Thunder, lightning, a tsunami crashing: some sort of tempest had definitely made the space between her temples home. A squirming reptile swam and coiled within her guts, cramping and swirling. Casey had returned to a quiet trailer sometime after driving and losing herself along the country back roads. With only the light of a half moon and the focused beams of the Beetle’s headlights touching and outlining the tops of silhouetted tree lines, she allowed the darkness of the mountainous night to engulf her. Over and over she replayed the scene of Magali holding a gun to her brother’s head, heard the words she had spat out in maternal anger and instinctual protectiveness ring through her mind. She rambled to herself, trying to assemble her thoughts into some coherent order.

Dear God, how do I explain to her how much these kids mean to me? Everything I accepted and submitted to for years, for their sake, until they were my only reason for breathing. And now, even though I’m finally free, I still can’t stop myself from acting on their behalf, regardless of any consequences I might have to pay…or how much of an asshole my brother is. I hurt her, and that’s exactly what she was waiting for, wasn’t it? It’s not enough that she tells herself how much of a lowlife she is, or that the rest of the world shows her nothing but contempt, she had to hear it from me! Damn it, just when I thought I could coax her out…make her a place where she’s safe, where she doesn’t have to be the cold monster everyone wants and believes her to be…I wedge her into the definition of her own devising. I’m no better than anyone else.

Unanswered questions, self-torment and thoughts of Magali’s world had followed her from the car into the trailer’s living room. Mercifully, her mother had failed to drain the complete bottle of gin, and it offered her unconditional succor. She had welcomed it at the time, but now it was the source of her discomfort, along with the incessant beeping of her sister’s alarm clock. She turned her wrist in, squinting at the tiny digital numbers on the face of her watch. A number changed as she watched, making the official hour 9:30am, and forced her gut to quiet in a moment of panic. Shit, shit, she goes to court today…court! Fuck, she’s getting locked up…and I’m not there.

Pulling away from the lumpy cushions of the sofa, Casey swung her legs over the side. The afghan covering her fell to the floor and tangled itself around her feet. Hastily she tugged it away and flung it behind her. Bile in her throat crept slowly upwards, as she stumbled towards the bathroom.

The door was locked and she banged on the hollow wood, getting a sleepy, grumpy, Becky-response back from its confines. With her shoulder leaning against the wall, she made her way to the kitchen and opened the cold water faucet up to full force. She dunked her face into the chilly stream. God damn it, she’s going to think I‘ve abandoned her, fuck, fuck…I just needed to get my thoughts straight… figure out how to tell her…about Julia. The water pooled in her hands and dripped down her neck, making a wet path down to the cleavage of her breasts. She ignored it, her heartbeat increasing with every passing second.

She has no secrets, what she is, what she does, what she’s been through…I know it all. She knows precious little about me. A half-empty bottle of aspirin, strategically placed next to the supply of liquor bottles in the cabinet, offered a potential solution to her hangover. She swallowed down three with a handful of water, and shut the stream off, running wet fingers through her hair. She found her jacket slung over the arm of a chair, and squeezed herself into it, wincing at the ache invading her body.

Outside, the icy air filled her lungs and renewed her somewhat. Under her feet, the gravel of the driveway crunched, and she dropped herself into the driver’s seat of her yellow chariot, cursing under her breath. Gali would never pry; she’d wait for me to tell her. Why can’t she just discuss things like a normal person? The engine hummed to life and, without waiting for it to warm up, she pushed it into reverse and hooked out of her parking spot. The road leading out of the trailer park was bumpy and potted, occasional speed bumps slowing her progress. It was frustrating.

Oh crap, she won’t have any way of figuring out why I snapped like that. Casey sped down the empty New York Thruway, her eyes searching for a trooper around each bend. The action brought the thought of Magali alone and surrounded by uniforms into visual clarity. A suspected cop-killer, although she had been acquitted of it; the boys in blue would not believe it had been one of their own and would treat her accordingly. This much Casey had learned. "No rest for the wicked," Magali would say. "Eventually you pay for shit you do and shit you don’t, just because of who you are, understand?" It was one of the many lessons she drilled into those that dared follow her, not as a threat, but as a simple fact.

The George Washington Bridge loomed in the distance, and Casey turned to head down to the Lincoln Tunnel; it would place her closer to downtown Manhattan, and she could avoid the craziness of the West-Side highway. All she knows is how I helped raise my brothers and sister; not what I had to do to keep them and myself going. Not about Julia…I have to get to her. Driving through the tunnel was enough to make anyone’s nerves stand on edge. Its multicolored tiles changed in hue under the cast of orange light, and the floor always seemed to be wet. Although it was a masterpiece of engineering, crossing under the murky waters of the Hudson River with four lanes across, every driver scanned its walls for a leak. On the other side, the streets were busy, as always, but the early traffic was tolerable. It would get worse the closer she got to City Hall, but she could dream that it would not be chaotic and she would find a parking spot and get to Magali before she was led away.

"This is fucking impossible! Who designed the parking down here!" Casey yelled as she lost yet another spot to an ever eager New York driver. For an hour she had been circling the area, hoping against hope that there would be a parking spot. Every now and then she considered just leaving the Beetle to be towed away, and running into the overwhelming building that was the criminal court of Manhattan, confusingly named the Supreme Court of the City of New York. The traffic had grown denser, allowing movement of only a few feet at a time, as she passed the court building yet again. A boxy, blue and white bus, its windows grated and the blazing, bright orange words "Department of Corrections" on its side, halted the line of cars as it pulled out of a gate-guarded driveway. Casey could barely glimpse the human forms inside, but she cringed at the idea that one of them was her lover. An unbidden tear formed at the corner of her eye. Gali.

It was just after twelve when she spotted the familiar form of Daly leaving the court building, his feet heavy on the steps, the New York look of ignoring the world on his face. He wore a long black trench coat, and the sight of him told her she was too late. A guilt-laden sigh of surrender escaped her lips, and she rolled down the window yelling his name.

"Daly! Daly! Over here!"

Miraculously he heard her tiny voice over the din, and quickened his step, dodging cars to get to her. She opened the passenger door and he slid in, his face hard and without emotion.

"She was looking for you," he stated flatly, closing the door.

Casey let her gaze fall, eased her foot off the brake to glide ahead into the small space offered her by the car in front. "She told you that?"

"No, I watched her go from a window. I saw her eyes…and now that you’re here, I know what she was searching for." He produced a toothpick from his coat pocket and bit on it, leaving it hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"She’s gone?" Her voice cracked, and Daly nodded wordlessly, not looking at her. "Where’d they take her?"

He shrugged, "Won’t know ‘til she calls me; she won’t know ‘til she gets there."

"Daly, I have to know where she is…please, I can’t let her…I won’t see her for two months, if I don’t know whe-…"

"Two months? Sorry, kid, but she got six, and we were lucky it stopped there." He chewed on the toothpick, spitting out a small splinter.

"Six months!" An eternity. "Why? I thought…"

"That’s just what it is, kid," he replied, cutting her off with a raised hand. "I have to go…her ‘friends’ will know where she is in a few days…ask them." With the words falling from his mouth, he exited the car, walking away without so much as a look behind him. Casey sank into her seat. It’s over. Traffic moved, but she didn’t, eliciting the angry honks of cars waiting behind her. She didn’t hear them, too busy listening to the sound of her soul being torn asunder and flung away into the void left by Magali’s absence. Pushing her back violently into her seat, Casey banged her palms against the steering wheel.

****************************************************

The abrupt stop jerked her awake, and the clinking sound of the chain around her waist reminded her where she was before she opened her eyes. A narrow, square booth stood off to the side of a gate topped with barbed wire, and a large white sign reading "Caution, electrified fence" was plastered in the center of the crisscrossed metal. After a few words from the driver, the bus moved ahead, through the square opening of the fence and down a narrow path that opened into a large courtyard. A block of white, straight-line architecture, with a break here and there for office windows near the top, squatted in the middle of a field of green. It was a collection of boxes stacked on top and to the side of each other, like a discarded load of cargo on a pier, rather than a building. Double fences, with coils of barbed wire threaded through the top and in-between, surrounded the expanse of green. The dead green of grasses struggling to survive through a hard winter. High, white towers their octagonal roofs dotted the fences at intervals, the dark protrusions of large light lenses and high-powered rifles marking them for what they were. Guards waited outside in dark jackets marked with stripes and emblems, the white collars of their shirts stark against their necks, rifles in hand.

Magali squinted at the dim light coming in through the windows, and kept her wince from becoming visible as a guard slammed open the door to the holding area. "Up and out, ladies!" he barked, clutching the clipboard hard and banging it against the gate. She felt the pull of the long chain shortening as they were led out into the icy air, past the guards and into a long corridor ending in a large square room. There, three female guards and a nurse waited; two held rifles across their chests, their fingers light on the triggers. The metal door clanked shut behind them; the woman to Magali’s left began to whimper anew. The leading chain fell loose, clanking to the floor as each of the women was freed from their joint bond. One by one the restraints were undone, collected, and placed in a plastic basket for holding. The women rubbed their wrists, all except Magali, who held on to the dull pain as a reminder of the outside.

"Everything off. Place your clothes in the baskets behind you, jewelry in the manila envelope. Down to skin, ladies." Bored, the guard issued the orders she gave every day as if she were reading a script. She watched carefully as the women disrobed. The crying prisoner hesitated, and she gave her a hard shove; newcomers were the most trouble. When they were all naked, she pointed to the white stripe on the concrete floor and commanded, "Toes on the white line." She made a mental note of the tall inmate who accepted her demands as if she had borne them before. "Hands out."

Magali looked down to the floor, made sure her bare feet touched but did not pass the line, and raised her chin, her eyes set above the guards she dwarfed. Lock down, Zero, put everything away, here you’re less than human. She set her jaw, knowing what would come next. The hematite beads heated against her skin, the heavy crucifix swung between her breasts, thumping softly against her chest, as she held her hands out in front of her.

"What’s this?" the imperious guard inquired.

A steady hand reached for the necklace, when she knew the cuffs should have been circling her wrists instead, and before she could think, her hand had grasped the wrist of the guard with painful pressure. The crack of pumped rifles resounded, and she saw the guards twitch nervously as they held the rifles to their shoulders, aiming them at her.

"It’s religious," she hissed through her clenched teeth, let her eyes bore into the guard and flung the hand away, resuming her former stance. The metal of the cuffs crushed the tender sides of her wrists as the guard, angry with herself and determined to re-establish authority, restrained her hands.

"Hands behind your heads, feet shoulder width apart…squat and cough."

Magali did as she was told, and braced her hands to the back of her neck, spread her legs and crouched down into a squat. The position forced her back to straighten, chest lifted upward. The Saint etched on her back moved as her muscles strained to keep her balanced. The nurse approached, eyeing the neatly sewn gash on Magali’s shoulder. It’s going to be a long examination. The woman next to her began crying, twisting Magali’s gut with the frustration of having to restrain her desire to smack her. Mother of God, when the hell is she going to stop that shit?

Thoroughly searched, probed, prodded and inspected, Magali stood on line, naked and chained. Freed and restrained numerous times, the aching in her hands increased while thin blue lines began to form under the metal trapping her wrists; she was filed into a shower. A hose doused her with barely lukewarm water, gushing at her with enough force to sting her skin but leave no mark. Soapy water followed, flung at her with a bucket, as she was ordered to scrub down. The hose rained down on her once more, a towel thrown at her to dry with, before she was deloused, re-cuffed, and led to a long table. Quickly she was asked for a size and given a dark gray two piece uniform, that made her feel more like a surgeon than a prisoner, until she caught the stark white word ‘inmate’ printed on the back. Two black canvass slip-on shoes, as well as a pair of thick white cotton socks and a set of underwear with a tank top, were passed to her while a guard undid the cuffs. She dressed, pulling her head through the v-neck of the shirt, donned the socks, which suddenly felt warmer than the floor and slipped the shoes on. The cuffs came on again, biting into her flesh, letting her know that grabbing a guard would not be tolerated. Her stomach grumbled in complaint. Shut up down there.

They were led in pairs, a stack of white linen and a small towel balanced across their manacled wrists. Magali followed the guard blindly through the maze of corridors and rooms that lead to even more hallways and doors, and gates, bars, guards, security beeps of opening, the slamming of steel against steel. Luminescent light flickered in spots off white walls, with barely a shadow anywhere. She’d lost track of time, and the absence of windows left only her exhaustion to gauge the hour by. Finally they reached a thick steel door, and the guard stepped aside while a beep opened the lock and the door swung open. One huge room, its floor painted battleship gray and surrounded by rows of cells along three walls in a set of three levels, loomed around them. Next to the door, a shielded room of bulletproof glass enclosed two guards in safety. Along the far wall a rack of rifles, restraints, and a first-aid kit hung by a fire extinguisher served as the room’s only decoration. Two swivel chairs, a desk, a phone, and a TV set were the guards’ sole furnishings. Next to the entrance of the room two public phones, scratched and dented, covered with armor, patiently waited for use. Magali waited for the guard to step ahead of her; he exchanged a few words with his co-workers and then motioned her up the stairs, while a second led her partner elsewhere, crying.

Up on the last level, Magali looked down. Gone were the days when one could be toppled over the side; long gates from floor to ceiling blocked the railing. Instead, one could wait for a shank to be casually pressed through flesh in the narrow corridor formed by the gate, railing, and bars of the closely ranked cells. The guard released one of her wrists, and attached the cuff to one of two U-shaped bars on the side of the cell door. He pushed in a key and slid the door open, released her other wrist and flicked his thumb towards the cell. She took one step in; the shutting of the bars behind her rattled down to her bones.

It was smaller than she remembered, or maybe she had been smaller. The eight by six room was efficiently equipped with a steel, lidless toilet and sink. A steel bunk, softened by a rather flat foam mattress, hung a few feet off the floor. To its side, a fold down shelf served as a desk. An unsheathed pillow had been discarded on its cold surface. Bare, white cinderblock walls surrounded her on three sides; above, a dull, flat steel ceiling provided extra security. It seemed to mirror the gray painted, poured concrete floor. She set about tucking the seamless linen around the mattress, fitting the sheets and cotton blanket neatly into hospital corners, and threw the pillow against the wall. It landed squarely on the center of the bunk.

With nothing left to do, she pushed her arms through the bars, resting her elbows and forehead against the cool steel. Wet, raven hair fell over her shoulders, partly covering her face. For the first time since entering, she shut her eyes, and let the numbness ebb. She took in the smell of too many human bodies living in close quarters, mixed with the sting of disinfectant. The sound of murmurs and shouts coming from the cells-- some calling to the new members of the block, others whispering, her name-- floated in the stagnant air. A large, round clock high on a wall above the guards’ station ticked the seconds away, tormenting all in the vicinity. It read seven o’clock and, if she remembered correctly, it would be two hours before the lights were turned off, and the populace would feign sleep. Briefly she paced the room and settled on the bunk; her legs crossed at the ankles, arms under her head, she pulled the numbness back. The steel ceiling stared back at her, and she filled its blankness with the image of Casey’s smile, then Casey’s look of fear when last she saw her. With a deep breath she closed her eyes and pretended she was no one.

************************************************************

Pit-bulls’ sense of smell left much to be desired and initially Devi growled at her, forcing her to open the slowly door. Casey dropped her bag off at the front door; she carried some of Magali’s belongings and, getting a scent of her mistress, Devi wailed.

"I know exactly how you feel, girl." God, she’s locked up somewhere, thinking I…

She approached the altar by the door and, striking a match, lit the candle there and shut her eyes. She had watched Magali do this every day, but was unsure what the woman said as she bowed her head in silence, or whether she said anything at all. In the end she spoke not to the robed Catholic Saint, but to her Black Velvet.

Gali, God I wish you could hear me…but you can’t. I don’t know where you are, and this is worse than knowing you are out on the street somewhere doing God knows what. At least there you’re the one in control…aren’t you? I always pray that you won’t get hurt, arrested, killed…but now…you’re not the one doing, it’s being done to you, and I doubt you have any control over it. I can’t forget the image of your hands being cuffed as you lay in the street bleeding that dark night: you were dying, and they treated you as if you were nothing more than a beast for hunting. What are they doing to you now? Christ, what are you doing to yourself? Please, be safe, Honey. I don’t care what you are, I love you completely, accept you completely…I only hope you can do the same for me. I’ll be waiting for you.

Devi was curled on the couch, and Casey joined her, the thought of entering the bedroom alone overwhelming. She had passed by the hospital to get her new schedule, volunteering for extra hours just to have something to pass the time until classes started up again. Jesse had seen her and sadly given her a hug, when she had related the happenings of the past two days. For the time being, it was enough to be around her lover’s belongings, to feel her presence in the form and shape of the things she owned and touched. It was early evening, but the day had exhausted her and she curled up next to a very warm Devi.

Morning had a way of making the troubles of a night gone by seem fictional. A bright sun cascaded in dust-filled lines through the blind of the livingroom window. Casey stretched, sniffing the air for the telltale scent of fresh coffee, that would signal Magali had arrived home from a night’s misadventures or had woken before her. There was none. She scanned the armchair for the black leather peacoat, the space under the coffee table for the Harley-Davidson boots; her other senses sought the sound of a running shower, the smell of leather, maybe the screeching halt of a Jeep. Anything that would mean Black Velvet was home and not where she had dreamed her: locked behind metal, beaten, broken and alone.

Devi yawned and pawed her leg, a subtle way of relaying the message that she had to go. Casey rolled her shoulders, stretched her neck and rubbed Devi behind the ears. She hadn’t bothered to climb out of her clothes and, getting into her jacket, she grabbed the animal’s leash. She was sure most of the early hours had floated away, and she had only to keep herself busy until the start of her shift, then there would be no time to think.

Together, dog and woman walked towards the park in silent mourning. The trees remained dormant, their thin, leafless, branches reaching in all directions. In this section of the neighborhood, traffic was light. Most were working or in school, and the noise of the ghetto below the hill top community was muted by distance. Where the road turned into cobblestone, they turned into the park. The tower of the former, French cloister, now a branch of the Museum of Art, ventured up towards the cloudless sky marking its place amongst the trees and hills. It was an easy walk through a sleeping garden and out onto the leftover platform of the once strong Fort Tryon of the Revolutionary War. Casey looked over the ramparts, surveying the frozen river below, the cliffs of the Palisades across the water, dark and forbidding. The bright sun seemed out of place. Devi stood up on her hind legs, her front paws resting on the edge of the wall. She nuzzled the side of the quiet woman next to her, sensing the loss and absence of her mistress shared.

************************************************************

The buzz of the morning alarm made her feel sick to her stomach; it was a child’s nightmare come to life. Sometime during the night she had stripped off the uniform and lay in her white panties and tank top, the sheet and thin blanket tossed to the side. Exhaustion had won out. The lack of sleep and food, as well as her de-toxing body, had rendered her nearly unconscious. Cold, the tips of her fingers had gone numb, and her skin ached from the chill. Rushed, she pulled on the wrinkled uniform.

With a rhythmic banging and one final slam, the doors of her row slid open. Unrestrained, Magali stepped out onto the walkway, along with thirty-one other similarly dressed women. Some were in work clothes, sporting the ever-fashionable blue jeans of stiff denim and light blue, short sleeved shirts. Others wore the plain cut, gray dress of women in prison, their only alternative to the gray uniforms; religion did have its uses. One by one the guard counted off the number of prisoners standing on the platforms. He barked out a number quickly to which each inmate responded in turn with a grunt or something like a "here". Magali heard her serial called out, followed by a whispered voice next to her murmuring "Zero".

She sensed a vague familiarity in the tone, the husky prepubescent voice, and fought the urge to turn and face her caller, knowing the eyes of trigger-happy guards scanned the aligned bodies for sudden movement. Slowly she let her eyes wander to her left, and faked a cough to get a better look at the short woman standing by her. The short hair closely shaved on the sides, and the boyish look of the woman, brought a small smirk to her lips.

"You haven’t changed, Smoke."

Smoke smiled, revealing the yellowish tint of her teeth left by years of waking up on the sidewalk. She was small in stature, and many had been deceived by her small boned structure into thinking she had little strength. Her face was that of a thirteen-year old boy, small, round and dark, with a glint of mischief that only faded with anger. Masculine, she walked with a dip, more from a knee injury than bravado, though she tended to exaggerate it.

"Yeah, I see you haven’t either. How long?"

"Six months. You?"

"One more year. What for?"

"Gun. You still working on the same bid?"

"Four and counting. Just like you to get brought in on some chump charge. What’s the deal?"

"No deal, Smoke. Just on vacation."

"Looking to make some commissary money? I’ve got a lil’ somethin’ somethin’, if you’re interested."

"Maybe, if I get bored. Let’s see what the caseworker does with me first. You work?"

"Laundry. If ya do get ‘bored’, let me know. Pussy around here likes to get shit in trade, unless ya force the issue."

"We’ll see…but I never trade for pussy," she replied with a smirk.

Finished with his tally, the guard folded his clipboard and re-entered the confines of his station. Another siren, and the lines were on the move, lining up in the square of the block according to their destinations. Some would be taken out to their workstations, others into morning classes or appointments with social workers, therapists and lawyers. It was the latter grouping that Magali filed into, along with the woman who had tortured her the previous day, but had apparently finally run out of tears. The sectionalization continued, with guards who appeared at the entrance with yet more clipboards and spirited each line away, until Magali was left alone with her "fresh fish" partner. A half-hour later, a guard called their numbers and bade them follow him.

After a long walk through the prison, they arrived at a set of closely guarded offices packed with desks, file cabinets, and a budding computer network. Well-intentioned workers slumped over piles of papers, outnumbered by the bitter faces of co-workers who had become prisoners themselves after too many years of working behind the cinderblock walls and dealing with incorrigibles. They were unarmed. Magali took in the scene with a sense of dread. She had heard the lecture before, refused the advice, left with a placement for work and told them all to fuck off enough times that she could time her responses. She was laughing to herself when a slender blonde called to her and motioned for her to sit by her desk. The first golden streaks of sunlight Magali had seen in hours highlighted the woman’s hair; she swallowed the sudden feeling of regret down with a good dose of anger, it showed in the pale of her eyes. The caseworker caught the look and, glancing at the windows, thought she understood the reason behind it.

Wooden chairs never agreed with her unless there was an arm she could fling her leg over. Feeling uncomfortable with her life splayed open in the form of a file on the desk, she did her best to look indifferent, and wondered exactly how much was written there.

"Look, Lady," Magali began. "Save your breath. By now you’ve deduced in that pretty little head of yours, that the secret to getting me out of a life of crime is in getting me to take my G.E.D, right? Someone like me doesn’t need one of those, so forget it. I don’t waste my time, or other people’s." Magali leaned closer to the woman and, catching a cautionary stare from a guard, brought her voice down to a whisper. "Everything I need to know I can read about, and no stinking piece of paper is going to make any difference for me or anyone else. So…do me a favor, find me a spot I can grind my time away in here, and I’ll let you move on to other projects, okay?" She hissed the last word through her teeth and raised her eyebrows in question, then settled back into the chair.

Taking a deep breath, the woman closed the file and fixed her eyes on the small black computer screen in front of her, quickly scanning the list of green lettered occupations available. She chewed the end of a pen she held lightly between her thumb and index finger, occasionally glancing at the defiant figure before her. Finally she spotted what she had been looking for, and jotted down the number on a work form as Magali looked on.

"Here you go…some work outside may do you some good. Good day."

At hearing the uttered words of dismissal, a guard stepped up behind Magali, reminding her she had very few options available. With a hardened scowl, Zero took the form she was handed and left the office, the guard close on her heels, directing her steps.

************************************************************

Night didn’t settle on the city, it crashed down upon it mercilessly with one dark stroke, slaughtering the light of day. She had been waiting in the stillness of the rooftop, watching the business of the street impassively. Patterns were the same, day in and day out. From her vantage point, human forms became puppets pulled along by invisible strings. At the moment there was only one form that interested her, well-- any one out of three. Cigarette butts littered the tar-covered surface at her feet; she had been waiting for hours: emptying her mind, steeling her spirit, focusing solely on one goal. Just as she had been taught. A long brown strand of hair whipped at her face. She pushed it back behind her ear, and rubbed the back of her neck.

She knew every dip and scratch on the metal covering the top of the roof’s protective wall, each crack in the sidewalk, every stain on the bricks of each building. Twenty-six years of breathing the same air, twenty of running the same streets, thirteen of walking the same roofs, irrevocably changing with every passing minute. She could remember every exquisite event, each pain, joy, and lesson that had brought her to where she now stood. Has it been that long? With neither regret nor sadness, she thought back on the one day that started it all, a slight smile illuminating her sharp, beautiful features.

Hot air in the apartment, thick in the hallway and stifling on the street, caused her mother to open all the windows and prop the door open with the long, heavy rod of the police lock. Nearly every door on the floor was open, bringing various smells and sounds out into the long, tiled hallway, where children ran from apartment to apartment screaming and laughing. Spanish voices, Spanish words, and Latin music wove into the musical tapestry of the life of the third floor community. Fathers came home dirty and greasy from construction sites and makeshift sidewalk mechanic shops, where they toiled the day away if they were lucky enough to have landed a job. Mothers reprimanded their children and yelled across hallways for an onion, a cup of sugar, a bit of oil, or a beer from a neighbor.

Small and barefoot, in her thin flowered dress, Califia sat on the cool, tiled floor of the hallway, bare thighs exposed by the short hem of the handed down garment. Her face hidden by her tiny hands, she counted away in her high, little girl’s voice as fast as she could. The quick pattering of feet and the squeak of sneakers surrounded her as her playmates ran for their hiding spots. She lifted her head, cheating for a peek at her friends’ whereabouts, just in time to see her father’s boots stomp past her. A fleeting frown crossed her face.

"You cheated, you cheated, Callie! Tramposa, start again," a small boy cried as he ran past her, calling her a sneak.

Grimacing, she began the count again. Her ears no longer heard the sound of running; instead, her hearing picked up the sounds of breaking glass and angry yelling coming from her apartment. Her heart raced in her bony chest: he was too big for her, and he was going to hurt her again. Maybe the food isn’t ready? Did I leave my doll out on the sofa again? The numbers stopped in her throat at the thud from her doorway as her mother came flying out, landing on her back, screaming. The boots came after, near her head, kicking at her sides and legs. Her father’s voice bellowed; its echo bounced off the walls. Not one of Califia’s friends came out of hiding, and she knew they would stay where they were. Silently she wished for Jose, her young uncle, to come out of his apartment and stop it all. Daddy said he would kill him if he got in his business again. The memory of the threat made her take her wish back, and slowly she rose to her feet, her fists clenched to her sides. I’ll do it. She had not taken a step when Jose leapt over the rod holding the door of his apartment open and out into the hallway. Bare-chested, his long hair flying behind him, he grabbed for her father, who with little effort threw the boy against the far wall. The boots stomped away into the apartment, and Califia swallowed, knowing what would happen next.

"You okay, hermana?" He always called her "sister" as if she were younger than he was.

"Run, Jose, get out of here. He’s gonna kill you. Por Dios, Jose, run." Her mother choked on tears, pushing her brother away as he leaned over her on one knee.

"You sonofabitch! I tol’ you stay the fuck out of my business." Her father was sweating; she could tell he had already been drinking. He never cursed when he was sober. Drunk or not, he was a huge unshakable oak, and he was holding a gun in his hand. An old revolver Califa knew he kept by the bed.

The door to the apartment at the end of the hallway, where people walked in and out constantly, which was always closed regardless of the temperature, abruptly opened with a slam. Califia turned at the sound, her breath caught by the sight of the young woman, not much older than she, who marched confidently out into the hallway. Tall and dark, the girl wore nothing but a cropped tank top and jeans; her heavy boots thudded on the floor. The midnight-black hair surrounded her bronze face, piercing blue eyes shot a hard stare, her visage emotionless. In contrast to her father’s, the young woman held a long gleaming gun in her outstretched hand. A large ring under the trigger guard shimmered with sparkles. Not a flinch, no sign of hesitation, showed on her face, in her step, nor on any inch of exposed skin. The spark from the barrel of the gun was soundless, a wisp of air and nothing more.

Her mother screamed, and Califia faced the spot where her father had been standing. She let her eyes fall to the ground where her mother knelt by the fallen body of the man who had been recently kicking her and threatening her brother. Uncle Jose stood behind her, a satisfied grin on his lips. A strong arm wrapped itself around Califia’s waist, lifting her into the air. She knew who it was that carried her. The arm covering her eyes smelled of cordite, and the skin of her neck warmed near the heat of metal. Roughly she felt the floor come up under her feet, the arm was pulled away, and she was in the living room of her apartment. Before the door closed, locking her in, she saw the back of her savior, gun hanging from her hand as she called back to her.

"Stay in here, kid," she said. Then the darkness of the apartment closed in around her; night had fallen.

 

Callie sighed with delight at the memory of her first sighting of the mighty Zero. She hadn’t earned her moniker yet at that time, but Callie had made the decision, as the door had closed, that she would be as strong as her someday. A light wind blew over her, bringing her out of the heat of that long ago summer. The memories of flowers, coffins, cemeteries, and her mother’s suicide, faded away. They left behind the residual image of Zero standing next to her as her mother’s coffin was lowered into the ground, and the awesome presence of the woman as she pressed a roll of money into her hand.

She spotted the target she wanted leaving the brown building she faced across the street. Callie rolled her head and took a deep breath, as she lifted the silencer-tipped rifle lying at her feet. She took one quick glance around to the other roofs; the guards were too busy watching the street for cops to notice her. No one but me. Catching the flip of auburn hair within the cross hairs of the slender scope, she squeezed the trigger; a strong push against her shoulder, and she watched as her victim fell. In less than a minute, she had disassembled the rifle and packed it away; leaving the roof by way of a rear fire escape she disappeared into the darkness.

************************************************************

Work, work work. As she had expected, the emergencies flowed in relentlessly, day after day, week after week, and she was glad of it. Jesse never slowed her pace, or her talking, sharing every moment of her new relationship with a woman by the name of Kristin. Casey swallowed a constant supply of coffee, pushing food aside and speaking only in relation to her duties as a paramedic. During the day, she attended her classes, seminars and residential training sessions. A short ride in the car brought her back to the apartment, where Devi waited for her. A walk, something to eat, her books, and writing papers on the computer rounded out the day before she headed for work.

It was nearing the stroke of three in the morning, and a call for response to a shooting sent the duo scrambling once again. The address was familiar; it was Magali’s stomping grounds, her absence from the kingdom causing an increase in random violence due to unsettled disputes over money. A momentary glimmer of hope passed through Casey’s mind at the possibility of coming across Eddie; Magali’s right hand man would know where she was, and her professional presence wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. She had heard his insistent voice over the answering machine, as she screened the calls, waited for her to answer. Too embarrassed by the whole situation to pick up the phone and talk to him, she merely stood by and listened. When the calls stopped, she figured he had taken for granted that Jesse was caring for Devi, and that she had simply disappeared.

As usual, the scene was chaotic: a mixture of innocent onlookers, and a few disappointed by the disruption to business, bathed in the blinking lights of police cars. Children, who never seemed to sleep at any time of the day, pushed themselves through the crowds, squealing and calling out to each other to have a look at the body. It was poverty at its best.

Jesse grabbed the kit from the cab and pushed at stiff bodies blocking their way to the scene, Casey close behind her. What she found at the center was exactly what she had expected, but had never grown accustomed to. Sprawled on the floor, face down, her auburn hair fanned out about her, was the broken body of a young woman. A pool of dark blood sluggishly spread under her. Deliberately, the two paramedics checked the woman’s vital signs. Finding none apparent, they began a rescue, fighting the dark lord that came to claim the maid. Minutes passed without any reaction; somberly Casey and Jesse surrendered. Unfolding a white sheet, they placed it over the body and placed the call to the medical examiner for pick up. In the meantime, the attending officers had been searching the crowd for anyone who could identify the victim, to no avail. They met silent faces, couched in bitterness and loathing.

Casey looked around the crowd, sometimes squinting in the darkness. She found a few familiar faces, but no Eddie. Downhearted, she collected their materials from where they lay on the ground-- some stained-- and made her way back to the ambulance while Jesse spoke to one of the officers. Quietly she sat on the edge of the rear bumper, the doors to the cabin open and shedding a weird white light down on her. She began the arduous task of cleaning and renewing the equipment.

"Casey?"

Eddie’s voice scared and delighted her at once, and Casey nearly jumped out of her skin, dropping a plastic oxygen mask to the ground.

"Eddie, God it’s good to see you. I was looking for you…" she replied smiling while stooping to pick up the dropped mask.

"Her name was Shy."

"What?"

"The girl…her name was Shy. I don’t know if it was her real name, but it’s what we called her. She lived across the street with two other girls; they kinda just hang around, but I dunno where the hell they are right now."

"Tell the police, Eddie. They need to identify her, or she’ll be a Jane Doe."

"Can’t do that, Casey, I’m allergic to blue," he smiled sheepishly. "Besides…if I do, they’re gonna start asking me questions I just can’t answer, you know?"

Casey nodded her understanding; feeling saddened to know the girl had a name but would not bear one.

"Umm…Eddie?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know--"

"Where Zee is," he finished for her. "Yeah I do, why don’t you?"

She bit her lower lip and cast her eyes downward, avoiding his questioning gaze. The confusion concerning her lack of information about her Black Velvet, she had expected, but not the direct questioning of it by a man practiced in beating around the bush. Briefly, she entertained the thought that Magali had related the story of their argument but, reassuring herself that it was not something Zero would share, quickly dismissed the thought.

"Have you ever been so surprised at something that you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind? Something you didn’t really believe about someone, but you were caught up in the moment, and you said something meant for someone else. Then you regretted it, but were so shocked that you could say something like that…that you couldn’t even begin to put together an apology quick enough or adequate enough?" She barely inhaled as the words tumbled out of her.

"What?" He was confused. Casey was reminding him of when he had caught Magali talking to herself, and he hadn’t been able to follow her diatribe then, either.

"I said something I didn’t mean to Zee, I just reacted because of something that had happened to…oh never mind, Eddie. Zee is pissed at me."

"Now it makes sense."

"What makes sense?"

"Umm…Nothin’. Look, Zee’s in The Hills, but you can’t let her know I told you, alright? And why didn’t you ever return my calls, huh? I know you were there.

"I was kinda…I didn’t know how to face you; it was stupid. The Hills?"

"Yeah…umm…it’s…" Eddie struggled to remember the proper name for the prison, let’s see, it’s in Bedford Hills, I know that…so… "Oh I got it! It’s Bedford Hills Correctional Facility; it’s up in Westchester County.

"Bedford Hills, thank you, Eddie, you’re the best!" she squealed, throwing her arms around Eddie’s neck and squeezing.

Eddie looked around, embarrassed by the show of affection, and worried that someone might see and tell Mariana. Since the night he had been shot, she had not stopped insisting that he retire from the game, and they move away. With her graduation from City College nearing, and job prospects lining up, she was determined to change their lives. He wasn’t so sure that he did not agree with her completely.

"Casey…just remember, I didn’t tell you," he pointed at her chest once he managed to unglue her arms from his neck.

"Cross my heart," she said, making the puerile motions of the promise with her hand.

When the coroner showed up and put the body in a black, zippered bag, the crowd dispersed. Casey and Jesse finished the paper work on the scene and headed back to the hospital. The entire episode took up a few hours, and left them at the tail end of their shift. Right away, Jesse noticed the change in the slender blonde’s demeanor-- her grey shading had brightened, and her smile was quicker. Rather than ask her questions and dampen the mood, she let Casey be.

************************************************************

Wake in the early morning, make the bunk, dress, file out, count off, line up, go to work. Work. Her surgeon-like uniform had been exchanged for prison jeans and a blue shirt. It was winter and, as a measure taken towards meeting humanitarian regulations, she was issued a pair of black, work boots and a black, wool seaman’s coat emblazoned with the word "inmate" on the back. Thankfully, her job detail also gave her the right to wear a long sleeved T-shirt between her shirt and tank top. Her unit included twenty other women, who toiled a few hours a day on the loading docks of the prison. They grunted and complained as they pulled on heavy bags and carried in boxes from the supply trucks, while guards watched their every move. Magali bore her labor in silence, the annoying drizzle of the morning seeping through her coat and down into her undershirt. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, down her cheeks and neck, but she was grateful to be under the open sky. The ground was slick with the rain that froze everything, including her gloveless hands. She had been at it for two hours when the whistle blew, signaling the prisoners to stop working and line up in their designated blocks. Breakfast…yum.

The mess was a mass of clanging trays and vicious odors; women crowded onto tables with attached benches too small to sit on comfortably. Magali was in no hurry to dirty the shining surface of her food tray, with all its little squares, with what they tried to pass off as food. Unfortunately, the line moved ahead, and she had no choice but to lift her tray, and watch as a pile of grayish scrambled eggs was slopped onto it. Finally, she made it down the counter; ignoring the substances tainting her food tray, she followed the line back to a table. Everything in this place was done in some sort of order. It was a maximum-security prison, and one wrong move could cause complete chaos in a room full of cutthroats. She picked at her food, occasionally taking a bite from one of the runny piles. Her beverage, a half-pint of so-called orange juice, was gone in one swallow, but she savored the barely warm coffee, imagining that it was piping hot.

Two tables away, Smoke ate ravenously. Her taste buds must be dead by now, Magali thought. Fuck, first time I did a bid…after a while I ate anything. Wonder how long it’ll take before I eat this shit again? Smoke sucked on the ends of her fingers, greedily looking around at the trays of her tablemates for any worthwhile leftovers. She stared at her, knowing eventually she would feel her eyes and look her way. It was a well known fact that anyone who had been behind bars long enough could call someone with just a look, or maybe it was just a wicked coincidence. Smoke lifted her eyes away from the food and glanced at Magali. Giving her a wink and a brief smile, she casually pointed at the woman next to her. Her latest conquest. Magali winked back and popped a piece of bread in her mouth; her hair dripped water onto it. A siren blew once into the din, and the women rose, walking in lines towards the garbage bins Magali would later empty. Back to work.

The rain had tapered off, leaving behind patches of thin ice and a shivering group of women. With the supplies loaded away, they began to pull at the garbage bins brought out by the kitchen crew. The warmth of the incinerators represented a welcome, albeit smelly, chore in the current season. It would be hell itself when the weather was warmer. Magali lifted bag after bag onto the running conveyor belt; tips of flames periodically lashed out of the vaulted chamber of the incinerator; a few ashes scattered about. Feeling began to return to her numbed fingers, while the heat of the fires slowly dried her hair. She smelled like a sewer gone bad by the end of each day’s detail. Fuck, I hate this smell. Think of something else, Zee. Wonder what Casey’s doing right now?

Eventually the whistle blew again, signaling the end of the workday, lunch, and the hardest hours of the day, fast approaching. After being inspected, the women were dragged off to the mess hall, then led away to the showers in ordered groups. Magali kept her back to the wall and her eyes open under the luke-warm stream of water. It was like bathing under a hose. The tiles always managed to remain ice cold, and the air was chilly despite the constant stream of water fogging it. She touched the brown scar at her shoulder. Despite her insistence, the prison doctors had the stitches removed too early and, what should have been nothing but a thin white line, became more pronounced. Battle scars. Casey. She focused her mind on the tender touch of her Saint as she had sewn the wound closed. The sooty water at her feet spun down a drain, and she thanked The Virgin for the water running down her face.

Pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and tucking in the clean tank top, she ran her fingers through her still wet hair. Her boots, devoid of shoelaces, felt loose on her feet. Anything resembling a cord was not allowed outside of the work area, and her shoelaces were confiscated at the end of each workday. Three o’clock. Time to wander. Half the day was gone, and the longest hours waited. She took her time lining up for the short trip into the yard. Around her, others who had been trapped inside working or taking classes that would shorten their time, eagerly filed out into the open area.

It was a simple square of green, guarded on all four corners by towers and walled in by fences. The ground was muddy, but no one seemed to mind; they sloshed along in their canvas shoes and boots around the perimeter. It was a large enough area that one could stroll some time away, traveling the circumference of the yard in one hundred passes over a period of twenty minutes. Magali had counted them. Blocks were let out, one at a time, into one of the many walk areas shared by four out of the one hundred blocks. Each block was composed of a group of one hundred women living in an arranged set of cells around one central room. Magali lived in block D, and shared the yard with blocks A, B, and C, significant only because it held the most hardened of repeat offenders. Within minutes, the yard was crowded with over four hundred women walking; overcrowding was a bitch.

Without bags to haul or boxes to lift, Magali filled her lungs with air, clean mountain air after a rain. The green of the dying grass reminded her of Casey’s eyes when they had last looked at her, so she decided to keep her sights on the cloudy sky above. She walked alone, purposely keeping as far away from the others as possible. They all did, making for themselves some sort of semblance of privacy, away from voices and other human sounds. It was a quiet walk. Soon they would be led back in to their block’s rec-room, and there they would have no choice but to recognize each other’s existence. She pulled the collar up on her coat, and pulled out her highly valuable pack of cigarettes. It was the only one she was allowed during the day, though no guard could really tell who among the one hundred cells was illegally smoking after lock-down. She lit the cigarette with a match, shielding the small flame from the wind with cupped hands. Matches were a commodity, and they were given out in extremely small rations, making the tiny sticks precious beyond their real monetary worth. She inhaled deeply; the nicotine and lack of oxygen made her light headed at first, but it was a dreamy sensation she enjoyed. It made her wish she could be unconscious for a while, and, in thinking it, she strolled closer to the electrified fence. What would happen if I just touched this thing?

Weights, the feel of them, the sound of their clanging, the way they ripped against the skin of a palm as they were lifted, the amount of stress they relieved, were without a doubt the biggest of all luxuries. Magali assaulted them as soon as she stepped into the rec room, beating her competition to be the first to use them. Not a soul bothered to make any commentary. She had established herself as the heaviest lifter, and no one was eager to feel her strength battering down on them. It helped that they knew exactly who she was on the outside. A few had worked under her in earlier days, had served time with her in other places, or had simply bought some of her product. Still, she was surprised at the relative peace she had been granted so far.

One hour left to go; then it’s just me and my mind. I hate that. Her shower had been in vain after working up to a light sweat in the rec room. She wiped at her face with a hand towel Smoke had somehow procured. It was the most dangerous time of the day, with prisoners walking in and out of cells, engaging in bartering and gossip, as well as some clandestine activities behind stairs where guard’s eyes didn’t reach. Magali made out a muffled moan coming from one of the cells on the second tier. Someone’s getting laid…or…keep out of trouble, Zee. She leaned her back against the wall near the public phone, crossed her legs at the ankles and her arms across her chest, surveying the central room. Should I call Eddie again? I have enough money on my roll…could ask about Case…um…business. That boy needs to come see me anyway, I should remind the dolt. Fuck, I used up all my credits the last time I called him. The door to the guard’s room opened and prisoners stilled; the uniformed man carried a box with the word "mail" printed on the side. They gave him room to walk out, backing away from him as if he were a poisonous snake. Magali stood her ground, her mind elsewhere, blanking out as she usually did around mail time. While the others waited for their names to be called out by a fellow inmate, who was given the task, she ignored the calls knowing her name would not be one of them.

"Hey, you never get anything. Make yourself useful." the guard barked at her just before throwing the box of mail at her chest. Magali caught it as it fell against her, a plastic corner scratching the skin of her exposed collarbone. She heard a small pop; warm specks trickled down her chest. Beads landed on the floor and scattered. A cutting sensation at the nape of her neck advised her as to what had happened before she glimpsed the fall of the dark grey crucifix as it crashed to the floor.

He caught the look in her eyes and, if not for the badge on his chest and the stick by his side, he would have stepped back. Instead he voiced the first idiotic thought that came to his mind. "You shouldn’t be wearing it anyway…like God would have anything to do with someone like you…"

Smoke counted herself lucky to have an acquaintance with Zero; the mere fact that the dark woman spoke to her, gave her an edge in a crowd of hard asses. She was among the crowd waiting for a piece of news from the outside world, anything to remind her that she had not been forgotten. Although the number of letters and packages she received had increasingly dwindled over the years, she, nonetheless, waited for each day’s mail call. Her spirit lightened when she saw the guard come out with the mailbox, but witnessing what followed made a heavy lump form in her throat. She knew Zero was going to attack. She had seen the expression in her eyes as a prelude to enough massacres to be fairly certain.

Magali attempted to calm herself, fully aware where she could easily end up, but the sight of the small beads spread at her feet propelled her beyond reason. She felt the hand at her chest, heard the voice she knew belonged to Smoke; it had no bearing on her ill-advised decision. Smoke was slammed against the wall with one forceful push from her. Other bodies interceded, reaching and pulling at her arms and legs. If she reached the guard, it would be open season on them and they knew it. Smoke was up and trying to talk to her; she could make out just a few of the words in her rage. "They…Kill…fix it." Magali flailed at the bodies, striking out with her fists and elbows, lunging at the one uniform she wanted to shred to pieces.

I have to get her to stop. Shit, they’ll fuckin’ shoot her right here. What the fuck…these motherfuckers still don’t get what those rosaries mean? "Chill out , Zero. They’ll fuckin’ kill you, man. We’ll fix the rosary, it’s alright." Ten women blocked her way, ten women that had run the streets with her. Women who owed her one thing or another: a paid doctor’s bill, the dismissal of an abusive boyfriend, vengeance for a raped sister; and they refused to let her die in this place of no sun. Smoke watched the second guard as he quickly sneaked up behind her, his nightstick held over his head. Damn…it’ll be over soon; at least they’re not shooting her.

Magali felt the thud at the back of her head just as the intervening bodies backed away. She took one last lunge, and spiraled into darkness. It wrapped her in a cold embrace; devoid of sound or light, she drifted. What was that about being unconscious? She smirked at the smile that greeted her there. Basked in the warmth of emerald eyes. Screamed in agony when they disappeared.

The block inmates were rushed into their cells ahead of time; there were at least another thirty minutes left on the clock before lock-down. They accepted it silently and without complaint; preferring the sight of Zero being dragged away unconscious, a small trickle of crimson staining her back, to having to witness one of their own mopping away a pool of her blood. They watched from behind bars, their heads hung low.

*****************************************************************

However surprised at the details it gave on a route to a state prison, Casey thanked the Internet for having mapped instructions. Surprisingly traffic was light; after all, she was heading north on the Bronx River Parkway when the rest of New York’s workers were heading south towards the city. The drive was an easy one, winding up through Westchester County, dipping with the hills of New York State. The light rain that had fallen the previous day had frozen in a light layer of crystalline ice. Snow flurries dusted the shimmering coating, creating a crisp, clear picture of tranquility. She played with the radio; finding some gut wrenching lyric in nearly every song that was played, she toggled from station to station.

Other than bailing her brother out from the local police station, Casey had never been near a facility of incarceration. She was unsure as to what to expect, and had changed outfits at least five times that morning, finally settling on a red sweater and a pair of jeans. Jesse had been concerned; she had visited Magali in prison once and had sworn it off afterwards. Her reasons she had kept to herself, but she had warned her partner not to look shocked at whatever state she happened to find Magali in. That had frightened Casey-- not so much the words, but the sense of foreboding in Jesse’s statement. For good measure, she had brought along a picture she had taken of Devi in a pair of sunglasses, hoping it would bring a smile to her Black Velvet’s face. They had parted on less than good terms, and Casey had rehearsed how she would explain herself to a skeptical Zero. Explain about Julia.

Young Casey delighted in reading. She entertained herself writing long essays on any topic that caught her attention, mostly discussions on her mother’s newest ailment. Her teachers were proud, and took every opportunity to place the girl in the spotlight, entering her in writing contests and the state science fair. Before she knew it, the Storm King School at Cornwall-on-the-Hudson invited her to attend, offering her a partial scholarship to their preparatory boarding school. Luckily her father agreed to enroll her; he had recently opened his own mechanics shop and business was good. With the school picking up half of the bill, he decided his oldest and brightest should have a go at it.

In September of her fourteenth year, Casey moved into the girls’ dormitory at Storm King. Her parents dropped her off with a small suitcase in front of the largest house she had ever seen. Two small faces pressed themselves against the rear window as the car drove away. Her brothers were crying, not sure of what was happening, other than that they were leaving their caretaker behind. Her sister, a babe still in her swaddling, slept soundly in her mother’s arms.

A girl a few years older escorted her up to the second floor and into a rather large room with two twin beds and a huge bay window. It was as large as her living room at home. The side of the room near the window was cluttered with books and clothing; the bed, however, was impeccably made. By the door, closest to the room’s bathroom, was a bare bed. Furnishings around it-- shelves, a chest and desk-- were devoid of any signs of occupation. She guessed it was ‘her side’ of the room. Casey unpacked, placing her clothing in the footlocker and her school supplies on the desk. Her side, in comparison with the rest of the room, seemed naked. She was sitting on the bed, pensively quiet, when a soft, melodious voice disturbed her peace.

"Don’t think too hard, you’re liable to go mad…You must be Casey Bridges." The girl was tall for her age, and she moved with a strong confident stride that displayed strength of will and mind. Short blonde hair framed her tanned face, accentuating the pale coloring of her eyes, more white than blue. The sleeveless, black shirt she wore showed off sensually muscular arms, a small diamond hung midway down her chest off an elegant, thin gold chain. Leaning down close, the girl placed a finger under Casey’s chin and tilting her face up towards her whispered "…Julia Stanton." Remaining perfectly still, her lips dangerously close to Casey’s she smirked, winked and then walked away.

"How’d you know my name?" Casey queried, stammering. .

"I make it my business to know as much as I can, Casey. Please, call me Julia…after all, we will be sharing this small room." She smiled as she walked across the chamber.

"Small? Are you kidding? This place is huge!" she cried, indicating the space with her hands.

Julia leaned her shoulder by the window, and ran a hand through her hair. Crossing her arms at her chest, she gazed out into the front yard, sunlight catching the white in her golden tresses. "Dear Casey, you and I are going to have so much fun," she sighed in satisfaction, a playful glint in her eyes. "Have you taken a tour of the campus yet?"

Casey shook her head, indicating she had not.

"Well then…shall we?" she asked, extending a hand out to her, a full, brilliant smile playing on her lips.

Taking her hand, Casey let herself be led out of the room and back down the winding stairs. They ended up in a garden, flowers carefully arranged around a bubbling fountain. Julia took care to point out the windows of certain undesirable classmates as they strolled away from the dorm and into the larger courtyards of the school.

"That’s where the science classes are held," Julia said, pointing at a brown brick building. "Last year Claire, a good friend of mine, I’ll introduce you later, nearly blew the damn place up!" Julia’s laugh was intoxicating, a sweet and vibrant music that hummed in her slender throat.

Casey’s curious nature caught up with her as they finished the small tour and sat on the steps of their dorm. "So…how come I get to room with an upper-classman?"

"Quite the contrary, Casey. I’m the one who gets to room with a lower-classman. Dr Greene, our Head Mistress, doesn’t exactly know how to appreciate the smell of rotting fish in her car." Julia’s rich laughter trickled through her statement. "She’s taken away my senior privileges. No matter…you and I will make it up to her, I’m sure."

That first semester at Storm King opened Casey’s eyes to a whole, new world. It wasn’t long before Casey was borrowing Julia’s clothes, gathering with her friends and making them her own. They spent their days walking from class to class, and reading Hemingway under the campus trees. Julia would stretch out a quilt on the tailored lawn, multi-colored leaves fell around them, and sometimes landed on whatever page Casey was reading. Julia would lean over and pluck them away, taking a moment to tuck an errant strand of hair behind Casey’s ear. At night they would talk about nothing for hours, with an occasional pillow toss, or giggle fit. During the weekends they traveled to the movies, or lounged around the room in their pajamas, occasionally running down the halls to gather in another room. Whenever her mother insisted she come home for a weekend, Casey put her off-- citing the need to study for an exam.

The holidays inevitably rolled around and threw a strain over the campus that showed even on Julia’s strong exterior. As they closed in, she grew quiet and distant, leaving Casey alone to study while she laid on her bed listening to her Walkman. Julia never studied; whether she aced the class or barely passed it made no difference to her. Unsettled by Julia’s change in character, Casey chose to leave her to her thoughts. Although it nagged at her constantly, she was weary of prying.

One night before vacation, Casey walked in to find Julia in her usual position on her bed. She was resting her head on her arms, staring at the ceiling, the tinny sound of music playing on her headphones. She’d had enough of the silent treatment and purposefully sat on the corner of Julia’s bed, tugging on her toe.

"Alright, what gives?" Casey asked, pushing at Julia’s calf with her elbow.

Julia pulled off the headphones and gave her an exasperated look. "What are you talking about?"

"This." Casey pointed at the bed and Walkman. "You barely say anything anymore. Except for class, you hardly leave the room. So what’s bothering you?"

"I just get moody around this time of the year…it’s nothing."

"You’re lying, Julia. I can tell, your brow wrinkles just a tad…right there." Casey pointed at the spot just above the bridge of the girl’s nose, causing her to cross her eyes and laugh. "Gotcha."

"I just get bored at home."

"But Christmas is so much fun. I bet you’ll have lots of parties, and…I can’t even imagine the gifts you’ll get this year…"

"It’s not like that, Casey," Julia snapped. "Maybe the help will get me a small trinket or two, but if I want something I’ll just go do a bit of shopping one day or another."

"But what about your parents, won’t they—"

"I have none, they’re dead. My lawyer sees that the house is up and running, sometimes my Aunt will stop by from a business trip, but usually it’s just me and the help, and they all have families to get home to. Don’t worry, it’ll pass, I promise." Julia sat up and, tenderly holding Casey’s face in her hands, planted a light kiss on the younger girl’s forehead.

True to her word, Julia returned as extroverted as ever, organizing gatherings and staging practical jokes on the teachers. In class, she discussed the efficacy of a financial embargo on South Africa, the responsibility of Exxon to foot the bill on the Alaskan oil spill, and whether or not Reagonomics could be blamed for the nation’s ills. At dinner, she tutored Casey as to which utensil to use, and how to hold her pinky up when she drank so that it seemed natural. Every now and then she would remark as to how she was as much a part of Casey’s education as any text in the entire campus library.

Sometime during finals week Julia had a breakdown. With all of the senior activities and her own busy social life, she had neglected to attend to her school-work. Casey offered her whatever help she could give, which quickly translated into the writing of an English paper Julia was having trouble with. When it was all over, a pair of black Doc Marten boots magically appeared at the foot of Casey’s bed one morning. Julia smiled down at her as she put them on for the first time, and ruffled her hair uttering a soft "Thank you." For once, it was Casey who was being looked after.

 

Following a night of restless sleep, Casey began to tire behind the wheel, and was glad to finally pull into the prison’s visitors’ parking lot. She followed the instructions from a posted guard, who told her to find a spot then return to the gate. There, a Correction’s bus would pick her up and take her into the prison proper. By the time Casey found a spot in the crowded lot and made her way back, there was a painful knot of anxiety in her chest. With every pass she had made to enter another lane in the lot, she was met with the looming white edifice of the prison; it seemed to surround her on all sides. She recognized the vehicle on sight; it was much like the one she had seen in downtown Manhattan by the courts, with its bright orange stripe and grated windows. Apparently, visitors were to experience the degradation of prison right along with their loved ones, before even entering the campus.

A motley crew of men and women waited by the gate for the bus; some held unwrapped packages to their chests, shivering in the cold mountain air. Casey stuck her hands in the pockets of an old leather bomber she had found in Magali’s closet. As of late, she’d taken to wearing any article of clothing belonging to the dark woman, anything to keep her closer. Rusted bolts creaked as the vehicle rumbled to a stop before the small crowd, its cloud of exhaust staining the air around them with the smell of burning oil. One by one they loped into the worn interior of the bus; if not for the added armor, it could have been a yellow bus taking children to school. Casey couldn’t help but think of those who had, at some point, sat in the very same seat she was occupying. Perchance, one of those manacled beings had been her Black Velvet. She imagined what she might have looked liked years ago, a young Magali. Had her scowl been as deep back then, or fiercer? Somehow she doubted that. Resting her chin on her palm, she gazed out the window as they passed the parking lot, traveled down a long paved road and entered the first gate of many they would negotiate.

Every gate, every post acted as a gaping mouth, each swallowing and transporting her deeper into the belly of the beast. At the center of the labyrinth, the Minotaur waited, disguised as a windowless block of white. Rumbling to a stop in front of a gate marked "visitors entrance" the vehicle sputtered and coughed. Casey walked along with the others through a corridor of gates, past another post and into the building. The visitors’ center was one immense room, lined by a glass enclosed counter, and filled with rows of bolted down, plastic seats. Children ran along the aisles, jumping off chairs and causing general havoc. Above a swirling line of people impatiently waiting, a hanging sign read "All visitors line up here." Casey took her place in line.

An hour passed before she finally reached the one guard attending the counter and, before she could utter a single word, a stack of papers was shoved under the window slit. "If this is your first time here, fill these out and come back. Next!" Taking the proffered forms, Casey sought out a seat, finding one at a safe distance from the stampeding children. She frowned at the sheer volume of papers in her lap, and began the process of filling them out. Luckily she found a pen in the jacket’s inside pocket. Magali almost always left a pen in every one of her coats, and this one had been no different. The papers, she noticed, were a tedious affair of establishing her identity, riddled with warnings of what she could and could not bring in to a prisoner. Once finished, she ambled back to the counter, where she was instructed to get back to the end of the line. Another noise-filled hour later, Casey angrily pushed the papers back under the slit.

"Hey, listen, Miss. Don’t come over here in that kind of mood, ‘cause you can take these papers back over to a seat and wait until you’re calmed down."

"But I—" Casey began.

"Did you want to make a visit today or not?" The guard was raising his eyebrows the way civil servants did when they were issuing a threat of delay.

Casey swallowed what she was going to say and instead took the route of the diplomat. "I’m sorry…of course, yes, I want to make visit. I apologize."

He took a long look at the papers she had toiled over, checking some boxes in red and nodding. "Alright…take a seat. Names will be called at 11:00, when you hear the name of the prisoner you’re here to see, just step up to the correct window."

Daylight hours had never seemed as long as the ones she wasted waiting at the visitors’ center. Inexperienced with the entire system, she had neglected to bring anything as entertainment, and it gave her mind a chance to wander.

At the end of the year Casey, attended Julia’s graduation. She was the only guest on the young woman’s list. Following a tearful good-bye, the two friends went their separate ways. Julia was scheduled to meet her aunt in Paris, while a summer of swimming with her siblings waited for Casey. Before driving away in her chauffeured town car, Julia undid the lock of her necklace and, slipping the small diamond over Casey’s head, promised she would stay in touch.

Summer was both what she had and had not expected. She spent her days amusing her two younger brothers and chasing down her small sister who had begun walking. With the unexpected disappearance of her father, Casey was left alone to care for them. At night she ordered pizza, while they waited for their mother to arrive from a late shift at work. Maxine would return home frustrated and angry, half-heartedly hug her children, then retire to her room with a bottle of gin. Russell and Cliff would yawn and insist on staying up; they wanted to wait for their father, but Casey tucked them into bed despite their protests. She knew their father would not return soon, if ever at all. "He ran off," Maxine would tell her when she asked. The Storm King School was off limits the next school year; she could no longer afford it. That September, she registered at the local public high school, and put aside any hope of ever reaching beyond the world she was born into. College, she thought, would be next to impossible.

Burnt-orange and yellow leaves littered the miniscule lawn of the trailer; some neighbors had hung skeletons and effigies of witches from a few of the community’s trees. Maxine was working, and Casey shouldered the task of improvising costumes for her siblings. Strapping them into old shirts and using her mother’s cosmetics to disguise their faces, she made them into little hobos. Becky had found a pencil to stick in her mouth and, as Casey wrestled it away, the phone began to ring.

"Hello…" she managed to get out just as Becky’s fingers found their way into her mouth.

"Good evening, is Casey Bridges home?"

Her heart leapt at the familiar note of the voice on the phone, and she couldn’t help but smile around Becky’s tiny fingers. "Julia? It’s me, how are you, where are you?" she rushed out, pulling Becky’s hand away from her mouth.

"I’m fine, I’m at New Paltz. I decided to stay local; besides this school has a fine Anthropology department. What is all that noise?"

"Oh…it’s just my brothers."

"So…why aren’t you at King? I went there looking for you, and I can’t tell you the trouble I went through to get your home number."

"Long story, I’ll tell you some other time. I really need to get these kids knocking on doors soon, or the little ghouls are going to eat me. How can I reach you?" she asked, glaring at her brothers who were effectively smudging her make-up work.

"Well, that’s why I was calling. I thought you might like to do a little riding with me this weekend."

"Riding? As in horses?"

"Yes, as in horses, or we can take in a movie."

"I’ll go for the movie, but I have to clear it with my mom first. She may need me."

"Oh…well, how about I stop by your place—"

"No…just give me a call tomorrow night, I’ll know by then."

"Listen…if you’re worried about what’ll think of where you live, you misjudge me, Casey. I know where you are; I’ve known for a long time. You’re my friend and that’s all that matters to me. I’ve been in worse."

"Ummmm…okay, but just call me tomorrow.

"Alright, I’ll do that. Wait ‘til you see what I brought you from Paris, oh you’re going to love it! Tomorrow then, adieu."

"Bye." She heard the click of the terminated call, and reluctantly returned the receiver to its cradle. It had been the first call she had received in weeks. All of her former friends had given up on trying to reach her. She was constantly busy. With her mother working night shifts, she had to be home to watch over Russell, Cliff, and Becky, and it left little room for anything else.

Julia kept her word and called the next day and, with some convincing, Casey gave her the directions to the trailer park. Over the next three years, Julia became a familiar fixture in the home, often staying until the kids were asleep. She and Casey would stay up, watching movies she’d rent, or they would spend a few long hours discussing the state of the homeless in New York. Julia became her diversion. Prom night Russell had a fever. It made no difference, Casey had not planned to attend. Instead, Julia brought over a collection of the newest CD’s out on the market, and they danced all night in the small cluttered living room to their favorite songs and drank away a few beers.

They sat on the couch, panting from playing air guitar to the latest Guns ’n Roses song. A light sheen of sweat glistened on Julia’s forehead. Unconsciously Casey wiped it away with her hand and then blushed. Julia caught the flush in her cheeks and, cautiously, reached for the hand Casey had hastily removed. She entwined her fingers with Casey’s, letting her palm warm the sudden cold settled there. The strength belied by the tender caress exuded protection and comfort; Casey drifted into it. She could feel the heat off of Julia’s body nearing and, closing her eyes, allowed Julia’s fine feathery lips to brush her own. For a moment she was lost in the touch and guardianship of the arms that held her. Without warning, Casey’s defenses fell and, slumping onto Julia’s chest, she began to weep. Graduation was around the corner and, although she had been accepted, her academic endeavors were coming to a close. Financial Aid insisted she count her father’s income, and she had no idea where he was.

"I can’t pay for it, Julia. There’s just no way. Soon, you’ll be gone too." she sobbed.

Julia smiled at her, reminding Casey of a certain pair of boots. "Don’t be silly, I’m getting my Masters at New Paltz; you’ll see me all the time. And if you think I’m going to let money stand in your way…you’re sadly mistaken."

"What are you saying?"

"I’m saying…consider your tuition paid."

"No, Julia. I can’t do that…it wouldn’t be right. I could never re—"

"Shhh," she whispered, caressing the nape of Casey’s neck. "Never stop…kissing me."

Casey complied.

 

"Guerrero, Magali Guerrero! Anyone here for Magali Guerrero?" Casey thought it was funny how Magali’s last name meant warrior; Jesse always made a joke about it. Out in the middle of the room, a rather large guard was calling out names; he had run through a long list before Casey recognized the one she was waiting for. "Me, that’s me!" she yelled running towards the guard, who eyed her suspiciously from afar.

"You’re here to see Guerrero?"

"Yeah, why?" Casey had just about had it. First the bus, then the guard at the counter. There was a definite conspiracy against her in the stars.

"Sorry, but you’re gonna have to come back in six weeks. She can’t be seen."

"What the hell do you mean, she can’t be seen?" Overcrowded or not, the visitors’ center suddenly fell silent, every eye turned in her direction. No doubt they all fancied a scene.

"She’s being detained." he replied, taking the customary stance of defensiveness, one foot slightly behind him in case he needed to use force.

"No shit, Sherlock! She’s in prison!"

A firm hand grasped her shoulder, and Casey spun to meet the invader of her private space. A dark-skinned, elderly woman faced her, with the universal expression all mothers took on when explaining the difficult to the innocent. "That means she’s in solitary, honey. You’re just gonna have to wait."

Continued - Part 4

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