Page 75 of His Virgin Vessel

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Asa

The problem with prison in the modern world was that no one could agree on its function. There are those who thought that it ought to serve to rehabilitate offenders, so that they could become fully functioning members of society on their release. On the flipside, there were those who thought it was simply state-sponsored retribution and should, therefore, be as unpleasant as possible. Then there were those who didn’t care if the prisoners were rehabilitated or mistreated, just as long as they were out of the way. For them, prison was a big box to keep the bad element off the street. Because of these conflicting goals, prison was far too rough a place for rehabilitation to occur, too well-meaning to be society's revenge, and too overcrowded to keep people off the streets for long. It failed on every level, and all you could hope was that it at least failed equally in all of them.

For me, prison was blank monotony. On my first day, I was confronted by a hulking ex-biker whose gang had once tried to overturn War Cry. He was angry that I had given him a scar on his cheek. I was, meanwhile, angry that I was never going to see Corinne again, and that, however much I wanted to believe otherwise, that was probably what was best for her. In a battle of who was angrier, the man with the scar on his cheek didn't have a chance, and I kicked his ass, venting all my frustration over how things had turned out against the hapless brute. In the end, I felt a bit sorry for him. I got a week's solitary for my trouble, but it was worth it. No one bothered me after that.

Had I been in a different mind frame, I suppose prison might not have been the worst place to be. You had time to work out (no sense in letting yourself go), time to read (something I had never had as much time for as I might have liked), and time alone with your thoughts. But all my thoughts led me back to the same place. Prison, for me, was time to brood. All I could think about, day in and day out, was Corinne. Corinne and Brian Dugas.

When Dugas had come to me and spun his 'what-if' tale about Corinne on the outside, unprotected and alone, I had seen his point immediately. Rassi might be gone, but I had other enemies, and I wanted Corinne to be safe. That was all-important. For my first few weeks, that was the one silver-lining that kept me sane - the knowledge that Corinne was safe and with her family. I could almost manage to be happy about things when I thought of it that way. I had martyred my own happiness, so she could have a better life. How noble.

But as time passed, I began to wonder if I was just full of crap. Dugas was doing what any father might do. I couldn't blame him. But I ought to know better. I knew that Corinne loved me. Maybe that sounds arrogant, but I don't reckon something true can really be arrogant. Corinne Dugas loved me. It wasn’t some girlish infatuation with a bad-boy biker. She loved me, and I loved her back. How could separating two people who love each other be the right thing to do? It had seemed clear-cut, the way that Dugas had explained it, but the more I thought about it, the less I believed it. Of course, I wanted Corinne to be safe, but what good was safety, if she wasn't happy? You could wrap a person in cotton wool, park them in a room, and feed them three times a day, and they would be very safe, but what sort of a life was that? The important distinction that I began to see was that maybe Corinne was safer without any contact with me, but that didn’t mean she would be in inherent danger if we did have contact Not since Rassi had gone.

Or was I just being selfish? Certainly, I missed her hugely, and, now that there was nothing else in my life with which to fill my days, I felt it even more. She, on the other hand was on the outside, with the chance at a proper life. Was it fair to ask her to come here every week? I was assuming that she wanted to see me and that seeing me would make her happy, but could she really be happy with a man who was not going to know freedom for years? A man she couldn't be with for years? How could she be happy in that situation?

She was a loyal girl, and I knew she would wait for me. But did I want to put her through that? Was breaking that link now the kind thing to do in the long run? Certainly, that was what Brian Dugas thought, and, once again, he had made his case eloquently, and I had agreed with him.

Brian Dugas. I couldn't paint him as the bad guy, exactly, but I found my feelings of antipathy towards him increasing by the day. He had saved my life, and I was starting to regret that now, but what had he saved it for? For prison? For a love I would never be able to fulfill? That was no life at all. All my information about what was best for Corinne had come through Brian Dugas, and, while I thought it was vitally important for Corinne to reconnect with her father, I also thought it was important for her to make her own decisions. Part of being a person in the world is making bad decisions and living with the consequences. No one knows that better than me, and, while there were many bad decisions in my life, they all brought me to be the man I am, and, as long as that man was one whom Corinne Dugas loved, then I would stand by those decisions.

These were the thoughts that ran through my head at hourly intervals when I had nothing but time and a blank ceiling to stare at.

At least Corinne was safe at home. For all the questions, self-doubt, internal arguments about what was ‘best’ for her, she was safe at home, and that was something.

# # #

"Corinne has moved out."

"What?" After all I'd done to try to keep her safe, I couldn't help feeling a little pissed at Corinne. Ungrateful woman.

Brian Dugas snarled irritably. "It wasn't my idea."

"I didn't think it was."

Dugas did not make a point of coming to see me on visiting day. When he did, it was always to talk about Corinne, and, usually, to ask me for some favor. The sort of favor that I would agree to and then start to doubt about ten minutes after he left.

"She's moved into the spare room above Fiona's bar."

"It's a nice room." I had taken a few lady-friends up there, back in the day.

"It's a hell hole!" Dugas snapped. "I mean, I'm sure it's fine for your people..."

"My people?"

"...but I don't want my little girl living above a bar. Apart from anything else," Dugas warmed to his subject, "it keeps her connected to you."

There was some truth to that. My name was almost as associated with Fiona's bar as Fiona's was. If Corinne moved there, kept associating with Fiona and Joseph Hartman (who was an increasingly regular resident), then there was no hope of people forgetting that Corinne and I had once been a brief 'item,' which had, after all, been the point of me not seeing her. Did this mean that I could see her again? Probably not, in Dugas's eyes.

"This is putting her in danger," said Dugas, firmly.

"From who?" I needed to question him on this. If there was a specific danger, then, of course, I would help, but I couldn't think of one. I could see how she might be safer at home, but living at Fiona's was hardly dangerous.

"Anyone!" Dugas said, the over-protective father.

"I'm not seeing it," I admitted.

Dugas sat forward in his chair. "I thought we agreed on this. What's best for Corinne, is for her to be at home, where I can take care of her twenty-four-seven."

"Twenty-four-seven?" That sounded like a pretty oppressive regime under which to live.

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