Then There Was You(25)

Val nodded as she rinsed her hands under the cold water. “Hopefully we can push the paperwork through and get him to see someone sooner than later.”

“Thanks,” I said, pumping soap into my hand from the dispenser.

Val finished drying her hands on a paper towel and left the bathroom. I stood there, rinsing the soap off and staring at my reflection. In some ways, I had failed Toombs. As his counselor, it was my job to help him on his road to reform, and at that point I saw none. In my training I had learned that no matter what you did, there would be some kids that you just couldn’t change. Knowing that lesson didn’t make the reality of it any easier. I was failing him, and there was a likely chance that Toombs would spend his entire life in and out of prison. Tears glossed my eyes. My heart broke for the boy inside Toombs that had been failed as child—by his parents, by his school, by society. What had happened to him to cause him to lose control of himself like that? Deep down, Toombs was a kid who just needed love—a kid who had been painfully neglected throughout his life. One black eye wasn’t going to cause me to give up on him. I left the bathroom feeling more determined than ever.





Later that afternoon, I stood in Officer Blevins’s office.

“A week?” I cried, slamming my palms on his desk.

“It’s the best I could do for Chris. Toombs got two weeks.”

The boys would be delirious by the time they got out. “That’s too long, Barry! Even for Toombs, that’s too long. That’s two weeks of missed opportunities for counseling and for group therapy. There has to be another option.”

Officer Blevins shrugged his shoulders apologetically, “Sorry, Salem. I don’t make the rules.”

I glared at him. I didn’t want to be mad at him, and deep down I knew I wasn’t. I was mad at the system and was just taking my frustration out on him. Reining in my emotions, I folded my arms across my chest. “I know,” I huffed, marching out of his office.

I made a beeline to the segregation ward and saw Officer Douglas staring at his computer, accessing live video surveillance from each boy’s room.

He glanced up from the screen. “Oh, hey, Mrs. Honeycutt,” he greeted me. “Whoa. What happened to your eye?”

“Oh, I just got caught up in that little fight in the gym.”

Officer Douglas nodded his head. “Oh, yeah, Officer Blevins was telling me about that. I didn’t realize you were caught up in it though. Sorry to hear that. How can I help you today?”

“I need to see Chris King,” I said coldly.

Officer Douglas shook his head. “Sorry. No can do. Chief Sawyer’s orders. The boys are on twenty-four hour lockdown right now. Come back tomorrow.”

I knew he was just doing his job, but I couldn’t help feeling frustrated. “Dammit,” I hissed under my breath. Whirling around, I stomped out of his office and with a strong look of determination, I called over my shoulder, “You bet your ass I will.” The echoes of my heels, as they clicked down the hallway, pounded in my already throbbing head.





Graham questioned my black eye when he got home that evening. I explained it away, claiming a mishap. I guess technically it was an accident because I don’t think any of the guys meant to elbow me in the face. I was just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Officer Blevins vowed that a fight like that wouldn’t happen again. He’d promised to pull extra guards during rec time to help maintain order until things settled down, or until Toombs got transferred. Graham spent the evening questioning the validity of my story, but by the time we went to bed that night I felt sure I’d convinced him that it was a just stroke of misfortune.





“Holy shit!” Chris cried when I slid open the tiny window of his segregation door the next day. He rushed over to the window, his face inches away from the slot. Stunned, he sputtered, “Mrs. Honeycutt… your eye!” Then, he furrowed his brow with disgust. “I can’t believe those guys did that to you.”

“It looks a lot worse than it feels,” I assured him.

He grimaced. “Damn, it looks painful.”

“It is a little, but I’m okay.” I smiled, attempting to curb his low-boiling rage.

His voice was low with repressed fury as he grumbled, “I swear, when I find out who did that to you—”

“You’ll do nothing,” I interrupted, “because if you do, you’ll land yourself right back in this place. What’s done is done. It’s been handled.” I stared at him through the small sliding window that was barely large enough for a cafeteria tray. I could see his eyes, narrowed with constricted pupils—an indication of the intensity of his anger. “How are you doing in there otherwise?”