I sleep easily that night, easier than I have ever slept in the joint. I feel as though a large weight has been lifted off my chest, because I have confided my thoughts to someone else. For once, I do not think about ways to end my life, but ways to continue. I consider what Jack told me.
'I'm doing everything I can to get you out.' The sentence repeats itself in my mind. Jack is doing everything he can. That has to mean something. Jack and the President are going to get me out. I will see Michelle again. She will wait for me. We will start over. I smile. With this happy thought, I fade, fade, and finally fall deeply into sleep.
When I wake up, the Columbian is still in the bed above me. He hears me sit up, and jumps down onto the floor. I watch him, scared of what he might do, even with the guard right around the corner. To my surprise, he does not touch me. He does not even speak. Instead he throws a newspaper on my bed, beside me. I do not know how he got it, but somehow I expect he had someone – a friend, maybe- smuggle it in for him.
I instinctively open it up to the first page, still eyeing the Columbian warily. The headline hits me like a punch in the gut. My stomach drops, and I have to lean against the wall to keep from falling back onto the cot. I close my eyes, but still I see the words, outlined brightly in my head.
'Officer, 25, Gunned Down Near Prison'
The picture on the front is of a crime scene, yellow tape surrounding a white body bag on the sidewalk. It is horrific; I can see blood seeping out from under the bag. I shake my head, looking down. Beside the crime scene photo is a head shot of a man, apparently the officer. A young, black man, shaved head, dark eyes. Damian.
I continue to read, though each word is more painful than the last.
'Damian Sommers, 25, was gunned down last night in a side street near to the prison where he is employed as a guard. In an alleged drive-by shooting, motive is still unclear. "Damian is a well-liked member of the community, no-one would want to hurt him" says one shocked neighbor. Police have no comment at this time, but witnesses describe the shooter a 'young, Columbian male'. No other details have been released.'
It goes on to describe Damian, how he was the son of a Lieutenant, how he was never associated with any known gangs, making the shooting all the more bizarre. I know the motive. The Columbian saw me last night, with him. Goddamn it! I should have known! I should have known. I could have stopped it. My cellmate has gone beyond the usual physical battle with me. No, instead he has waged a psychological warfare on me. And he is winning. He has the means, he has the money, the men to do whatever he wants for him, I feel sure.
I am his target.
