Inmate 1577

36

MacNally looked around the ladder room. He wondered if Voorhees had chosen this place for a particular reason. Or was he reading into it?

He doubted inmates were permitted to be in here unsupervised. If caught, he could not disclose that Voorhees had suggested they meet for a counseling session. Per the officer’s orders, he had a few minutes before he could leave, so he set out to locate something he could use as a weapon.

There was nothing overtly obvious-no knives, no ice picks or awls, hammers-no tools of any sort, for that matter.

MacNally crouched down, then pressed his stomach flat against the floor and brought his eyes from the furthest left wall across to the- Wait… In the corner, something thin, oblong, and brown. He knelt in front of a tall, wooden ladder, reached under the bottom rung, and wiggled his fingers. He caught the item with a fingernail and flicked it toward him.

A rusted 3/8-inch bolt, roughly five or six inches in length.

It wasn’t sharp, but it definitely could serve as a weapon. He shoved it into his pocket, then gave one more look around the room. There were no other devices, utensils or hardware he could find. The bolt would have to do.

MacNally pulled the door open and walked out, then headed for A-Cellhouse to find Gormack and Wharton. He did not have to go far: both were in the yard having a smoke.

MacNally walked into the hot sunshine, then stopped. He needed to think this through. He had never attacked anyone-had never even had a bar fight-but he had seen a few. His observations told him that the victor wasn’t always the best brawler, but the one who hit hard and fast, aggressively, and unrelenting… The man who was possessed and who did not stop until forcibly yanked away.

He reached into his pocket and felt the ribbed threads of the thick screw, then approached his adversaries. Gormack was the bigger threat: the one to neutralize first.

MacNally took five steps-and stopped. Two men were approaching his targets. They laughed and started jawing at one another. The odds were no longer in MacNally’s favor. Despite the need to act fast, it would be foolish to force his hand. Acting prematurely could-likely would-get him killed-in which case, his damaged reputation would be moot. As problematic as being labeled a lop would be, he had to exercise restraint. At this point, an hour or two’s delay would not matter-and might, in fact, be time well spent.

He had to channel his anger and use it effectively. Given what he had been through the first night in his new cell, summoning up his rage was not difficult. If there was any doubt that he could raise a weapon and drive it through another man’s skin, it vanished each time he flashed on what his cellmates had done to him. The anal soreness would likely not subside for weeks.

But the emotional scar would remain long after his torn rectal skin had healed.