Skin Privilege Page 28

  LENA

  EIGHTEEN

  Lena had been to Coastal State Prison once before. Shortly after Jeffrey had arrested Ethan on the parole violation, she had driven to the prison thinking that she would confront Ethan, let him know exactly how she had set him up, betrayed him, given him the biggest 'fuck you' that she could muster. She'd sat in her car in the visitors' parking lot for almost two hours, her mind cataloguing all the violence he had done to her: the split lips, the broken fingers, the sprained wrists.

  Unbidden, the image of the two of them in bed came back to her. She had never thought of sex with Ethan in romantic terms, but there had been times, maybe more than a few, that she could recall clutching on to him, holding him in her arms. He had loved her just as passionately as he had hated her, and she had often returned his moods in equal measure. Sitting in the car outside the prison, her skin started to tingle from the memory of his hands, his mouth, his tongue.

  She'd barely made it out of the Celica in time to keep from being sick in the car. Visiting day was popular at the prison. Women and children were lined up at the door waiting to see their men. They had all turned, staring with blank curiosity as Lena threw up onto the asphalt. So much came out that her stomach felt as if a knife had ripped it in two. When she could manage, Lena crawled back into the Celica and drove back to Grant County with her tail between her legs.

  This time was different, though. It had to be different. If she couldn't face Ethan for herself, then she could do it for Hank. Ethan was calling him for a reason, and Lena would not leave Coastal without finding out what exactly had gone on between the two men. Before she'd left the motel this morning, Lena had changed into slacks, and a crisp linen shirt. She'd put on makeup and fixed her hair so that she looked like a cop who was in control instead of a terrified woman.

  She went into the prison armed with lies and nothing else. Her Glock was hidden under the mattress back at the motel room and her folding knife was tucked in its hiding place under the front seat of her car. She'd even left her cell phone on the sink basin so it could charge. All she took into the prison with her was her ID and a tube of ChapStick.

  Lena had told the warden that she was investigating threats made by one of Ethan's henchmen on the outside. The warden proved to be the picture of compliance. He'd given her transcripts of Ethan's phone records, his visitor log, copies of his outgoing mail. In addition, he had offered her the full services of the prison to do all they could to make a case against one of its most dangerous inmates.

  The records were not going to get Ethan into trouble. The only person he'd called was Hank. He'd had no visitors. Ethan had neither written nor received any mail since the date of his incarceration. Not that any of this meant a damn thing. Lena knew Ethan was smart enough, charismatic enough, to get someone else to do his dirty work. According to the warden, his gang wasn't the biggest or the strongest, but Ethan managed to wield a psychological power that served to keep them high up in the prison food chain.

  Lena had no trouble believing that. She hadn't seen Ethan in almost a year and still her heart had started pounding the minute she pulled into the prison parking lot.

  One of the guards led Lena to the conference room they used for lawyer-inmate meetings. It was more like an interrogation room as far as she could see, little more than ten feet by twelve with a water-stained ceiling and heavy bars blocking the small windows. The table was bolted to the floor, a red line painted down its center as if to separate the good from the bad. The chairs were lightweight, unbreakable plastic so they wouldn't do much damage if they were thrown or used as a weapon. Guards were not allowed to hear exchanges between prisoners and their legal counsel, so there was a ring bolted to the wall where more violent inmates could be restrained.

  'He's extremely dangerous,' the warden had told Lena. 'I'm not happy about leaving you alone in a locked room with this guy.'

  The man had gone on to list suspected crimes committed by Ethan within the walls of the prison: shankings in the yard, drug trafficking, inmate shakedowns, a man who'd had his face burned off in the prison laundry. None of it could be linked back to Ethan, but the warden knew who was responsible for it all.

  Lena had asked that Ethan be chained to the ring in the wall. The guard had told her that with violent prisoners, that was standard procedure.

  She sat at the table and waited, her ears sensitive to every noise. Finally, the bolt slid back on the door. Lena kept her place at the table, pretending to read the records in front of her, willing her hands not to shake. She could hear chains rattling, feet sliding across the floor.

  'What's this spic want with me?'

  Ethan's voice; a hot knife in her ears.

  'Shut the fuck up and sit down.' This from the guard, a beefy man who looked as if he enjoyed his job a little too much.

  Lena sat back in her chair, arms folded across her chest. She kept her eyes trained on Ethan's chest, her vision blurring into the orange of his prison uniform as the guard pushed him down into the chair and linked the chains into the bolt. Ethan tested his boundaries. He could fold his hands in front of him on the table, but the restraint would prevent him from going an inch farther.

  Now Lena understood what the red line was for. Ethan's chains prevented him from crossing it.

  The guard told Lena, 'Knock on the door when you're finished.' He waited for her to nod. The warden had shown her the panic button under the table a few minutes earlier. She put her hands in her lap in easy reach of the button.

  The guard left and the bolts slid back on the door. There was no window in the door, no cameras the guards could watch to make sure she was okay. Lena was on her own.

  Ethan smacked his lips. 'What a pleasant surprise.'

  Lena looked at his hands on the table. The knuckles were red, one of them cut.

  She asked, 'Why have you been calling Hank?'

  He spoke softly, intimately. 'You can't even look me in the eye.'

  He was right. She forced herself to meet his gaze. 'Why have you been trying to call Hank?'

  He pressed his lips together, leaned back in his chair. Had his eyes always been this blue? They were like ice, but colder.

  He said, 'I missed the old guy.'

  'You don't even know him.'

  'I thought I knew you.'

  Lena let the silence build – not because she was in control of the interview but because she did not know what else to say.

  He asked, 'You know what it's like in here?'

  'I don't want to know. I'm just here to tell you to back off Hank.'

  Was she, though? She didn't even know where her uncle was. Hank could be facedown in a sewer right now. He could be a John Doe on someone's slab at the morgue.

  Ethan's chains clunked against the table as he clasped his hands in front of him. The handcuffs around his wrist were heavy-duty reinforced steel and the chain bolting him to the wall was so thick you'd need a torch to cut it off. Still, he somehow managed to seem in control. Lena could not even hold his gaze. She looked at his arms, saw that he had embellished the prison camp tattoos. Bodies were caught in the barbed-wire fence; emaciated prisoners with their mouths open in horror.

  'Do you remember Shawn Cable from school?'

  She shook her head.

  'He was in my class at Grant Tech. Short guy, curly hair.'

  She shook her head again, but she remembered the guy. They had been lab partners. Shawn had coasted by on Ethan's work.

  'He's working at BASF now, in their industrial coatings division.'

  Lena stared at the barbed-wire on his arm.

  'That could have been my job,' Ethan said. 'But your boss jammed me up, and now I'm in here.'

  Lena opened her mouth to defend Jeffrey, but stopped when she realized that she would only be implicating herself.

  'I was out of it,' he said, indicating the tattoos. 'I was out of that life and starting a new one with you.'

  'A new one where you beat me.'

  'You hit me so
metimes, too.'

  Lena 's throat started to close, making it hard to breathe. She had hit him. She hadn't just rolled over and taken it. Sometimes she had even started the fights herself.

  I loved you,' Ethan said. 'I loved you, and this is what you did to me.'

  She found her voice. 'Did you love Evelyn Johnson, too?'

  The silence between them was different this time, and when she dared look at his face, he was looking down at his chained wrists.

  She said, 'You never told me she was black.'

  'You never asked.'

  They were talking like normal people now and it set Lena 's teeth on edge. She tried to keep reminding herself of who he really was, but all she kept coming back to was the person sitting in front of her, his eyes down, his shoulders slouched. She had loved him. She could not get around the fact that she had loved him.

  She asked, 'What happened with her?'

  'Are you recording this?'

  'What do you think?'

  He was staring at her again and Lena felt trapped in his gaze, unable to break the contact.

  'Unbutton your blouse.'

  'Fuck you.'

  He raised his eyebrow. 'You did, baby.' The smile on his face was familiar – the old Ethan was coming out to play. 'Unbutton your blouse. Let me see if you're wired.'

  'I told you I'm not.'

  'I'm supposed to take you at your word?' His lips twisted into a grin. 'No dice, Lee. Last time I trusted you, I ended up in here. Show me you're not wired or I'll call the monkey back to take me to my cage.'

  She fumbled with the top button, trying to make her fingers work. She looked at the door as she did this, as if she was afraid the guard would come through at any moment. She'd been sweating in the small room, and the air was cool on her skin as she opened the blouse to her waist.

  'No wires,' she told him. 'Satisfied?'

  He shrugged, the smile making her blood freeze in her veins.

  Lena started to button back her blouse, but he wouldn't let it go at that.

  'You still look good.'

  She couldn't get the buttons to fasten because her hands were trembling.

  'You know how many nights I've jerked myself raw thinking about fucking you?'

  She gave up, clasping the blouse closed. Her voice shook. 'Why have you been calling Hank?'

  'Open your shirt again.'

  'No.'

  'Open it up and I'll tell you whatever you want to know.'

  'No.'

  He made to stand. 'Then call the guard, because I've got nothing else to say.'

  'Ethan-'

  'Hey!' he called, his loud voice echoing in the cramped room. 'Guard!'

  'Shut up,' she hissed, as if she'd ever been able to stop him from doing anything.

  He smiled again, that same smile he used to give before he beat the shit out of her. He pointed his finger at her, indicating that she should open her blouse.

  She could barely speak. Tears blurred her vision. 'Tell me why you've been calling Hank.'

  'You know the trade. Tit for tat.'

  Lena glared at him, furious with him, furious with herself. He was the one in chains. He was the one bolted to the wall. Yet, she was the one who felt imprisoned.

  'Open,' he coaxed.

  Her hands shook as she slowly parted her blouse. She was wearing an old bra, black with lace and a clasp in the middle.

  He said, 'Bra, too.'

  'No.'

  He knew her so well – knew when to keep pushing and when to pull back. He said, 'Spread your shoulders.'

  She looked at the door, put her shoulders back like he said.

  .'Jesus, you look so good.' Ethan leaned as far forward as the chains would allow. His hands were under the table, and she kept her face turned away, staring at the metal door, trying not to listen to what he was doing.

  He let out a low groan as he finished. She heard him zip himself up, sit back in the chair. She pulled her blouse closed, trying not to imagine the satisfied look on his ugly face.

  'Tell me something,' he said. 'Just out of curiosity, when you called your boss that morning after I left, were you sitting down or standing?'

  Lena shook her head.

  'Come on, baby. Sitting or standing?'

  She shook her head again as the day came back to her. His hand muffling the scream in her throat as he slammed her down on the bed. Forcing back her revulsion when she kissed him good-bye and told him to have a good day at work.

  Lena forced herself to speak. 'What does it matter?'

  'I want to know,' he insisted. 'When you sent me into this hellhole for ten years of my life, were you sitting in the bed where I just fucked you, or were you standing beside it?'

  She suppressed a shudder as his words recalled the sensation. 'You got what you wanted,' she told him, her hands steady now as she buttoned her blouse. 'Tell me why you've been trying to get in touch with Hank.'

  'All right,' he said, leaning forward. 'Come here.'

  She leaned forward, waited.

  The smile on his face should have been her first warning, but she was still surprised when the sound of his laughter filled the room. 'You stupid bitch,' he said, shaking his head as if he could not believe how hilarious the situation was. 'Do you think I'm gonna tell you anything?' Abruptly, the laughter stopped. 'Get the fuck out of here. You make me sick.'

  Lena was stunned by her own stupidity. 'You said-'

  He slammed his hands down on the table, the chains clanging against the steel. 'I said get the fuck out ofhere, bitch.'

  Lena grabbed the records in front of her as she stood, backing up until she felt the wall behind her.

  He looped his arm over the back of his chair, a satisfied smile on his face.

  She didn't leave. She waited, wanting to hurt him, to humiliate him, as much as she had been humiliated. 'You know what, Ethan?'

  'What, baby?'

  'I'm really glad I came here today.'

  'Yeah?' He reached down, grabbing himself between the legs. 'Me, too, baby.'

  'No.' She clutched the papers tighter to her chest as if they could serve as some sort of armor. 'See, I was really upset about something.' She paused, studying the sneer on his face, wanting to savor every moment. 'Remember when I told you that I thought I was pregnant?'

  He sat up in the chair. She had his full attention now.

  'I told you it was a false alarm, but it wasn't.'

  His lips parted, but he didn't speak.

  'And then I told you that I had to go to Macon for a refresher course for work,' she continued. 'Only, I wasn't in Macon, Ethan. I was in Atlanta.' It was her turn to smile. 'Do you know what I was doing up there, baby?'

  His jaw clenched. 'You shut up.'

  'Do you know what I was doing, Ethan? Honey?'

  He lunged at her, the chains jerking him back against the wall. He screamed, 'I will fucking kill you,' saliva spraying from his mouth. 'You goddamn whore!' Every muscle in his body shook from the effort of pulling at the restraints. He was like a rabid pit bull, ready to choke himself to death rather than suppress the urge to attack.

  Lena knocked on the door. 'Think about what I did,' she told him. 'Think about what I did to your child the next time you jerk yourself raw.'

  The guard opened the door. He looked at Ethan, then Lena, obviously sensing the tension in the room. 'You finished?'

  'Yeah,' Lena said, glancing back at Ethan one last time. 'I'm finished.'

  Lena didn't break down until she was out of the parking lot, well on her way to the interstate. She felt disgusting from being in Ethan's presence, and like a monster for the callous way she'd spoken about their child. Leaving that room, walking down the hallway to the exit and knowing Ethan could not follow her, she had felt powerful, invincible. Then her words had come back to her, and the stupid way she had yet again let him talk her into doing exactly what he wanted made her feel raw inside.

  By the time she made it back to the Elawah County limits, Lena was exhausted. O
ver and over again, she kept reviewing how she had played right into Ethan's hands. He had always taken a sick delight in mind games. She could picture him calling Hank with that smirk on his face, delighting in the prospect of torturing the old man. Ethan had always used other people to get to Lena, whether it was threatening Nan or trying to rile up Jeffrey. Lena wasn't even sure Hank had heard the calls on the machine. Even if he had, what the fuck did he care about Ethan Green? A couple of phone messages weren't enough to make Hank take up the needle again. There had to be something else – something Lena still wasn't seeing – and she felt in her gut that it all tied back to the drug dealer with the red swastika that she'd seen leaving Hank's house.

  Hank had said that the man had killed her mother. Where had he done this? When? How?

  The visit to the prison had been a waste of time. Lena had pissed away a full day tracking down a false lead when she could have been looking for information on Angela Adams. She had to find something – a birth certificate, marriage certificate, death certificate, last known address. At the very least, a Social Security number would lead to income tax information. Tax information would give an address, a place of employment – something she could use for leverage with Hank. Lena felt certain more and more that her mother was the key to all of this. Hank was spiraling out of control for a reason. If Lena knew what had really happened to her mother, why Hank had lied all those years, then she could confront him with it, make him get help. As Lena drove down the state highway leading into Reece, she started making plans.

  It was time to talk to the local cops. Fuck Al Pfeiffer and his lecherous hands. Lena was no longer a cowering teenager scared of a speeding ticket. She was a detective on the Grant County Police Force. She would go to the sheriff's office first thing in the morning and demand copies of the reports in the investigation into her father's death. If Pfeiffer balked, then she would call Jeffrey and let him do the good ol' boy shuffle. If Jeffrey needed a reason for her wanting the file, she would spin him some yarn about needing closure. Since Jeffrey had married Sara again, he'd gotten enough estrogen back in his life to believe in that kind of shit.

  Lena could still go to the hospital and try to track down her mother's birth certificate. If that didn't work, she would go back to Hank's and find the information on her own. She shuddered at the prospect of going up into that attic again, the smell of Deacon Simms. She had no choice, though. Hank was consistent in one respect: he never threw away anything, whether it was an electric bill from 1973 or a newspaper covering the Challenger explosion. Somewhere in that house under all the self-help pamphlets and dirty clothes and boxes of crap, there had to be information about her mother.