Eppie awoke with a start. For a moment after she opened her eyes she did not realize where she was. Then she spotted the bars on the other side of the cell and she remembered. Her eyes instinctively closed again, much more tightly than they had been closed before. She noticed that the fingers of one hand were wrapped firmly around the edge of the metal bedframe on which her mattress lay—the result, no doubt, of some unsettling dream which had occupied her sleep moments earlier, but which had vanished entirely from her memory with the return of consciousness.
She had no idea what time it was or how long she had slept, but it felt like several hours. The lights in the room were out and the room was mostly dark; the only illumination came from the dim glow of the exit sign above the door. The small exterior window positioned high on the wall at the far end of the room had turned from pitch black to a dark amber. Eppie surmised that dawn could not be far off. She was glad that she had been able to sleep through most of the night. Every minute that she slept was one less minute that she had to be aware of her circumstances.
She rolled onto her back and felt a resulting pressure on her bladder. She tried to ignore it for a minute or so, but she knew that the effort was pointless. The capacity of her bladder seemed to grow smaller with each passing day, even as her abdomen grew larger, and she knew that she would have to rise and relieve herself. She threw off her blanket and sat up groggily, swinging her feet to the cold concrete floor. The spongy mattress had not been kind to her body overnight, and her back and shoulders ached from the lack of support. She still felt half asleep as she stood on unsteady legs and padded across the cell in her jailhouse-issue white cotton socks. The stainless steel toilet behind the low partition on the back wall offered little in the way of privacy or atmosphere, but she was unconcerned with such niceties at present. The primitive accommodations alleviated the need to call the guard every two or three hours to be escorted to a restroom, and for such simple amenities she was grateful.
After relieving herself and flushing the toilet, Eppie wandered back to her bed. She was about to lower herself down onto the mattress when something caught her eye in the cell next to hers. When she looked directly at it she jumped in surprise.
A human figure sat slouched on the bed on the opposite side of the adjacent cell. Eppie stared at the figure through the bars and tried to make out its identity in the dark. For several seconds she stopped breathing from fright.
"Good morning, Eppie," the figure said calmly.
Eppie blinked her eyes and looked at the figure with even greater intensity, searching for any recognizable features. She made out a thin, wiry frame dressed in an orange jumpsuit similar to her own and leaning against the bars behind the bed. Its feet were propped rebelliously against the edge of the bedframe, knees pointed upward, its back curled into the narrow gap between two of the bars. The face and the voice were male, and each suggested an age just a few years greater than her own.
"Who ... who are you?" she stammered.
The figure did not reply immediately, as if he were considering which of several answers he might give to Eppie's straightforward question. After several moments he lowered his feet to the floor and uncurled himself from the bed.
"I suppose I understand if you don't recognize me right away," he said as he moved slowly across the cell. "I mean, we only met once, very briefly, and the light isn't very good in here anyway." He came up to the row of bars between their cells and put one shoulder against them.
From the closer vantage point Eppie could now see the pale, angular face and the long, thin hair that framed it. Slowly her mind put the pieces into place.
"You're one of the people I met at the apartment a few weeks ago, aren't you?" she said uncertainly. "You're one of Rachel and Allison's friends."
"Well," the young man replied, "I don't know if I'd call myself one of their friends exactly. Let's just say that we associate from time to time."
Eppie's breathing returned to a more normal rhythm as she got over her initial fright. "Oh, man," she said with a nervous smile. "You really startled me there for a minute. I thought I was the only one in here."
The young man maintained a serious expression. "Didn't mean to do that," he said. "I was trying to be as quiet as I could. I figured you could use all the sleep you can get."
"How long have you been in here?"
"Since about ten o'clock last night. They transferred me back here from county lock-up. It's the standard routine just before they let you out. I'm gonna make bond later today."
Eppie shook her head in amazement. "I never heard them bring you in. I must have really been out of it."
"You're a deep sleeper, Eppie," the man said. "I can tell. I'm the same way. I can sleep through an earthquake if I'm tired enough."
Eppie looked at the man shyly. "I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "I don't remember your name."
"William Montgomery," the man said, extending his hand through the bars. "Most people call me Billy."
Eppie shook his hand. "Hello, Billy," she said. "I promise I won't forget your name again."
Billy stood resolutely on his side of the barred partition that separated the two cells. His face remained straight and calm, and Eppie perceived in it a vague mixture of stoicism and strength that seemed not in the least way tempered by his incarceration. Having been reintroduced to Billy, she was no longer in fear of his presence, but his strangely subdued manner continued to make her uneasy. She was reminded of the sensation she had felt as a child while visiting the lion's cage at the zoo. Although she knew that the animal was safely confined to its own area on the other side of the bars, she had nevertheless felt the intimidating power of its presence.
Eppie began to feel awkward as the two of them stood silently facing each other. "I, um, … I'm going to sit down now," she said, unsure of exactly why she felt the need to explain her movements. "My feet get kind of tired if I stand too long on a hard floor like this."
Billy nodded his understanding as Eppie moved cautiously to her bed. She sat at the foot of the mattress, leaving her feet resting on the floor, and was mildly surprised when Billy sat on the floor of his cell directly across from her and crossed his legs lotus-style before him. She had expected him to return to his own bed, since there were no chairs in the cells, and perhaps lie down to sleep. But his seated position clearly indicated that he wished to talk.
Still, Eppie was perplexed by his continued silence. She watched him carefully as he stared quietly at the concrete floor in front of his feet.
Perhaps he's just lonely, she thought. Maybe he'd been in jail for a long time or, even worse, maybe he'd been held in solitary confinement. Either way, she realized that she would be the one to resume their conversation.
"So, how long have you been in here?" she asked.
"Oh, about three weeks now," Billy replied. "I've come to learn that they can keep you in this place as long as they want to if you resist them. The only way to get out of here quick and easy is to play along with them." He shook his head with conviction. "But that's not my style. I'll never play their game."
Eppie was not sure what game Billy was referring to, but she decided not to inquire about it directly. "What did they arrest you for?" she asked.
A scowl came across Billy's face and his upper lip curled on one side. "I beat up some cops," he said flatly.
Eppie sat up a little straighter and looked at Billy with surprise. "Really?" she said with astonishment. "Me too."
Billy took his eyes off the floor and looked back at Eppie with a similar expression of surprise. "No kidding," he said, outwardly impressed. For the first time that morning, Billy's face softened. His eyes relaxed from their hard-edged stare and his lips broke out into a mischievous grin. "You wouldn't be lying to me just to make me feel good, now would you, Eppie?"
"Well," she replied, "maybe 'beat up' is too strong a term to describe what happened. I just got into a little scuffle with two of the mayor's security guards. They charged me with assault and battery on a law officer."
"I'll be damned," Billy said with admiration. "A little girl like you? Pregnant like you are, taking on two cops by yourself?" His grin grew noticeably wider.
Eppie smiled with humility. She did not know why she was amused, but Billy's evident admiration for her actions made her grin as well. "I guess I got a little carried away," she said. "They were arresting a friend of mine and it just got to me. My friend wasn't really doing anything wrong. He didn't deserve to be taken away like that. But still, I was wrong to fight with them. I got too excited, that's all."
"You must have fought them pretty good if they arrested you too," Billy said. "Did you get in some good shots?"
"I managed to kick one of them pretty hard in the shin," said Eppie. "I didn't mean to hurt him, but I think I did. He was walking with a limp afterward."
Billy's face now glowed with interest as Eppie told of her encounter with the Mayor's security team, and the girl took notice of the change that came over him. The light entering the room through the window had become brighter with the dawn, and Eppie wondered how much of the change in his expression was the result of her story and how much was simply due to better illumination.
"I never touched the other one," she continued. "I kicked at him too, but I missed. He was too fast for me."
Billy nodded his head approvingly. "You did good, Eppie," he said with conviction. "You did good not to let them push you around. Once you lie down and let them walk all over you, they won't ever let you up. You did the right thing."
Eppie considered Billy's words for a few moments. "I don't know," she said. "Sometimes I feel bad about what I did. Those guys were just doing their jobs."
"Oh, bullshit," Billy said emphatically. "Their job is to respect your rights. Those guys don't give a damn about people like you or me. All they care about is stepping all over us for their own benefit. They're all in cahoots together. The cops, the mayor, the city council. It's one big conspiracy. They're all in it to take away our rights. You mark my words. Today they're arresting your friend for no good reason, and tomorrow they'll be arresting you on some bogus charge, too.
"Hey," he said, shrugging his shoulders and extending his palms upward, attesting to the self-evident nature of his point, "that's your whole story in a nutshell, isn't it?"
Eppie was slow to respond. She could not disagree with Billy's assessment, for he had indeed accurately summarized her current situation, yet she did not share the deep suspicion and antagonism that seemed to sharpen his point of view. "Yeah, I suppose so," she said weakly.
"I know so," replied Billy. "Believe me, I've been fighting the system since I was twelve years old. They've been trying to keep me down every way they can think of, but I don't give 'em an inch. Every time they pick a fight with me they get slapped down good and hard like they oughta."
Eppie looked at Billy through the bars and felt herself intrigued by the intensity of the young man's convictions. She recalled the sight of Father Andrew being arrested by the Mayor's men, and she wondered what might have happened if Billy had been there to witness it. Or, perhaps more importantly, if he had been present when she herself was arrested. She knew that he would have fought with every ounce of energy he possessed, would have used every muscle and sacrificed every limb to protect her, a near stranger, from that fate. She felt a clear and growing connection to him with every word that he uttered.
Eppie watched the young man with increasing interest as he sat before her, cross-legged on the hard floor, and preached his ideas to her. She recalled his fiery temper as he chastised Allison and Rachel and the other members of their group back at the apartment for their lack of resolve. She was not convinced of the correctness of his views, but she was becoming ever more impressed by the strength with which he held them.
"Do you really feel that strongly about political issues?" she asked. "I mean, why do you care so much about abortion?"
"Abortion?" Billy said dismissively. "Hell, I don't care about abortion. That's not what my fight's about. In fact, I think abortions are a bad idea. If you ask me, once a baby is conceived, I think it oughta be allowed to live."
Eppie was puzzled. "So you don't think abortions should be allowed?" she asked. "Then why do you demonstrate in favor of allowing them?"
"I didn't say they shouldn't be allowed," Billy replied. "I only said they were a poor choice. But they are a choice, and there's the difference. You see, I don't fight for any one person’s right to do or not do any one particular thing. I fight for all people to be able to do all things. I'm fighting against the man who says that he's going to set the rules that the rest of us have to live by. That's my fight. It doesn't matter what rules the man lays down, I'm against 'em. If they pass a law that says that everybody has to walk on the right side of the sidewalk, then that's the day that I start walking on the left side. I may have walked on the right side all my life, just because it was the normal thing to do, and that would have been fine with me. But when the man speaks up and proclaims that the customary is now mandatory, then I step out of line. Abortion is no different; it's just one example out of a thousand. The individual issue is irrelevant. It's the larger principle that matters."
Eppie thought for a moment. "So, if the city tried to pass a law making abortion mandatory in certain cases, ..." she started to say.
"Then I'm marching at the other end of the block," Billy said, finishing her thought. "And I might not fit in any better with that group than I do now with Rachel and Allison's group, but that's okay with me." His eyes were glowing intensely, and a satisfied smile crossed his face. "Because I'm still fighting the man."
The lights in the room suddenly came on without warning, and the harsh glare brought Eppie's eyes to a narrow squint. The door below the exit sign swung open and a metal cart entered the room, followed by an elderly man in a police uniform. The duty officer pushed the cart slowly along the row of cells, stopping before Eppie's. Without a word he lifted a covered metal tray from the cart and left it on the sill in the cell door, then he moved on to Billy's cell and did the same.
Eppie started to stand up from the bed to retrieve her breakfast, but Billy's hand reached through the bars and grabbed hold of her wrist. Taking her cue from this gesture, Eppie remained seated, watching both Billy and the duty officer with equal suspicion. A few seconds later the cart led its silent master out of the room.
"Never let them think you need them," Billy whispered, as he released Eppie's wrist.
Eppie rose cautiously from the bed and took her tray from the sill. She had not eaten much the previous day and she now felt the full extent of her hunger. Under the round metal cover in the middle of the tray she discovered a plastic plate, upon which sat a small serving of scrambled eggs and an English muffin. Next to the plate were two small foil-covered plastic containers, one labeled "Margarine" and the other "Grape Jelly." A similar but considerably larger container was labeled "Orange Juice."
The eggs were barely above room temperature, the orange juice was barely below, and the English muffin fell somewhere in between, but that did not stop Eppie from devouring her meal in quick fashion. As bland and institutionally tasteless as the food was, it retained a certain aroma that sparked her hunger, a good deal of which remained even after she had cleaned her plate.
Billy had remained seated on the floor of his cell while Eppie ate. He showed no interest in the tray of food sitting on the sill of the door to his own cell.
"Aren't you going to eat?" asked Eppie.
Billy shook his head. "No," he said passively. "I don't need their food." He looked up and saw the hunger that remained in Eppie's eyes. "You want it?" he asked.
"Umm ... sure," Eppie said tentatively. "I mean, that is if you don't want it."
Billy raised himself from the floor and retrieved the tray from his door. He removed the cover from the plate and held it next to the bars in front of Eppie.
"The plate won't fit through the bars," he told her, "so you'll have to eat between them. Just hold the plate with one hand and stick your fork through the bars with your other hand. It feels a little awkward at first, but you'll get the hang of it."
Eppie did as Billy suggested, moving the plate back and forth for a few seconds before locating a position that seemed to work comfortably for her. After a few failed attempts at lifting a forkful of eggs to her mouth, she finally succeeded. Soon she was feeding herself easily through the shiny poles that separated her from the plate.
"Are you sure you don't want any of this?" Eppie asked, feeling somewhat guilty about consuming two meals while Billy had none.
"I'm sure," said Billy. He stood up and returned to his bed, uncoiling his body onto the mattress.
Eppie was puzzled once again. "Did you eat dinner last night?" she asked.
"I haven't eaten since I've been in here," Billy said.
Eppie stopped eating. "You mean you haven't eaten anything in three weeks?"
Billy shook his head.
Eppie looked at him in amazement. "How can you go so long without eating?"
Billy crossed his feet and slipped his hands casually behind his head. "I once went for an entire month behind bars without a bite," he said, not a hint of boastfulness in his voice. "It's not that hard once you've learned how to do it. You just need to make your hunger work for you rather than against you. Most people feel a little twinge in their belly and they let it take control of them. They'll do anything to pacify that hunger. I'm not that way, though. I actually like the feeling of being hungry—that burning sensation deep down inside me. It makes me feel alive."
"Don't the guards try to force you to eat after a while?" Eppie asked.
Billy closed his eyes and shook his head again. "They probably would if they knew what I'm doing, but these guys are clueless. I usually flush the stuff down the toilet, or just give it to the guy in the next cell. These clowns don't know the difference. As long as they see an empty plate when they come back, they just assume that I ate it."