Garrand Foster was a man who looked beat by the system. He was nearly sixty years old, and enjoyed a full head of hair; although most days now he spent his time pulling it out in thick clumps out of frustration. He had been the warden at Saint Ive’s Island Maximum security prison for over twenty years, and had enjoyed a very quiet existence within the United Stated Penal Code enforcement agency for his entire tenure. This was a very good thing for a man twenty –pounds overweight and prone to heart disease. Being transported from the dock to the gates of the prison by one of his guards the Warden dreaded going into his office, just as he had for the past six months.
The sun shone through the window in the Warden’s office, a cool breeze nearly suffocated the portly man as he cursed the air-conditioning in the aging prison on St. Ive’s Isle. He had been the warden for a number of years, but had only begun dreading the job since last October. That was the day he had to try and figure out how to explain two dead prisoners buried in the yard. Prisoners who were well connected outside and were certifiably alive an hour before suddenly were buried in the middle of the yard. He had no choice but to place the prisoner they were attacking into the restricted wing of the prison to protect him from the Russian mob faction in the population. Since that day the prisons main line was a constant list of callers, from the main stream media to the fringe of new age hippies trying to free the man who could manipulate mother Earth.
The warden also had grounds to believe that the man in question, Jonathan Bloodsliver, could if ever granted access to bare earth again could easily escape through the earth. The Warden was not about to allow the pristine one hundred and six year track record of St. Ive’s Isle maximum security penitentiary to be sullied by an escape under his watch. Bloodsliver was in every way a model prisoner, he never caused disturbances, and he obeyed the rules and avoided trouble. The only instance in the man’s two and a half years was defending himself from a yard shanking at the hands of two of the most brutal men known on the eastern sea bed. Garrand Foster was tired of the calls regarding the prisoner, he had followed the very public trial and thought Bloodsliver should have gone free. If it was not self defense then it was clearly temporary insanity that drove the man to kill the person responsible for the deaths of his family. Garrand was not allowed to question the wisdom of the people, and with what he had seen that fateful day in October he didn’t believe that the man was completely in control of what he could do.
Staring at the pile of letters on his desk requesting audiences with the inmate, requesting DNA samples to find out if the prisoner was in fact an alien life form the warden reflected on his life. The daily grind of nearly 30 years of working within the US penal system had begun to take its toll on the man. Garrand was tired and ready to retire, he didn’t need to worry himself over the one prisoner incarcerated at St. Ives Island who he believed to be innocent, he just needed to lock him away and keep him safe and out of harms way. That is exactly what the warden was doing and planned to do until such time as he couldn’t take it anymore. As the tired looking man sat at his desk the phone rang. It was the infirmary.
The nurse on the other line was Jessica Drake, a young woman in her mid twenties who was very popular with the inmates and guards alike. Garrand knew her to be very skilled and a capable practitioner of the medical arts, he just wished she didn’t look like a playmate model. He had disagreed with the state sending him a young woman who would cause disruption in the population, but he had been assured that she was capable of not only administering medical treatment but also of taking care of her own. A brief demonstration during which she knocked four guards unconscious had settled the wardens concerns for her safety. It had turned out that the young woman was a former Marine Corps officer with a fourth degree black belt.
“Warden, you need to let prisoner 18556 out of his cell and into the light, his body needs the sunlight?” came the voice over the receiver.
Prisoner 18556 was Jonathan Bloodsliver, and the warden was used to receiving calls about him from the nurse. Garrand suspected their relationship was more then appropriate, but could not prove anything and therefore left it alone. He had a very qualified nurse in charge of the prisons hospital and despite the occasional crossing of the lines when it came to a headache prisoner she was within bounds. “How many times do I need to say no, he is a threat to escape and at heightened threat from the other prisoners.” The warden had been down that path before with the nurse and knew what to expect next.
“The prisoner shows signs of vitamin e deficiency and is showing depression associated with lack of exposure to the sun, this is intentional torture of this prisoner,” replied the nurse, she too was familiar with the game the two played on nearly a daily basis. Jonathan Bloodsliver was one of those men women found strangely attractive, and Jessica Drake was no different, but she believed that his health was adversely impacted by his incarceration indoors. She had been going back and forth with Garrand for over a month about this need of the prisoner to be exposed to the sunlight to no avail.
“He is a threat to escape and his primary safety is my only concern. Give him a booster shot and I will let him have a sunlamp in his cell,” replied the warden. His voice conveyed a sense of finality which meant that the conversation was over. Jessica Drake knew this to be the case and decided not to push this matter any further today.
Jessica Drake went back to her daily chores, her five foot four hundred and twenty pound frame stood from behind the green metal desk from which she ran the prison’s hospital. Jessica’s long black hair was pulled tight into a bun behind her nurse’s cap. She wore a crisp and clean white uniform which was just a little too tight in the right places for Warden Foster. The young woman knew this and wore her uniform that way intentionally. Grabbing the clip board from the corner of her desk she walked sternly over to the pharmaceutical cabinet and unlocked it, running the daily inventory of her drug supply was one of the aspects of working at the prison she detested most. She had not had a theft for nearly a month, but she had to count and report upon every dose of medication in her control to abide by state guidance.
The task took nearly two hours to complete, each dose of aspirin, each dose of anti-histamine and every dose of sedative was accounted for. With not a pill out of place, nor a needle missing, the nurse smiled and relaxed. When she had first come to the prison she had trouble with the relaxants and painkillers walking out of the infirmary. She had quickly traced it to one of her staff running a side business with the prisoners. They would be paid on the outside for the drugs slipped to prisoners internally. The resulting criminal case meant the incarceration of two new residents on St. Ive’s Isle, both of which were part of the soviet mob gang.