Federal Bureau of Prisons Institution Supplement, U.S. Penitentiary Hazelton: Visitors are not allowed to bring property, packages, food, cash money, checks, money orders, lottery tickets, negotiable items, or any other items through visitation. Visitors who attempt to give such items to offenders will have their visit terminated and lose their visiting privileges.
Underneath the hem of Tourmaline Harris's pink gingham button-up, a pair of wool socks were hidden—one in each back pocket. Coils of silver barbed wire glinted in the sun, and the flags heralding the gates of U.S. Penitentiary Hazelton clanged against their poles.
This was a test.
A dry run. An effort to push back against the guilt shackled to her for pushing a fallen queen into hell—when she'd called the police instead of her father, and they'd taken her mother away. Here the guilt always felt like a thing. A living thing. Like a slick, leaden thing stretched flabby and amphibious across her shoulders, with bitter-tasting fingers hooked into her cheek, leaching sour down her throat.
And on the first day of summer break—while Anna May and all her other friends were sleeping in after graduation, escaping sentimental mothers, and meeting for brunch—Tourmaline walked into a federal prison with socks hidden in her pockets and the taste of guilt on her tongue.
The windowless prison door slapped shut, sealing her inside a small holding room. A corrections officer—CO—sat behind a Plexiglas wall. "ID," he said without turning, voice hollowed and distorted by the speaker.
Tourmaline dropped her driver's license into the silver tray, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the elaborately locked wire gate in front of her.
This had seemed like such a solid plan at home—put the socks in her pockets, walk through security, and hand them to her mother when the guards weren't looking. Now that she could no longer go back, her stomach twisted. This could go so wrong. What had she been thinking? If it were only socks, this would be easy. She'd turn right around.
But it wasn't socks. It was supposed to be, eventually, the methadone prescription they wouldn't let Mom have in prison. It was Granny's corn mint and palmarosa salve for that rattling cough Mom always seemed to have. And Mom wasn't in a maximum-security federal prison because she was an addict. She was there because of Tourmaline's mistake.
A buzzer shrilled. The gate unlocked. The wire door opened, silencing the buzzer, and a bored-looking CO waved her forward.
Too late. Tourmaline shook her head and shoved her license into her pocket. Her fingers trembled, but she tucked her long blond hair behind her ears and followed the CO into the abyss, keeping her gaze on the middle distance as she passed the wall.
The wall—a trophy wall, covered in cheap printer ink, copier paper, and clear tape. Grainy mug shots were plastered on the concrete, right inside the gates, greeting each visitor with a pyramid of sullen faces belonging to those banned for smuggling something inside.
Somehow what she was doing seemed different. She was different.
The wall did not differentiate between honor roll teenage girls who hid socks in their jeans with nothing but good intentions and people who stuffed little beige balls of heroin in saran wrap up their asses. Having her picture taped up right alongside the bad and the actual worst would be almost as terrible a consequence as not being allowed back to see her mother. Tourmaline did not want to bring any record or reminders of where she came from along to the University of Virginia in the fall. She did not want to see her student ID and think of that picture on this wall, as if she existed here first.
The guard turned down the hall.
Tourmaline followed.
Everything was quiet, save for the wild heartbeat slamming in her ears. The floors were freshly mopped, and the odor of bleach was in every breath. The hall led away in both directions, alternately dark and light with the kind of fluorescence that was supposed to resemble daylight.
The CO waited behind the metal detector. Lauren Hayes was her name, not that Tourmaline would ever call her that. It was hard to get used to the guards, the gossip, and the feeling of a small, suffocating town crammed inside the concrete.
Tourmaline fought the urge to nervously swallow, stepping through the gates as Hayes waved her forward.
The alarm stayed silent. Only a few more steps to go. Tourmaline held out her hands.
Hayes grasped her fingers—blue gloves powdery on Tourmaline's skin as she swiped the cloth across her palm and down her trigger finger. The chemical checking for gunpowder didn't trigger, and the CO tossed the gloves in an empty trash can.
This was it. All Tourmaline needed to do was stay calm and sign in, and she would have the safety of standing with her back to the concrete wall. The first major hurdle would be over. She waited, fighting to look as if she weren't fighting at all.
Hayes tugged on new gloves. "What's in your pockets?"
At first the question didn't register. But the creature on her shoulders whispered and Tourmaline heard. She knows.
Tourmaline tried to breathe, but there was no air. Her cheeks grew hot and she opened her mouth, shaking her head because no words came out. Why hadn't she thought of this? Why hadn't she thought about what to say if she was caught?
Hayes's boots thumped a heavy step closer; leaning in so close Tourmaline could see sparkles in her purple eyeliner and taste the hint of onion from the bagel Mom said Hayes always ate for breakfast. "This is a serious offense," she said, so low it might have been a whisper.
"I—" Tourmaline took a step back, drawing in a deep breath. "I couldn't get hold of anyone. I called fifteen times last month, and no one would even talk to me. I tried to ask."
Hayes's features remained hard.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I didn't mean to." Tourmaline pulled the socks out of her pockets and shoved them away.
Hayes pinched them between her gloved fingers and tossed them into the garbage.
Thirty-dollar no-itch merino wool socks with reinforced toes and heels dropped into the plastic liner.
"Per the guidelines, your visit today is now terminated." Hayes peeled off the gloves and tossed them into the can on top of the socks. "You will be receiving an incident report detailing this event, at which point you can appeal to restore your visiting privileges."
What? Just like that? Tourmaline looked wildly to the doors beyond the gates. Mom was expecting her. Expecting the graduation pictures and the change to buy snacks and a Diet Coke while sharing prison gossip she'd stored. "I'm banned?"
"You must leave the premises, immediately." Hayes pointed down the hall.
"No. No, this can't. I just graduated. She's—" Tourmaline's breath caught.
"Generally, minor violations will result in a banned period of three to six months." Hayes clamped fingers around Tourmaline's upper arm, guiding her toward the exit.
Tourmaline wrenched away automatically, not thinking she was resisting, though she realized too late that was exactly the word they would use for it.
"Please."
Hayes stopped, her voice lowered. "Honey, if you do not allow me to escort you out of the building right now, I'm going to have to arrest you for trespassing on government property."
The creature cinched its webbed fingers around Tourmaline's throat, choking her. How could she have done something so stupid? So stupid. And now she wouldn't see her mom before college.
Her body followed her thoughts, and Tourmaline didn't realize she was moving backward, toward the gates, until Hayes reached behind her back.
The world slowed to a stop.
"Interlace your fingers behind your head."
A sob hitched in Tourmaline's throat and her hair fell over her shoulders, sticking to the sweat on her forehead as she obeyed. The handcuffs clinked cold, but loose, on her wrists.
"I'm not arresting you, but if you don't walk out like a lady, I'll have no choice," Hayes said. Knuckles dug into the middle of Tourmaline's back and they began a slow, awkward walk down the same quiet and bleach-tinged hall.
"I can't be banned," Tourmaline whispered. "I'm leaving for school."
"Your visiting privileges are terminated for attempting to smuggle contraband into the facility."
"It was just—" Tourmaline started.
Hayes's mouth twisted into something almost sad, and she talked over Tourmaline crisply, avoiding her eyes. "The Facility Unit Head will provide a written explanation to you and a copy to your mom, including notice of the length of the ban. If you desire, you may submit a written request for reconsideration to the Facility Unit Head within thirty days, providing additional information of extenuating circumstances. They'll schedule a hearing."
That would take weeks. Everything to do with prison went slowly. She wasn't going to get to see Mom until Thanksgiving break, unless she made a special trip and missed school. And how was she going to help now? If she got caught again, she'd be banned for life. Tourmaline tightened her jaw and tossed her hair out of her face, trying to keep from crying.
"You can't claim you didn't know and expect to get by," Hayes said. "If I were you, I'd start paying attention to what's around you."
Tourmaline froze.
Hayes leaned close to Tourmaline's ear, whispering onion into each word. "I hear Wayne Thompson is looking for you."
Wayne had gotten here? Heart racing, Tourmaline twisted in the cuffs.
They stood at the end of the empty hall. Alone. Facing a closed door cut out of the concrete block.
What did Hayes know? Was it something Mom needed to tell her and couldn't, now that Tourmaline wouldn't be there? The guards seemed to know everything that went on—except when it had anything to do with administration. "He's locked up," Tourmaline choked out, trying to catch her breath as Hayes unlocked the cuffs. "In Virginia."
Hayes swiped her badge and pushed open the door. The breeze gusted inside, thick and smelling of hot asphalt, ruffling her short ponytail. She gave Tourmaline a pitying smile. "Careful."
