Wayne had a string of breaking and entering arrests, though he seemed to be on someone’s payroll and had barely spent a year in prison each time. The written statement from the guards indicated that Wayne knew his way around the prison system and seemed unfazed by it all.
And then there was Blaze, whose file Gabe had been saving for last. Blaze seemed to be intent on making Gabe like him, as though he thought that was the only way he’d get through the program. This made the information in the file Gabe held in his hands seem that much more important, a way for him to understand what was going on with Blaze.
According to the file, Blaze had been convicted of dealing drugs and domestic violence, even though he looked, to Gabe’s eyes, anyway, like he was completely surprised to find himself in the ex-con program.
But there were more notes in the file, so Gabe flipped the page, shock making him go still. The report was dry, but Gabe knew how to read between the lines.
There had been an altercation in Blaze’s cell the night before he’d been released. Two other prisoners had somehow exited their cell in the middle of the night and, opening Blaze’s cell, proceeded to beat him up.
Blaze had fought back, and the noise had alerted the guards on level two, who entered the cell, ended the fight, and made sure Blaze was okay before locking level two down for the night. The next day, Blaze had been pulled out of the dining hall during breakfast, processed out, then sent on his way to Farthingdale Valley.
As to why two prisoners would wait for the middle of the night rather than simply picking a fight in the prison yard, Gabe had no idea. His knowledge of how a prisoner’s mind worked was very limited so far, though he imagined he’d learn more as they got deeper into summer.
What he did know was that Blaze had been acting like he wasn’t injured at all. As if the cut on his lip and the marks on his face were from something else entirely. Maybe he was covering, or maybe he thought it didn’t matter, but it was sure weird to Gabe.
There was more in the folder, copies of a surveillance report on Blaze’s whole family from three years prior, when the Feds had been interested in an interstate ring of illegal gambling. Somebody had been sent out to take photos and keep an eye on the Butterworths, but they’d come up with nothing.
The surveillance had happened the year before Blaze had been arrested, and three years after he should have graduated from high school. According to the report, Blaze had been studying for his GED while in prison, but had never taken the test.
The photos of the family’s trailer, even in black and white, showed the effects of a streamlined life that could be packed up in under an hour and scooted to the next place, and then the next after that.
Oddly, the file included photos of each of the family members. Gabe found himself looking at Mr. and Mrs. Butterworth, their faces lined and hard, their eyes sharp, their mouths thin. Alex, the older brother, took after Mom and Dad.
And then there was Blaze.
There was a blurry photo of Blaze hanging out of a truck window, beneath which was a short handwritten note, something to do with driveways and fake repairs, a scam to cheat the elderly out of money.
There was a sharper-focused, candid photo of Blaze when he was younger, his hair wild around his face as he stood watching the Tilt-a-Whirl, eating a corn dog, the pleasure of the moment making his eyes bright.
The Blaze in the photograph seemed much younger than the guy who’d gotten out of the prison van only the day before. Though there had been, in certain moments, flickers of that younger Blaze peeking out of an older, prison-hardened Blaze’s eyes.
Gabe didn’t know enough about prison psychology, and maybe Blaze’s behavior was a big sham, and the effect on Gabe, the tenderness of his heart in reaction, would, in time, prove to be just as false.
Blaze’s file made him shake his head. The whole Butterworth family were con artists, working the carnivals, the booths, working the shill. In reading Blaze’s prison history, he could better understand the expression on Blaze’s face. How he didn’t quite fit in with the other parolees because, simply, he wasn’t like them.
At least not in the truest sense, even if his whole family thought that stealing was the way to go about things. No specific detail of Blaze’s time in Wyoming Correctional jumped out at him, but the photographs did.
The third photograph was a strip of square, black and white intake photos, with Blaze holding up the mugshot board. How stark and pale he looked. How dark his eyes. How much younger he seemed.
At the front of the file was his discharge photo, still black and white, the lighting overly bright. But it was enough to let Gabe see the difference between the man Blaze had been and the man he was now.
Some men were unchanged by prison. Other men were so changed that they turned into ghosts of themselves. In the older photos, Gabe had seen the ghost of who Blaze had been, the laughter in his eyes, the confident set of his shoulders, but which had been undone and then undone some more, and then again.
It wasn’t his job to rebuild a man, merely to give him an opportunity to rebuild himself. But in this case, he wanted to try.
His friend Jasper often said, of the parolee he’d taken responsibility for,I was the man in the field, and had to make my own decisions. Perhaps Gabe could make his own decisions about how to handle Blaze. Only Gabe didn’t know what to do.
Tucking the papers back in the folders and putting them on the shelf, Gabe slid on his boots over his bare feet and, still in his robe, he unplugged his cellphone and grabbed the lantern to take into the darkness.
The lantern spread a bold yellow circle on the grasses and the tree branches. When Gabe found the road, he put the lantern on a flat spot in the dirt and called his friend Jasper.
“This is Jasper,” his friend answered.
“Is it too late?” asked Gabe.
“Nope,” said Jasper. “Just let me step outside. How did it go?”
Gabe knew Jasper was stepping out onto the porch to his little stone cabin, which looked over a glassy river. Though there was no moon, Gabe imagined the stars lit up the sky, reflecting off the water of the river.
