Release

Release

a novella by

Michael Neal Morris

Copyright 2018 by Michael Neal Morris

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 9780463135303

License Notes

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Contents

Chapter One: Exit

Chapter Two: The Interview

Chapter Three: The Old House

Chapter Four: Sign

Chapter Five: Job Hunting

Chapter Six: Rage

Chapter Seven: Zealot

Other books by Michael Neal Morris

About the author

Chapter One: Exit

When lights out was called, Lester was sitting on his bunk listening. Hours before, he had spoken to his lawyer who had assured him that yes, he would be getting out tomorrow, and yes, someone would be there to pick him up. But Lester had learned, long before prison, no one cared about his schedules, and that on a whim the world might tear his plans up in his face and force him to eat the pieces.

He listened as other inmates screamed their obscenities at each other and sang and made their filthy noises inside their cells before their voices were a dull murmur in Lester’s head. He had long since managed to tune out the sounds. He had never quite gotten used to the dark, however. He was grateful for the dull florescent lamp at the end of the row, though it provided no real illumination for him. It did let him know, by casting shadows, when someone was coming.

You glad about tomorrow? he heard his cell mate ask.

Lester stood up and glared at him in the darkness. What did I tell you about talking?

Scott gasped, and then blurted, Sorry. Scott was a kid that had come to be in Lester’s cell after the father of his teenage girlfriend found out about their relationship via the girl’s pregnancy. He spent most of his time afraid and Lester was the closest thing he had to a friend in Huntsville.

Lester sat back down. Alright. A few moments passed, then he said, Don’t know about tomorrow. Might be just another day in this hell hole.

You’ll go, Scott said.

We’ll see, Lester responded.

He lay back on the bunk and there was no other conversation. Soon Scott’s snoring mingled with the murmur of darkness.

Lester couldn’t sleep. He had not been attacked in his cell, but always expected to be. He had had a shiv, but had gotten rid of it the day before, fearing that it would show up during an inspection of his quarters and delay his release.

He had not been in Huntsville a full twelve hours when he had been attacked. Three inmates had managed to clear the shower area and then pummel him. Lester had not been in a fight since he was twelve, and his obesity kept him from being quick enough to defend himself. Not that he would have been able to after the first few blows. He lay in a hazy heap, conscious mostly of the blood on his face. Then he realized his pants were gone and that he was face down. His ass was cold for a moment. One of the men, a skinny kid whose biceps had been made nearly black with tattoos was leaning against his shoulders, holding him down, breathing into his face.

Is this how you gave it to her fat boy? the skinny kid asked in a voice between a chuckle and a sneer. Then Lester was aware that one of the other inmates had entered him from behind. The searing pain in his rectum immediately made his stomach turn. He tried to move away, but the arms that held him down only tightened.

When the first one finished and had pulled himself out, he made a move to stand up. But he never made it to his knees, being knocked down by a hard blow to the back of his shoulders. As the second man, the one with tattoos, raped him, he was slapped in the face and taunted by the first. The third, seeing Lester mostly subdued, loosened his grip on their prey, and giggled in his ear. You’re gonna be a good fat boy and suck my dick like the prettiest girl. Aren’t you? Aren’t you? This one squeezed Lester’s breasts and thought of his girlfriend.

But Lester heard this man as if from far away. The blows that hit his head at first rung in his ears. Then he thought the blood he felt rushing to his face was nearly filling his skull. His gut ached, and for moments at a time, he was detached from the fire in his rectum by the dreamy sensation that he would soon drown in his own fluids.

Lester was vaguely aware that the tattooed man had exploded inside him when he heard the three running away and felt the toe of a guard’s boot poke him in the side. He looked up. There were two guards, the one that had prodded to see if he was still alive and another holding a radio.

I was-- Lester began.

The one holding the radio shouted, You was getting your fat ass up and outta here.

Lester struggled to his feet, slipping in the urine and feces he only then noticed had come out of him. Then he threw up. Some of his vomit landed near the guard with the radio. Shit! Back off.

The other guard stifled a laugh and told Lester to stand up. Then the guard with the radio clicked it on and said something. Lester was aware that other inmates were slowly filing into the shower area as the guards directed him to the infirmary.

As he was patched up, such as it was, the nurse asked him what had happened. She was not really interested in the details. Lester couldn’t bring himself to talk, and the woman, in her forties, but looking much older and reeking of cigarettes, didn’t press. When she was finished, she said that she’d have an officer come in and take a statement. Word of advice, she said before going through the infirmary door. Don’t go anywhere alone unless you want this to happen again.

Lester had tried to stifle the crying sound in his voice. I don’t have any friends.

Well, you better find some, she answered. And you better make sure they are tougher than the guys who fucked you today.

As Lester lay on the bench, he smiled. He remembered a couple more beatings and then the three trying to rape him again, at the back of the prison library. Lester had been pushed against a cart of books, and then thrown over them. The one who had tried to force oral sex on him, started to kick at his face, hoping to knock out teeth. But Lester managed to get his head tilted to the side and the blow missed. The man fell flat on his back, his accessories letting loose their hold as they laughed at him. Lester stood and began throwing the books at them. The first landed in the crotch of the inmate sprawled on the floor. The other two ran away. Lester stood glaring at the man writhing in front of him. He lifted the cart over his head and was about to crush the now tiny figure below him. Then he heard another inmate, a trustee, shouting.

What the hell? What the hell are you doing?

Lester set down the cart and made a kicking motion. The would be rapist lay flinching, and then moved away. Lester picked up the book and looked at it. It was a thick, ancient volume on gardening. I want to check out this book, he said.

As Lester thought about his joke, he chuckled. He’d checked that book out several times during his stay. In fact, he spent as much of his time reading as he could. He avoided any opportunity to watch the television, though in his previous life he was so addicted, he could not get up except to go to the bathroom and go to sleep. In prison, Lester believed he saw a connection between the television watched and the intelligence of the other inmates.

Before prison, Lester saw his college education as merely a means to an end. He got a piece of paper that meant he was employable after attending so many lectures and struggling through so many books. Now he saw it as one of the things that separated him from those in this asylum.

Lester began to pray, something he had not done much since coming to Huntsville. Don’t let me down again, he whispered. Let me out of this place.

After breakfast, Lester was told he had a visitor. When he saw