Concealed Affliction (35 page)

He rests a hand gently on my arm.

“Your bail hearing. You’re entitled to one.”

I’m so tired. I slowly shake my head, closing my eyes when I realize how much of a headache that small movement causes.

“I don’t know why I’m here, Andrei. Other than Becker and maybe Braumer. Why?”

“A woman came in and said you assaulted her the other night. Not the night you were at the cemetery, the night before that. You were with Jimmy, but because he’s a close friend and only one person his statement may not be enough. This woman has bruises on her face, says that you attacked her while she was jogging, blamed her for something or other.”

“What? Who? I don’t understand Andrei.”

“She claims she used to date Andrew Roberts and you attacked her out of jealously.”

“What! I don’t know anyone he was with, he tried to kill me. Why-”

He holds his hand in front of my face.

“I know, it’s bullshit. Which is what I will go in there and prove. I had Ryder bring you a change of clothes. We’ll go and change quickly once you tell me why you look the way you do.”

I take a cleansing breath of air and tell Andrei what happened when I was brought here, not being able to help the trembling in my voice. He curses a few times and types something out on his phone before we leave the cell and head toward the bathroom.

* * *

“What the fuck!”

This is the first thing I hear when I enter the courtroom, dressed in cleaner clothes. Ryder gave Andrei a three-quarter sleeve loose grey top and black tights. Not that I had any courtroom clothes in my suitcase, and apparently Andrei thought it better to show the marks on my body as evidence to what has been done in the past.

I hate it, I feel naked. But I also know I wouldn't have been allowed to wear my cuffs and scarf along with the rest of my armor in the courtroom. Least of all my knife packed boots. So here I stand, in the short sleeve but long peasant top and tights with gladiator sandals.

The judge is not in the room yet, which I’m thankful for, and I allow Ryder to assess the bruises I now know that are on my forehead and temple (courtesy of the mirror in the washroom). I watch him take in the finger mark bruises on my arms.

“All will be taken care of, Callaghan,” Patrov assures him.

The judge begins his grand entrance into the courtroom and we all take our seats.

I listen to the beginnings of my bail hearing, someone saying I should not be granted bail because I’m a flight risk. I have too much money and not enough ties to the community. I listen to Andrei bicker back and forth about police brutality. I half listen, knowing there’s nothing I can do to help myself.

‘Speak only when spoken to’
, Andrei had warned me.

So here I sit, quietly.

My ears perk up when Miller enters the room.

“Your Honor, if I may?”

He seems put out by the kind officer’s request, but grants him regardless.

“I have personally contacted Special Investigations in regard to Detective Braumer’s conduct in the police service. I have many men behind me who agree his actions aren’t justified, nor are they condoned. This is not the first instance and I’m sure it will not be the last where his fellow officers have witnessed his ill behavior.

“In the instance of last night when Ms. O’Connor was brought into custody, the rookie involved also noted that Detective Braumer used more force than necessary. From this point forward, in fact, as of twenty minutes ago, Detective Braumer is once again on leave from the department pending further investigation.

“I ask that you take this into account before you make your ruling today, and discredit any information that has been given to you by the detective.”

I thank all that is holy as I listen to Miller, wishing this would’ve happened before I rolled into town. I wondered and was a little upset that Miller wasn’t there for me last night, but obviously he was busy with bigger and better things.

“I will take your words into account, Detective Miller. However I have been in the courtroom for a long time. I have seen a lot of justice done at the hands of Detective Braumer. I will also remind you that we are not in this courtroom today because of the actions of one detective. We are here because of the actions of one woman. A woman who has not fully been cleared from a previous murder investigation involving two men. And while that may be unsolved, and she may potentially be innocent, we need to remember that she is here because of an assault charge on the ex-girlfriend of the deceased from a previous crime no less.

“While you may be concerned with the detective’s motives, I see plain as day a continuation for aggressive behavior. Ms. O’Connor did not stick around before and I don’t suspect she will stick around now.”

Andrei stands up to address the judge at this.

“All due respect, your Honor. My client was in hiding from a killer who is still out to get her. Kill her, more accurately. Evidence being-”

“That is neither here, nor there, councilor. We are here on an assault charge and we will focus on that. Ms. O’Connor, I believe Detective Braumer and the counsel are correct. You are a flight risk; you have too much money to be left on your own. I would freeze your accounts and let you stay with a friend but I do not believe that that will stop you, given your history of assumed violence and fleeing the country. You are hereby remanded into custody and you will have a chance to plead your case again in four days time. We will resume on Tuesday at ten a.m. Court is adjourned.”

I don’t hear the profanity.

I don’t feel the hands pulling at my arms.

I don’t recall the look of disgust on the judge’s face like I deserved the marks that are on my body.

I only hear the sound of the gavel that lands heavily on the hard wood.

Chapter Thirty-three

“Take off your clothes and set them in the bin.”

I follow the female guard’s instructions, thankful that she sounds professional. I strip off what I was sent here in, all the way down to my birthday suit. She’s done this before and I tell myself this is just procedure, this is just what needs to be done.

I remain silent through this new routine, taking the clothes she gives me after the pat down. I feel her hands slow when they move over the raised ridges on my skin. I don’t speak or dwell on it as I follow her through a series of rooms. If you could call them that, being as they’re not really separated and provide no privacy.

I’m issued a towel and a toothbrush, a pair of canvas shoes and scratchy bed linens. I don’t speak back, but I respond when spoken to. I show no disrespect because they’ve not done anything to warrant it yet. These people are here doing their job and
they
didn’t do anything to put me in this place.

I’ve noticed a few male guards. I avoid eye contact and stay close to the female guard. I follow her through another series of bars before she leaves me in front of cell number D13.

The door opens and she puts me inside, telling me when check times are, when I will be fed and a series of other shit I pay little attention to. I nod my head in silent thanks before she leaves the room.

“O’Connor?”

I look up to the slightly bigger woman in uniform for the first time. She’s in her mid-forties maybe and a little rough around the edges. She isn’t wearing make-up, but kind eyes lie beneath the professional exterior.

“I read what happened to you. Keep your head up, your mouth closed and stay out of trouble. You don’t belong here. Follow those rules and you’ll be home before you know it. You get me, girl?”

I nod my head. “I get you.”

With one last look she closes the door behind me. I look from right to left and around again. The eight-by-ten cell has a double bunk, but I’m the only one in here which I’m thankful for. There’s a toilet without a camera above it and a small sink with a mirror.

I remember reading stories about a few certain sick fucks from my area who ended up in Kingston Penitentiary in Ontario. I remember reading about child molesters being given a television and murders being given access to computers. I look around my damp drab cell and wonder where those are now?

I’d like to say they were just rumors, but I had a friend who became a guard at the prison and confirmed the rumors to be true. I wonder who the hospitality came from, because aside from how professional my guard was, I don’t see me getting a television or laptop anytime soon.

I don’t know how long I sit there lost in thought before a flap on the door opens and a food tray is pushed inside. I reach out to grab it, only to have it pulled back. I know this game and I don’t plan to take any part in it.

I look through the glass and my eyes meet an evil set of brown ones, belonging to a larger,  mid-thirties looking man. I rest my hands on my lap and wait for him to finish eye balling me and leave before I grab the tray.

I’m not hungry, my appetite is long gone. But I’m thirsty. I grab the orange juice and chug it down while surveying the plain looking sandwich and apple. I tear it all apart, looking for anything out of place.

Finding nothing amiss, I start with the apple and eat the bread from the sandwich, not trusting the cheap looking deli meat. I set the tray back in the door and curl up on the bed. Praying, hoping that somebody saves me before Tuesday.

* * *

I listen to the sounds in the prison. The clanking of bars, the unmistakable sounds of hushed voices, all the while avoiding the scent of damp concrete, for it will bring back my darkest nightmares.

I lie awake for the better part of the evening, drifting in and out of consciousness. I have no idea what time it is. Perhaps if I’d listened better to the kind guard who brought me in here I would have a better understanding of when the check times were, which would help me figure out how long I’ve been laying here.

I hear them every time they pass my cell and each time I instinctively reach under my pillow for the gun that’s not there. It’s an endless cycle and habit I have not quit. Every time my hand comes back empty, I feel weaker.

The sound of footsteps causes me to do it yet again, as I hear them slow outside of my cell.

“Breakfast, O’Connor.”

Thankfully, this is a woman’s voice. Not wanting to disrespect her or cause any friction between me and the staff, I dutifully get up and take the tray.

Once again, I have orange juice. My food consists of a banana, scrambled eggs and toast. I once again eat the banana and bread, washing it down with the juice before setting the tray back in the door.

I’m assuming this must be maximum security, not that I really know. I never saw any women grouped in cells on my way through yesterday, but having no clue about the ins and outs of jail, I’m not sure.

The tray is taken and I use my spare time to stretch and workout. I have no energy to do either, but I feel like I need to keep myself centered and fit to keep up in a place like this, hoping my stay is no longer than four days.