This was going to be a flashback in Inside Looking Out 2, but it got a little two big and mess with the flow of the story, so here it is.

---

Marla looked down at a letter from Kim. The former supermax prison guard raised her eyebrows at the address and name on the envelope.

Well that’s pretty unusual. She thought. Not many former prisoners liked to send letters.

Of course, Kim hadn’t been usual. Not in the slightest. She opened the letter, and smiled. Kim had hand written it.

Hi Marla!

I hope you’re okay, and everything is still going well for you! I heard that you were being transferred, so I hope you enjoy your new job.

“More’n my last, dear.” Marla said to herself. After one too many scandals, the Department of Corrections had realized that they couldn’t leave a guard working with prisoners, day in and day out—not and avoid the coarsening effect, the slow erosion of the soul, that such a job would take. On the other hand, a continual stream of “new guys” was a good way to get people killed. So now they tried to mix and match assignments. Marla was up in DC writing new guidelines for Family Contact protocols for non-violent offenders, which gave her time to decompress, especially given how long her last job had been.

For good reason. She sighed and leaned back and closed her eyes, listening to her kids talking in the next room. In a few years Judy would be how old Kim had been when…

---

“We’ve got a problem.” Marla said tersely into the phone. “I need Warden Carstairs and Dr. Wilson here now.” She said, looking back into the cell where Kim was. She had known this was coming. Known it. Which didn’t make it any easier. In a few years they were due to get a new cell design, but right now they had the old Supermax cells, with the addition of a clear plexiglass door—impossible to break through and impossible for anyone to use to hide when a guard came in.

So they could see Kim curled up in the corner, rocking back and forth, talking to herself, sometimes loud, sometimes softly.

“I’m not breaking any Rules, I’m obeying the Rules, I’m not breaking the Rules…” She said, again and again, not seeming to notice anyone else.

“Should we?” One of the guards asked her, and Marla shook her head.

“Not until Warden Carstairs and the doc are here.” She said, “I don’t think she’ll be violent, but I want him to clear a change in protocol.”

“What change would that be?” Carstairs asked, as he and the doctor hurried up to them. The entire gallery was in lockdown, not that it mattered—supermax was far from the crowded rows of cellblocks popular media had it look like. More importantly, an average at supermax would be a lockdown for just about any other prison.

“I think I should go in and get her sir.” Marla said, “I know it’s not procedure, but I don’t think she needs, ah, the full treatment.”

“She’s potentially dangerous, Marla.” Carstairs said, “I know she’s never caused any problems, but she does have the capability.” He paused, “Has she responded to verbal commands?”

“No. I don’t think she hears them.” She said.

“Doctor?” Carstairs asked the short man, panting with the effect of running in a body that showed a bit too much love of the buffet table.

“There’s a risk, but a small risk.” He said, “And the risk of doing it the other way is much greater, both to Possible and the guards.” The two male guards in the gallery looked uncomfortable. Another procedure for getting a noncompliant prisoner was to taser them, but neither one looked eager to do that.

“Okay, Marla.” Wilson said, “Go in, on my authority.” He turned around as two other guards brought a chair with them. “But if she starts getting agitated, or if I tell you to, you leave immediately. No hesitation.”

“I understand.” She said, as one guard opened the door and the others took up a position in case there was a break for freedom on the part of Kim. Marla walked into the cell.

If Judy hears about this she’ll never talk to me again. She thought. Her daughter had been pissed about her mother guarding Kim Possible.

“Kim?” She asked. No response, “Kimberly Ann?” Dull green eyes looked up at her.

“I’m not breaking the Rules.” Kim said and went back to rocking back and forward.

“No, you’re not.” Marla said. “But we need to do something special today. I need you to come with me, so you can have the doctor look at you.”

“I have to stay here. This is where I’m supposed to stay. This is where I need to stay.”

Is she even really hearing me?

“Not today.” Marla said, and used a tone she had practiced more on her daughters then the prisoners. “Today you have to come with us. Today is a special day.” Kim looked at her and slowly blinked again, then started to get up.

Marla noticed that she was tugging at her hair, a nervous motion and that she’d made a quarter sized bald spot in her scalp from tugging the hair, and pulling it out. Kim pulled another strand out and started playing with it.

“Come with you?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“But I have to be cuffed. It’s the Rules. You’re breaking the Rules.” Annoyance. Out of the corner of her eye, Marla saw one of the other guards tense.

She motioned him back, “I’m a guard, Kim. Remember, we and the Warden make the rules.”

“Right.” Kim said to herself. “But I’m not breaking any Rules?”

“No. You just need to come with me.” Kim blinked at her again, slowly. Her eyes were dulled, beaten.

“Okay.” She said softly, and followed Marla out, eyes down to the ground. Even though Marla hadn’t cuffed her, somehow Kim’s hands found themselves in the same position.

“I need you to sit down here.” She said, noticing how thin Kim was. How the hell did we miss that? It’s not dangerous, but…

Kim sat in the wheel chair, passively, while they secured her wrists and ankles with the padded cuffs. Wilson looked at her and flashed a penlight in her eyes.

“She’s thin.” He said

“I know, I didn’t notice how much until now.”

“This could have happened over the last few days, or a week. Don’t blame yourself.” The doctor said, “But I think we’ll want to check and see if we need to run an IV for electrolytes, if nothing else. If you’ll excuse us.” He said, and motioned the guards to take Kim, as he headed for the prisoner infirmary.

“Well isn’t this just….fu-“ The warden broke off. Carstairs was old fashioned in many respects and one of those is he really disliked cursing in front of a woman, Marla reflected. He didn’t say anything for several minutes, then looked at the guard. “Okay, Marla, let’s head to my office.”

“A meeting?”

“Among other things. I have a bottle in there and right now I have a really foul taste that needs to be washed out.”

---

Carstairs’ office was a tidy room, with a number of awards and a lot of files. Not only did he like to work on hard copy, there were a number of files that would not do at all to end up on the internet, and like many officials, he took the assurances that no hacker would ever get into the system with a grain of salt. He sat down, gestured for Marla to do the same and poured them both a drink.

“Hope my husband doesn’t find out about this.” Marla said, trying to lighten the mood.

“If your kids are anything like mine, hope they don’t find out about this. So far, Carla has accused me of everything from being Judas to Pontius Pilate.” He shrugged, “I suppose I should congratulate her on her history learning—she even brought me a bowl so I could wash my hands when I mentioned the decision wasn’t up to me.”

“Yeah.” Marla paused. She had been brought in to handle the only female inmate, and the warden was approachable, but still this question…

Hell with it.

“Why is she here, sir?”

“I have no clue.” Tom said. At her raised eyebrows, he shrugged, “I don’t. Yes she was sent in for a violent offense, but every aspect of this case is the text book case of when the prison system is supposed to use its best judgment. She surrendered, made no attempt to escape, pled guilty with no expectation or stipulation of leniency…” He paused, and continued, “And is only here for twenty years, at most. Supermax is where we put people we don’t expect to see the light of day for ever, or at least not until they’re very, very old. People who represent a constant, serious threat to other prisoners or guards.”

He laughed, “And for those who said: Where would she run? Have any of them looked at England, Japan or Russia, or the demonstrations they had when we locked her up? Hell, the Japanese said it was our business, but nobody thinks their ambassador had to come home for “routine discussions” the week she was sentenced. They werepissed. All she had to do was walk into any of those embassy’s and she was free and clear.”

“Where would you put her, sir?”

“Where I’ve suggested, about fifty million times, in writing and vocally. Medium or more likely minimum security. I don’t think she’d do well in Medium security prisons, too many wanna be “bad girls” might try to be the ones to say they took her down—but a minimum security prison? She still does the time, but she has contact, opportunities for education, and a prison set up geared towards rehabilitating people instead of waiting until they die, which is, let’s be blunt, what supermax is.”

“Yeah.” Marla said, She shook her head, “I’ve had people tell me “well at least she doesn’t have to worry about getting beaten up, but…”

“But they don’t understand how soul destroying this sort of isolation is.” Tom said, and nodded soberly. People laughed at the idea of “solitary” as a punishment when they hadn’t faced it, but there were criminals who didn’t fear to die but who could be frightened into behaving by the mere threat of solitary—and supermax was solitary. No contact, for 23 hours, with the one hour trip to a shower or the exercise yard. No conversation, no interaction.

There was a knock at the door. “Mind if I come in?” The doctor said, “I’ve got Ms. Possible under mild sedation, and with an IV. She was slightly malnourished. I think she’s been throwing her food away.” He gratefully accepted another cup. “I’m afraid it’s worse then you even think.” He shrugged apologetically, “I heard your comment.”

“How could it be worse?”

“Ms. Possible wasn’t prepared for this, not at all.”

“Who is?”

“You’d be surprised, but what I mean is that normally this sort of confinement is restricted to people who have made many, many bad choices. You have to work to get here, normally, especially since it’s pretty expensive compared to other methods of holding people.”

“Got that right.” Marla said, thinking that the guard/prisoner ratio alone was nearly one to one.

“Which means that most of the people here have spent time in other prisons, for other crimes, they’re, if not prepared, at least a bit more toughened. Ms. Possible isn’t. She went straight from hero, a girl who according to the file, had been grounded maybe twice in her life, to…this.” He paused, “She thinks she deserves it, but she has no way of coping, no mechanism to make it through the day, because she used to define herself by action, specifically helping others, and now…”

“She’s here.”

“Right. With no contact. I bet before she came here she didn’t go 20 minutes without calling someone, or talking or getting spoken to by her mother or father. Now… hours, days between any meaningful contact. Not many reading materials, no films, no internet, no contact…

“And the prognosis?”

“Stripped of the ten dollar words, she’s slipping into insanity.” He shrugged, “I’m not certain if she’ll try and kill herself, or simply adopt coping mechanisms, but I can tell you right now, if things continue, those coping mechanisms will be ones that make her completely dysfunctional when she gets out. She might even fall into the category of individuals who commit crimes to be returned to prison, who can no longer function without the rules and structure the find here.” He paused, “are you certain she can’t be transferred, because right now that’s my considered opinion as to what would be best for her.”

“Doc, I don’t even get responses to my memos, it’s like a black hole…” Carstairs paused and looked around.

“Okay, this doesn’t’ go beyond this room. At All.” The other two nodded.

“You know what she was involved in.”

“Who isn’t—all the stuff she di-“

“As a free lancer.” Tom said, “But some groups wanted her to sign on.”

“How does putting her in prison help that?” Marla muttered.

“Oh, if you’re smart about it, it might help in all sorts of ways.” He paused, “Doctor, if say, someone came to Kim now and said they’d release her, and let her do good so she could pay back society, what would be the likely response?”

“Have you ever seen a puppy dog that just was cuddled after someone else smacked it around? She’d be pathetically eager to please, and she’d probably transfer all of her decision making capability to them. She’s already started doing it here—you heard how she keeps capitalizing “Rules” in her voice?”

“What would she do for them?”

“Anything.”

“Right, and it’s legal, after all.”

Marla felt her lips compress. Suddenly she wanted to spit. Tom was right, it was areally foul taste.

“Do you have proof?” The doctor asked.

“No, or I would be giving interviews to CNN right now….or maybe the BBC, this could be something happening at the level where ‘unfortunate’ accidents aren’t the stuff of tinfoil hat land.” He shrugged, “but that doesn’t solve our immediate problem. Doctor, I could probably swing transferring her to a high security mental institution…”

“Not a good idea—she’s not crazy yet, and those places can be very bad.” He paused, “and if you’re serious about your suspicions, do youreally want to send her to an institution where psychotropic drugs may be used and you can get away with all sorts of methods of…. Therapy?”

“What about…” Marla bit her lip. Lawsuits were a little less popular among the prison administration then the plague, “suggest her parents bring a lawsuit? A civil rights lawsuit?”

“Won’t work. She’s 18.” Tom said, “And do you think she’d consent to bring it? Her parents wouldn’t have standing and the fact that prison is hard on people generally isn’t something the courts will grant a lawsuit on. It would have to be proven she’s being treated differently then the other inmates to have a good chance and we’re not doing that.”

“Mm.”

“Maybe a judge would rule in her case, or at least order her transferred to a different institution.” Dr. Wilson looked over at Tom, “You’re part of the department, so you have to do what your superiors tell you to—butthey have to do what a federal judge tells them to, and I cannot imagine that those…groups you worry about would be eager to get involved where they might come under that sort of scrutiny.”

“It’s possible.” He paused, “But it’s also a Hail Mary move. I think… let me think about some things first. Anyway, what do we do about Kim.”

“Could we give her more outside access?”

“No. Especially if I’m right, and especially if we do make pests of ourselves, that sort of violation of the codified standards would let us be removed for cause—and replaced by anyone who….err, others might wish in here.”

“Well then what about more books? Tom if you want her to stay sane we need to get her mind more involved. More occupied. That can’t happen with an hour a day in the work out yard.”

“School books?”

“Maybe—probably easier to get approved.” The Doctor said.

Tom nodded, “Those are in my purview.”

Marla looked over at him, “Warden Carstairs, I have another idea.” Tom picked up on the formality.

“Marla, I can’t let you go into her cell on a regular basis. The consequences, if anything went wrong, to you and her…”

“I understand, and I wasn’t thinking so much in her cell, as just outside it.”

Tom’s eyes filled with understanding. “That might work. Okay, Doctor, let me know when I can talk to Ms. Possible.”

“Won’t be for at least a day or so, I want to run more evaluations, and get some more nutrients into her.”

“Okay, that’s fine—I have someone else to meet.”

“Who?”

“Just someone who might be able to help,” And if this goes poorly, you both need to be able to say I never told you about this…

TBC.