Chapter Eleven #2
“I’m just saying…” I managed to croak. “That was a Supermax. We’re barely even a little Max.” His eyes continued to bore into me. “The guy escaped fully staffed prisons with cameras and armed patrolmen. There are seven of us and one set of keys. That’s it.”
“Jonathan… are you worried about this inmate escaping?” The Ivory’s tone was nothing shy of blasé.
I really didn’t want to say it out loud, but lying to him was more than useless. So I mumbled, “Yea, sort of.”
“Well… don’t let him.”
I stared at him blankly for a solid three seconds before snorting out a laugh. It quirked the corner of his mouth.
“I’m quite serious.” He stepped over, leaning against his desk to gaze down at me where I was sitting. “Other than the staffing and security issues, what are your concerns? Tell me.” He was being serious, but I’d seemingly lost my voice. “Speak, Jonathan.”
“Aside from staffing and security, which are two big issues… I just don’t think we should assume that being on an island gives us an advantage,” I said, pointedly careful. “We’re only five miles from the nearest shore. Shit, if I were desperate enough, I could swim that. Easy.”
The Ivory took in a breath, holding me with his eye contact for an extra moment before straightening and turning away. “Did you know that there is one guard to every seventy inmates housed on Rikers Island?”
His tone was purposeful. And while I know he enjoys manipulating the truth, he doesn’t play around where facts are concerned. So I took his word that this statistic is true.
“Wow…” I breathed. “That’s… a lot.”
He waltzed up to the window overlooking the ocean. “Did you know that thirty-six men attempted to escape from Alcatraz?”
I frowned, beginning to feel like I was being a big baby. “I didn’t know the exact number… But I saw that movie.”
“Thirty-six attempts,” he went on. “And yet none of them actually made it. Sure, there were suspicions, but never confirmed. Over thirty attempts and no one made it, despite being only a mile and a half from land.”
He spun to face me. “The will to live is a powerful thing, Jonathan. You know that as well as I do. Survival instinct is a bitch and a half to break, but I must insist that you break it, Officer.”
I gaped at him, at the severity in his features. It freaked me out how effortlessly he could flip from Shakespeare to Scarface.
“The reason why men continued to attempt escaping from Alcatraz was one thing and one thing alone… A pesky four-letter word.” He paused, seemingly for dramatic effect.
“Hope. With each attempted escape, hope grew among the remaining prisoners. They didn’t know that their friends had died at the hands of that foolish word. ”
I was just gaping at him, mind processing what it seemed like he was getting at.
The Ivory nodded out his large window, at the ocean that surrounded us. “They were a mile and a half from land on Alcatraz. Hell, they could see it. If that’s not hope, then I don’t know what is. You say five miles sounds doable… How about ten?”
I blinked at him.
“There were sharks in the waters surrounding Alcatraz as well…” He grinned wickedly. “What about ten miles of bottomless ocean full of sharks? Would you try then?”
My lips hung open for a moment before I coughed up the words, “Are there really sharks?”
His smirk grew in deviance as he lifted a shoulder in a bored shrug.
“Perception is key, in everything we do here, Jonathan. These prisoners will perceive what you make them perceive.” He sauntered back over to me, dropping a large hand onto my shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze.
“You control the narrative of this island, Officer. The perception is yours to mold… Let’s squeeze the breath outta that hope, shall we? ”
There were so many things swirling around my brain… The fear, and admiration for the evil genius of this man. The overwhelming notion of deceit, versus the intoxication of power…
But more than any of that, I’ve just never been able to deny how satisfying it’s always felt to be in his good graces, and to remain there.
I know that I’m being manipulated. I can feel it happening, but like with most dopamine-releasing sensations, the high is too good to stop.
So I nodded.
Constant unwavering dedication.
The Ivory smiled and winked. “Now… what do you say we have some lunch?”
And with that, the prisoner propaganda was born.
Five and a half miles off the coast of New York became ten.
We started referring to the waters surrounding the island as Shark Bay, despite never having actually seen a single shark. I don’t doubt that they’re out there somewhere, but the point is these exaggerations are part of the game. This role we’re made to play, as guards.
With each new inmate who comes in, the space between us and them grows farther and more vast. And with every new treachery in this expanse, a different four-letter word takes over…
Lost.
Getting the hang of this place has other drawbacks too, monotony being the one that makes me the twitchiest.
In the beginning, I never had a moment to breathe, running around like a chicken with my head cut off more often than not, wishing someone would just pop my ass in a deep fryer and get it over with.
And that’s not to say I’ve got it all figured out now, because that’s not entirely accurate, nor would I invite disaster with such a flagrant jinx. But I feel like I’ve slipped into something of a rhythm.
From the mansion to the Pen and back, there’s a groove I’m settling into, and it’s a good thing. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t tedious as shit.
And yet lately, there’s been one shiny new addition to our world of concrete; some sugary sweet cherry flavoring to elevate the bland vanilla…
And her name is Joy Jameson.
I still remember the shock and mild appall when the Warden told me the newest member of our team was a twenty-one-year-old girl.
I had to check myself, to make sure my initial reaction wasn’t rooted in misogyny, because John Chevelle is nothing if not a feminist ally.
But in truth, I think I was being more ageist than anything.
I remember being twenty-one. Only six years ago, but still. I can’t even fathom being on this island back then. If Manuel Blanco had attempted to scoop up twenty-one-year-old me, he would’ve gotten a swift kick to the balls, whether it got me killed or not.
Joy being the only female on an island of dudes with skewed moral compasses and exactly zero access to any other females did make me nervous at first. But not for her. For me.
I’m in charge here. There’s no Human Resources department.
If any of my men decide to sexually harass this girl, I would be stuck dealing with it, and I know me.
There would be no write-up process. Velle’s Sexual Harassment Training Class is basically just me making you bleed until you learn to respect women.
But of course, in his infinite wisdom, The Ivory knew exactly what he was doing when he hired Joy.
Because she absolutely does not need any man to defend or protect her.
She made that abundantly clear on her first day…
When she broke Bo’s nose and literally body-slammed Vince through the glass coffee table in our living room.
Not even kidding. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I might have fallen in love right then and there.
Kidding. Obviously.
I will say, though, she’s quite the tasty little cupcake as it is. Finding out she could totally kick my ass, and would do so without breaking face? Only made her hotter.
Why does that turn me on so much?
Best not to over-analyze it.
I know what you’re thinking… Velle, weren’t you just talking about how you’re not like those other boob-obsessed chauvinists? Yes, yes I was.
But I’m not just attracted to Joy because she’s female. I’m attracted to all variations of genders, though it’s not something I’ve had the opportunity to explore as much as I’d like to yet, not for lack of trying.
I explored my sexuality in college—I know, real original.
But for me, it’d been a long time coming.
After making a move on my straight best friend in high school turned out to be the worst decision ever, I decided to wait until I was far enough away from where I grew up, and all the Staten Islandy bullshit that reminded me of that painful memory, before I tried it again.
And again… and again.
Don’t get me wrong, it was hot. I’d been stifling my bi-curious side for far too long, so arriving in a world away from the place that had been oppressing me felt like being plopped in front of an all-you-can-eat buffet after years of strict portion control.
Still, apparently I had a type, because all of my hottest hookups were with DL dudes. As it does, the novelty wore off real quick, and then it was just exhausting.
I wasn’t even all the way out yet, but that was only because I didn’t have many people in my life I felt it necessary to come out to. My friends knew I was exploring the realm between bi-pan, and I’d told my mom shortly after everything went down with Brett.
I’ve never flaunted my sexuality. I’m just me, and while that works for me ‘cause I’m cool, it was a foreign concept to most of the dudes I sixty-nined at CUNY.
I didn’t blame them or hold it against them. It just bummed me out because at the time, I might have been interested in something more than just the casual… But none of them were anywhere near ready for that.
It’s a crying shame, man. All the best dick is always tucked away in the back of the closet.
Anyway, I suppose I dodged a bullet, because now I’m here on an island miles away from civilization, living my new life as a workaholic. Even if having a personal life were a possibility, which it is not, it’s not a top priority right now.
I am very glad I had those experiences, though. The only people around here are my coworkers-slash-roommates.
Hooking up with someone you live with is a bad idea, we know this. But hooking up with someone you live and work with?