From Inside

By Patricia A. Gray

Veronica Harris learned the hard way that prison is no place for a mouthy young girl. Now after twenty years behind bars, she has a second chance. Newly released from her miserable confinement, Veronica boards a bus and heads west, far from her Southern roots and bad memories. Yet outside the barbed wire of her former residence, things are far different than she remembers.

When Veronica arrives in Southern California, she meets a quirky local artist with a pacifist slant who draws her instantly to his calm nature and unique looks. Mac Livingston is like no man she’s ever known, and he seems to be just what she needs to heal. But he comes with his own baggage, and Veronica soon learns that she isn’t the only one battling inner demons. Mac’s tolerance of injustice doesn’t sit well with Veronica, who prefers punishment to acceptance. But how long can she hide her volatile past from him? Sooner or later lingering feelings will rise, revealing her tortured thoughts and the sins she’ll never forget and as sure as hell never forgive.

From Inside is the gripping tale of an ex-con’s journey to free herself and live life as no one’s prisoner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532068522

Patricia A. Gray

Patricia A. Gray is the author of thirteen novels including The Loner, Ridder of Vermin, and The Seared One. A graduate of the University of Alabama, she lives in Southern California with her husband, daughter, and Chocolate Lab, Reddington.

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Copyright © 2019 Patricia A. Gray.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-6853-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-6851-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-6852-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019902584

iUniverse rev. date: 03/19/2019

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

To Panther

The best dog ever

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many people continue to motivate me to keep writing and, though the enjoyment comes from the process, there are those who give me the encouragement even when the ideas sometimes don’t materialize…

So thank you to Donna and Maria—two of my readers who are especially interested in a main female character: my first. One would think a female writing as a female would be easy, but I have to say how difficult this one was to develop. Instead, let me create a screwed-up male…so much easier.

Speaking of Maria: thanks for your assistance with the Spanish!

I also appreciate newer readers who are fast catching up—Cindy, for example. Thanks for giving my books a chance.

As always, thank you to my best friend, Laura, who is there for me through all the facets of life…including the Machine Head VIP. 

And, on that note, the inspiration I find to write is all around us. Much of mine comes in the form of music. So thank you to the best band I have ever seen live, Machine Head. In addition to the incredible rawness of their music are the powerful words that speak to the depths of our psyches and how low we can sometimes go. And they’re nice guys, too. The VIP in Anaheim was truly mind-blowing! Such a class act…

Finally, I want to acknowledge my husband, Carlos, and my daughter, Josie. They are the ones who make it all worthwhile and I love them for it.

Chapter ONE

S he had a pair of icy, blue eyes. The clarity in them stood out against her fair complexion and the coldness they reflected ran through her thin body as well. Her hands hung against her faded blue jeans, and she took a second to swallow as she continued to stare, hardly blinking at all.

The light-skinned black woman facing her just sighed. You’re tearin’ up, Harris.

Those blue eyes rolled. I am not.

You sure as hell are. I can hear the crackin’ in your voice. How many times I tol’ your ass to stay strong?

"I am strong."

The taller woman in the white baggy shirt and pants eventually grinned. "Right. Well, no matter, I’m gonna miss you and your mean ol’ eyes— She held out her arms. A large colorful tattoo of the Creole flag graced her forearm. Gimme a hug, you goddamn bitch—"

With that, they embraced, holding on tight. More than a few seconds passed. The guard beside them glanced around for a moment before she checked her watch.

Okay, y’all, wrap it up now.

It was Harris who finally pulled away. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks and put the hair that fell just to her shoulders behind her ear.

You take care of yourself, Monica, y’hear? she said solemnly.

That was when the taller woman’s tough posture gave way. Her shoulders suddenly drooped forward bringing with them a pair of short french braids.

Damn you, Harris, you ain’t never called me by my first name. Looking away, she breathed in deeply. Shit. You fucked me up now.

In twenty years I’ve never seen you cry.

I ain’t cryin’, bitch.

Time’s up. The guard motioned the inmate back towards her bunk bed. This heartwarming endearment is over, ladies. You need to go, Harris.

Nodding, Harris glanced over her shoulder as she was led away. The sentiment looks good on you, Monica, she noted and finally grinned.

Her moment of sarcasm was answered with a middle finger.

The guard walked beside Harris down the lonely corridor on the way to the exit. A pudgy woman, she looked at the prisoner now dressed in the same white tee shirt and holey jeans she’d given up when she had first entered the prison.

Looks like you ain’t gained nothing in all your time here, Harris, she gestured. Those jeans even look loose on you. You didn’t like the food during your stay?

The soon-to-be-free woman merely forced a tight-lipped acknowledgment. Not particularly, Officer.

That’s a shame, the guard responded. For some of these girls, this is all they got. No family, no home, no food.

It’s still prison, Harris answered abruptly, anxious to be done with the long walk towards check-out where she’d pick up her personal belongings and finally leave. She stared back. I don’t think y’all are doing anyone a favor here.

The guard merely frowned as she stopped at a barred barrier. Hurriedly, she pressed the red button on the wall and waited for the large metal door to open. A loud buzz was heard. Harris stared ahead as the gate was opened. Another guard in a dark navy uniform walked up quickly and waited for her on the other side. Harris’s eyes grew small.

I’ll take it from here, Officer Johnson, he spoke up.

But I was instructed to take her to check-out—

The male guard stepped forward and reached for Harris’s arm. I’ve got this. You’re needed in Dormitory A.

Somewhat apprehensive, the officer remained where she was, nodding and watching as the male guard brusquely pulled Harris with him while the barred door closed slowly behind them.

He quickened his pace, walking a few feet until they were out of earshot. Are you gonna miss me? he hissed.

Let go of me, Harris said. You can’t touch me anymore.

You’re still on my turf, Inmate. You ain’t free—not ’till you get beyond these walls.

Her face deepened in color. I swear to God—

He suddenly stopped, still holding onto her. Although not tall, he was well-built with broad shoulders and thick biceps, his hair dark brown, short and neatly trimmed. Clean-shaven, he was a handsome man. But his gaze was callous.

You swear to God what?

The woman glared back. His fingertips were digging into her skin. She noted the veins protruding on his arm as he continued applying pressure.

Tell me, Harris, he continued. What are you swearing to God about? A sly smile formed on his thin lips. It’s a little late, ain’t it? You think He’s gonna welcome you back after all you done?

You disgust me, she said, looking away.

Oh now, don’t lie. The man suddenly stared, his green eyes locked on her lower half. Lookit you. You got too skinny. You don’t even fill out them jeans no more. You need to be wearing the clothes you’re used to. He put his face closer to hers. You know. The baggy white outfit where it don’t matter if you gain or lose a little? Don’t you wanna put it back on, Inmate two-zero-four-five? Surely you’d be more comfortable in that.

Despite her attempt to put distance between them, he still held tight to her arm. He had just about cut off the circulation. She could feel her hand growing numb.

It feels weird, don’t it? he kept talking. To be able to walk out of here after twenty years? Hell, we’re all you know. We’re practically family.

She returned her cold eyes to him. You’re none of my kin, thank God.

You’re bringing Him up a lot, Harris, and yet I never recall ever seeing you once open a page of the Bible. He shook his head. All you ever did was make them weird drawings. At that, he frowned. Maybe if you’d ever read the Bible you never would’ve ended up here in the first place.

I don’t need lectures from a hypocrite.

Just then, he released her and reached for his baton that was on the same hip as his gun. He clutched it tight in his right hand.

You’re just beggin’ me to hit you, ain’t you? One last time?

The woman inhaled deeply and put her shoulders back. In a few minutes I’ll be a free woman and you won’t ever put your hands on me again, Baxter.

His eyes narrowed as he returned the hateful look radiating from her clear, porcelain skin. "It’s Officer Baxter, you ungrateful bitch, he rasped, raising the baton. How dare you address me so disrespectfully after all I’ve done for you—"

She watched him glance about the corridor and noticed his focus went to the camera staring back at him from the upper right corner of the thick concrete wall. He was holding onto the weapon rigidly. She could see the beads of perspiration begin to form on the sides of his face and begin their descent down his constricted neck, thick like his arms and chest. His body grew taut with his growing anger. She knew that posture well.

And yet he forced himself to slowly lower his weapon. You’ll be back, Harris, he warned. You’ll screw up like they all do and you’ll be back. He returned the baton to his belt and grabbed her arm once again, pulling her along beside him. And I’ll be right here waiting.

As they approached the last barred door, he hit the buzzer and continued holding onto her awaiting the opening of the metal. The seconds it took to get through that final barrier felt like hours, and his grip on her was reminiscent of a python as he made one last attempt to squeeze the life out of her.

She stood outside the chain link fence with its inviting crown of barbed wire and took one last look at the drab concrete building that had been her home. All she had in her hand was a small canvas bag that held the few belongings they had returned to her. It had been twenty long years that she had stood on that side of the fence. Before she took another step, she breathed in and inhaled the humid air. It smelled especially good. A brief moment of euphoria set in and she ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it over the top of her head and letting it cascade down into her face. She smiled as it hid her view completely. Then, like a dog, she shook out her hair and chuckled, realizing that she could do just about whatever she damn well felt like. Still grinning, she reached in the bag and pulled out an elastic band and quickly pulled the straight, brownish red concoction that always looked redder in the sun behind her head and twisted it into a short ponytail. Hopefully, that pony would soon be long, like it had once been, because no one could ever cut her hair again without her permission. She could be a fucking mermaid if she so decided, with long flowing tresses and naked from the waist up.

Well, maybe she wouldn’t show that much. God hadn’t graced her with a whole lot up top anyway.

She moved her head towards the east and noticed the morning sun was quickly making its way high in the sky among the puffy, white clouds which, at that moment, seemed innocent enough. But with it being early July in Alabama, it wouldn’t be long before those same innocent puffs got together and blew up an afternoon storm. So she began walking as fast as she could. It felt good. And, for the first time in years, she was actually able to get somewhere. She wasn’t just pacing. Or marching. Or dreaming of escape. With every step she took further away from the prison, the more free she felt. It was as if her legs were finally doing what they were meant to do. It all reminded her of walking to class across the quad of the University, hurrying to make it on time. Her legs hadn’t failed her then, and she hoped they wouldn’t fail her now.

A cab got her to the nearest bus station. Paying her fare, she stepped out of the vehicle and walked inside the facility. Immediately she checked the schedule. There was a Greyhound headed northwest to Tuscaloosa that was leaving in a couple of hours. So she sat on one of the benches and dug into her bag. She checked her funds. Thankfully, the work program she had participated in during those twenty years had paid off. At least she had something to show for her past misery. She counted out a couple of twenties and shoved her small sandwich bag of cash back under her few belongings and held the canvas bag tight under her arm as she got up and approached the ticket line. At that moment her whole life was in that bag.

The walk seemed to take forever, but eventually she found the hilly road nestled among the tall, Southern pines and continued on the last mile or so of her journey. A couple of cars had stopped and asked if she needed a ride, especially when the first of the heavy raindrops had begun to fall. Remembering her manners, she had politely refused the male drivers, having learned from her time in prison that few people could be trusted. Still, it had been a nice gesture; whether or not the men were merely offering her refuge from the oncoming rain was another topic entirely.

Soon she came to a large brick house with white trim and dark green double doors that could be easily seen from the street. The house appeared to be one level and yet on the side it was evident there was a basement like many of the houses had in that neighborhood. In the rain, she slowly walked up the long path paved with flat slabs of rock and made her way to the front steps where she passed between two white columns that greeted her arrival. She pulled her canvas bag out from under her arm and tried to wipe away the wet strands of hair from her face. Exhaling, she rang the bell.

An older woman who looked to be in her sixties with shoulder length, light brown hair pulled away from her face with decorative combs opened the door. Her lower lip dropped somewhat, and she blinked her bluish gray eyes as if trying to focus in the dimness of the passing storm. A clap of thunder suddenly hit and she trembled a bit, her hand still on the doorknob and her eyes on the visitor.

Ronnie? she asked.

Hi, Mama.

The older woman’s lips remained parted. My God, she rasped, taking a second to peruse her daughter up and down then closing her mouth only to swallow hard. What happened? What are you doing here?

It wasn’t the warmest of greetings, and yet, sadly, it wasn’t a surprise.

I’m done. My sentence is up. Veronica glanced over her shoulder at the falling rain. You gonna ask me in?

Seemingly reluctant, her mother stepped aside and opened the door wider, motioning for her to wipe her feet on the mat before she stepped inside. Quickly, the woman closed the door as the next bout of thunder escaped. She just stood and stared.

Jesus, was all she said. You’re so old now.

Rolling her eyes, Veronica merely walked past her mother and stepped down into the living room with the immaculate white carpet, still as white as the last time she’d walked on it. That’s what happens in twenty years. People age.

The woman followed her into the living room. Why didn’t you call me?

Veronica turned around. Why didn’t you visit me?

With that, the woman shook her head, putting her hands on her trim waist. Despite the weather outside she was well-dressed in lightweight summer trousers and a short sleeved blue top that brought out the blue in her eyes. She was an attractive woman who obviously kept herself up.

She sighed. You know why, Veronica Mae, and don’t pretend you don’t. It shouldn’t be a surprise to you.

The coldness in the room developed quickly, and it had nothing to do with the actual temperature. Veronica stood facing her mother, the ends of her hair dripping on the white carpet.

You could’ve at least written, she quietly added.

Her comment remained unacknowledged as her mother walked away. Let me get you a towel before you ruin the carpet.

Veronica watched the pristine woman make her way down the hall to the linen closet. She quickly returned with a thin towel.

Wrap your hair up and give me those clothes. I’ll put them in the dryer. You have others to wear?

Not really. These were what I walked in with. You’ll understand that they don’t let you keep the prison attire when you leave.

Don’t say that.

Veronica looked up from pulling off her jeans. Say what?

That word. I prefer not to hear it.

Prison?

Ms. Harris grabbed the soaking jeans and motioned for the tee shirt. Just give me your clothes. You can wear one of my robes while you’re waiting for these to get dry. You know where they are.

I don’t know, Mama, Veronica began sourly. It’s been twenty years. How do I know where you keep your things?

For God’s sake, the woman said, taking the clothes and walking through the kitchen to the adjacent laundry area. You’re just as difficult now as when you were a teen.

Veronica stood on the white carpet in her wet sneakers and picked up her feet. Surprisingly, her mother had said nothing about removing them for fear of soiling that damn white. Slowly, she returned up the couple of stairs and made her way into the adjoining hall, dark as she remembered, and meandered along until she came to the master bedroom. She stood at the doorway and looked in, her eyes taking in the large picture window and the light, crepe curtains that graced its edges. It overlooked the backyard: a large tree-filled, natural setting that Veronica remembered as her hideaway for much of her youth. For a second, she felt the warm memories flood her brain of hanging out between the trees and couldn’t remember feeling that happy anywhere else.

Cautiously, she entered the bedroom and stopped at the queen bed, just as meticulously made as the rest of the immaculate room. The white hand-made quilt covered the mattress gracefully and feminine, much like her mother, and Veronica wondered how one could really ever feel comfortable in such a perfectly kept room. She walked over to her mother’s night chest by the bed and picked up the few magazines: Southern Living, Better Homes and Gardens, Good Housekeeping—all of those reference tools made for the woman who demanded the best in her living arrangements. Veronica leafed through one of the magazines, amazed by the beautiful homes and landscapes she saw on the pages. And though she knew it was supposed to please her senses, the time spent in prison had pretty much dulled her to anything so nice. Just to be able to take a shower alone was all she really needed at that point.

Sighing, she set down the magazine and stepped over to the large walk-in closet. It, too, was immaculate and perfect, everything in its place, sorted by seasons. The summer clothes were front and center and the epitome of good taste and class, just like her mother. She fingered one of the dresses: a fancy thing, long and flowing, and she wondered what prom Ms. Harris had visited lately to warrant such a fancy piece of fabric.

Did you find the robe?

Her mother’s coarse tone caught her by surprise and she turned around somewhat nervous by the woman’s sudden appearance. No, she admitted. I suppose I was caught up in your multitude of clothing.

The older woman approached her and noticed the dress she had been looking at. I wore that to a formal banquet a couple of months ago. It was something to which I had been invited. She frowned slightly. You were wondering why I had something so dressy, weren’t you?

Jesus. She could never think a thought without her mother reading her mind. It was eerie how fucking accurate she usually was. Yes, Veronica acknowledged. The last fancy thing I remember you wearing was when you and Daddy took that cruise when I was seventeen, and you had to have something formal for dinner.

I still have it.

I figured. Veronica let her eyes roam the closet. It doesn’t look like you got rid of anything.

Why would I? They all still fit. Ms. Harris took a moment to smooth back her hair. Not many people can say that.

Congratulations on maintaining your girlish figure.

Now I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, Ronnie. Abruptly, she gestured to her daughter’s form graced only in the dingy underwear. It’s more than obvious in all that time you’ve maintained yours. If anything you’ve lost weight.

I’m surprised you even remember what I looked like when I left. Especially after you wrote me off.

Frustrated, her mother stepped into the closet and moved to one of the corners where she grabbed a light blue chenille robe. Here, she said coldly, handing it to her. Cover yourself. And you need new underwear.

Veronica held the thick robe in her arms while she witnessed the woman walk angrily away. She felt the softness between her fingers and took a moment to stroke it. It was so much softer than anything she could remember wearing. Goddamn, it felt good.

The shower was amazing; Veronica remained under the warm water and simply stood there letting it fall all over her—relaxing and soothing, quiet and private. A couple of times she caught herself glancing over her shoulder or turning around to make sure no one had snuck up on her. She looked down at her feet and the cleanliness of the tile under them…no one else’s bodily secretions flowing her way in the group showers they were forced to use. She put her head back and let the water come into her mouth, knowing it was actually clean. It was so wonderful to take her first shower after twenty years where no one could tell her to hurry up or anything else no one wants to hear when naked and vulnerable—

Suddenly, she jerked her head to the side, swearing his presence was near. He had been watching from the observation station, watching the women like cattle with no dignity allowed as had been the practice for the lifetime of the old prison. She could feel his eyes on her backside and she recalled the first time she had pulled the washcloth from her shoulders and looked up behind her. His eyes were intense and intimidating. Quickly, she put her head back to face the water, grabbing the soap and rubbing it hard against the coarse fabric, angry and scared, anxious to be done. Frantically, she scrubbed herself clean, hopeful that his leer would move to someone else. But when she swallowed nervously and checked back over her shoulder he was still staring—

Ronnie? she heard a voice from outside the bathroom door. Are you going to stay in there all day?

Her mother’s voice brought her back to reality. No ma’am, she answered, reminding herself of the manners she had all but lost. I’m getting out now. She turned off the water and opened the frosted glass doors, the same ones she had grown up with, and reached for the towel on the rod by the shower. She brought it to her body and enjoyed the large size and thickness, nothing like the paper thin ones she was used to that were stiff and scratchy. She brought it to her face and smiled at its softness.

That was when the bathroom door opened a crack. You need to switch on the fan. Her mother opened the door wider and flipped up the switch on the wall. Otherwise it’ll mildew. You know how humid it gets.

The younger woman stepped out of the shower