Compelled

By Ann Simpson

Macon O'Reilly has a girl, a job, and a future, but they threaten to take it all away. Forced to join them he survives for Anna, his first and only love. Macon holds on to memories, and her promises that they will all ways be together. He holds her close and from the sound of her breath, and the movement of her mouth felt by his she said, “I love you.” She loves me he tells himself, but revenge threatens to disrupt their plans as Macon struggles with the choice of leaving with Anna or bringing down an entire gang of thugs. To do that he must be one of them.
He finds himself deep into a subculture so tight it alone threatens to swallow him as he vows to pay them back for the harm they've done. As he thrusts forward using every encounter against them he becomes the most dangerous man incarcerated. He's ruthless, he's a leader, a hero, and a kind and gentle soul. He could change everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Simpson
• Release date: Jul 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452417257

Ann Simpson

Author Ann Simpson is a native of Virginia. She has a degree in Criminal Justice, and twelve years experience working in a regional jail. New to self publishing Ann's excitement on reaching readers versus leaving her work on the desktop is both thrilling and a learning process. Her book, Compelled, took months to reach its full potential. She is currently working on a new title and looking forward to self publishing it as well. Other interests include soccer, art, beautiful home design, and hours of ancestry research.

Book preview

Part One

The Tug

Chapter One

Jail is a place where reform reaches few and survival isn’t about the bad food. It’s a place where predators wait for the one time shoplifter, the bad check writer, or the young man who stomped his best friend for messing with his girl. Their malevolent conspiracies enabled by our inability to see them, or stop them. We look the other way. We say if you can’t do the time don’t do the crime…they say pray you never do.

Troubled by his youthful past and still serving probation for shoplifting and underage drinking, Macon O’Reilly walked out of his home escaping the frustration of his curfew. His relief came when he went to work. He had remained in his home until six in the morning with his drunk and obnoxious father. He did it to himself, had he not gone out drinking and stealing from a local 7-Eleven he wouldn’t have to put up with his father’s drunken rants about his mother.

The privilege to carry a driver’s license was taken by the judge when Macon was about to turn eighteen and now burdens him at age nineteen. He walked to the shop dressed in his work overalls stained with motor oil. The Tuesday morning’s air was warm. The suburban street once a sixties dream neighborhood was dated and lined by hundred year old trees, and fifty year old brick front ramblers. It was an affordable place for retirees and renters. The walk was quiet most mornings, unless, like on that particular morning when Macon’s father came screaming after him.

You better have your ass in by curfew! You hear me! He slouched into the chair on the front porch. He had been drunk for years, ever since Macon’s big sister went missing.

Embarrassed by his father and by his neighbors who peeked from their windows Macon held his head down until he reached the intersection of Deacon Road and Jett Street. Overkill, he said. Just a few more weeks of this shit. He was ready to be out of his father’s house and be with Anna, his girlfriend.

Macon and Anna had been meeting by the crucifix on historical route one, a large marker people often used when giving directions in Stafford, Virginia. But for Macon every time he laid eyes on it, it was a sign, a reminder that he would be all right. The area was growing but still small enough for Macon’s shy ways. He and Anna would meet just inside the tree line where they’ll walk together through the woods and talk about their future. He’ll hear those sweet words from Anna.

Macon in a few weeks we’ll be at college together, we’ll always be together, that I promise you.

Anna’s promise had kept Macon strong and in a few weeks there will be no more probation, driving restriction, or the dreadful curfew he endured.

He crossed over route 218 and passed the Eagles Club where his mother played Bingo, Mom’s the smart one, he said out loud. He smiled as he thought of his mother who also escaped his father’s insults four nights a week by going to Bingo. Macon didn’t know how she endured such scrutiny by his father. It seemed she couldn’t do anything good enough for him.

The day was long at the garage where Macon worked with his Uncle Joe. Two oil changes, three tire fixes, and an hour of an extreme mood kill bitch who complained her car was still making that ticking noise filled the day. Macon’s Uncle Joe, who had been a role model and confidant, owned his shop and gave Macon the job with a steady pay check. Joe also drove him to see his probation officer, Cline, every Tuesday. It was a twenty minute ride and Uncle Joe used every minute to taunt his young nephew.

You going to see that pretty little girl today, Uncle Joe asked.

It’s Tuesday isn’t it, Macon couldn’t hide his grin. Joe had asked him the same question every week just to see his smile.

Are you going to marry her?

Macon blushed, I don’t know Joe.

If you don’t marry that girl, I’ll be a, I’ll marry her myself. I’m no fool son.

Macon laughed, I plan to ask her father for his blessings before we go to college Joe, but I’m so nervous.

Joe smiled, You’re really going to do it aren’t you?

She’s the one Joe.

Joe reached across the seat of his purple 1969 Ford Bronco and tapped Macon on the back of his head. Macon grinned and smoothed his hair down. He looked over at Joe who had a ridiculous but sentimental smile on his face as he said, Son.

They arrived at the probation office, a corner room inside the jail where adult prisoners are held.

See you later, Macon said as he jumped out of the Bronco.

P.O. Cline was as uninteresting, Macon thought, as he was interested in Macon’s reform. In the eleven months Macon had seen Cline not once had he given encouragement or a simple good work comment. He sat in a chair across from Cline. He was excited about his plans to marry, and about college.

He remembered how nervous he was when he waited for his acceptance into the college. He thought sure they’d turn him down. Anna held his hand when he received the news. His palms were sweaty and he felt faint. When he and Anna found out he was accepted she grabbed him and held him tight. Her long hair draped her shoulders. Her blue eyes looked as though she’d been picked by the heavens just for Macon, and tears formed as she said something Macon accepted with a thank you, but felt awkward as he heard the words, Macon, I am so proud of you.

He couldn’t hide his excitement and burst out with, I’m going back to school! I enrolled last week and I start in the fall! Macon waited for a response from Cline, anything would have been better than the silent treatment.

He didn’t know what Cline was reading but it was a sure bet it wasn’t about him. Each week Cline’s attention was on something else other than Macon who sat anxiously on the other side of the desk in a chair that was as always lowered to the floor. It was an awkward moment but nonetheless Macon was excited about his new direction and thought Cline for once would show some type of encouragement. At least that’s what he thought until Cline opened his mouth.

Ok Mr. O’Reilly, see you next week.

Is that all he had to say, Macon mumbled as he left the building frustrated. He bobbled his head back and forth like a sassy little girl. Three more visits and you Mr. P.O. Cline can kiss my ass, he said as he stomped across the parking lot.

Uncle Joe didn’t wait to give him a ride home. It was Tuesday and Macon would catch a bus to North Stafford to see Anna. Once there he will have one hour to visit and be back at the bus stop and make it home by curfew. Quite a distance for one hour, but for Macon it was worth it. He needed to hear Anna’s words and he would travel many more miles just to see her beautiful face and snug up against her soft body.

Macon stepped off the bus and immediately saw that Anna wasn’t in the tree line. He walked toward her normal spot and waited for her to arrive. Thirty minutes later Macon decided to run up to Anna’s house. He passed by the community center and just beyond it he could see Anna’s bedroom window. She wasn’t there. Macon continued on to the front of the house where he saw his best friend Caleb with Anna.

Caleb had hold of Anna’s wrists. Macon saw the two standing close to one another in what seemed to be a deep conversation. His heart stopped at the sight of his Anna with his best friend. Anna looked at Macon and pulled away from Caleb.

Caleb saw Macon and said, What, you didn’t think she’d get bored waiting for your sorry ass to get off curfew, did you?

Anna held her head down. Macon looked for confirmation from Anna, anything that would relieve him from the agony he felt. Anna couldn’t look at him after what Caleb had said. Truth was she really needed more interaction and time away from home to breathe, but not with Caleb.

Macon briefly looked away. He saw a black Mercedes with personalized plates that read Dude. His perception of the tag was distorted by anguish and humiliation. He couldn’t escape the question mark he saw at the end, which asked him, Dude? Macon looked back at Caleb and gasped as he darted forward. Anna screamed, Macon!

Caleb let out a laugh, What you gonna do man, beat me up over her. She’s a whore!

Macon’s left fist bloodied the lips those words came from. He punched Caleb again with a right, and a left. Caleb screamed, Macon, stop! Anna stood by in disbelief as Macon beat him, and as Caleb slipped into unconsciousness he continued to beat him. A neighbor called 911 and Stafford County Police arrived just in time to see Macon strike Caleb a few more times, and when he turned toward Anna.

With guns drawn the police yelled, Get down on the ground!

Macon didn’t hear their commands. He slowly walked toward Anna. Tears flooded his face. In a hesitant whisper filled with pain he said, Anna, Anna please.

Anna was shocked at what Macon had done, she said, Macon, Oh my God I was trying to come meet you. He wouldn’t let go of my wrist.

Macon reached forward and was about to take Anna into his arms when he was taken to the ground with great force.

Anna I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I love you! he screamed.

The handcuffs clicked and locked. Macon’s wrists ached from the tightness. He was lifted to a standing position and he saw an officer walking Anna away from the scene. Anna screamed for Macon. The last words he heard from her were, I promise you Macon! As she fell to the ground helpless against the deputies force.

Chapter Two

In the back seat of the cruiser separated by a metal gate from the driver and trapped inside like a dangerous animal, Macon sat and prayed he would be out of jail within three weeks because needed to get back to Anna. He hoped what he did wouldn’t stop him from his plans to marry her and leave for college. The cruiser eased into the large sally port and Macon watched as the huge steel doors closed behind them. It was his first time in the adult jail.

The quick book area where prisoners were searched for contraband upon entering the jail smelled of urine, vomit, and dirty feet, mixed with alcohol breath from a passed out drunk propped up in the corner.

Hands on the wall, an officer barked.

It was Macon’s first encounter with a jailor, a blunt order from what seemed to be a machine rather than a human. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a man between twenty five and thirty with a blank expression on his face. He wondered why he didn’t seem affected by his arrest. His jeans were pressed with a crease, and his shirt crisp white. His stone face was absent of anger or grief. He looked like a man waiting to be called into the doctor’s examination room.

Look at the wall!

Macon whipped his head to the right and faced the officer, feeling insulted he said, You don't have to be an asshole about it.

Officer Jacobs, a young man standing about five foot seven with malicious blue eyes that gave Macon a chill was on his last hour of his shift. His breath smelled of cigarette that nearly gagged Macon. He said with a snarl, Oh you one of those smartasses. I got something for you.

Later after what seemed to be endless questions by the intake officer Macon was locked in a small cell with the man he saw in the quick book area. Erik Donnelly, a third time offender sat on the concrete bench and appeared to be poised for something but Macon hadn’t any idea what it was that had this man in such a state.

Is this your first time? Macon waited for a response that didn’t come. An officer called for Erik. He stood up and started for the cell door to exit, but before he walked out of the cell he turned to Macon and said, Pussy.

What an asshole, Macon said under his breath.

Officer Hernandez, a short balding man with a large torso and thin legs called for Macon, Get up! You have fifteen minutes to make your phone calls!

It was something Macon hadn’t thought of and he stupidly asked, Who am I calling?

Officer Jacobs yelled from across the room, Your fucking Momma for all we care.

Macon wanted to walk across the room and give the officer what he gave Caleb, and the only reason he didn’t was because he wanted to first call his Uncle Joe and then Anna.

He sat at the bench in front of the phone he intended to use. Officer Jacobs yelled, Not there! Sit on the other side. Females sit there moron!

Macon moved to the other side. The bench was bolted to the floor with a puddle of urine circling its base. An inmate worker attempted to mop it up. Next to Macon sat an elderly man who was calling his wife to help him bond out. Macon watched as his hands trembled when he reached to dial the number. Macon at first thought he was scared and then realized he was a drunk just like his father.

Macon dialed his uncle’s number 540-368; he went to push the number nine on the key pad but saw what looked like blood. He asked, Can someone clean this blood off the phone?

Are you refusing the phone? Officer Jacobs sneered.

Macon was angered by the remark but didn’t want to lose his phone call and so he wiped the blood with his sleeve and continued to dial.

Joe, I’m in jail. I got into a fight. They charged me with malicious wounding.

Hold on son, where did you say you are?

Macon rambled on, I don’t think they gave me a bond. I’m sorry Joe. I can’t come to work tomorrow. Looks like I’ll be here until I go to court.

Joe spoke gently, I’ll see what I can do. Tell me what happened.

Joe I would but they’ve only given me fifteen minutes. I’ll call you tomorrow after you get off work.

He called Anna. The ring continued for what seemed to be an eternity. Anna’s father answered, Hello. The jail recording repeated its usual message to its receiver, You have a call from, Macon said his name into the phone. An inmate from the Stafford County Jail. To accept this call press one, otherwise hang up. Macon didn’t have a chance to ask for Anna before he heard, Do not call my daughter again. He was disconnected.

Officer Jacobs yelled from the desk, O’Reilly line up over here.

Macon slowly hung the phone up. He stared at it as if it was his last connection to the outside world. He stood and looked around at other prisoners, some drunk, some scuffed up, and others tearful, and then there was Erik. A tinge of smell in his nostrils brought on by a mix of urine and vomit unsettled his stomach. He felt faint as he walked to the line.

Keep your hands down by your side! No talking, and walk to the right of the hall in a single line! Officer Jacobs barked the orders, stern and loud.

Macon followed but lagged behind the others. O’Reilly! Come on we don’t have all day. You move on my time! The officer was overbearing.

Macon gazed at the concrete walls and down the long corridor, surely, he perceived, it led to the end of his dreams. Dealing with a rude cop, he felt, was unnecessary. Being in jail was punishment enough, and so he yelled back at Officer Jacobs, Kiss my ass you jerk! I don’t feel well.

What’s the matter sweetie? Momma won’t come get you, the officer mocked.

Come on man leave me alone. I didn’t do anything to you. You’re such an ass.

The hall curved to the right and then left. Another sharp left marked the spot where the smell of bleach gasped those who walked by. The showers were four open stalls with a blue non slip pad under each shower head. No curtains just one large room. Macon was locked in with three others. He unclothed and stepped into the shower. It was his first opportunity to wash the grease and oil from the shop off his body. The small container of body wash and shampoo combination couldn’t possibly do the job but Macon decided to give it a good try. The water was cold but Macon allowed it to spray over his head, relieved to feel something familiar.

He bolted to the right with the sound of movement from his left. He was grabbed by two of the three men in the shower room. The bare slimy floor he felt under his feet was a cold comparison to the blue non slip mat. He struggled to keep his footing.

You better act like you know what you’re supposed to do.

What, I don’t know what you’re talking about! Please let go of me!

Let go of him. A confident and commanding voice from the other corner of the room said.

Macon looked over and saw it was the guy from the quick book area, the one that called him pussy. The two would be attackers with their chest poked forward, and arms that hung by their sides but widened from their torsos, and their fists tightened, walked away slowly as they stared Macon down.

Macon was stunned by the near assault, he said, Thanks.

He grabbed a towel and dressed in his new outfit, a tan colored jumpsuit he’ll wear until his court date. It was too small, and too snug against his groin.

I need another jumper this one is too small. Macon said to the clerk.

It looks like it fits just fine, she responded without looking Macon’s way.

You look like you’re scared. Don’t do that. They will fuck with you every time, said Erik.

Who?

Everyone.

Damp from the shower Macon held his street clothes in front of his body and stood by the door. Every one, he thought, why would every one want to attack me? His jumpsuit was dampened by his wet body. It clung to his buttocks as he waited to exit. He hoped it would dry before too many people saw him.

If we go to the same pod stay close and I’ll teach you some things about this place. Erik Donnelly stood about 5’9", muscular build, shoulders wide, brown hair, brown eyes, and tattoos covered his neck and arms. Macon stared at the sight and wondered whether to trust him or not.

Look man, I just want to be left alone.

Erik grinned, I’ll leave you alone, but you’re gonna have a hard time up in here.

The sound of heavy keys hit against the shower room door. Officer Jacobs gave orders for the four to form a line and return to the intake area. They sat in the open area on blue seats that were more comfortable than the concrete seats in the cells. Macon watched as officers entered people’s names into the computer. He sat on his hip as much as possible to allow the jumper and his buttocks to air dry.

The officers asked questions quickly and back to back, each without waiting for an answer, Medical problems, mental health history, know anyone inside the jail at this time, any tattoos, do you have an emergency contact?

Each person gave an answer at the end, No whether they had any issues or not, whether they had an emergency contact person or not didn’t matter, and the officers certainly didn’t care for receiving an answer.

Once they were all were booked in the officers began giving each other smoke breaks. It dawned on Macon that they had hurried through the booking process, half assed, getting the information they needed as quickly as possible just to have some down time.

Out loud and perhaps a little outspoken he said, That’s fucked up.

Erik heard him. He sat, grinning, and watched as Macon began to realize that the two officers on duty didn’t care about the people they booked in, but he thought maybe they couldn’t, because if they got to close or too friendly it may impair their ability to get the job done.

Macon looked around at the others. A drug addict who fidgeted in his seat sat across from him, Hey man, you got anything?

Macon replied, No, assuming he meant drugs.

Anthony McDonald stood and paced around the common area. An officer told him to sit down or go to a cell and lock down. Macon watched intently as Anthony screamed, You get me medical attention, right now! If I die it will be on your hands!

Go sit down and I’ll call a nurse for you. The order sounded more threatening than concerned.

Macon watched but the call was never made. A nurse appeared briefly and then walked into a locked room. From there she began to call each person. Macon sat quietly, saddened by his predicament, he wanted to go home.

Chapter Three

John Stewart a onetime petty thief turned child sex offender began to argue with Officer Hernandez, You could have called the nurse for him. I want to see your supervisor! He was arguing for Anthony possibly for the sake of arguing, Macon mused.

Anthony sat across from John, the room went silent, and after hearing the charges John was brought in on he knew he couldn’t risk a baby rapist taking up for him and so he spoke up and said, Stay the fuck out of my business, you freak, get caught raping babies and think you can come up in here getting in my business.

Rounds of laughs were followed by silence again as Sgt. Jenson entered the room. Jenson had an intense look on his face and Macon wondered if he should bother to look his way.

See you’re back again Mr. Donnelly. Jensen hovered over Erik.

Macon watched as Erik glanced at inmate Nathaniel Gallegan who stood in the cell window looking out at Jensen. Nathaniel was a large man and Macon wondered why he was locked down in a cell while everyone else sat in the common area. He hadn’t noticed him earlier and from the looks of him he was glad he hadn’t. Erik didn’t respond to Sgt. Jenson. He sat and stared at the floor. Sgt. Jenson walked toward Macon.

What’s your name?

Macon.

Got a last name Macon?

O’Reilly.

What are you in here for?

What?

What were you charged with?

Malicious wounding.

You beat up your girlfriend?

Macon thought of Anna, he shifted in his seat. He was uncomfortable with how the sergeant was talking to him and he answered, Man get away from me.

The sergeant, a foot from Macon’s face said, Ok, and walked away.

Erik glanced over at Nathaniel again. Macon didn’t notice. His thoughts were on Anna, he wondered how he could have forgotten about Anna for the last two hours.

I promise you Macon. He heard those sweet words in his mind. He must make it home in time.

The blue cushioned seat beside Macon moved, he looked around and saw two people fighting. The inmate next to him tried to move away from the fight and nearly shoved Macon off the seat. He realized it was Anthony and John fighting. Blood splattered and excitement from the other inmates sounded off in the background as Macon was trapped in tunnel vision. He was awed by the fight and unable to comprehend the danger.

You bitch! Getting in my business! Who the fuck do you think you are, Anthony said. He seemed furious and John looked bewildered.

Code Red! Code Red! An officer yelled into his radio. Lock down!

Macon waited for the others to move unsure of what to do. Officer Jacobs grabbed Macon and shoved him into a cell. The door slammed. Macon looked out the window in horror as Anthony wailed on John. John wasn’t moving. He lay still on the floor. Blood was all around. Macon saw officers he hadn’t seen yet run into the area from the back. They handcuffed Anthony.

I told you to get me medical attention! Anthony yelled at Officer Hernandez.

Another officer yelled, Code Blue, Code Blue! into his radio. John lay unaware of everything. Medical staff arrived and rendered care to him. Anthony was still screaming for medical as officers strapped him down in a black chair. Macon looked over at cell 126 and saw Erik looking directly at him. Erik nodded and Macon backed away from the window, sat down, and cried.

All the commotion going on outside of the cell was background noise, just for a moment as Macon pulled himself together. Macon stood and looked out the cell window again and in time to see John on a stretcher as he was rolled out to the sally port. Anthony was in full view in the chair with what looked like seat belts strapped across his chest. He couldn’t move, even his feet were strapped to the chair.

You bastards, get me my medicine!

Macon sat back down on the cold concrete bench and thought about Anna, sweet Anna, I wonder if she knows I called. He wiped the tears from his face. Anthony was still screaming out in the common area. Macon heard another voice yell.

Shut the hell up! The officer had zero compassion.

Macon stood up again and faced the cell door window. He saw Officer Jacobs who had been quiet during the fight, and while the ambulance took John out, but with the absence of supervisors Officer Jacobs started with his abusive conduct again.

You are not getting any medicine! So you may as well shut up or I’ll leave you in that chair all night!

Macon paced the cell as Erik stood silent in his. Nathaniel sat in another cell; he waited and listened. Anthony rocked the chair he was strapped to. His face was soaked with tears, agony painted his face. Macon could see he had problems, not just his current predicament but possibly years of drug use and maybe mental health issues. He screamed for help but Officer Jacobs was indifferent to his pleas.

Jacobs you fucking asshole, can’t you see that man needs help! Macon couldn’t believe he said it, but since he did he saw no reason to stop.

If you weren’t such a dick this stuff wouldn’t have happened! Why don’t you get your lazy ass up and do something!

Officer Jacobs didn’t respond. He didn’t even look Macon’s way, an act that infuriated Macon.

I’ll have your fucking job you asshole! Somebody needs to do something about you! You have no right treating people like dogs! Macon banged on the door, and then he kicked it until Officer Jacobs finally got up and walked to his cell.

Macon wasn’t intimidated by Officer Jacobs, he said, Look at that mother fucker. Macon assumed everyone else would jump in but they didn’t.

In a demeaning tone Macon said, Careful officer you may trip or something. Don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself because getting medical attention around here is impossible.

Go sit down O’Reilly. I knew you were trouble when you first came in!

Make me sit down, Macon said with contempt in his voice. Officer.

Officer Jacobs turned and looked at Erik’s cell. He had disappeared from the cell window. Nathaniel sat motionless in his cell with a grin on his face. He hadn’t once looked out of his window during the incident.

Officer Jacobs slowly conducted a security check and looked into each cell. His eyes met Nathaniel’s. He grinned and returned to his desk. Macon wondered what would happen next. Regardless, he thought, I’m going to report that bastard.

Macon was relocated to the classification unit.The stench lingered in the small cell. The walls were covered with what Macon hoped to be stains from years without fresh paint, but doubtful. The mattress was worn thin and each time Macon turned over air pushed from within and released a smell of urine and some stranger’s body odor, maybe many strangers. Macon covered his face with a sheet that was once white but now stained brown. He asked for another mattress hours before but never received an answer.

You’ll be in here until classification, classifies you, the officer said.

A guy on the bottom bunk snored for two hours and then woke to ramble on about nothing Macon wanted to hear, especially about what time dinner was or when showers were allowed, and, Are you gonna let us out?

Nevertheless, he would have to deal with his cellmate and eat to keep his strength up, and when the meals arrived Macon could smell it before the cell door opened.

Trays! Officer Lauper yelled from her desk.

Macon stepped outside the cell where he saw people lining up for that god awful smelling