Terry - Part 10

I awoke to the realization that it was to be our last day at the Walls-our last day in Hell. We weren't, by any means, being promoted to Heaven; at the best Connolly would be Purgatory-fraught with danger and uncertainty, but I feared the certainty of the evil which was present at the Walls more than the uncertainty of Connolly. The devil presided over us here; his name was Snyder.

Terry was awake, lying in his bed with his hands clasped behind his head, when I slid from mine onto the floor. "Our last day, Lyons," he said. "This is our last day in this hell. God, I hope Snyder doesn't come back tonight. I hope the fucker dies. He scares the shit out of me, Lyons."

After breakfast, Rogers and Crabb came to take us to recreation. Rogers was another reason I was eager to leave the Walls-was ready to face the unknown which was Connolly. After we were manacled, we were led to Harris' cell. Rogers opened the drop-down panel: Harris stuck his hands through, was handcuffed, let out of his cell, then had his leg chains put on. Glancing at me, he gave me a half smile-one which I felt portrayed more grief than joy. Since it wasn't our day for a shower, we were led to the recreation yard.

Once we were free of our restraint and the door to the yard had been locked behind us, Terry, stripping off his shirt, picked up the basketball, and said, "Come on, Lyons. Shoot some hoops with me," but Harris had sat down in the shade against the wall. There was no longer even a half smile on his face.

"You go ahead, Terry. I want to talk to Harris for a minute."

"Are you sure that's all you want to do? I saw you kiss him yesterday."

I hadn't realized that Terry had seen me kiss Harris. He had been playing basketball at the time. "I feel sorry for him. We're getting out of here-and we're the only friends he has."

"You're his friend, maybe. I hardly know him. What happened the other night, anyway-the night you two were alone in our cell?"

I felt my face burn as the blood rushed to it. "Noth-ing," I stammered. "Nothing happened. We just talked."

Looking at my face, then turning away, Terry said, "Yeah, sure," as he walked off, dribbling the basketball.

I stared at his back for a moment, wondering why I could neither tell Terry about how I felt about him-or about how I had made love to Harris; but, I guess the two were connected. I was afraid that, if I admitted either to Terry, that he would hate me, or, which was worse, despise me for being a queer.

Harris, looking up as I walked over to him, said, "Hey."

"You OK?" I asked.

"OK? Fuck, how could I be OK? After today I'm going to be alone in here again: waiting for Snyder to fuck or hurt me; waiting for my trial; waiting for Bobby Duke or some other Aryan asshole; waiting for the needle. I'll never be OK. I forgot about it all for one brief moment the other night with you, but, now, you're leaving."

Leaning over, I put my hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. "Don't fucking touch me. I don't want your pity. I wanted your love, but you love that fucking pretty boy-the one you can never have."

I didn't know how to answer. Anything I said to the contrary would have been a lie. I cared for Harris, but Terry still owned my heart. I was spared from having to respond by the sound of the recreation yard door being opened. A prisoner-still in handcuffs-entered and the door shut behind him. It was Bobby Duke!

Although the drop-down panel opened for Duke to stick his hands through to have his handcuffs removed, he never turned toward it, but headed straight for Harris and me. I don't think that he even saw me, however. I think that he saw only Harris as he ran toward him, his manacled hands outstretched, opening and closing, as if they couldn't wait to grasp his neck He screamed as he ran, a guttural, unintelligible, animalistic, sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

I froze; but, Harris, reacting quickly, having most likely learned in prison that to hesitate was to die, sprang to his feet and ran toward the far end of the yard where Terry had been playing basketball. Terry, too, had turned to look toward the door when it had been opened.

Harris ran, but there was no place to go. The yard ended a few feet on the other side of the basketball goal. Stopped by the fence he cowered in the corner.

Bobby Duke ran past me, not giving me the slightest glance-straight for Harris. I watched him run by-frozen as I had been earlier in the hall when Duke had attacked Harris. It had happened too fast for me to think-or to react. Besides, I was frightened. Until I had arrived at the Walls, I hadn't realized that such people existed. I had read about murderers-even about mass murderers and serial killers, but reading about them and meeting one-face to face-were two different propositions.

I froze-but Terry didn't. Meeting Bobby Duke head on, he tackled him. It was a superb tackle. Lowering his shoulder and head, Terry drove into Duke, catching him just below the knees. Still, Duke bowled him over; both of them crashed into the asphalt.

Manacled, Duke wasn't able to catch himself; his head crashed into the pavement, stunning him. When Terry rolled on top of him in an attempt to restrain him, I saw that Terry's back was bloody from having been scraped by the asphalt.

Duke was already beginning to stir; I still hadn't moved; Harris was cowering in the corner. "Come on, you two. Help me. I can't hold him by myself," yelled Terry.

His words freed me from my paralysis. I ran to him, then sat across Duke's legs. Harris remained in the corner-cowering. Duke was beginning to struggle. "God damn it, Harris, help us. We can't hold him by ourselves," yelled Terry.

At those words, Harris, running over to us, began kicking Duke in the head, then, bending over, grasping Duke's hair in his hands, began slamming Duke's head into the asphalt. Before long, it was covered in Duke's blood-and Duke was no longer struggling. "That's enough, you'll kill him," said Terry, but Harris continued to slam Duke's head into the pavement. Finally, grabbing Harris' wrists, Terry exclaimed, "I said, that's enough."

At that moment, from the guard's walkway above the yard, gas canisters were shot into the yard landing next to us. The door to the yard opened and a swat team-with gas masks covering their faces-rushed in. I only saw them briefly before one of them knocked me over with a blow to the head from his club. The gas, burning my eyes as well as my skin and my lungs, had blinded me.

I felt, rather than saw, myself being stripped and manacled. Once again, I was naked, stripped of the clothes I'd been so glad to have. My skin burned where ever the gas touched it, and, since I was now naked, that was everywhere, but it burned mostly my face and my genitals. I couldn't see, but I supposed that the same was happening to Terry and Harris.

They dragged us from the yard. Once in the hallway, away from the gas, from time to time, I briefly glimpsed-through my tears-Terry and Harris. They, too, were manacled and naked.

Not a word was spoken by the guards. The only sound was whimpering coming from the three of us as we suffered from the effects of the gas. Dragging us, not giving us a chance to gain our feet, they took us down an unfamiliar hallway. Stopping at a cell door, one of them opened it. "Wait," said Harris. "You're supposed to shower us first-to rinse off the gas."

As a response, one of them hit Harris with his baton, then shoved him into the cell-so hard that I saw Harris fall to the floor. Terry was shoved into the next cell; then I was thrown into the next.

I was alone for the first time. Once the door was closed the cell was totally dark, but, before the door had closed-through my tears-I had seen that there was no bed in the cell. There was nothing except for a bare concrete floor which had a hole at one end for a toilet. There was not even a sink at which I could have washed off the gas, which was still burning my, eyes, face and body.

I had fallen to the floor when they had shoved me inside, barking my knees. I was still manacled-hand and foot. Struggling to my feet, I paced the cell. It was no more than eight feet long and three feet wide. I could hear water running beneath the toilet hole. It evidently flushed away the waste. Never-the-less, the hole stank. I could imagine that it was flushing past the shit and piss from countless other such cells.

After some time had passed, the drop-down panel in the door was opened and I was handed a stale peanut butter sandwich and a cup of water. When I attempted to question the guard, he said, "Shut up. No talking, unless you want more of the gas." Having had more of the gas than I could imagine ever wanting, I shut up.

I threw the sandwich down the hole, and used the water to wash out my eyes. The skin on my face and body still burned, but, at least, I could see again.

Time lost all meaning. In the cell there was little sound-only the running water and a gentle whir of the ventilation system which pumped a pitiful amount of air into the cell. It was almost total sensory deprivation. I was left alone with my thoughts-with my fears. I had never felt so lonely. Even when I had been locked alone in a cell in Fort Worth, I had been able to see other people-guards and prisoners as they passed my cell. Here there was no one. If people were passing my cell, I was unable to hear them-and the darkness was total. Even after my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I was unable to see. The door was sealed so that no light entered.

I slept some before the panel was opened again, so I assumed that a night had passed-that the meal I was served-another peanut butter sandwich-was breakfast, but I couldn't be sure. I didn't attempt-as much as I wished-to talk to the guard. I knew what his response would be-but this was the day-if it really were the next day-that we were to go to Connolly. Were we still going, I wondered. It hadn't been our fault that Duke had been put into the recreation yard. We had only been attempting to save Harris' life-and possibly our own. Why were we being punished for that; and, how badly was Duke hurt? What if he died? Would the three of us then be tried for murder? Such thoughts raced through my mind-round and round like race cars on a circular track, until, dizzy, I had to sit on the floor.

Imagination, under such conditions I found, ran rampant. I kept imagining giant rats crawling out of the toilet hole-then swarmed over me. My hands kept going to my crotch. I swore that I could feel them crawl over my legs whenever I sat, or lay down on the floor, seeking out my genitals. For that reason, I stood for as long as I could, fearing to sit or lie on the floor.

Eventually, I became exhausted and slid to the floor. I sat, unable to move, as the rats swarmed toward me. I felt them swarm over my feet, then my legs. I felt them bite into my scrotum-into my cock; but, I was paralyzed; I could do nothing. I couldn't even raise my hand to brush them away. It was strange that I felt no pain. I had read that animals, when being attacked by a predator-when resigned to death-seemed to feel no pain. I wondered if that was the case with me-that I had resigned myself to being eaten by the rats, because eat me they were. Although I couldn't see, or really feel it, I knew that they had eaten through my scrotum and were feasting on my balls, while others were sharing my cock. I wondered, when they were through with those tidbits, would they borrow into my body, eating me from inside out.

I awoke-screaming-jumping to my feet. My hands, seeking out my crotch, found that my dick and balls were still there. It had been a nightmare-or hallucination. I was no longer able to distinguish between when I was awake and when I was asleep.

The rats kept coming. Over and over they came-scurrying back to their hole, only when the door panel was opened. I drank the water, but didn't eat, instead dropping my sandwich down into the hole-to appease the rats, so they would eat it instead of me-instead of my balls-instead of my cock; but, over and over, they devoured them, burrowing into my body afterward.

Before long I welcomed them. I wanted them to kill me-to finish the job; but they always stopped short; and, my balls and cock would mysteriously reappear-more food for the rats-a perpetual supply of food for them. I was surely in Hell. Satan, himself, couldn't have conceived a worse punishment. I was sure that I had died-that I was actually in Hell. I no longer hoped that the rats would finish the job. I knew that I was doomed to an eternity of having my balls and cock eaten-to re-growing them, then to having them eaten again. But, when I was resolved to that, they started on my eyes.

I screamed when they did-and kept screaming, screaming until I could make no more than a weak croaking sound. My eyes didn't grow back. When the panel was again opened, I heard it, but didn't see any light. I was blind.

I don't know how long I was in the cell. My only indication of the passing of time was the coming of the rats-of the re-growth of my cock and balls-and of having them eaten again, but, I awoke, strapped to a bed in the infirmary. I was groggy. There was an IV dripping fluid into a vein on my left arm. I felt drugged, but I could see; and, there were no rats. I wanted to touch my genitals-to see if they were still there, but, since my hands were strapped down, I couldn't.

A prisoner who worked in the infirmary-the same one who had assisted with our physicals-upon seeing me raise my head and look around, said, "I see you're awake. How do you feel?"

"I don't know," I croaked. I could barely talk. I wondered if I had done permanent damage to my vocal cords. "Do I still have..." I paused, not knowing how to continue. I could see. The rats hadn't eaten my eyes; maybe there had been no rats; but, they had been so real; maybe they had eaten my nuts. "Do I still have my nuts?"

He laughed. "Yes, you still have your nuts-and your cock. You kept screaming about how rats had eaten them. They haven't. Here. You want to see them?" With that, he pulled down the sheet. I was naked under it. My cock and balls were there. My cock, seeming to have shrunk-was hiding within its shroud-but it was there. My balls were still within their sack.

"And, the others?" I asked. "My friends?"

"They weren't nearly so bad off as you. They went back to their cells days ago."

"But, what about Connolly? We were supposed to go to Connolly."

"I don't know anything about that, but you guys almost killed Duke. I doubt that you're going anywhere. You may even be tried for attempted murder. You'll be here until a decision about that is made."

The next day they returned me to my cell. Terry was waiting for me.