The Other Side of the Door

Vern Thibedeau

Description

A fictional life in prison.
An inmates fictional view of life inside a Federal maximum prison in Canada. Vern states that this is fiction, but as a retired Correctional Officer who, due to many incidents which included being a hostage a couple of times, once at the point of a gun, and being physically assaulted, which caused him to take time off work to recover and then taking early retirement, he can state that many of the incidents he describes actually did happen.

Sujets

• Legal
• Door
• Crime
• Law
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: iUniverse
• Date de parution: 26 octobre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781663244598
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR
 
 
 
 
VERN THIBEDEAU
 
 
 

 
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR
 
 
Copyright © 2022 Vern Thibedeau.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
 
iUniverse
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.iuniverse.com
844-349-9409
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4460-4 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4459-8 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022915965
 
iUniverse rev. date: 08/24/2022
Contents
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Normal Weekday Schedule in Most Prisons
Glossary
About The Author


Preface
I wish to state that this novel is completely fictional. All names of people, locations and things are strictly from my imagination.
Most of the novel takes place inside a penitentiary. I should also note that my story is set several years ago. However, I have been informed that even though several institutional routines have changed since I was a correctional officer, the incidents and staff difficulties are still similar.
Due to many misconceptions regarding prisons—which, in my mind, are due mainly to outlandish movies and the manner in which the media report incidents—I was advised that it would greatly assist readers if I gave a short version of the day-to-day routine of an institution. I have done this and have included a glossary at the end of the novel.
Hopefully, this novel, even though it is fiction, will take some of the mystery out of what I term “a society within a society.”
Chapter 1
The gavel came down with a bang. The old bitch, who was dressed in black, took a minute or two to stare down at the young man standing in front of her before uttering the words “Mr. Mac Shipley, I sentence you to eight years and six months in a federal prison.”
Shipley couldn’t believe it. He was almost in shock. He’d thought he might get two years if the judge was in a bad mood, but never in his wildest dreams had he figured on eight and a half years. He honestly didn’t believe it was his fault that the old man had been entering the store just as he was running out with the stolen money. However, his fault or not, the guy was presently lying in a hospital bed, full of tubes and on life support, after hitting his head on the sidewalk when he was knocked down. Shipley still thought that once again, he had been shafted. He firmly believed his lawyer was useless, and the judge was an old dried-up biddy. As usual, everyone was blaming him for everything. He was positive about one thing, though: there was no way in hell he was going to spend that much time in prison. Screw the whole damned lot of them , he thought. I don’t know how or when, and I don’t care if a pig has to go down, but one way or another, I’m gonna be gone within a year or so . Shipley just figured it depended on where he was locked up. Naturally, he couldn’t have realized what was in store for him or known he was just dreaming.
The provincial officials were fast, though. It took them only four days, and there he was on Monday morning, hooked up in a belly chain and leg irons, sitting on a bench in a van with four other rough-looking cons and admitting to himself that he was scared shitless. God, I’m actually going to a federal pen with murderers and every other type of asshole they can lock up. How in the hell can I ever get out of this? What a bunch of pr icks.
The inmates had been told they were heading for Mountainview Prison, which was commonly called the Mount. It was a four-hour drive with no stopping. They were also informed that if it was really necessary, they would be supplied bottles to piss in. So nice of them!
He stared out the window at the traffic and hoped the rain and the wind that was swirling water all over the place weren’t signs of what was to come. Every now and again, he sneaked a look at the guards sitting on the other side of the wire mesh, who looked as if they were half asleep.
Shipley had just turned 26. At about 6 foot 1 inch tall and a little over 200 pounds, he was easily the largest inmate on the bus. But even so, he was scared witless. All his life, Shipley, even though he was usually the largest person in a crowd, never had been able to exert any authority. Unfortunately, he had always lacked self-confidence. This was likely due to the brutal discipline of his alcoholic father and his submissive mother, who never raised her voice to her husband. So as usual, he kept his mouth shut and listened to the others bragging about how tough they were and how they’d outwitted the cops for years. Christ , he thought. Most of them didn’t look over 25 or thereabouts. Oh yeah, real tough guys, probably in for raping young girls or something. But no matter what he was thinking, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
The inmate who was sitting beside him was easily the oldest one on the bus. He appeared to have a tough self-confidence and a calm aura surrounding him. After a half hour or so, he turned to Shipley and said with a smirk, “Boy, ain’t they a tough lot? I bet they’d shit themselves if someone screamed out loud. What’d they nail you for anyway?”
This was Shipley’s first time staying with the feds, but he knew enough not to get too free with his information, so he replied, “Oh, just an armed robbery where some jerk got hurt. How about you?”
“Ah, I don’t want to yap too much. Let’s just say I did some jobs for the Gennetti family and let it go at that. The goofs have hung a murder rap on me, and believe it or not, it’s one murder that I didn’t even do. But I guess that’s life, and we might as well make the best of it, eh?”
Christ, the Gennetti family—that’s big time. He must have a lot of contacts if he isn’t full of shit . Shipley gave him his name and said, “They got me for eight and a half years.”
“I’d shake hands with you if we weren’t chained up. I’m called Joe Dominic. It’s nice to meet you. Now let’s quiet down and have a rest.”
Shipley went back to listening to the idiots carrying on about how tough and experienced they were. To help pass the time, he watched the cars and trucks whiz by in the rain with their windshield wipers slapping back and forth, chilled to the bone and half hoping there’d be a small accident or something. In a bit of a daze and with his stomach clenching tighter by the minute, he sat and waited for whatever was in store for him.
Within a couple of minutes or so, Shipley’s mind was somewhere between dreamland and a catatonic state. For one reason or another, he began to relive an episode that had taken place when he was around 10 years old. It was winter and was very cold, and since he didn’t have any mitts, he decided to steal a pair. Naturally, a store clerk caught him and placed a phone call to his father, and within a short time, his angry father arrived at the store. Shipley was made to apologize to the manager, and his old man hauled him out to their aged car. The car didn’t want to start, and his old man cursed, banging on the steering wheel. Eventually, the wreck started, and once they arrived home, Shipley’s father dragged him into the house and pushed him down onto a kitchen chair.
“Well,” he yelled at his shaking son, “you want to be a thief, do you? I’ll show you what happens to thieves. For a start, you get your ass outside, grab that shovel and get the driveway and sidewalk cleared out. And don’t you dare step foot inside until it’s bloody well done.”
While he was shoveling snow, Shipley sneaked the odd look through the living room window and saw his mother, who, with a sad face, was watching him work. She was not saying anything but was watching him. As soon as Shipley finished shoveling, his old man ordered him to get a sandwich and get his ass up to his bed.
During his younger days, Shipley hadn’t realized that the house they lived in was just barely above being called a shack. As far as he had known, it was normal to live in a house that was heated with a wood stove and to have a television that only worked occasionally. He also had thought it was normal to go outside and use an outhouse for a bathroom. He’d thought everyone lived like that. He had been shocked the first time he was at a friend’s house and realized that most people certainly didn’t live like that. He also had discovered that most fathers were actually nice to their young ones.
He did have one positive memory of himself an