By reason of insanity

15

The deputy sheriff guided Catherine into a secure hallway and through a connecting cinder block tunnel to the city jail. To Cat, it felt like the walls were already squeezing in on her.

They passed in silence through a series of limited-access steel doors with bulletproof glass windows. Each time, the guard had to wait for the door to be opened by remote control. Cat was mindful of ceiling cameras following their every move.

The male deputy passed her off to a gruff female deputy for processing. The woman-Janet Tompkins according to her name badge-didn't seem to realize that Cat wasn't one of the real criminals. She rolled Cat's fingerprints, cataloged her personal belongings, gave Cat a number to hold just under her chin, and lined her up for a mug shot.

Next, Tompkins escorted Cat into a small cell and told her to strip for a full-body cavity search as if Cat were a notorious drug runner.

"Do you know what I'm in for?" Cat asked indignantly.

"No, and I don't care," Tompkins responded, snapping on rubber gloves. "Now shut up and take off your clothes so we can get this over with."

Cat snorted and did as she was told. After the cavity search came the battle of the undergarments. "These are colored and frilly," Tompkins said, critiquing Cat's underwear.

"And?"

"And you're only allowed white underwear. No markings." Tompkins plopped a pile of clothes on the metal bench attached to the wall. Five sets of white underwear, five T-shirts, five pairs of socks, one towel, and two orange jumpsuits. "Get dressed," she demanded, pointing to the clothes. "Flip-flops are in your cell."

"How do you know my size?"

"We eyeball it. This isn't a fashion show."

As Cat changed into her prison garb, Tompkins filled her in on the protocol. "Prisoners who've earned trustee status wear green. The rest of you wear orange. You get a clean set of clothes once a week. The store is open once a week on Wednesdays."

It was Thursday, apparently the worst possible day to start a jail sentence.

"You wake up at 4:30 a.m., and we'll bring you breakfast. We bring you a razor and soap for your shower, and we collect the razors every morning. You're one of the lucky ones in solitary, so you shower alone-with guards watching, of course. Each morning, you get a mop and bucket. Cell inspection is at 8:00 a.m. Lunch at 10:30. Dinner at 3:30. Lockdown at 11:00."

Cat slid into her oversize jumpsuit, composed of a harsh and worn-down fabric. She rolled up the sleeves.

"Let me see your left wrist."

Cat held out the wrist, and Tompkins snapped on a plastic bracelet containing Cat's picture.

"Don't ever take that off," Tompkins said.

"And if I do?"

Tompkins froze and stared at Cat. "Don't ever take it off."

Tompkins escorted Cat back to a small cinder block cell. It had a bolted-down bed with a thin mattress against one wall and a small metal washbasin and a metal toilet on the other. A metal rod for hanging towels was just over the toilet.

"Do we ever get to go outside?" asked Cat.

"Not when you're in solitary confinement, sweetheart."

Tompkins locked the cell door with a loud clang, increasing Cat's sense of claustrophobia. There were no windows in the small cell. I might not see the sun for a week.

"Can I have visitors?" Cat asked.

"Depends," said Tompkins, and she headed down the hall.