7. Showing Mercy
"… and I'm telling you, you ain't got clearance to be here."
"Well, that's too bad because I'm not going anywhere."
Luschek watched in bemusement, from his vantage point leaning against the wall, as the new counsellor coolly stared down the hulking guard blocking her way. Eric Jarrett, built like a veritable buzzcut-topped brick shithouse, was also a relative newbie at Litchfield and had been sent up from Max to bolster the depleted officer ranks. While it hopefully wasn't another Piscatella situation in the making, the signs still weren't exactly promising.
Unlike their unfortunate former captain, Jarrett appeared to have no interest in setting the agenda though. But he was clearly out to make an impression right from the get-go, by playing absolutely everything by the book. Unsurprisingly, Luschek had no time for that, but he was pretty sure even the likes of Wade Donaldson – who could be another stickler for the rules – wouldn't have bothered fighting this bullshit battle of wills. What did it matter if some strung-out poochie saw a counsellor for ten minutes? For fuck's sake, it might even help.
It wasn't like Dallas was trying to bust Valduto out of prison. She just wanted to see for herself that she was okay, talk to the girl, help straighten her head out. And fuck knows, it sounded like she might need that, having apparently used said head to break the nose of another inmate.
"All inmates remain in the Secure Housing Unit until formally released back into the general population," Jarrett said flatly, and not for the first time. "No visitors are allowed in the Secure Housing Unit."
He sounded like he was literally quoting the prison handbook word for word.
"I'm not a visitor. I'm staff, for crying out loud."
Jarrett gave her a look disapproving look. "Civilian staff."
Dallas pinched the bridge of her nose wearily and Luschek frowned. She didn't need this bullshit when she was only trying to do her job.
"Come on, dude, it's hardly that big a deal …" he tried, pushing away from the wall and ambling over to stand by the counsellor's side. Not that he expected his support to hold much sway, even if he was a guard.
But, before he could get any further, she sighed and fished a pen out of her blazer pocket.
"Staff number?" she asked Jarrett, poised to write down his answer on a piece of paper from among the paperwork she was carrying.
"What?"
"Staff number?" she prompted. "You have some kind of employee number, right? I need it, please."
"For what?" he demanded, suspicion creasing his forehead.
"Just my records," Dallas said, her tone casual and her attention focused on her notes. "Makes life easier when the courts start asking for paperwork and blah blah blah. You know how it is with these things."
"Wait, courts …"
"God, yeah. Tedious, isn't it? But what ya gonna do?" she shrugged. "I'm sure it's easier under the maximum security guidelines, a bit more straight-forward, but this place is such a minefield. I mean, one minute you think you're playing by the rules and the next you're the subject of an external investigation for denying mental health support to a vulnerable prisoner who may be experiencing a crisis scenario …"
"Investigation?" Jarrett looked well and truly flustered by now. "Shit, hang on a minute!"
"And these things escalate so quickly. I mean, I suppose it's understandable," Dallas mused. "We are talking about a potential breach of the Eighth Amendment."
"T-The right to bear arms?"
"That's the Second Amendment, dumbass," Luschek supplied.
"The Eighth Amendment," the counsellor said, like it should have been obvious. "Prohibiting the federal government from imposing excessive or cruel and unusual punishment …"
"This ain't unusual," the confused guard argued. "We lock 'em all up in seg when they act up."
Dallas just raised her eyebrows at that and made a note on her pad.
"Now what are you writing? Stop that! Jesus Christ … Look, fine. Just do whatever and get the fuck outta my face," Jarrett ordered, his exasperation reaching boiling point as he shoved a set of keys in her hand. "But I'm reporting you – to the warden!"
"Be my guest," Dallas smiled sweetly, before those green eyes hardened and she leaned in to add her parting shot in a low warning voice just loud enough for Luschek to hear. "But I will fucking end you, buddy." She brightened up quickly the very next second. "Legally speaking, of course. Valduto in cell three? Thanks."
Following dumbly in the counsellor's wake, Luschek caught up with her, eyebrows raised in impressed surprise. "Okay, what the hell was that?" he finally asked, getting a sidelong little smirk in return.
"What?" Dallas said, aiming for innocent and falling just shy of the mark.
"Uh, the badass lawyer routine?" he prompted. Hot as fuck badass lawyer routine, he amended, but only in his own head. "Like, was all that shit legit?"
"Doubt it," she admitted. "Dropped out of law school. Long story."
"Just full of surprises, huh?"
"Something like that."
With Luschek waiting just outside in case of trouble, Dallas paused for a second to think about what she was doing and then stepped inside the cell. At times like this, she never failed to realise just how confined the space actually was, and how bleak, and she wondered how she would cope if she had to trade places with the raven-haired girl staring at her with hostility in her dark red-rimmed eyes. If she would cope.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Mercy Valduto. Twenty-two. Getting acquainted with Litchfield's hospitality for the second time.
Having read her file, Dallas could already sympathise a little. The girl had already spent years banged up and now she had lost her freedom just months after finally getting it back. She'd seen it happen a lot. Some people just never expected to find the real world so hard to fit back into and it knocked them sideways, putting them back on the path that had steered them wrong in the first place.
"It's Mercy, right?" she tried. "I'm Dallas Ford. I'm your new counsellor."
That drew a cynical laugh. "Fuck, like that shit ever did anyone any good. Where was that piece of shit Healy when my girl was crying out for help, huh? You tell me that!"
"Tricia …"
"Don't you say her name, bitch! What do you know about her? Jack shit, that's what. She was too good for this place. Too good for me."
"Mercy, I just want to help," Dallas said softly. "I don't want to see what happened to her happen to anyone else. I know it shouldn't have happened at all."
The brunette seemed to pause at that, or maybe she just didn't have the energy for a fight any more. It could be surprisingly draining to be shut in a concrete box with nothing to do, sapping you of your strength, of your will to keep going.
"How come you ain't in uniform, Miss Ford? It Casual Friday or some shit?" she sneered, her arms crossed over her chest, seeming determined to at least try to keep her defences up.
"It's Monday," Dallas said. "And I'm not a guard. Mercy, how long have you been in here?"
"Thought it was Friday," she shrugged. "Guess I lost track. A week?"
"Why?"
"Whadda ya mean why? 'Cause these assholes won't let me out!"
"No, I mean, what happened? Even if you feel it was unfair to put you in SHU, why did the guards think this is where you needed to be?"
"Some bitch started talking smack about Tricia, what was I supposed to do? I shut her stupid mouth."
"Look, I know that must be hard to deal with all things considered, but unless you want to end up extending your sentence, you can't go around picking fights with—"
"Bitch heard me crying," Mercy started, cutting her off. "She heard me crying and do you know what she told me to do? Throw up a rope. Throw up a rope like Trish."
Dallas let her eyes close at that, realising she should have seen it coming. No wonder the girl had lost her shit. Being back in the prison where her girlfriend had taken her own life was bound to be hard enough without anyone throwing it in her face like that.
"I'm sorry," she tried, feeling like it was a woefully inadequate thing to say.
And sure enough, it was more or less thrown back in her face by the angry young woman across the tiny cell from her.
"Sorry don't bring her back. Sorry don't get me out of this shithole," Mercy said, sinking down on the edge of her narrow bunk with her head in her hands. "So what now? You come here thinking you got all the answers, so you tell me - what now? No? Didn't think so."
"I can't make everything better, I know that," Dallas said, with a sigh. "But first things first. I'm going to do whatever I can to get you out of here. Can you at least work with me on that?"
Mercy scoffed, shaking her head. "People been promising me shit and letting me down my whole fucking life. Why the fuck should you be any different?"
"Because I'm not making you any promises," the counsellor said simply, sitting down beside the scowling inmate. "I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not asking for anything from you … Well, I need to know you can keep your shit together if you do get out of here. Because if I can somehow make this happen and you hurt another inmate, you can bet your ass I won't be able to help you a second time. But can I get you out of solitary? I'm not gonna tell you yes. I dunno. Hell, I'm not even supposed to be in here right now. But if you're prepared to let me help you, I will bust a fucking gut to try to make it happen. That's all I got to offer. So what do you say?"
Shrewd dark eyes met Dallas' clear green gaze, and it seemed as if there might be just a flicker of hope beneath of the layers of jaded scepticism. It made the girl look even younger than her years. Vulnerable, beneath that tough front.
"Maybe it just makes me dumb, but … I think I believe you," Mercy said, her voice low and on the verge of tears, making Dallas wonder how long it had been since anyone in a position of relative authority had shown any sign of being on the young woman's side. "I want to get out of here. It's making me even crazier than the dorm. And the nightmares … Sometimes I see her. Tricia. Just in the corner. Staring at me. Just h-hanging there. Please, you gotta get me outta here, Miss Ford. Please. I'll do whatever it takes."
"Okay then," Dallas said, standing up and taking a deep breath. "Me too."
"But-"
"I'm sorry, but my hands are tied on this one," Caputo said, leaning back in his desk chair, an apologetic look on his face. "I've already got a guard in my ear about allowing civilians in the solitary confinement area. I know, I know – you're staff and you were trying to do your job, but you have to see the position I'm in here. The guards have to be able to discipline the inmates as necessary, otherwise we'd have anarchy. Valduto did seriously injure another woman."
"And I understand that, but-"
"She will receive perfectly adequate care in the SHU, Dallas. I promise."
The counsellor shook her head at that. "Adequate? That's the best she can hope for? The girl clearly needs support, not to be shut away in isolation! You're only going to make the problem worse."
"Jarrett says-"
"Oh, Officer Jarrett. Yes, I'm sure he's quite the expert on the mental health of vulnerable women," Dallas bit out, pacing the office instead of taking the seat offered to her.
"Vulnerable? Valduto headbutted a chick twice her size and shattered her goddamn nose. She may have a fractured eye socket too. I'm trying to be reasonable here, but come on!"
"She's grieving and she's dealing with being incarcerated again just months after getting her freedom back."
Caputo forced what he seemed to think was a placating smile and held out his hands in a what ya gonna do gesture. "Dallas, look, you're a caring person. I can see that. And that's good. But these women, don't let them fool you into thinking they're the victims. You know what they say. If you can't do the time …"
Dallas smiled tightly at that. "If only clichés gave everyone in society an equal shot at a decent life, huh, Joe?"
He seemed to sense he had pissed her off and started to try to backtrack, but she cut him off.
"So how does this work? Do I file my complaint to the warden, or the department?"
"Whoa, wait, what? What complaint?"
"Inadequate action to prevent a serious mental health crisis. You've had one suicide here in the last six months already. I'd be failing in my duty of care if I didn't try to make sure there wasn't another one. Especially if they were found to be linked."
"Jesus Christ …" Caputo groaned. "Okay, fine. How do we keep this shit off Fig's desk?"
Knowing she had just won the battle, Dallas managed to keep any sign of it off her face as she laid out her terms. "Reinstate Valduto into gen pop and let her come to me for counselling. We can re-evaluate where she's at in a few weeks. If that shows no sign of helping and if the violence continues, then you can take whatever disciplinary action you see fit."
Caputo wiped his hands over his face as he considered. "Deal."
"Wise man," Dallas said, throwing him a little wink as she turned on her heel and headed for the door, feeling his eyes on her on the way out of his office.
It was only when she was out of sight that she allowed herself to sag and lean against the hallway wall for support. One day and she was already having to fight against the system to get anything done. It was draining just thinking about what might lie ahead and she was suddenly conscious that rocking the boat too much might shorten her chances of getting her six-week trial extended. She had a funny feeling that if she went up against Fig, she'd have a tougher challenge on her hands than Caputo.
Heading to the staff breakroom for a much-needed caffeine hit before trying to find out how long it would take to get Mercy released from the SHU, she rubbed wearily at her temples. Christ, it was only Monday too …
"Dallas, hey."
"Oh, Joel, hi," she said, managing a smile for the guard as he appeared with his own apparent top-up of coffee in the travel cup he liked to use.
"You get anywhere on the whole SHU thing?"
"Mm-hmm. Caputo caved. Valduto's getting out. Or so I'm told. I'm gonna go back down and endear myself to Jarrett some more to make sure."
"No shit? Jeez, someone round here who actually gets stuff done. That'll rattle the upper echelons. Well, listen, uh, since you got a result an' all, I was wondering … Not me specifically," Luschek added hastily. "I mean, we were wondering … A few of us were thinking of going for a few drinks after work later. You could come. With us. You could come with us. Like mark your first day, get to know everyone. Uh, if you want …"
"Oh. Um …"
Shit. All the reasons she shouldn't had flashed through her brain even as his suggestion caught her off-guard, and she could practically see his own mind working as his face fell and he back-peddled like crazy.
"Hey, it's cool if you don't want to. Like if you've got plans and shit, or you just … don't feel like it," Luschek rambled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head and doing his best to sound like it was no big deal. "Whatever. Just a thought. Probably dumb. Like, it's Monday. Mondays are shit. Another time, maybe …"
Dammit. She didn't want to look like an asshole, cutting herself off from her co-workers. She just wasn't sure letting them into her messed-up life was such a good idea right now. Any of them.
"Another time," she tried, latching onto the out Luschek had given her. "Sorry, I'd better get going. See about Valduto. Thanks though, for the invite. Really."
"No worries," he mumbled. "No worries at all."
Dallas hurried off, bypassing the breakroom and heading straight for the SHU, missing the moment Luschek simply leaned his forehead against the wall with a groan and pretended to blow his brains out.
To be continued ...