“It says here you’ve accumulated multiple disciplinary reports over the years.”
He stared at me, waiting.
I stared back.
“I’m afraid prison can be a dangerous place,” I said finally. “When fights break out, failing to defend yourself can land you in the hospital. Or the morgue.”
“I’d like the record to reflect,” Ryker interjected, “that Mr. Blackwood was recently hospitalized at Mercy Harbor following a violent assault. An assault in which he was the victim.”
The thin man’s gaze didn’t waver from mine. “Yes. Let’s discuss that incident.” He picked up a sheet of paper. “One of the inmates involved claims you started the fight intentionally.”
“That’s not true,” I replied.
“I’d like to point out,” Ryker cut in, “that when those inmates were examined afterward, none of them had a single injury. Knox never threw a punch. He was not the aggressor.”
The thin man acknowledged Ryker with a dismissive nod, then turned back to me. His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“That may be true for that particular incident,” he said, “but it certainly wasn’t the case on February 5, was it?”
My stomach dropped.
He lifted another document, scanning it with theatrical slowness. “According to a medical report filed by the prison nurse, one Harper Mitchell, you and another inmate presented to the infirmary with significant injuries that day.”
Shit.
“According to these notes, the other inmate, Merrick Doyle, suffered injuries so severe, he nearly required transfer to an outside hospital. Contusions to the face and torso.” He looked up, pinning me with those cold eyes. “And according to the nurse’s notes, your knuckles were bruised and swollen. Your clothing was stained with blood that wasn’t your own.”
Silence.
“The nurse’s documentation makes it explicitly clear that you were the aggressor in an extremely violent confrontation.” He set the paper down. “True or false?”
I couldn’t look at her.
I couldn’t turn around and see Harper’s face, see the guilt and devastation I knew would be written there. She’d filed that report back when I was just another violent inmate in a prison full of them. Back before she knew anything about who I really was.
She was doing the right thing, and she didn’t deserve to feel an ounce of remorse. Even if it was the final straw that cost me my freedom today.
My hands curled into fists on my thighs. Not from anger. From the effort of keeping myself together.
“True,” I said quietly.
The thin man’s eyebrows rose. “Care to elaborate?”
Ryker stepped forward. “I’d like the record to show that the altercation began as an act of protection. The inmate inquestion, Doyle, was making explicit threats of sexual violence against the new nurse. He stated his intention to rape her. Mr. Blackwood intervened to protect a staff member from imminent harm.”
Silence. For ten seconds.
“Be that as it may”—the thin man waved a hand like he was swatting a fly—“there are other ways to handle a threat, Mr. Blackwood. You could have reported it through proper channels. Alerted other staff. Are you claiming you had no other choice?”
I considered the question. Really considered it.
And for the first time in fourteen years, I gave an honest answer.
“No, sir. I’m not claiming that.”
The man stilled.
“I should have reported Doyle through proper channels,” I continued. “I should have called for guards. I should have done a lot of things differently.” I paused. “But I didn’t.”
