good man who is going to continue to look forward."
"Tris, its murder. If they find a way to make this stick…"
"Eric, you did nothing wrong. There is video, so even if there are witnesses that have an issue with you and want to frame you there is video proof of your account of things."
"Okay. I'm trying to focus. I'm scared Tris." I say quietly.
"I am too baby, but we have to have faith in the system."
The phone cuts us off without warning and I hang it up angrily.
"Let's go." The guard says sternly and I stand up without protest and follow him down the hall to my room, where I'm once again deposited until god knows when.
I really fucked up this time.