Meadowdale: A Saga of Confinement

By Chet Belmonte

In this psychological thriller, Tony Redmond is sent to serve a twenty-year sentence for second-degree murder. Living out his sentence in the aged and decaying penitentiary, Tony seeks to master the demons that reside in Meadowdale Prison, confronting the evil that is embodied in dramatic fashion in the warden, the guards, and his fellow inmates. Tony must determine whom he can trust and whom he cannot. Navigating the treacherous life behind bars, Tony must accept the loss of the childhood that he left outside the prison walls and his conversion into one of them, the hardened criminal. Meadowdale, in its seedy decay, provides the backdrop for a sinister entanglement of lives as corrupt as their surroundings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481757942

Chet Belmonte

Chet Belmonte, a native Charlestonian, still resides in the "Holy City" of Charleston, South Carolina, with his wife. The couple has three adult children. His daughters, both educators, are married and live in Charleston. His son, also married, lives in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and is in the banking field. The Belmontes have eleven grandchildren, one of whom was killed in 2011 in a tragic car accident. A graduate of the College of Charleston, Mr. Belmonte also holds a master's degree in education from the University of South Carolina. He held a wide variety of teaching and administrative positions for over sixty years. Elementary, middle, high school, and college-aged students have benefited from his innovative instructional methods. Penned during his retirement, Meadowdale is Mr. Belmonte's first novel.

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CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Epilogue

For life within prison walls is an undeniable repudiation

of all that is good and decent within the heart of man.

CB

This book is dedicated to my family and my scores of friends, who kept inquiring about my progress in completing it. Their interest and involvement provided me with the necessary impetus to stick to the task of writing, rewriting, changing, editing, and eventually concluding this work. I sincerely hope they enjoy reading Meadowdale as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Many thanks, guys.

CB

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I really didn’t intend to write this story. I really didn’t. One day I sat down at my computer, began to strike the keys aimlessly, and suddenly the story began. The more my computer screen reflected what I was doing, the more I became immersed in this reflection. Suddenly, things came together and lo and behold, Meadowdale was born. Maybe it was meant to be—who knows?

CB

PROLOGUE

What causes a man to take the life of a fellow man? Is it revenge, fear, greed, anger, envy? Perhaps a bit of all of these potential and quasi-dangerous motivators.

What about the setting, the site as it was, for such nefarious acts of violence? Does this too figure in the perpetration of such dastardly acts? Does the where have any appreciable bearing on the what? Is it at best a contributing factor?

What about the opportunity? Does this present itself neatly and compactly to the warped mind of the would-be killer? Does the chance to annihilate another human being equate somehow to the actuality of the deed?

Finally, what about the intent, the justification in the eyes and mind of the evildoer, which allows him to rationalize his evil act? If the intent is not manifested by the accomplishment of the deed, should equal retribution be sought?

These concerns must all be considered carefully, and even prayerfully, as together we tread the road leading to the old prison. It is here that we will meet the ilk of those who for the reasons cited herein have erred and who now must endure incarceration for that erring.

Come along, let’s explore the vagaries of the human mind and its exploitation as we join the small coterie of unfortunates inching its inevitable way toward Meadowdale.

CHAPTER 1

Meadowdale Prison is a stark, depressing, uninviting sight. It is grim, grimy, ageless, and noteworthy for nothing. There is nothing at all inviting about it. It is intended to be that way—it is a prison, nothing more, nothing less. When it was built years and years ago it had a foreboding appearance. It still has that look, as if to say, Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. Somehow it seems to reflect the mood of its inmates: hopelessness. The few windows one can see from a frontal view look like sunken eyes in the face of a cadaver. The main entrance resembles the gateway to hell. That’s the way the inmates describe it. The building itself is made of greystone and thus is the same color: grey. Depressing color, depressing building, depressing thoughts by those who would unwillingly call Meadowdale home.

I am spending some time describing this grandfather of prisons because it will play a major role in the tale that is about to unfold. In like manner the warden of Meadowdale prison also needs some sort of a description, for he too figures prominently in this saga. His name is John Phillip Clark. His college degree is in criminology. Warden Clark is a tough man in the fullest sense of the word. I’ll wager he was born tough. Perhaps you have to be tough to be in charge of a place like Meadowdale. Maybe you couldn’t survive if you weren’t. The warden’s toughness was mixed with a heavy dose of understanding and tolerance, which he used to advantage when the situation warranted it. The reader must distinguish between tough and mean. In the vernacular John Clark was simply a son of a bitch. That’s the best way I can describe him.

Warden Clark was a politician in that he liked his job at the prison and he intended to keep it. Pity the poor fool who thought otherwise. He didn’t intend to let anything go wrong at Meadowdale. He expected his staff to feel exactly the same way. Clark felt no pity for the prisoners; after all, he reasoned, they put themselves there, didn’t they? And if they expected the prison to be a soft life, they’d soon rid themselves of that foolish idea! He didn’t treat the prisoners badly, but then he didn’t treat them well either. They were prisoners and they’d be treated accordingly. Such was his philosophy. Such was his creed. Such was the way it was and that ended the matter!

The inmates hated Clark. They hated his approach, his bearing, his authority, his no-nonsense handling of whatever needed to be handled. Clark could have cared less what the prisoners thought of him. He did his job as he saw it and apologized to no one.

The day was cold, bleak, and rainy. It seemed Mother Nature had provided the perfect setting and background for the prison and the young man who would soon be a prisoner. Tony Redmond was his name. Right now he had a scowl on his face. Small wonder, considering where he was being taken. Tony had been convicted of second-degree murder and had been sentenced to twenty years in prison. It had been a messy trial—long, debilitating, threatening, and in the end a no-win situation for Tony. Of course, like most alleged criminals, he had stoutly declared and maintained his innocence, which in the long run had not helped his cause. As a result of all this, he was bitter, resentful, and hostile, a true candidate for the likes of Meadowdale prison.

Tony looked around the van, which was fast approaching the mountainous terrain heralding the site of Meadowdale. There were three other prisoners with him, all handcuffed and shackled. Their faces all bore the identical traits of anger, hopelessness, and hostility. One of the prisoners was an older man, balding, thin, with glassy, distrustful eyes. The other two were younger, about Tony’s age. Tony had heard that they were both in for forcible rape and murder. Their faces were expressionless, their eyes darting back and forth as though casing everyone and everything around them. None of them were looking at Tony. Each appeared immersed in his own thoughts. Will I spend the next twenty years with people like these? mused Tony. Looking at them was depressing enough, but living with them had to be even worse. The atmosphere within the van as it made its way to Meadowdale was unpleasant, quiet but hostile, as though these men didn’t even trust each other. All of them, they felt, were the victims, albeit innocent, of an unfair system that had let them down completely. Small wonder the air was charged with hostility, their suspicion, and their mistrust of the entire world about them.

The van made a short turn to the left and there, resplendent in its questionable glory, lay Meadowdale. Slowly the van made the rather steep ascent to the main gate of the prison. The heavy wired gates of the prison swung slowly open and the van entered, stopping at the sentinel’s box to await security clearance. The guard, ever cautious, gave a brief glance into the interior of the van and motioned to the driver to enter the vast complex. Slowly, inexorably, the van drove to the reception center where the four new prisoners would be received into the new world of which at this point they knew so little. Perhaps that was for the best.

When the vehicle came to a complete stop at the reception building, a prison guard unlocked the rear door and ordered the four prisoners to alight one by one in single file. The men complied, shuffling to the rear door due to their shackles and lined up in front of the guard. With a menacing snare, the guard barked something unintelligible to them and stood facing them with a look that bespoke something akin to one beholding vermin.

Line up, scum. Get the lead out! Eyes this way. Listen to what I’m saying. We’re removing the shackles so you can walk like you are human beings. Keep your mouths shut and walk in single file. As soon as their feet were free, the four prisoners began to follow the guard into the large, gloomy building known as the entering point.

Weird thoughts swam about in the head of prisoner Tony Redmond. Was he in another world? Was all this shit really happening to him? Should he mouth off or keep his feelings and thoughts to himself? Why was the guard so full of hatred and venom? Was this the sort of treatment all prisoners would get in this place? His thoughts were interrupted rudely by the same guard. It seemed like this fool was always there, sneering, snarling, swearing.

What the hell do you think you’re doing, buster? the unpleasant man screamed at the older man. Nobody told you to stop walking. You better listen up or you’ll be in trouble five minutes after you get here." The older prisoner seemed to be in almost a stupor. He stumbled on trying his best to stay in line but managing only to bump into the man in front of him. This of course caused another commotion and the guard, already annoyed, rose to the occasion.

You asshole. What the hell are you up to now? Can’t you see? You walked right into that guy’s ass like it wasn’t there. Are you trying to start trouble? Because if you are, I’m more than ready and able to take care of you.

The prisoner looked at the menacing guard blankly but of course said nothing. Tony, who was standing next to and behind the older man, wanted desperately to speak in the man’s defense, but something told him to be careful. The guard seemed actually to be looking for something to vent his rage on. If he weren’t careful, the older prisoner was rapidly giving this guard that opportunity. Tony couldn’t resist giving the guard a nasty look. And that was too bad—for Tony.

You got something to say, bud? It wasn’t a question. It was a threat, an accusation, a demand, couched in the most awful tones one could imagine.

Tony said nothing, which seemed to enrage the guard even more.

"I’m talking to you, yard bird. You got somethin’ to say? I want an answer, scum, and I want it now!

Tony didn’t know what to do. The three other prisoners stood mute staring at him as though waiting for his reply and yet dreading to have him make one. Finally, Tony, his street knowledge and bravado winning out, replied to the guard.

I think the poor guy’s had it. Why are you picking on him so much? He’s confused and new and it looks to me like he’s doing the best he can.

The guard looked at Tony as if he couldn’t believe what he had heard. His eyes were piercing as he looked at Tony. Who the hell do you think you are? His lawyer? For your own good I advise you to mind your own business. The look the guard gave Tony said more than his words. It was a look that said to Tony that he had better be careful.

The guard switched his attention to the other prisoners, indicating that the brief clash with Tony was over. Just then another guard arrived on the scene and whispered something to the first guard. Immediately the guard who had been so antagonistic to the prisoners left the room and the new guard took over. His slow southern drawl caused his remarks to be non-threatening.

All right, men. You’re gonna begin processing now. We’re gonna remove your restraints now and assign each one of you to a guard who’ll stay with you during the whole time you’re being processed. When you’re done with that, you’ll be taken to the infirmary for a physical and then you’ll be assigned to your cells. Any questions? The young guard—he couldn’t have been more than thirty—waited as though expecting some response from the prisoners. There was none. Tony was amazed and surprised at the difference between the two guards, but then, he reasoned to himself, the world was full of all kinds of guards. The young guard beckoned to another guard who was standing nearby.

Okay, Jim, unlock ’em.

At that moment three more guards came into the room. The young guard called to them by name.

Cannon, you take the first guy in line. Brewster, you take that second prisoner. Foster, you’ll have the older guy. That left Tony standing there with no assigned guard. The young guard in charge looked at Tony and said, Your guard will be here in just a minute.

Just at that minute Tony’s guard entered the room. He looked at Tony and gave a half-smile. Tony felt uneasy. It was the same guard with whom he had words minutes ago.

CHAPTER 2

Throughout the processing, while his guard said nothing more to him, Tony was well aware that the man’s eyes were on him in a hostile, unfriendly manner. Maybe I’m imagining this, Tony thought to himself. Maybe he’s just an unpleasant fellow. I guess I ticked him off back there. I really don’t want to get off to a bad start with anybody around here, least of all a guard.

Apparently each of the four prisoners went through a different route in processing, for Tony did not see the other three men for quite a while. Often, as they waited for a clerk to continue the procedure, Tony and his guard, whose name he later learned was McDade, were alone in the room or office waiting their turn. As they sat and waited, again Tony had the same feeling that McDade was watching him intently. Tony realized the guard had to guard him and that the man was responsible for him, but did that mean he had to watch him so closely, or again was Tony imagining this? He really didn’t know. He did know that he was tired of worrying about it.

Soon the clerk came out and indicated to Tony that it was his turn for the placement interview. Tony wondered what sort of questions the clerk, or whatever he was, would ask him. He didn’t have to wonder long.

What kind of work did you do before being sent here? the clerk asked in a disinterested fashion.

I worked as a lifeguard during the day and as a bartender in the evenings. Tony’s reply was as brief and curt as the question.

The clerk’s eyes showed a spark of interest as his next question indicated.

When did you have time to sleep working all the time?

Tony replied non-committally, Oh, I don’t require a lot of sleep. I’m young, healthy, and active and don’t spend a lot of time sleeping. Tony looked to see if his rather odd reply had any effect on the clerk, but apparently it hadn’t.

There followed a litany of questions, none of which seemed to make much sense to Tony. Finally the interview was over and Tony returned to the room where McDade was waiting for him. Again the guard’s eyes were watching Tony intently, which again made the young prisoner uncomfortable and even uneasy.

Okay, now we’re going to return to the receiving room and join the other prisoners. The guard’s statement was almost friendly as he took Tony’s arm and led him from the room. Tony did not like to be touched by the guard, but he felt that he had had already enough trouble with McDade and didn’t want to antagonize him further. They walked the short distance to the receiving room, where the three other prisoners were already waiting for him and had already been handcuffed again. McDade placed the cuffs around Tony’s wrists and snapped them shut. Had Tony imagined it, or had the guard held his wrist longer than was really necessary? I must be losing my mind, Tony thought to himself. Already this place is getting to me.

McDade seemed now to again be in charge, and his next words confirmed this.

Okay, we’re going over to the cellblock now, where you’ll be given your prisoner’s clothes. Then you’ll be assigned to your cell and meet your cellmate. This cell will be your home for a hell of a long time, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. His words were sarcastic and even caused him to smile just a little. Tony couldn’t help but think that the guard actually didn’t look so bad when he smiled. Holy shit, thought the young prisoner to himself, I really must be cracking up even noticing that son of a bitch’s smile. McDade continued speaking.

Brewster, you walk at the end of the line behind these guys, and be sure they stay in single file. Let’s go and move it! The little procession started off to the main cellblock, known as Cellblock A, which housed hundreds of prisoners and some administrative offices, including those of the warden himself. They entered through a small side door and were soon in a large room where they were to receive their prison garb (blue denim trousers with the same colored tunic worn covering the waistband, since prisoners were not allowed to wear belts, for obvious reasons.) Each prisoner was issued a stack of clothing and instructed to move to one of the benches in the room and put the prison clothing on. McDade and Brewster sat on two chairs in the corner of the large room, smoking and seemingly relaxing. Some of the prisoners appeared somewhat embarrassed at having to undress before the other prisoners and the two guards. The older man seemed to be having trouble getting on the prison garb. Tony felt he had to help him. He did so and was rewarded with a half-smile and a brief nod of the older man’s head.

All right, you guys, hurry it up. You’re not dressing up for the opera, you know! Brewster’s remarks were addressed to no one in particular, although Tony had not finished dressing since he had been helping this other man. Tony was surprised at how well the uniform fit him. He had expected to look like most prisoners he had seen: too baggy, too tight, doing nothing to help the wearer’s self-image. Not so. Tony’s denims fit perfectly. Of course Tony’s trim physique helped tremendously. He was well built with a lean body, wide shoulders, well-developed deltoids, a slim waist and the appearance of a finely honed athlete. Physically he was quite a specimen, which many girls in the past could attest to readily and willingly. His neat blue denims in place, Tony now took his place in line with the other prisoners. McDade could not resist a sarcastic comment.

Well, are we finally finished primping, Hercules? The guard’s voice was again unfriendly and patronizing. Tony felt he had better make no response but only looked at the guard with a blank stare. The last person to call Tony Hercules was an attractive girl in a bikini who had been hanging around the lifeguard’s station at the beach where Tony worked as a lifeguard. The thought of the pretty girl gave Tony a funny feeling. Thinking of pretty girls seemed to be out of place in a prison. He had taken advantage of her come-hither look and they had spent some time together. Her pet name for him had been Hercules. How very different it sounded from McDade.

Listen up, you guys. Pick up your shit and follow me to your new home. Stay in single file. You two guys get first and second in line. Granddaddy, you come third, and you (pointing to Tony), bring up the rear. Brewster, see that they stay together and stay in line. Okay, let’s move."

The guard led the way out of the big room and into a small corridor, which opened into the first level of prisoner cells. The little line walked along the passageway in front of the cells. The inmates in the cells were standing at the bars of the cells ogling the newcomers. Obscene shouts and suggestive remarks filled the air. The coming of new prisoners always evoked a response from the hardened criminals who were already there.

Hey guys, look at the ass on that one. I could go for that! A big, black guy shouted to inmates in the neighboring cells.

Eat your heart out, Rigsby. That one’s mine, a burly weightlifter in another cell yelled out.

Screw you, guys! That old fart’s all you could handle. I’ll take care of pretty boy there. This last remark came from a tough-looking inmate with a completely bald head, obviously shaven, and huge biceps. This one apparently was one of the chiefs, a name given to big, physically powerful, and extra-mean inmates. Tony tried his best to ignore the vile comments. What a fate to be subjected to what they were openly saying.

The line moved along the outside of the cells and suddenly McDade stopped at the gate of one particular cell. He unlocked the cell door and said to the first prisoner in line.

In there, bud. Welcome to your new home and your partner in crime. He shoved the youngster into the cell and re-locked the door. The remaining prisoners, with McDade and Brewster, made their way along the passageway and stopped at another cell further down the line. Brewster made the assignment this time.

This one’s yours. Sorry we don’t have a welcoming committee for you. Your old lady’s in solitary confinement right now. He’ll be here tomorrow. Enjoy one night of peace. The guard’s words were full of implication, which the young prisoner could not have missed.

Moving along, the now-depleted line stopped at still another cell. McDade unlocked the door and his remarks were condescending and patronizing.

Okay, gramps, in you go. Hey, Pelton, take care of this old geezer and break him in right. Pelton would obviously be the cellmate of the old prisoner. A word of description of the prisoner Pelton is in order here. If there is such a thing as a typical prisoner (and I seriously doubt it), then surely Pelton is it. Thin, balding, with craggy features, wild-eyed, with glasses lying down on his nose, the man had been in prison so long that he had forgotten all about the outside world. Pelton made no comment to McDade but received the older man and led him into the cell. Maybe he would treat the old guy decently, Tony hoped fervently. The remaining prisoner was Tony Redmond. His would be the last assignment. Strange, disquieting thoughts now pervaded his mind. What kind of derelict would he have to share a cell with?

How would they get along? Would he have to defend himself? Tony was no coward, not at all. He knew how to use his fists. He had done this many times, usually in self-defense. He rarely picked a fight. He saw no need to. If the situation presented itself, he would be ready. His muscles and physical stamina had always come to his rescue. This time would be no exception.

Tony was now standing between McDade and Brewster. McDade said to him, Well, now that we’ve got everybody else tucked away, let’s find a cell where pretty boy can lay his head. He’s had a busy day and I know he’ll want to rest before dinner. The guard’s words were caustic and sarcastic and though addressed to Brewster, were intended for Tony to hear.

Come on, follow me. Brewster, I won’t need you anymore today. With this remark, he dismissed the other guard. Tony frankly would have preferred Brewster to have stayed with them, but evidently that was not the way it was going to be. Tony followed McDade along the passageway to the end of the block. They climbed a flight of stairs to the second level, which was aligned with cells identical to the lower level.

Proceeding along the walkway in front of the cells, McDade stopped abruptly and said to Tony, I’m gonna give you one piece of advice. Whether you take it or not is your own business. Learn from the very beginning to keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. If you get off on the wrong foot in here, you’ll live to regret it. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen guys like you before and I’ve seen what happened to them in a place like this. You’re smart, cocky, good-looking, young, and bitter. That’s a perfect recipe for trouble here. That chip on your shoulder will be knocked off before you know it. Be careful of what you say and who you say it to. Watch out for the guys around here who get too chummy too soon. They’ll spell big trouble for you. You’re gonna look good to the other prisoners; you can’t help that. I always hate to see prison life ruin a young guy like you. I know you have to live with the other convicts, but you don’t have to be one of them unless you really want to. Try not to set yourself up with any one guy or group. We call ’em gangs here. They’ll all want you and hate you if you don’t line yourself up with them. Don’t let them feel that you think you’re better than they are. They’ll all band against you and try to destroy you. Here the guard lowered his voice. If things get too tough, find some way to let me know and I’ll do what I can. Now let’s get you into your cell.

McDade proceeded along the passageway with Tony following close behind. The big guard seemed almost embarrassed at having said so much to the young new prisoner. Tony was more confused than ever. What was the guard trying to tell him? Or what was it that the guard was not saying? Why was he telling Tony these things? What was in it for him, McDade? Why had the guard become so concerned with Tony’s welfare when earlier he had seemed so hostile and unfriendly? Why had he dismissed Brewster so abruptly? Was it so that he could talk to Tony privately? Why? Why? Why? Tony had no answers. All he had was questions. What a way to start his prison sentence! I’ve got to get out of here as soon as I can, the young man thought to himself. I hope I can play the game right.

They stopped at a cell almost at the end of the line and McDade turned to Tony and said, Here we are. The other prisoner in this cell was granted a parole yesterday and so you’ll be by yourself awhile.

McDade unlocked the cell and stood aside for Tony to enter. Tony felt he had to say something to the big guard in return for the things the guard had shared with him earlier, but he didn’t know exactly what to say or how to say it.

I don’t know exactly how to say this, but thanks for the things you said to me back there. I don’t know why you told me those things, but I will do what you said.

Tony could say no more. There just wasn’t anything more to say and not sound like a real jerk. McDade looked embarrassed, and his face turned slightly red. "Forget that I said them, but don’t forget what I said. Tony entered his cell and the guard locked the door. He lingered outside the cell for a minute and said, Welcome to Meadowdale. If you last here, I’ll be surprised!"

CHAPTER 3

Anthony Bernard Redmond was born in a small town in South Carolina twenty-five years ago. His parents were simple, God-fearing people who tried their best to bring up Tony and his older sister, Maria, the best way they knew. They were not wealthy, far from it, but they were a loving, close-knit family who remained close until tragedy found them and nearly destroyed the existence they had known for years.

Tony’s father was a construction worker and had been employed for many years in a large construction firm located on the outskirts of the small town in which they lived. One day when Tony was in his senior year at the local high school, and Maria had been working as a secretary in a lawyer’s office, the elder Redmond lost his balance in a section of scaffolding where he had been working and fell to his death two stories below.

Tony had been in Algebra class when he was called to the principal’s office. He couldn’t imagine why he had been called there; he had done nothing wrong. He was certainly no angel, but he could recall nothing which would have sent him to see Mr. Robertson, the principal.

Come in, Tony. Take a seat there. The principal’s tone seemed concerned; his brow furrowed. "Tony, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. It’s your father. There’s been an accident. He slipped and fell from a beam on the second story where he had