Orange is the New Black: A New Life

Chapter 6

The drive, for the most part, has proven relaxing, especially after "Christmas" with the family. I left early. Mom tried to get me to stay for breakfast, but I'd had enough. I told Cal and Neri I would see them later this evening at home. It is also nice that I don't have to spend all day on a bus. This car is used. A good buy, I found it on Craigslist. It isn't big, a compact, low odometer, great gas mileage and it has a good radio with wifi so I can connect to my phone and not worry about carrying around CD's or losing stations or going into areas where the only signal comes from some minister talking about sin and the demons living among us trying to bring America to hell and damnation. The kind Pennsatucky of old would have loved. The kind who think our current president is Jesus's best friend. So I have my tunes. My phone includes the songs Alex said she would have included in a mixed tape if she could have given me a mixed tape when we were in the camp for my birthday. I have added songs that I would include if I could give her one.

Nicky called the other day. I had shared with her and Lorna my contact information when I left Litchfield. I was surprised and happy when I answered and heard the familiar, "You have an inmate calling" recording. At first, I thought it was Alex, that maybe she hadn't left yet. Calling to, I don't know what, hopefully to ask me to still be married. I was going to answer "yes, yes, yes." In fact, I did just that. "I accept. I accept," I said enthusiastically into the phone. "The answer's yes."

Nicky's unique, raspy, wonderful laugh interrupted, "So you finally going to let me take you away from all of your troubles. Give that pussy of yours a tickle."

It was not Alex. I was disappointed, but, "Nicky!" I was excited.

"Chapman! Hey, how's it going?"

"Better," I said. "And no, this pussy is reserved for only one person."

"And does that person happen to have gorgeous blue eyes framed by sexy as fuck librarian glasses and suckable, pillowy tits?"

"Oh, God, yes. You know it."

"So you still have the hots for our girl?"

"I love her, Nick. I love her more than anyone in the world."

"And even though she told me you were through, you still want to be together."

"Nicky, you married us. I take those vows seriously."

"Even though it wasn't legal and Alex cheated."

"And then I cheated, and yes. I love her."

"Typical Chapman-Vause drama."

"Nicky, I want to be with her."

"Hey, I have to go in just a minute here. I'm running the kitchen over at the new Polycon-ICE Detention Center."

"I saw the sign when I went up a few times back."

"Mendoza ran it with Red at first, but Mendoza got released."

"Good for her."

"And Red, she's not doing well."

"Oh, Nicky. What happened?"

"I don't have time now, but next Sunday, I have the morning off. I start at eleven. I hope you can come up for the first visitation. I know it's early, but …"

"Nicky, anything for you. You know that. I'll make the call and get on the schedule as soon as we're done here."

"Anything, but sex."

"Yes, I mean no. No," I chuckle. "No sex. And Alex, if she's there, she's off limits, too. Those pillowy tits are mine."

"No, she's gone. Left in the middle of the night the day after you visited."

"That was fast."

"Yep."

I need to check the Bureau of Prisons website. "So, she's probably in Cleveland already."

"Probably. Hey, I gotta go. Oh, the reason for the call. I've sent you a little gift. I don't know if it's gone out yet. You know how mail is here, but I wanted to let you know it was coming. Hopefully, by Sunday. I have a story I don't want to tell on the line."

"Understood."

"Adiós, Chapman."

I heard the click on the line telling me that Nicky had hung up.

This is why I am in my car driving along Route 14 South. I am going to Litchfield. I am happy, but I'm also nervous. I haven't been back since Alex broke up with me almost three weeks ago. Still, I am so excited to see Nichols. I've missed her sarcastic wisdom and humor. The junkie philosopher, but she's been clean since the riot. Running the kitchen. I wonder what's happened to Red. With all the drama Alex and I have dealt with, we never talked about Galina Reznikov, Red, my biggest nemesis when I first went to Litchfield. She became my best teacher, next to Alex and Nicky. If it wasn't for her, I would still have a swastika on my arm instead of a window.

I have the gift. It came in a little box, addressed to me at my brother's. When I opened it my heart sank. It was her paperclip wedding ring. Maybe, there's no hope after all. Going to Cleveland is a fool's dream. Alex doesn't want me, but surely if I'd been talking nonsense about claiming Alex for my own, Nicky would have told me in her way that that boat has sailed, or something like that. Instead she has a story to tell me. So, I am not only happy, but also nervous and it has caused a rollercoaster of angst. Hopeful one minute, fearful the next. Are my plans simply a fantasy? Like, who am I kidding? Alex told me to leave. Set me free. She said that she wanted her freedom, too.

I pull into the parking lot of the prison and cut the engine. There're so many rules that must be followed when visiting an inmate. First dress. You can't wear revealing shorts, halter tops, bathing suits, see-through garments of any type, crop tops, low-cut blouses or dresses, leotards, or spandex. Miniskirts, backless tops, hats, caps, sleeveless garments, skirts two inches or more above the knee, dresses or skirts with a high-cut split in the back, front, or side, or clothing that looks like inmate clothing. Khaki or green military-type clothing are strictly verboten. I've dressed in jeans, a blue-gray cable knit sweater with a high neckline, a black and white jacket, striped socks, and my favorite pair of shoes. I am not allowed to bring in my purse, gum, umbrella, lotion, lipstick, chapstick, newspaper, magazines, cellular phones, or packages. I am lucky I don't like tobacco or have a child requiring a stroller or infant carrier. They are not allowed either. So, I take my ID and place it in my jacket. I add my keys after I lock the door and walk to the entrance of the Visiting Room where I go through a metal detector, an electronic drug detector, and am searched by CO Copeland.

"Hey, Chapman. Can't stay away. They transferred your girl."

"Yeah."

She pats down my leg and asks me to empty my pockets. She approves my ID, keys, and Kleenex.

"I see that you're visiting Nichols. She wasn't in your block."

"No, but she was up at camp. We're friends. She married Alex and I the day I left."

"You must miss her. Vause." She stares at my hands. First my left and then she sees my right. She blinks. She looks back into my face. "Must be true love."

"It is," I say with a hint of defiance, not liking the sarcasm of her tone.

"Dixon'll show you where to sit." She waves me through.

I walk into the Visiting Room. Unlike Camp, which had tables with chairs for inmates to meet with loved ones and guests, MAX has a long table divided into partitioned cubicles. Inmates and guests are kept from any touching by a thick clear plastic barrier.

"Chapman." Dixon is standing at the door.

Dixon is a large man, pale with a reddish hue. He has a soft cuddly demeanor, but he's not always friendly. Like most of the guards, he only sees us as criminals. Today, he is firm, but quiet. He looks a little sad.

"You can sit right there," he points to the farthest partitioned area on the right.

"Thanks." I go and take a seat.

By law all inmates can have at least four hours of visiting time a month. With Alex, I always seemed to run late, due to the buses. Not only did they tend to run late, but a couple of times they never showed up for the pick-up. It was a battle. I hated being late for Alex. I hated not being able to hug or kiss her the way I would if she were at camp. I hated not being able to touch her, to reassure her. If I could have touched her, I could have reassured her of my love, and maybe she wouldn't have given into temptation.

Nicky strides into view wearing her smart-alecky shit-faced grin. Her normally ginger Raggedy Ann mop has gone platinum and cat-eyed eyeliner She picks up the black receiver on her side. Red nail polish and lips? "Hey, why the face? Your day has been made. I am here and you get to talk to me."

"You?" I gesture with my hands. "Your hair. It's so-so … ? And your lips?"

"Yeah, my new look. Makes me look fierce. Hair and lipstick."

"It's certainly red."

"Thought, I'd change it up."

"It's you. It really is." I nod and laugh again. "So how's it going?"

"Not too bad. Being a 'mom,'' she adds air quotation marks, "is a bit getting used to, but then so is being a daughter to an infirmed 'parent'." Again air quotes.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah," her eyes glisten for a moment as she chokes back her emotions, "but what are you going to do? This place. It beat her. They had her in the SHU for almost a month."

"No!," I gasp. "Why?"

"Before you left, she went after Frieda when they brought Frieda back from Albany, after the trial."

"What trial?"

"Taystee's. She testified that Taystee killed Piscatella.

"That's bullshit! Frieda had the gun!" It takes everything within me to keep my voice low. "Cindy gave it to her after she took it from Taystee. Bullshit. Bullshit!"

"Piper, it was chaos. You know that. You lost track of Vause and you had been holding her hand. You don't know what happened."

"I do. No way! Taystee had the gun at Piscatella's head, but when she collapsed to the floor, Cindy took the gun and gave it to Frieda. Frieda had the gun. More importantly, we, Red, let him go. You were there. You saw that. Why didn't they question you or me? We could have testified to that. Piscatella was alive. He left. None of us killed him. I need to talk to someone. Why weren't we asked about this?"

"Calm down, Chapman. Calm the fuck down!"

"But Red?" I choke back the tears.

"I don't know. The systems fucked. You know that. No one cares about the truth."

"Fuck!"

"Yeah, fuck. All anyone wanted after the riot was to paste blame. They were going to charge me with 70 years of drug charges."

"Bull shit! Why?"

"Because Lorna and I hid in the pharmacy. We gave out a few pills."

"Oh, Nicky!"

"We didn't give any to addicts. We had the prescription list and it worked until Lorna decided that some didn't need their psyche meds, like Suzanne. Anyway, it was all bogus. They only wanted leverage so they could blame Red for the riot. That's all they wanted for me to say. 'Red was responsible for the riot,'" Nicky makes quotation marks with her fingers. "Them and my fucking father and my fucking lawyer, who he is fucking and having more little Nichols bastards with." Nicky wipes away a tear.

"And I didn't help. I thought the SWAT team, or whoever, had killed Alex. I couldn't find her. When they asked about Red…I'd said she'd lured Piscatela in, but I didn't know he had been murdered until later, not until after Alex finally showed up. They'd taken her to a hospital for a concussion and surgery on her arm. Two surgeries. They botched the first."

"Fuck it, Chapman. They were playing us. That's all."

"And then Red disowned us, Alex, me, Flores. I tried to apologize, explain."

"She almost did the same to me. She was angry, but mostly at Frieda. Frieda was the one who nailed her coffin. They gave Red ten extra years. Me, too."

"Fuck!" I hadn't realized. I never knew. "No wonder she was so angry and felt so betrayed. If I could go back. If–"

"Ifs are only wishes that can never happen. Chapman, let it go."

I nod. "So Red attacked Berlin."

"And they threw her into the SHU. When Fig went over to the ICE camp, Ward was made warden and she abolished SHU and Red was finally let out. Unfortunately, that stay triggered early onset dementia, Alzheimer's was the doctor's diagnosis. She's in the B-block now."

"That's where they put Frieda to keep her away from the Dennings. That's fucked. How's Red doing?"

"Well, on her good days, when she doesn't remember well, she and Frieda play cards and are thick as thieves. On good days when she remembers, Frieda locks herself in her cell, while Red pounds on it. Thankfully though, I'm glad she's there, because Lorna's in B-block too."

"Why?"

"The day you left, the day of the kickball game, she went into labor. The baby, a boy, was premature and caught pneumonia."

"No."

"He died and Lorna snapped. She's lost all sense of reality. Sometimes, she's nearly catatonic." Nicky is crying. "Shani was deported."

"Who was Shani?" I ask as tenderly as I can.

"She was at ICE, the detention center. She helped in the kitchen."

"I can see you cared for her. Did you?" I whisper.

"We tried. She was from Egypt." Nicky's eyes flare with anger. "When she was twelve her parents cut off her clit."

"Fuck!" I turn around gauging how many eyes were focused on us. Yep. I had attracted everyone's attention. I lower my voice. "Gosh, I've read about that."

"Plus, she was seen kissing a woman at a hotel, which is why she ran away and came here. Now, when she gets back to Egypt there is nothing to stop a relative from killing her."

"Nicky, I'm so sorry.

She continues talking over me. "Then Alex left. And I am in charge of the kitchen. And Flaca and I …and the kids coming in to work. Some are going through withdrawals and I'm hitting my head, because drugs are still coming in."

I want to hug her as she's crying. Fuck, this glass. I place my hand on the glass, fingers splayed. Nicky covers mine with hers. "Nicky, I wish I could help. So much."

"I try to see Red and Lorna when I can. I'll stand in the doorway and watch for a minute when I head to the van pick up for ICE. On Sundays, or if I'm not too tired from working all day in the kitchen, I visit, sit with them. We can do that now that the Dennings are dead and Badison's gone. Lorna likes to color. Red, we play cards, sometimes with Frieda."

"Nicky, I know I can't do much, but what can I do? What can I do to help?"

"Nothing."

"Look," I whisper. "I've been accepted to a law school in Cleveland."

"So you're going to be a shyster like my bastard dad. Fuck it. Chapman."

"No! It's not like that. I've been reading the law, laws that govern federal prisons and now listening to you, I know I'm on the right track. I'm going to take these motherfuckers down," I whisper. "Did you know Hellman shoved a balloon full of drugs down Alex's throat and then McCullough made her sell smuggled chargers."

"He's the warden now."

"Who? No," I gasp, "Fuck!" This time I keep my voice down.

"And I guess it was McCullough Alex did the dirty with."

"That woman played her. Inmates can't consent to sex. It's rape. "

Nicky's brown eyes darken. "Then she beat her."

"Beat her? McCullough? Beat?"

"Hey," Nicky points at my right hand. You got it."

"Came Friday," I twist the large paperclip on my right hand.

"Alex didn't want it?" I brace myself for the bad news.

"No, no, no no," Nicky assures quickly.

"I've debated about telling you what I learned, but I know you. You'd want to know."

"Know what?"

"McCullough."

"You said she beat Alex. What did McCullough do?" My voice rises.

"Stay calm, Chapman. None of the COs there that night did anything to stop it. Not even the one who retrieved the ring from the trash can McCullough threw it in."

"McCullough took the ring?"

"By force. She probably broke Vause's hand in the process."

"What?"

"And she stole some envelope with little slips of paper you had written on."

"The reasons I love her. I wrote one for each week she had left in her sentence."

"How many were sexual?"

"Innuendos Alex would understand so they would get past the censors."

"That's so you, Piper." Nicky wipes her eyes and chuckles.

"Yeah, but what happened? Alex? Is she alright?"

"I'm not really sure. From what I was told, McCullough beat her pretty good when she took the envelope with the slips and flushed them in the toilet in the holding cell. The CO who witnessed everything said she peed all over herself. Piper, I know that look. Calm down."

"Who's the CO? Why didn't the other CO stop it?"

"You know how they are. Have each other's backs, especially in front of us. Remember when they took down Poussey. Few guts. After all, they're COs making little more than minimum wage. Don't get many bright ones."

I take Alex's ring off and study it.

"You said McCullough broke her hand to steal this?"

"Possibly, and some other injuries, definitely bruises on her torso and legs as well."

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I look away and around the visitation room. I see several of the COs. Most look bored. The instant I see Dixon by the main entrance, I notice that he is looking at me and Nicky. He is curious, yet anxious. I hold up the ring and he turns away with embarrassment coloring his face.

"So Cleveland," Nicky's voice reigns me back.

I want to talk to Dixon. I'll wait. "Yeah," I turn back.

"Don't go crazy, Chapman. Don't go all psycho and Pennsatucky."

"No." I place the ring back on my finger. "No. Probably not Dixon."

"Or McCullough, Piper. Alex needs you. Being sent to the slammer isn't going to do either of you any good, although if you end up back here I'll see you get in the kitchen with me. At least then we'll be together. Don't worry. Not as fuck buddies, though that would be fun though your tits–."

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Nicky," I interrupt. "I don't know."

"Going to Cleveland."

"Yeah."

"Tell me about your plans. Tell me about Cleveland, Chapman."

I stare at the ring. Alex hurt. Her hand. Her beautiful, talented–beautiful hand. I want to see her so badly. I look back at Dixon who is standing in the entrance to the Visiting Room.

"Chapman! Cleveland. Law School. Do you have a place to live? Tell me . "

I look back and see Nicky's broad expressive face. "Yeah. I found an apartment online, close to school, my job…. The prison campus isn't too far away. I don't know what traffic will be like," I say, my voice choked. "Yeah."

"A job already?"

With massive effort, I put my attention on Nicky. I am here to visit her, to be her friend. I am her friend. She's mine. She's Alex's. I need to make sure that Nicky's going to be okay. We have time and no one seems to be waiting for us to move on. Nicky has a right to four hours a month for visitations. No one else comes to see her. She is not close to her parents.

"Starbucks close to campus. I did a phone interview," I tell her.

Today, I want her to know how special I think she is so I tell her of my plans and get her talking about herself and her life. I promise in my heart to make sure she gets mail, a card for her birthday, November 7, she's thirty-two. I know Lorna's, March second, and Red's. Nicky tells me, April twenty-ninth. I will add that to my phone when I get back to my car. Yes, I am going to make sure that I stay in touch with my friends, our friends. They're Alex's friends, too. She'd want that. I want that. I need to find a way to stay in touch with Suzanne and Taystee, too. They're also my friends, and maybe Lolly, she saved Alex. I owe her. I owe all of them. I want to help them.

I have a long lunch and read the cheap mystery book I took from Neri's bookshelf. To keep the waitress happy, I order pie and drink too many cups of bland coffee. I use the restroom a couple of times. I do not know how much more time I will have to wait, but I know the waitress is more than annoyed with me. I'm about three-fourths into the book and I think I know who the serial killer is. I leave a ten dollar tip, that's more than fifty percent. That should make her happy. I go to the register and pay my bill. Though I know the day shift shouldn't be over, I hurry back to MAX and park. I settle in and continue to read. Luckily the mystery is pretty good. Alex would want Rourke to be a woman, not some guy. I just imagine Alex is Roark. They have the same height and hair coloring. I, of course, am the detective. I only have a chapter left when I see a group of guards emerge from Litchfield and head towards the staff parking area. McCullough comes out with Garza, Blake, Copeland, and Dennis. I mark my place and set the book on the passenger seat as I watch them. They're chatting amiable and waving good-bye. McCullough gets into her car and I wait until she pulls out. Blake, Copeland, Garza, and Dennis turn right with her. I wait and follow. They are heading back towards town.

Blake and Copeland get on the highway and go north; Dennis goes south. Garza and McCullough go straight, McCullough leads. I follow at a distance behind Garza. McCullough eventually turns left. I follow after Garza passes the street. McCullough goes a couple of blocks and turns right, another block then left and into a driveway on the right. I follow slowly and park in front of the complex short of the drive. I have my knit cap and my winter jacket. I quickly exit my car. I pull the cap down farther over my ears and run to the black asphalt drive. I see that McCullough has parked in front of the doorway of a narrow red brick and creamy white clapboard two-story apartment, which is attached to a long row of thin two-story apartments. She is on the stoop putting her key into the lock. After a brief struggle, the door opens and she goes in. An interior light goes in.

Slowly, I walk onto the grounds of the complex. I can feel my heart and its ratta-tat-tat cadence accompanying the jitters that make me think that perhaps my current plan is ill-advised. I push that thought away. All I can see is red and Alex. Red colors everything and I will not let that shit assed guard get away with what she has done to us, to Alex. Alex. This is for Alex. It's all for Alex.

Slowly, I step up on the stoop. I let my breath out. Tremulously, I reach for the knob and give it a gentle twist. She has left the door unlocked. Stupid! She's a corrections officer. She should know better. I quietly open the door and slide in.

The door opens to a small entry. Straight ahead a stairway goes to the second floor. To the left is a living room. I hear movement overhead. A flush and the sink is running. Reason the door was left unlocked. She'd raced upstairs to use the bathroom. She didn't go before leaving work.

I think for a moment and decide against going up. I go into the living room. It is a small square. I see a beige couch, used, probably picked up from a yard sale or perhaps given to her from her parents or some other relative. A rainbow knitted blanket hangs over an arm. On the right there is a table with a cream-shaded lamp sitting on it. An old laminated coffee table stands in front. A used mug surrounded by coffee stains and two remotes provide a lived in look. A new large flatscreen television adorns the wall. I wonder if it was paid with the proceeds of her smuggling scheme, the scheme she'd forced Alex to take part in. To the right is a small card table, two folding chairs, and the entrance to a small kitchen, which has upper and lower cupboards, a sink and drainboard with a coffee pot, microwave, and drying rack. A stove sits on the right wall, nestled in the space under the stairs. The entire apartment is painted off-white.

I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. They pause at the door. The deadbolt clicks. McCullough comes into the living room. I flatten myself against the kitchen's inner wall so she doesn't see me and comes all the way into the space. I swear my heart is about the claw its way out of my chest. I fucking should not be here. She enters the kitchen and in that instance I grab her arm, whirl her around and slam her into the wall where I had been waiting. I press my arm into her throat.

"Chapman!" she barks.

"I should kill you!" I snarl. "I should fucking kill you." I hardly see her. Red colors my view. McCullough's knee comes up, but she misses and she can't get leverage to kick my shins or smash my foot with her own.

"You beat her!" I accuse. "You had her transferred and you beat her! Damn you!" I scream at her. "God damn you, you motherfucker! You need to pay for what you've done!" I take her arms and slam her against her stove. "You motherfucker!"

Fear looks back at me. She thinks I am actually going to kill her. I might. "You're hurting me," she whines.

I can see the indentations my grip is leaving on her arms. I can't believe I'm doing this. Tears are running down my face. What else can I do to her that won't put me back in lock up? I think I've probably already done enough. Nicky warned me to keep calm. What would Alex say?

I give McCullough another shove, this time with less force. I let go and leave the kitchen. She follows, but at a distance.

"She loved me," McCullough says.

I turn back to her. Her eyes go wide. "No, she didn't and you know it."

"I love her. More than you."

"You forced her to sell your smuggled chargers. You raped her and when she told you no more, you had her transferred and beat her. That is not love." I pull Alex's wedding ring from my pocket and show it to her.

It startles her. "Who gave that to you?"

"Everything in me wants to kill you for hurting her, but instead, I am not going to be the criminal" I reply.

"You entered my home and assaulted me."

"You raped and battered my defenseless wife!"

"Alex is not–"

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up! I'm going to have you arrested for rape, just like Pornstache–"

"Who?" She doesn't know the name or story that started Dayanara's descent.

I add, "... and battery. No one hurts my wife and gets away with it. You understand? I am going to make you pay!" I leave, stopping only to unlock the deadbolt. Outside, after only a couple of steps, I let loose a primal scream.

(This is a work of fanfiction based on the Netflix series Orange is the New Black. The story begins at the point the series ended. I do not intend to make any money from this endeavor. If you make any comments, please do so. I enjoy relevant feedback and critiques. I apologize for any mistakes in any foreign language, especially my Spanish. Please let me know of the proper usage. I hope you enjoy the story. I plan to upload updates at least every week.