Nick kept his head down the entire ride to the police station. He tried to think of a way to get out of this mess, to prove that the medications he got were not tampered with by him, they had to have been tampered with at the pharmacy or after they got to his house, but by whom or how was going to be the tricky part.
"Here we are, your new home for awhile," the trooper stated as they pulled up in the port beside the sliding doors leading into the jail.
The trooper opened the door and took Nick by his arm, pulling him out of the back seat. As they led him into the jailhouse, Nick kept his head down, fearing that someone would see him. He felt humiliated.
They took Nick to a window, a heavyset female clerk, with glasses that had slid halfway down her nose, glanced up.
"Hey Vicki, how's it going?" the trooper was making small talk. Nick winced, feeling numbed by how they were acting like they were conducting business at a yard sale.
"Pretty good, thanks. Busy day so far, but that's okay makes the shift go a lot faster." As the clerk talked, she pulled out a white form. With her pen poised over the sheet she started going down the list. "Name?"
Nick started to open his mouth, but the cop spoke for him. "Carter, Nickolas Gene, c-a-r-t-e-r, n-i-c-k-o-l-a-s, g-e-n-e, dob 1-28-80, male."
The trooper drilled off every aspect of Nick's name, address and telephone number. He felt like a piece of meat, being appraised for sale. Then the humiliation really began for him.
"Follow me into this room." The trooper took Nick and led him to a small room. The room was brightly lit by florescent lighting, the humming sounded like something out of a horror picture. There was a screen that measured off height with lines going across it and a camera at the other side of the room.
Looking down at the form the trooper had in his hand, he started his next task, talking to the clerk that was sitting behind a desk in the room.
"c-a-r-t-e-r, n-i-c-k-o-l-a-s, g-e-n-e. Number 29578635." He drilled the letters and numbers out slowly and clearly.
Nick stood there, head down.
The trooper uncuffed Nick's hands. Nick instinctively grabbed his wrists and rubbed them. The handcuffs had dug into his skin, leaving marks.
The young clerk took a strip of paper with Nick's name and prisioner number and laid it on the table next to a black inkpad. Nick avoided all eye contact with her, he was afraid she knew who he was.
The clerk never spoke as she fingerprinted Nick and took his mug shots. Nick stared blankly off into space during the whole incident, he was innocent but he felt oddly guilty, shamed by the whole thing.
After being booked, as they told him, the arresting trooper exchanged Nick's care to another police officer who took Nick to a room that appeared to be a laundry room.
A man standing behind the counter in a bright orange jumpsuit stared at the police officer, waiting for him to speak.
"Size?" The officer barked out at Nick.
Nick, in a daze didn't answer at first. The cop shook his arm. "SIZE?"
"Uh, I dunno," Nick quietly replied. How the hell was he to know what size he would wear in something they would be making him put on?
"Looks like 38," the officer gruffly told the trustee behind the counter. The man left and returned with a bright orange jumpsuit and held it out for Nick to take along with a pillow and a thin blanket and some type of slippers.
Nick took the items from the man.
Then the worst thing that could ever happen to Nick in his entire life unfolded when he was led into another room off the laundry room.
"Strip down," the officer barked.
Nick slowly did as he was told.
"Step on it boy, this ain't a tour stop!" The officer spat out.
Nick suddenly realized that this man knew exactly who he was. He quickly removed his clothing. He was then subjected to a search and after the officer was done, Nick was ordered to put on the prison clothing.
The jumpsuit they gave him was two sizes too big and hung loosely over his shoulders. He almost tripped over the pantlegs, but the officer kept him moving down the hallway.
He stopped at a white door, taking the keys that were attached to his belt and unlocked the door gesturing with his head. "In here."
Nick entered the room. It was small, had a stainless steel toilet in one corner, a sink and a steel table, almost what you see in a vet's office. A tiny camera was perched up high next to the ceiling.
The door slammed behind him. Nick sat on the bed and let his emotions wash over him. The tears he had been holding back started to run down his cheeks and he wasn't sure if they would ever stop. As far as he was concerned, he didn't care if they never stopped.
Kevin stared as Brian sat in the chair, tears streaming down his face.
“Brian, I’m sure Nick didn’t mean to do it,” Kevin started out. This caused Brian to turn his head quickly in Kevin’s direction.
“NO.” Brian tried desperately to make Kevin understand that he couldn’t possibly blame Nick, he blamed the doctor, this had been going on well before he left the hospital.
“Yes, Brian, he didn’t mean to do it.” Kevin patted Brian on the shoulder, talking to him as if he were a three year old in need of praise and approval.
Dammit, how can I get Kevin to understand?
Brian shook his head no vigorously. “NO. NO. NO.”
“Calm down Brian, I have to call Nick’s dad.”
Kevin picked the phone up off the table and walked into the house leaving Brian alone on the balcony, dealing with thoughts, living in a private hell.
Brian heard the phone ringing and Kevin answering it. Straining to hear Kevin’s end of the conversation, Brian struck out. Kevin appeared in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest.
“That was your Dr. Johnson. She said it was imperative that you get your medications started up immediately,” Kevin was sizing Brian up while he spoke. “Problem is, how am I gonna go to the pharmacy to get your meds and bring you along with me? How did Nick do this?” Kevin wondered aloud.
Brian immediately started shaking his head no again. There was no possible way to communicate his needs with Kevin. God, I don’t need those drugs, they are what is doing this to me! Can’t anyone see this?
Kevin rustled Brian’s hair up before he sat down in the chair. He quickly snapped his fingers as an idea entered his mind.
“I can get AJ to get the medicine! Brilliant idea if I say so myself,” Kevin smiled as he got out of the chair and walked into the house to retrieve the cordless phone.
Brian's thoughts raced. He was trying to figure a way out to let his cousin know that he didn't need the drugs, that they were hurting him, not helping him!
"AJ said it won't be a problem, he will be over here in a few hours with the medication. Now, Brian, how about some dinner? I thought I saw some of your protein drinks in the fridge, be right back," Kevin turned and walked into the house.
God, not those drinks! I need Nick, Brian thought to himself, slowly feeling the despair of the situation creep up on him.
Nick looked up at the door when he heard a scraping noise. A styrofoam plate sat on the ledge. Nick stared at the door for a few moments before deciding to get up and see what it was.
Looking at the plate, he saw a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a small handful of potato chips and an apple. A paper cup held white milk.
Nick turned away from the door and sat back down on the bed, putting his head in his hands. He wasn't hungry. He kept worrying about Brian. Kevin had absolutely no idea of how to care for him.
He realized that if he was getting served a meal that would mean that Brian would or should be getting his dinner. Nick worried that Kevin wouldn't know that Brian was able to chew, but only soft foods, he wasn't ready for things like burgers and fries.
Nick tried to shut the thoughts out. There wasn't anything he could do for Brian, not here, not now. He laid down, trying to find solace in sleep.
He woke up when he heard the door creak open. A guard stepped inside. "Come with me."
Nick obeyed and followed the guard. He pointed for him to walk in front of him. Nick had no idea where he was to be going.
"The outside of the white line, boy," the guard barked at Nick.
Nick jumped to the outer side of the line, away from the walls and the doors. He was literally walking down the middle of the hall.
They stopped at the end of the hall where heavy metal bars separated them from entering the next set of halls. The guard at the doors opened the set with a buzzer. It made a loud noise like a stereo speaker shorting out. The guard pushed Nick in the back to go through the doors.
Standing there waiting for the doors to close behind them, Nick realized that he no longer had control over anything he wanted to say or do.
"Hold your hands out, palms up," the guard barked out.
Startled, Nick did as he was requested. The short, muscular black man slapped handcuffs on Nick's wrists. He then bent down and slapped metal cuffs on his ankles. Then he placed a chain around Nick's waist and attached the chain to the handcuffs.
The other door buzzed open and Nick was nudged out. It was ackward trying to walk with the shackles on his legs, the chains making a clanging noise with each step he took.
Walking down the long hallway seemed to take forever to Nick until they came to another barred door. This time there was a guard with a clipboard. Another guard was standing there, evidentally waiting for Nick and the guard.
"Carter, 29578635," the guard crisply stated.
The guard holding the clipboard scribbled something down on the paper. He handed the clipboard to the man accompanying Nick.
After the clipboard was handed back, the guard standing next to the door ordered Nick through it. Nick realized that they had just transferred responsiblity of him from one guard to another.
Transferred responsibility.
The bright Florida sunshine hit Nick's eyes, momentairly blinding him. After a couple of steps, he saw a white panel van with windows all around it. It had big blue letters on the side. It said, FLORIDA STATE DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS. The windows had wires running through it, there were bars separating the driver from the back of the van.
The guard dragged the side door open.
"In here."
Ackwardly, Nick tried to get his foot up to step into the van. There were two rows of small, black vinyl seats, hooks on the floor and in the middle of the seats.
Nick took the first seat and sat down. The guard unhooked the chain that connected Nick's handcuffs to his waist. With a quick motion, he took that chain and paddlelocked it to the hook in the seat. He took another strap and laced it around Nick's ankles and secured it with a paddle lock to the hook on the floor.
The guard exited the van, slamming the side door closed.
The van was hot, and Nick could smell the foul smells making him start to gag. Urine, vomit and body odor permeated the air.
With a jerk, the van whipped out of the driveway heading down the highway. Nick decided to be bold.
"Where are we going?" Nick could see the driver's face in the rearview mirror that hung on the visor.
The driver didn't look up.
Thinking that the man didn't hear him the first time, Nick asked a second time. "Where are we going?"
Again, no answer, the driver didn't look up. Nick knew the man heard him, he just refused to acknowledge him.
Nick looked out the window of the van, watching the Florida landscape slip past him. People in their cars buzzing past them, everyone lost in their everyday world. Nick once again wondered how Brian was.
