Page 45 of Kandie Shoppe

“Yeah, but I had sense enough not to have any witnesses — at least not any credible ones,” he grounds out, letting me know the chances I have if I decide to go up against the big bad Sheriff of Shelby-Love.

Stunned and feeling stupid, I watch him fill out actual real forms detailing all my crimes. My heart hurts so bad.

Safe? Did I actually think I was safe with him? He — I feel sick. Rushing over to the sink in the jail cell, I retch. Everything from the day comes up. My throat is raw like I drunk devil lye, like this one girl did when we were little. I wouldn’t be surprised if my throat doesn’t burn from the inside out and wither like hers did.

Betrayal slices through me. Tears well in my eyes, I stay with my back to him, trying my best not to let the pain I feel show, but I can’t stop my shoulders from shaking with quiet sobs. I feel used.

The very thing I tried to avoid by not being the good-time girl all these years comes tumbling down on me like an avalanche. I hate myself for waiting for him. I can admit it at least to myself. All of that then have him fuck me and toss me away like I’m nothing.

“Let this be a wake-up call,” the motherfucker says with a smugness that ensures I’m going to get my lick back.

“Bitch,” I snarl at his retreating back.

Three a.m.

The witching hour, the moon be bright,

All the paddy rollers sleep tight,

Look left, then right,

Be smart, quiet, careful, and cool,

The way to freedom won’t come again,

Don’t stay the night,

And get snatch-up tight,

There is a sure way out the pin,

The floor is false,

Be sure to take a peek,

The path below is the one you seek.

Then free as a bird you will fly,

Just make sure this way you never come by,

If you don’t want to get strung up high.

At exactly threea.m. after the last bed check, I slip off the cot. As far as cots go, they are comfy, but I prefer my own bed. Thank you very much. The poem my granddaddy told me one day during visitation back when my first arson charge along with the murder charge of the Sheriff and three deputies looked bleak and like it was going to stick, plays in the back of my head like a song on repeat.

When they forced my enslaved family members to make this jail during the Civil War, they had no idea the workers built tunnels to escape their enslavement and the possible lynchings that followed for the most minor infractions.

The powerful forces never wanted it discovered how people just up and disappeared. They just let people think it was vigilante mobs coming in the middle of the night when in actuality folks were escaping through the underground network of tunnels.

“That little poem has been passed down to most of the men in the family. I think you and Ma-Pete are the only ladies who had to learn it. If they try to send you upstate, use it and we will find you somewhere safe to be,” he told me with a mix of pride and sorrow.

That’s one thing about my grandparents. They never judged me just like they never did Daddy. They thought they were helping him when he first started having spells, as they call it. When they discovered how badly he was being treated, they stopped it all. By then, he didn’t trust anyone but Mom.

I know they have a lot of regret. I know I used it to get my way with them sometimes.

“I’m going to do better,” I whisper for the fifty-eleventh time. As quietly as I can, I push the bed over, thankful they put the pads under the feet to stop the incessant scraping when people toss and turn. There is more than enough room for an average-sized person, but with all this booty, there is no way I’m squeezing under the bed. Once it’s moved out of the way, I dig my nails into the groove of concrete lifting, then sliding it over to reveal the tunnel. Turning, I step down the ladder built into the wall. Reaching back up, I drag the bed by its leg back into its original position. Stepping down a couple of rungs, I grab the groove on the underside of the concrete, pulling it back into place.

Making sure I don’t see any gaps, I jump down onto the soft earth of the tunnel. Feeling around on the ground I pick up one of the flashlights, turning it on and head down to the tunnelseveral feet bypassing several more rungs that lead to freedom from the cells above.

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