DANNI'S FRESH HELL

She went somewhere outside herself after she’d landed the first thrust of the knife, as the blade sank deep into his stomach. After that, there wasn’t much she could remember clearly. She remembered what it felt like to hit bone, the sound it made when the blade could go no further. Like the thud of a dead body, the muted tone of a final utterance. 

She saw him as a wild boar that needed slaughtering before he could rise and attack her again. She was careful to mind the blood that accumulated on the knife handle and not allow it to slip from her hand. For the first time in a long time, she had control, at least physically, over something and was soon intoxicated with it. She could never say for sure how long it took for him to stop fighting but, at last, he did.

She’d had no idea how hard it was to kill someone; not the desire for it but the physical exertion required to carry it out. 

When her senses returned, she felt spent. Her breath came out in heaving spurts, her hands wet and sticky with blood. She brushed her hair back, then realized she had spread blood from her forehead through her hair. She slowly turned to see what she’d done.

He lay on his side in a pool of blood; his arms and torso shredded. His eyes were wide, his mouth open, but she knew without question there wasn’t a flicker of life left. 

They were in the woods of a nearby park and it was near dusk. He had dirt and leaves stuck to the blood on his body as if he’d been tarred and feathered; only this was much worse. She could smell the acrid, metallic remnants of death exude from him and she began to shake.

She dropped the knife.

She then willed herself to stagger away, not thinking where to go. Just away.

As shock slowly wore away, she didn’t care that she was lost. It fit perfectly with her new mindset. She’d never killed another human being before. Why should she know the first thing about where she was? This was foreign territory. She’d allowed herself to join the ranks of the damned. 

So, she walked.

She came to a stream. The woods were thick with trees and brush and it was about to get dark. There was a moon though, and it cast a melancholy glow on the water as it shimmied over rocks and fallen trees. She willed her body take her there. 

It was a shallow waterway and she gratefully knelt at the edge, cupping her hands and washing the evidence of sin from her face and arms. Eventually she lay her body down and rolled onto her back to be able to breathe and allow the water to caress her. 

She unbuttoned her blouse and struggled out of it. She then sat up and unzipped her jeans. As she pulled, she felt her panties cling to the wet denim. She stopped to hoist them back on. 

The water carried her clothes away. She lay back and stared at the nearly full moon. Reality would drift by her in wisps of fractured thought. She suddenly realized she was gazing at the early stages of an October Hunter’s Moon.

“Well, Mr. Hunter Moon,” her voice came out a raspy croak, “You’re a little late to the party. Looks like I beat you to it.”

She chuckled inwardly and as it rose to the surface, she rolled over, choking, alternately laughing and coughing, until she was sick. She then moved upstream, away from the spoiled area and cleansed her mouth. 

She checked her sneakers and was pleased to see most of the blood had washed away. She then stood in the moonlight in panties and bra and thought of the sirens in the Odyssey. 

From her memory, she conjured the one sea shanty she knew the words to and, in a shallow whisper, slowly began to sing:

“We come on the Sloop John B,

my grandmother and me,

around Nassau Town we did roam.

Drinking all night,

got into a fight.

Well, I feel so broke up

I wanna go home.”

She turned and sloshed her way back to shore, alternating singing and humming. She didn’t mind the cool October breeze that raised goosebumps on her skin and made her shiver. It was something to feel.

She walked until she could go no further. The Moon helped her locate a flat grassy surface near a large tree with flattened roots. She used them to lay her head. 

The Moon lifted her to him and rocked her slowly while crooning Sloop John B as she slept.

* * *

When she woke, she felt the tendrils of the prior day weave their way into her consciousness and clutch her heart with urgency. 

Get up. You must get up. Go!

Go where?

Her underwear was damp and dirt clung to her. Better than blood, she thought, shivering. She looked around, trying to get bearings. Where to go? 

She saw through the trees a distant light. The sun was rising and she thought that would be as good a direction as any. So, she started to walk. She was hungry and thirsty, but the stream was far behind and she felt compelled to go forward, toward the light.

She was spooked several times on her way. The first time, she unknowingly stepped on a snake until she felt it move. To her surprise, it simply kept on slithering by, yet her heart beat out of her chest. That was a warning, she thought. Stay alert. 

Next, she suffered several painful bites by hungry horse flies that made her change direction and run as well as she could to get away from them. Her bare skin made her an easy target for the biting pests and something about her scent seem to attract them. Blood-thirsty devils, she thought.

While running, she grazed a low-hanging wasp nest with the top of her head. She looked back to see what had made the dry scraping sound. That’s when she heard the aggressive drone of angry hornets. They began to emerge from the damaged nest, buzzing and aggravated. 

They haven’t seen me yet! Her instinct was to run as fast as she could, but another voice inside her warned, do not draw attention to yourself! She deliberately put her head down, covered her nose and mouth with her hands and marched quickly away, trying to avoid twigs or leaves that would crunch or snap.

When she felt it was safe to stop, she saw that she was back at the stream where she’d been the night before. She spied her blouse tangled in the branches of a fallen tree a short distance away and went to retrieve it. 

It had several rips and tears from the night spent entangled in the brush but, after giving it a quick rinse and a shake, she put it on. 

She heard rustling.

“Hey there. Hello?”

A strange woman’s voice.

She said nothing, then ducked behind a tree and listened.

“I saw you just go behind that tree, you know. I’m just asking, are you okay? You lost?”

When the girl looked, she saw a woman in her 30’s wearing flannel, denim and expensive hiking boots. She had a Bass Pro Shop cap on her head, shoulder-length blonde hair beneath it.

“I’m camped not far from here with some friends. I’m just doing a little exploring before breakfast and saw you. I don’t mean to scare you. My name’s Virginia.”

She didn’t budge, but responded.

“I’m all right. Thanks.”

“Are you sure? You look a little . . . shaky. What’s your name?”

She hesitated.

“You don’t have to tell . . .”

“I’m Danni, my name’s Danni.”

“Hi, Danni. Seriously, is there anything I can do for you?”

“Do you know a way out of here?”

“Sure. Want me to show you?”

“That would be . . . yes.”

“How about we stop by camp first and get you some coffee and a pair of pants? I’ve got extra.”

“That’s okay. I’d rather get going. If you don’t mind.”

“Come on then.”

Virginia offered Danni an energy bar, which she accepted and eagerly tore into. Virginia pulled out a cellphone and texted her friends that she’d be back. She then signaled for Danni to follow her, and kept up a steady monologue as she lead them through the woods. She left markers along the way – to be able to make her way back, she explained.

After ten or twenty minutes, they came to a gap in the trees. Danni could see a road beyond the clearing . 

“That’s it! I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t mention it. You okay from here?”

“I am. Thanks.”

Virginia watched as Danni headed for the roadway and then disappeared. As she turned to head back, she suddenly heard police sirens and, glancing to her left, saw red and blue lights flashing. Then voices.

“Stop! Police!”

Virginia stared, listening. She heard running feet and suddenly there was Danni as she emerged through the same opening she’d taken out of the woods.

Virginia saw surprise in Danni’s face as her arms splayed and she landed on the ground, an officer landing on top of her.

As Danni was being handcuffed, the officer turned to Virginia.

“You know this girl?”

“Not . . . no, not really. I just . . .”

“Don’t go anywhere. We’ll want a statement.”

* * *

“We find the Defendant guilty of second degree murder.”

As Danni was escorted out of the courtroom, she didn’t look back at her family, nor her in-laws, the family of the man she’d killed. She’d resolved never to look back.

* * *

“So, whacha get?”

“Twenty-eight to life.”

“Self-defense’s pretty tough to prove when the victim’s got 27 stab wounds.”

Danni shrugged.

“It could have been first degree.  At least they gave me that.”

“And now the appeals. Get comfortable. Whacha got in the commissary?”

“Enough. My family tries to visit but I won’t see them. They leave money to pretend they care.”

“Don’t they?”

“You tell me. They knew about the beatings, the abuse. Every time I went to them, they told me to go home and work it out. Worthless. They should be in here.”

“Ah, guilt money. Well, it’s still money. We’ll be sure to put it to good use.”

Verna had recognized in Danni a novice to her prison surroundings, ripe for the picking. York Corrections wasn’t a high security facility, but it wasn’t a country club either.  She’d need protection and Verna had been there long enough to have clout, a reputation for violence, senseless or otherwise.

Danni hoped she’d been lucky to cross paths with Verna, but how could she be sure? It was all fresh hell.

* * *

Over time, Danni acclimated to prison life. She worked in the kitchen, began with clearing and dish washing and worked her way up to meal prep. She preferred being busy so she had little time to think. 

And, with Verna around, she felt safe enough. She was constantly being scrutinized by the senior inmates, so just tried to keep her head down and was careful never to go anywhere alone.

One day her luck ran out. She was in the showers with Verna and four other women when three suspected gang members joined them. One was Gloria, rumored to be the female head of an especially ruthless chapter of the Crimson Killas. She came in, flanked by a couple of tattooed woman warriors.

Verna took note, and immediate action.

“You bitches care to wait outside, the place will be all yours in a minute.”

Gloria glared at Verna. This prompted the four women showering with Verna and Danni to pick up their things and quickly leave.

Before anyone knew what was happening, Verna was lying on the tile floor, blood mixing with the shower spray as it continued to run. A metal shiv protruded from Verna’s forehead. Her body convulsed and was then still. Danni, horrified, tried running around the women. She was stopped immediately. Trapped.

Gloria spoke.

“I wanna make this quick. Verna’s been a fuckin' thorn and needing to get out my way. You, I’ve had my eye on. Maybe you could do somethin’ for me.”

Gloria removed a bar of pink soap from a towel. She tossed it near the shower furthest from Verna’s lifeless body. One of her guard dogs went to the entrance and gave Gloria a signal.

“Oops. Dropped it. Pick it up for me, honey?”

* * *

After that day, Danni knew what her life would be. She decided she wanted to hang herself with any suitable material she could sneak out of the kitchen, but was easily caught trying to smuggle a spool of string. She subsequently lost her job and the administration’s trust after that. Now she’d be closely watched. 

So, she settled for survival.

She hung back from the other inmates as much as was allowed. She followed the rules. She tried to stay fit by working out and playing basketball. She suffered bruises and some broken bones due to cheap shots. The dirty players would get tossed out and demerits; she would get a trip to the infirmary. She didn’t mind. It was down time.

She listened to gossip. So-and-so had defrauded a new inmate out of her commissary. Someone else had promised cocaine for a high price upfront she had no intention of delivering. She was later discovered in a laundry bin, a shiv between her shoulders and skin permanently steamed lobster-red. 

Danni read books. She went to chapel. She discovered faith. She retreated. Whenever she was subjected to treatment she knew she couldn’t avoid, she took it. She learned how to breathe deeply and escape her outer constraints by journeying inside herself. She read self-help books and discovered meditation. 

She arranged to be put on a waiting list to take educational courses when available. She got to know the Chaplain and began counseling sessions. 

She worked hard.

* * * 

“So, Danni, how long have you been in confinement? I know how long you’ve been coming to see me, but how long in total?”

Danni didn’t hesitate.

“Nine years, three months, two days.”

“And how did you come up with those numbers so specifically?”

“Brain exercise, Chaplain. I keep track. It’s something to do.”

“Well, it’s impressive. Can you remember anything else of particular note about this day?”

“I’ve had counseling sessions with you for five years today.”

“Can’t put anything over on you, can I?”

“I doubt you’d try, Chaplain. You’ve done me nothing but good.”

“Have I? And what have you learned, my dear?”

“Well, I’m still learning. I’m a work in progress, I know that. I’ve committed horrific acts and I’ve seen horrible things. Still, I have choices, and those are mine alone. No one else is responsible. I choose to improve myself as much as is within my power to do, because that is the only thing I have any control over. Me and my actions. And the better I become, the more I will have to offer others.”

“I have something to give you, as a kind of anniversary present and a parting gift.”

“Parting? I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need any more counsel from me. You’re ready to graduate and begin a new kind of education. Here.”

“The Divine Comedy? What’s it about?”

“That will be up to you. A wise old mentor of mine gave it to me. It has served its purpose in my hands.  Now it is in yours.”

“I’m not sure what to say.”

“How about see you next Sunday?”

* * *

It was four years later when the Chaplain retired and left the penitentiary. Danni had reconnected with her family and now looked forward to visits from her mother and younger sister. Her father refused to see her, but she was fine with that. She always sent her love anyway. It would be up to him what to do with it.

* * *

Danni was in the rec yard reading. The sun was out and she sat on the ground, her back leaning against a wall. It was her second reading of The Divine Comedy and she was pleased to see how much of it she understood this time around.

A shadow broke her concentration and she looked up. The glare of the sun obscured a good look at several figures standing before her.

“Do I know you?”

“You once did. Regards from your dead husband.”

Danni felt a rag being pressed to her face. It burned horribly and she tried holding her breath for as long as she could. She felt something hot smear and enter her mouth. She tried struggling but several hands held both her arms and legs. She had no breath and couldn’t scream.

She fell over, choking and wheezing. She heard the sound of footsteps as they grew more and more distant.

* * * 

Night came. In the infirmary, Danni lay, barely conscious. She had been poisoned with Paraquat, a deadly herbicide that had already invaded her body and was dissolving her blood vessels.

There was a verse running through her mind on auto-loop:

“I am like one who sees in a dream

and when the dream is gone, an impression

set there, remains, but nothing else comes to mind again,

since my vision almost entirely fails me,

but the sweetness born from it

still distills inside my heart.”

* * *

A Hunter’s Moon gathered Danni in its arms once more and, rocking her slowly to sleep, crooned lovingly to her. It was time to go home.