Brighter Than the Sun - Darynda Jones Page 0,30

take long. Despite the incompetence of my defense lawyer, five people on the jury think I’m innocent. Three are female and want me more than they want their next breaths. Two are male. One wants me as much as the women do. One hates cops with every ounce of his being. Never believes a thing they have to say. I could’ve been a serial killer, and he would still believe me innocent.

But the evidence speaks for itself, and I am convicted. Naturally.

I don’t take shit from anyone in jail. For the most part, they leave me alone, but there’s always one who has to prove what a badass he is. Fights become a fairly regular thing. Short but sweet. They allow me to let off steam. To rage. To vent, as it were, while kicking a piece of shit’s ass. Not many things are so satisfying.

I’ve gained a reputation, however, and now I’m the target of every wannabe out there. That’s okay. Keep me on my toes. I can say one thing about Earl Walker: He taught me how to throw a mean punch.

But it’s gone beyond that. People are starting to talk. They say I’m not human. They say I move like an animal. They say I’m more predator than prey.

I’ve gotten to know several inmates. Some are pretty cool. One is really cool, and I do something I rarely do: I tell him he’s slotted for hell. I tell him why. I tell him he can still beat it. He needs to confess. He needs to make amends. He needs to turn his life around. To help others. He’s on that path anyway, but it’s almost as hard to get out of a sentence to hell as it is a sentence to prison.

Surprisingly, he believes me. He stands up, tells the guard he needs to see his lawyer. He is going to confess his sins. To do his time. To help others.

It was back when he was doing drugs. He shot a pharmacist during a robbery. The man is in a wheelchair to this day. He cleaned up his act, for the most part, afterwards. He’s in jail because of a bad situation gone worse. But he’s never hurt anyone else.

Even so, amends must be made. Nothing he can ever do from now on will make up for what he did then, but if he admits his sins and helps others, the brand of hell will eventually fade and wither away altogether. He can still be saved.

If only I could.

17

After I’m convicted, I’m immediately transferred to a prison for physical and psychological testing. A few weeks later, I’m transferred to the state pen. I’m the youngest of the group. The men being transferred with me are a mixture of fresh and seasoned. The seasoned ones are nervous. Anxious. Pissed. The fresh ones are scared shitless. One is so scared, he’s shaking. I want to tell him to chill, but it wouldn’t do any good. He’s going to be somebody’s bitch either way.

Word of me has spread to prison. One of the more seasoned inmates wants me, but he doesn’t know yet about my rep. By the time I’m released into gen pop, they call me the Devil’s Breath. But shot callers like nothing more than a challenge in their mundane lives, and my very first day is met with a price on my head.

I’ve just sat down with my lunch tray when I feel it. Three men are headed toward me from different directions. They have homemade shivs and are going to put me in the hospital if not in the ground. The New Mexico Syndicate, a notorious gang, is looking for a coup. They want to put me in my place.

I wait until they get a little closer. One guard, a kid as new to all this as I am, has noticed the activity. He is alarmed. Calls for backup. But they are on me before he gets out the words.

I deflect a shiv, twist the guy’s arm, and because I’m feeling particularly testy, snap his neck before he even knows what hit him. I do the same to the other two. One realizes what is happening and tries to back out, but I’m not in the mood to let him. He is an especially nasty specimen who was branded for hell when he molested the girl next door and then took her to a wooded area to strangle her so she wouldn’t tell on him. I