Chapter 6: Back at it Again

Wayne Schmidt and Marcus Jackson were two men who could best be described as lifetime hardened criminals. Both men had been in trouble with the law almost all of their adult lives. Now in their late forties, both men were due for release within a few days of each other from the state penitentiary. Wayne was a white guy with a face that could “scare a bear away”. He stood 5’11”, stocky, weighed 215 pounds. A lot of muscle from the gym; a lot of prison tattoos as well. Though he was white, he didn’t hang with any particular white gang. He was an “independent” as they were known. Independents kept to themselves mostly, doing their time quietly.

Wayne’s cellmate was a big, black guy, Marcus Jackson. Marcus was big like Wayne from working out, one of the few things they did outside their cell. Their combined physical strength kept others from bothering them. Marcus also had lots of tattoos. He was with the Crips, but he kept to his cell with this white guy, preferring to stay independent himself. Other prisoners who bitched about their time, or bragging about their crimes, they just annoyed Marcus. He much preferred his cell with his radio earphones on, alone, than listening to those fools. One time some young punk turned and bumped into Marcus on his way back to his “crib” from breakfast. The fool started mouthing off, acting all big and bad, so Marcus had slammed him hard against the wall. That’s all, just pushed him up against the wall, hard. The kid woke up in the infirmary. Don’t nobody mess with Marcus no more.

Marcus found Wayne had better things to talk about than the Crips and their usual racist rhetoric. Wayne & Marcus had been sharing a cell for four years now. The two men found they had common interests, including motorcycles, old movies and history. Then one night, Marcus admitted he’d raped a young girl once. She was the fourteen-year-old daughter of his girlfriend. He’d gotten her high on Fentanyl, then while she was out, he’d stripped her, raped her twice, then dressed her and tucked her back in. When she came around, she was alone her room and assumed it had all been a bad dream. Wayne then admitted that he too had done something similar once. A niece, just thirteen. He’d drugged her with meth, fucked her and then got her dressed again. He told her later that she’d fallen asleep during the movie and seemed to be having a bad dream was all. She’d bought it. Child rape was something you never mentioned in prison, ever. It was a secret only the best of friends could share, especially in here. Don’t get the wrong idea; Wayne and Marcus were heterosexual 100%. No jail cell romance here. It was, however, rare to find an inmate you could trust.

Now they couldn’t wait to get out and have another go at life on the outside. Wayne was due for release in only two weeks from tomorrow. One week after that, Marcus would be out too, both having become eligible for parole. They wanted to avoid coming back too soon. They thought of ways they could get by on the outside and still make these old fantasies happen. If you kept quiet and attended some classes, the prison had a work-release program that would get you started again, so they’d worked towards that.

Between them, Marcus and Wayne felt they were almost experts at raping and not getting caught. They’d talk at length after lights out, about doing their fantasies. They felt a night of sexual fantasies was due to them after serving in this prison for so long. They discussed grabbing some young girl, doing her, and then getting clean away with it. Young tweens, that was their fantasy. Twelve to sixteen, that would be perfect. They thought a redhead would be the best, then brunette and then blonde. White girl was preferred. As their release day approached, they talked to another inmate, a tech guy, about how to do searches by age. They could use the local library; they had public computers. Take in a book so it looks like you’re doing homework research. Wayne and Marcus may know the rules in prison, but neither knew much about living outside the Walls today. The internet changed quickly.

Wayne’s day came and he left, with only some hope of a job and a place to stay. Other than that, he had no clue on what was next, or more immediately, how to solve his raging lust issue. He went to a halfway house the prison had sponsored and checked in. He got a room and access to a shared bathroom and showers. A week later, big black Marcus walked in.

They both got jobs at the warehouse down the street, where most parolees worked, making barely more than minimum wage. They saved their money, eventually split the rent on a run-down, upstairs apartment nearby. Life on the outside wasn’t bad, but wasn’t good either. They were always poor. After food and rent, there was barely anything left over. Still, it was better than being behind The Walls. So long as the two remained model parolees, the DOC pretty much left them alone, too. This they did on purpose. It was part of a larger plan.

One night around 10 pm, they stood out back of the old building, smoking the last of a joint. It was a cold, fall evening with a strong wind blowing, making the trees move a lot, leaves making lots of noise. No moon tonight; only a dim streetlamp in the alleyway that ran behind them. Smoking pot was so much easier now that it was legal. They stood in the shadows, wearing their work jackets and wool caps they’d gotten over at Goodwill. The caps were actually full-face ski masks, something they picked out on purpose.

Suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching; someone walking down the alley behind the buildings. Wayne put out the joint; it was about done anyway. They both looked from the shadows towards the streetlight. A figure appeared in the light; a girl walking down the alley. Long hair, staring down at her cell phone as she walked along. Wayne suddenly knelt down; moved closer toward the bushes by the alley. There was a small, open gate there. Marcus saw Wayne moving, so he knelt down too. Was Wayne just hiding from this person? Smoking pot wasn’t a crime now. What was he thinking? Marcus sat still, watching the girl get closer, waiting to see what Wayne would do, if anything.

Fifteen-year-old Anna Beth Walker walked down the alley to her grandmother’s home. She lived with her in a small house at the end of the alley now. She used to live with her mom until last week when mom was sent to jail for 90 days for another DUI. Anna was a freshman at Lancaster High, and staying at grandma’s house just made her walk a little bit farther in a different direction. Tonight, she’d been late leaving school, having band practice. She wore her regular school clothes; torn blue jeans, a t-shirt with a fluffy green sweater over it. She had on her light jacket, but she’d need her winter coat soon. Anna was only 5’5” tall, weighed about 105 pounds. Her long, light brown hair was straight, nothing fancy. She looked like a typical fifteen-year-old teenager. She huddled tightly, holding her book bag in the cold night air as she hurried down the dark alley. She was focused mostly on her iPhone, looking at chat room conversations. She walked past the only streetlight, then passed by a big tree, through its dark shadow. Almost home. She didn’t even notice the small gate in the bushes, nor did she see the man leap out behind her.

Wayne was totally winging it here. The person in the alley walked by; he saw long hair and legs. He only had a moment to decide, then he made his move. He jumped up behind her, grabbed her, wrapping his left arm around her face, jamming his bicep under her jaw. He learned that in prison a long time ago. With his other arm, he wrapped it around her, gripping one arm, pinning the other. She was small, light; he lifted her with little effort, turning, quickly pulling her off her feet. Faster, faster! Quickly he backed up to the gate, pulling her along with him. She struggled a lot, trying to scream, kicking, trying to get free. She was a pistol alright! Marcus ran to the cellar door, held it open as Wayne dragged this girl inside. Marcus looked around. He saw no one, then quickly closed the door behind them, leaving only the sound of the leaves in the wind.

Anna struggled against the man. She could hardly move, he was gripping her so tight; she screamed over and over, but his big arm had her mouth completely closed. She could hardly breathe, too. She fought with her hands for air; managed to just get in a few breaths through her nose. Who was this guy? What was going on? Where was he dragging her to, and why? He dragged her through a door into some building, into a dark room. She heard a heavy door close, then a lightbulb clicked on overhead. The man holding her turned toward another man.

“Do it, man! Do it!” the man holding her yelled. Anna saw this big black man standing there. He hesitated, then suddenly jabbed her hard, right in her gut. She buckled over from the pain of his fist. Suddenly the man let go of her head. She went down to one knee, gasped for air; every breath was a struggle now. Her arms clutched her stomach. The black man grabbed her jaw with his big hand. He squeezed hard, forced her to look up at him.

“Listen up, girl! You keep quiet, do what you’re told, you’ll be let go soon. You hear me?!” The white man reached in, gripped her throat and said, chuckling, “You gonna be our little fuck-bunny tonight!” They both laughed a sick laugh together. Anna looked back and forth at them, terrified. The white man had tattoos on his neck and arms. He was old, like forty something, but big, lots of muscle. The other man was black. He was bald, and looked older too. They were both sweating, smelled like reefer, looked filthy. Still, she kept struggling, trying to get free, to get away. She was strong, but these men were way, way stronger than her. She started really crying now, whimpering as she stood in front of the white guy, held by his strong hand. She could still hardly breathe.

“What ... do you ... want? Who are you? Please, just, just let me go, please...” Anna leaned away from the two as they stood only inches away from her. She tried to back up slowly, unsure what was behind her in this dark cellar. A big rusty tank was next to her on her right; a stone wall on her left. A dirt floor. The man holding her throat forced her to stand up straight. Then, he slapped her very hard across her face with his other hand. Once, then twice. She cringed from the pain, crying out. She tried to turn away, but he held her face firmly in place with his hand around her soft neck, pushing her back against the rusty boiler. He reached down, grabbed her open jacket and began to force it off her shoulders. She fought to keep it on, but he yanked it down hard, eventually pulling it off of her. Still holding her throat, the ugly, scary-looking white guy began pulling at her sweater. She fought to keep this too, fighting to keep it pulled down, but then the black guy had moved in, helped the other man force it off of her despite her struggle to keep it on. She cried out, pleading, “Stop! Stop! Leave it alone!” as they tore it from her. Once it was off, Wayne jabbed her ribs hard as Marcus pulled the sweater from her arms. She hardly made a sound after that, her ribs now badly bruised.