Friends Till The End

Besides Sean Nokes, there were four other guards at Wilkinson’s named Ralph Ferguson, Adam Sanders, and Henry Richards. All of them were in their mid-twenties at the time and they all seemed to be close friends.


Ralph Ferguson was tall and lanky, with feminine hands and a thin face. He had just completed his first year at Wilkinson and was heavily disliked by majority of the inmates. He had a flash temper and a brute strength that went against his physical appearance. He had the type of temper that was going to kill or get him killed.


Adam Sanders was a short, but muscular man who screamed gym junkie the first time who took a look at him. He also reminded the inmates that he was only using his job at Wilkinson’s to finance his way through law school. He was always in a foul mood and spoke in the most derogatory way. He was a poor kid who always looked down on other poor kids because they reminded him where he came from.


Henry Richards was considered a low-life to many of the inmates who only thrived for having a steady job where he did not have to do much. He was the youngest of the guards and also the loudest, eager to flex verbal muscles when it came to giving orders. We had seen many men like him in the neighborhood. Lazy for his own-being and inconsiderate towards other people who were defenseless.


There were no surprises to any of them. But that was a first look, and for once we had no idea what to look for.


-


I was sitting next to Vic, our backs against the gym wall with our legs stretched out and our shirts drenched in sweats. We were watching a group of inmates play basketball. We were in the middle of our third day at Wilkinson but it had already felt like three months.


“Is this how you San Diego boys spend your days?” It was Sean Nokes. He was standing over us, standing over us with a black baton in his hand. “Watching boys shoot baskets?”


“We’re taking a break,” Vic said. “That’s all.”


“I decide when you take a break,” Nokes said, a smirk on his face. “Now get back out there.”


I shrugged and turned to Vic. “One more game won’t kill us.” Then I got up, and as I did I brushed one of my shoulders against the side of Nokes’s uniform.


Nokes, inches behind me, lifted his baton and swung it down hard, against my lower back. The pain was sharp, intense, and numbing. The force brought me to one knee. His second shot landed against the center of my back and was quickly followed by a third, a swing that was hard enough to crack a bone. I was now down on both knees, gasping for air when I noticed another boy staring at me, still and silent.


I heard Vic scream from behind me. “What are you doing? He didn’t do anything to you!”


“He touched my uniform,” Nokes said calmly. “That’s against the rules.”


“He didn’t touch you,” Vic said, his entire body trembling. “And if he did, he didn’t mean it.”


“Stay outta this.” Nokes told him.


“You don’t have to hit him,” Vic said, a touch of toughness in his tone. “Don’t hit him again.”


“Okay.” Nokes’s voice softened. “Help him up. Take him back to his cell.”


When Vic hesitated, Nokes said, “Go ahead, pick him up. Don’t be afraid.”


“I’m not afraid,” Vic told him.


Nokes just smiled.


-


Back in the cell, Vic helped ease me down on my bunk and covered my legs.


“I can’t believe he hit you like that.” Vic said.


“He’s hit before,” I told him.


“How do you know?”


“When I was down, I looked over at the others. None of them seem surprised.” I said.


And now I wasn’t other. I finally figured out what was behind all of King Benny’s veiled warnings. He had tried to prepare me, prepare us all. But not even he could envision the full extent of horror we would face.


-


We felt their presence before we heard them. Nokes stood in the cell doorway, his arms folded across his chest and a crooked smile on his face. Behind them stood Ferguson, Sanders, and Richards, black batons in hands. Nokes led them into my cell. Richards closed the door behind them. They did not say anything until Vic, as fearlessly as he could muster, asked them what they wanted.


“You see?” Nokes said with a laugh. “You see how tough this punk is?”


Ferguson and Sanders moved past Nokes and each grabbed one of Vic’s arms. Richards instantly went up behind him and wrapped a thick cloth around Vic’s mouth, tying it in the back. Nokes stood over me, one of his knees pressed against my chest. I looked away from him, my eyes toward Vic, both our faces betraying our terror.


“Undo his pants.” Nokes said.


Vic’s pants slipped down around his ankles.


“Hold him tight.” Richards said to Ferguson and Sanders. “I wouldn’t want him to sleep and hit his head.”


“We got him,” Ferguson said. “Don’t worry.”


“Okay, Fuentes,” Nokes said. “Let’s see how tough you really are.”


Richards beat against Vic’s back, rear, and legs with his baton, the blows causing his skin to swell immediately and my friend’s eyes to swell with tears. His back turned beet-red and the thin muscles of his legs bent under the pounding. Each blow brought a low moan from Vic’s mouth, until the fifth blow caused him to lose consciousness. Still, Richards did not stop.


He lifted the baton higher and brought it down with even more force, his eyes filled with pleasure at the pain he was inflicting. He finally stopped after a dozen shots had found their mark. Ferguson and Sanders still held Vic’s arms, all that was keeping him from dropping to the floor.


“Think he’s had enough?” Nokes asked me.


“Yes.” I said, staring up at him.


“Yes what, you guinea fuck.”


“Yes sir,” I said. “I think he’s had enough.”


Nokes and I watched in silence as the trio pulled up Vic’s pants and undid the gag around his mouth. Then Vic was dragged out of my cell, back to his.


“See things my way,” Nokes said to me. ”Do things my way. Don’t fight us. And there’ll never be another problem like there was today. If not, you San Diego boys may never get outta here alive.”


It was only our third day at the Wilkinson Home for Boys.

Notes

Things will really start to heat up from here.