Locked Doors

[Zag Winston]

Chain Smoker

Allenwood, man. Feels like I been born and raised here. Right? Lived here for most my life. I got into some shit in my teens and ended up getting locked up. That's ok. I got me some friends now and three squares a day. What more could a dude ask for? Out there, I was low as fuck. Know what I mean? I was a nobody doing nobody things. Now I'm top dog. One of them anyway. Got that white pride shit in here, but I pay it no nevermind. I fuck them up if they step toward me or even give me a look I don't like.

That's what you call me: Top Dog.

Only reason I'm relevant right now is cuz I got this pen pal. Dude calls himself Louis or some shit. I call him Lois when I'm talkin to the boys so they think it's a bitch who wants to marry me. Ha. All these bitches gone crazy over convicts and give 'em that conjugal we all love so much. So what if it's a lie. I mean, I think it's somewhat true. Think this dude is some faggot who wants to slob my knob. Feel me? Fuckin' people. I'm not into that shit. You hear all the time about jail being some excuse for dudes to turn gay and get it on with their roommate and shit. I'm not into that. No way. Fuck that.

That boy would have to be pretty as fuck and I'd have to be horny as hell. Feel me?

Louis has been writing me about this new convict by the name of Palmer. Palmer sees a life sentence stretching out before him and he's not happy about it. Guy keeps to himself, but he's a rapist through and through. A Richard Ramirez type. Home invader. Faggot though, through and through. He be one of those dudes who stick a finger up a man-ass and still act like he loves women. Yeah. I know the type. Talkin about dominance and shit. Can see it in his eyes. Dude vile as fuck. Don't think he expected to get caught. Don't think he expected the walls to come crashing down on him.

Meal time comes and this dude likes to cut his meat to look like bodies and use ketchup for blood. That fake kind of try-hard kind of bad guy. Stay with me.

Honestly though, I don't give a fuck.

Louis has some beef with the guy. Wrote in the letter that he'd make sure I get a carton of Marlboros every week for the rest of my stay so long as this Palmer dude walks funny for the rest of his. I'm like, sure as shit, man, but you better come up with two cartons right off the bat.

Guy wrote back that he wanted to meet me in person. I told him to dispense with any ideas about some faggot shit. I wasn't into that. Orange ain't the new black 'round these parts. Fuckin drama. Give me a break.

Though, I'd settle for some of those bitches. Even that fat bitch who runs the kitchen. Remember her? She was in some Star Trek shit and I'mma 'bout to boldly go, know what I mean?

Ha.

Anyway, on the day Louis arrived, I made sure nobody would see me meet up with him. I didn't want to break my streak of successful lies and I was going to convince the boys that I dipped my wick. Prowess, real or not, is respected, but once you caught in a lie, they see nothing but a bitch.

Honestly, I'm bored as fuck. Let's get this over with.

We were allowed a room with some privacy and when I walked in on the dude, I saw someone I didn't expect. He seemed like such a geek in the letters, but he was big and ripped. Like chiselled. Stallone in Rambo: First Blood Part Two kinda shit. He had dark circles under his eyes and no word of a lie, bruh, he kind of scared me. There was just something about him.

Something other worldly. That's a thing, right?

He slapped two delicious cartons of Marlboro reds down on the table and gave me those eyes that told me not to fuck with him. I felt the hair on my neck stand up.

Where the fuck this dude come from?

He sat down and told me, "Thank you for meeting with me. I'm really hoping you're willing to play ball with me."

I sat down and put my hand on the cartons and started pulling them towards me, but he slapped a hand down on them and pulled 'em right back.

"What the fuck, man?"

He let out something like a growl. Shit disturbing.

Dude asked, "Are we playing ball? Are you going to deliver on Hernandez or am I going to be stuck with Tom Brady?"

"You come through with the smokes and you get your Hernandez. Fuck a Tom Brady"

This mother fucker talkin about the Patriots when we should be on about the Steelers. Fuck it though. This is all code. Code we worked out. Football references. Made it all sound legit. I'm cool with that. The guy is smart. Louis. Lois. Whatever the case may be.

He let the carton of smokes go.

"You mind if I ask why?" I thought better of it, "Nah, nevermind, none of my fuckin business. You just make sure these cartons keep coming. Don't go thinkin' I can't just reach out and touch you, man."

He leaned back in his seat, still straight faced. He told me, "One carton, every week. For the rest of my life, or yours. Score me a touchdown."

"You'll get Hernandez, Seau, Myers, and I'll even toss in a side of Jovan Belcher. Full meal deal."

He nodded.

That's the last time we ever talked.

I chain smoke now. Ha.

Locked doors

By the time this is read, if everything has gone according to plan, I will be dead. I want it to be clear that I have not done this to hurt anyone, but myself. I am sorry for those who will mourn my passing, but I trust that they will understand why I have made this decision. I have chosen to make my exit because I believe, firmly, that I am awaited on the 'other side' if it exists.

I hope it exists. I imagine it feels like love--encapsulating.

To love is to love completely. I've heard people say 'i love with all of my heart' and that's not enough. To love is to love with your heart, mind, and soul. The entirety of your being. From your fingertips to the hair on the back of your neck. You should be lit up with sensation every time you're in the presence of the ones you love. The entirety of your being should long for him or her whenever they're gone.

Long for them when they're gone.

Sarah and I met in high school and it was almost cliche how it all worked out. She and I graduated and moved in together. I went to University and she worked to support the both of us. Soon we were getting married. Eleven months after that, we had a child. It was ridiculous how easily it all unfolded. From there we were that happy family. The one you see in Norman Rockwell paintings. That's what I liked. Not the segregation and gender norms of the fifties, but the security that you expected. The innocence.

Security, but with unlocked doors.

Sarah and I took dance lessons. We knew the swing. Grandma would take care of the kid while we did this. We'd dine after that. We called it 'date night' and it was good. The smell of her perfume and even closer, her skin, intoxicated me.

I really felt like I could be directionless in everything else I did in my life, so long as I had Sarah and Jonathan in my life. They gave me reason. Like this guy told me once--they brought out my 'inner awesome' and even though I laughed, I knew he was right.

We were so much more than lust, but I lusted after her. Our nights together, honestly, I don't know how they didn't lead to more children. I really don't. We were like bunnies. We fit each other in every way. We laughed at the same things, we were terrible in the same ways, we both loved our son in the same way. We were gross how well we worked together.

I had so many friends that had to work so hard to keep their relationships together, but Sarah and I, we grew up together. We figured all that stuff out before we even moved out of our parent's places. We were just ready to go. I said we were Ozzie and Harriet, but she said we were Bonnie and Clyde.

I ribbed her, claiming she just liked that Bonnie's name came first.

I'm running out of time.

We bought a home and we fixed it up as best we could. I was a terrible handy-man, but she was a good painter so she covered up all of my botch jobs. She was a bad cook, but I was slightly better, and she didn't mind doing dishes. We took care of Jon and we had dreams of getting a better place in Fairmount-Spring Garden. That neighborhood was closer to work and closer to the schools we wanted to send Jon to. Plus, it was safer than South Philly.

This is the part that pains me.

One night, with Jonathan sound asleep in his crib and Sarah in bed reading a book, I went outside. I had been hiding the fact that I had started smoking again from Sarah, so I strolled down the street to have a cig and I walked right up on a patrol car. I was confronted by two police officers.

They told me they were locking the block down and told me to return to my home and lock the door. They told me everything was going to be fine, but I needed to get indoors.

I finished my cig on the way back to the house and when I walked up the steps, I realized I hadn't locked the door before I left--something I had always done. I opened the door and locked it behind me. I took my shoes off and went straight for the stairs. I heard a thud followed by a scream. I ran around the corner and when I pushed the door open to the baby's room, I found Sarah cowering on the floor with Jonathan in her arms. Standing over her was a man in a black jacket and dark denim jeans. He had a knife in his hand. He arched his neck to look at me and his eyes were unforgettable.

I took a step towards him and he confronted me with a gun in his other hand. He told me to drop to my knees. I didn't. I stepped towards him and he pistol whipped me. I cracked my head on the crib on my way down. I tried not to pass out. Everything was fuzzy.

I caught only glimpses of what happened next.

Glimpses of him making Sarah watch while he slashed our son.

Glimpses of him raping Sarah.

Glimpses of him stabbing her to death.

I was next, but Sarah saved me--she saved me with her screams.

Before he could finish the job, the police burst into the room and stopped him.

I would find out that his name was known as 'The Prowler'. He was motivated by the enjoyment of power. They labeled him 'Sociopath' and 'Family Killer' and I felt completely numb.

His was the last face both my wife and child would see and still that wasn't the origin of all of my grief. It was the fact that if I had locked the door, he would have likely moved on to another house. I kept telling myself that. I kept drilling into my head that it was my fault.

Lock the door.
Lock the door.
Lock the door.

If I had gone to the bedroom and grabbed my handgun. If I had locked that door. If I hadn't started smoking. If I had thought about it, I would have that life still.

Now I'm in an empty house with no motivation. I can't see her eyes anymore--the life in them at least. If not for the handful of pictures we took together, I wouldn't even be able to see her face anymore--or my son's for that matter.

I can't even remember the sound of her voice.

After it all happened, I just got food. People brought me food and they didn't know what to say. They didn't need to say anything. All of that food is sitting in the kitchen rotting. That kitchen now full of dishes Sarah will never clean, even though she didn't mind.

Some of that food is sitting on the floor in the entryway, right beside the dance shoes we'll never wear again.

I've decided to attach a hose to the exhaust pipe of my car and put the other end through the window. I'm going to close the garage and I'm going to go to sleep.

Sarah and Jonathan didn't get to think about me before they died, but I'll be thinking about both of them when I do.

I promise.

Goodbye.

Spree Killer Found Dead

Mackenzie Schole, Reporting

ALLENWOOD -- In the early hours of Tuesday morning, spree killer, Henry Amos Palmer was found dead in a work-out yard at United States Penitentiary, Allenwood.

Henry Amos Palmer was a known serial killer, rapist, and burglar. He was known to Philadelphia Police as "The Prowler" during his three month home invasion crime spree in South Philadelphia which claimed the lives of six people, including two children. His nickname "The Prowler" was self applied as Palmer was a self professed 'student' of Richard Ramirez, the 'Night Stalker' of San Francisco from 1984-1985.

Palmer was quoted saying, "I was jealous of how good he (Ramirez) was at it."

Jerome "Top Dog" Carroll, a prisoner already serving a life sentence for armed robbery and murder, has taken credit for Palmer's murder.

Sources say Palmer was lead to a secluded area by Carroll and two other unidentified inmates where he was severely beaten and apparently tortured. Details are unclear of the extent of the torture, but the cause of death has been confirmed as blunt force trauma to the head.

Carroll has been removed from the Penitentiary's general population pending further investigation.

May 25, 2016