Misdemeanors

"What's going to happen to me?"

"You're getting ready to see a judge. Take off your shoes, coat, and any metal jewelry you might be wearing, deposit all that and your purse into either slot to your right. Step into the scanner with your arms up. When the scan is finished, you will be cleared to move onto the next room or, if the scan finds something, subject to a physical search."

"What happens if I don't comply?"

"Let's not find out, okay?"

Morgan made a pile of her stuff on the floor. Getting her boots off without a chair proved awkward, but she did it without falling over.

"Will I be getting my stuff back when I'm, uh, done?"

"Yes. I'll be searching for weapons, drugs, and paraphernalia. Anything you want to tell me about what might be in your purse, now would be the time."

Morgan stuffed the pile through the slot. "I have a prescription for Xanax in there, one or two pills."

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"Wait!" Morgan cried. "Wait, can I get that bottle back? I know I'm going to need it."

"No, I'm afraid I can't. Inmates aren't allowed to be under the influence of alcohol or narcotics during the execution of their sentence."

Morgan winced. There's that word, the one that scared RK from AZ so much every time she heard it during her ordeal.

Morgan wiped her face on her sleeve, thankful to finally be able to itch her nose. "It's not narcotics, it's a doctor's prescription."

"Step into the scanner, please," the voice said. The middle scanner lit up green and a curved plexiglass door slid aside.

Morgan stepped in and raised her arms. She'd long hated these scanners, not only for their dose of x-ray radiation but also just how much the operator could see of her body. She knew that they'd improved a lot since she'd first stepped into one as a kid, but it still concerned her.

"Okay, you can step out now."

The plexiglass barrier slid shut behind her as she moved toward the next door.

"No additional screening necessary."

"Great."

"Next room, please."

This turned out to be an exam room of sorts, or something closer to a health screening setup. There were three tall digital scales on one side of the room, three hard plastic seats with the kind of automated blood pressure/temperature/pulse machines you would find in the waiting area of a pharmacy on the other. There were more slots along the walls, and a pair of free-standing touchscreen kiosks at the far end of the room near the exit door.

"Strip down to your panties and socks and insert the rest of your clothes into one of the slots."

"What? I have to be naked?"

"No, panties on for the blood pressure machine, socks on for the scale. We do want to be sanitary. They go off and into the slot with the rest when you are done."

"Will you please stop saying panties?"

The voice didn't answer. The chemical burn of bile returned accompanied by a blush so strong her whole face pulsed. There were four cameras that she could see on the walls near the ceiling and no place to undress with dignity. She shook her head and made another pile of her clothes.

Morgan stood, arms crossed over her chest, shivering even though the justice center had felt cozy warm compared to the frozen air outside. Things were moving too fast.

"Sit down on one of the chairs, feed your right arm through the blood pressure cuff and insert your middle finger into the black doohickey at the end of the armrest."

Morgan did as the voice said, getting goosepimples from the cold seat and armrest. She wondered when it would be safe to ask for her phone back to call her dad. The cuff started to inflate and go through the testing cycle.

"Stay as still as you can, okay?" the voice requested.

A couple of minutes later, the voice instructed her to step onto the scale. "Turn away from the scale, it has a laser sensor that measures your height, and you don't want to look right at it."

Morgan stood up straight and pulled her shoulders back. There was a mounting struggle brewing between utter panic and her proudly inquisitive nature. She couldn't help but despair at her situation but be fascinated, nonetheless.

"Ok, you are doing great Miss Forrester. Panties and socks off and into the slot."

Morgan doffed her socks and dropped her underwear. The goosepimples got goosepimples and a great shuddering tremor went up from her toes to her scalp.

"Step in front of one of the terminals and look up. It's going to take your mugshot and then ask you some health-related questions."

"Mugshot."

"Yeah, mugshot."

"This is really happening."

"I'm afraid so."

Morgan sighed. The terminal prompted her to keep her head up turn as instructed. Morgan completed the rotation in time to see that the terminal had created a detailed 3-D image of her from the shoulders up.

"Any tattoos?" the voice asked. "Scars, prominent markings?"

"Just one, I've got ink on my wrist."

"Hold it up for the camera." Morgan complied.

"A typewriter? That's a new one."

"It covers up an old...you know what? Never mind."

"Okay, answer the questions on the screen as best you can, and we can get you into the next room."

The questions seemed to be pulled directly from an ER intake form. Morgan hesitated when she was asked if she'd taken marijuana recently. Her stepbrother had taken care not to vape near her, so the chance was slim that she could test positive. She decided to answer that one 'no' and hoped for the best if they tested her.

"Next room will be a bit difficult, I imagine. You'll need to give a small blood sample, do a breathalyzer, and we'll have to check if you are pregnant."

"I already answered on the kiosk."

"Ohio's reproduction laws are quite strict. If you were, and something happened..."

The exit opened to a hallway with three metal doors on each side.

"First door on your right."

Morgan gasped as that door opened. Inside was a gynecological exam table, complete with stirrups.

"Yeah, that's a common reaction. Hop up, let the machine strap you in, and take a deep breath. It'll be over pretty fast."

"What the fuck is this?"

"You are getting an intervaginal ultrasound. Not only will this help determine if you are pregnant, it will also show us if there is any contraband in either of your cavities."

"Oh my god."

"Take a few minutes if you need to. No big hurry."

Morgan stared at the thing in disbelief, reviewing what the intercom said about it. Strapped in? Yes, there were arm rests and saddles for her legs with loose nylon straps to keep her in place. The ceiling of the small room was festooned with more equipment.

"Come on, Miss Forrester, you've been doing great so far. I know it looks scary, but it isn't that bad, really."

"Do you have a vagina?"

"No."

"Well, then keep it to yourself," Morgan muttered. The hair was standing up on her arms and the back of her neck.

"Sorry," the voice said.

Morgan shuddered again. She looked down at her body as if seeing its gentle curves and smooth skin for the first time. She'd shaved the night before in anticipation of a potential hook-up that same night, an old friend from high school, but now she regretted it. She'd let herself go wild down there for two years and missed the thin veneer of protection that body hair might have afforded. She'd also gained a little weight around her hips and tummy and her nipples were so hard they could cut glass. This was turning into the most humiliating experience of her life, but somehow Morgan sensed it could get far worse. Better save some of the growing outrage for later.

It took a minute to get herself situated on the table, but it still felt far too awkward to tolerate for long. The table back was inclined half-way up allowing her a clear view of her outspread legs.

"Put your hands through the straps on the arm rests and be as still as you can, okay?"

Morgan wondered why the voice was being so, well, nice wasn't the right word. Kind? Solicitous? Thoughtful?

The nylon straps tightened around her wrists and shins. Morgan realized that she'd never been in this much danger in her entire life and was surprised that she hadn't collapsed into panic.

"Okay, great. There are supplemental restraints, but it will make the process in here longer and I'll have to report any attempt to get off the table. Understand?"

"Yes," Morgan squeaked. Maybe the fear was purely visceral and hadn't hit her brain yet. She resisted the urge to test the restraints.

A bunch of different lights cycled overhead, followed by something mechanical spinning up.

"Stick your middle finger in the thingamajig again and hold it still. You will feel a sharp prick. That's the blood sample."

Morgan held back on the obvious retort, still unsure of the rules. So far, she hadn't been reprimanded for speaking. Maybe after she was done being probed and degraded, she could ask to call her dad.

Morgan yelped when the machine stuck her. She wanted to suck her finger but yanked helplessly against the restraints instead. Something cold happened inside the doohickey (or whatever it was really called) instantly easing the pain.

Morgan looked up at the cluster of nameless medical stuff that hung above her and saw a few glints light reflected off round black mirrors "Can you...are you able to see me?"

"Yes."

"Oh my god."

"Don't worry about it. Nothing I haven't seen before."

"Oh, my fucking god," Morgan repeated.

"We used to have more staff, women to handle the female inmates," the voice said, as if that was a reasonable explanation. "The machine has finished booting up. There's a tube coming towards you for the breathalyzer test. When it's within reach, try not to bite down on the tube, just hold on as tight as you can with your lips."

An articulated arm unfolded from the cluster and bent down towards her. She was reminded of that hypnotizing snake in that cartoon about the boy raised in the jungle by panthers and bears, but the name of the snake and the movie escaped her.

"I don't know if you've done this before, but the new models are a lot faster than the old ones. You only have to give it three puffs. Deep breath now."

Morgan grasped the thick plastic straw in her lips. The thing had a slight medicinal taste and was hard like a reusable straw but much bigger. Morgan took a breath in through her nose and held it, waiting for further instructions.

"Hard puff now."

That was followed by half-a-dozen more because apparently the machine didn't get good results for her first few of tries. It left her a little lightheaded. The tube-arm recoiled back up into the instrument bundle.

"Probe will be moving into place towards your private area now. Try to keep as still as possible."

Another, thicker arm bent down from the cluster. It stopped right at her eyeline holding up what looked at first to be a thick blue middle finger. Then a pair of lights illuminated the penis-shaped probe.

"See, not that bad, right? It even self-lubricates. In and out before you know it."

Morgan couldn't stand it anymore, she had to say something. "Do you always talk so much to the female inmates?"

"I don't know. I guess so? This isn't easy for you, I get it, but it has to be done, so I figure, why be a di...jerk about it."

"Fuck."

"The machine has a pair of cameras and some other sensors to inspect your private area before insertion. It may take a try or two to get it in. Take some deep breaths and try not to squirm."

"I don't want this. I don't consent to this."

The voice didn't answer.

"What if this thing hurts me?"

"Then let me know, okay?"

The arm moved down between her legs. The twin lights hurt her eyes, so she looked away at the wall. She didn't care to watch anyway.

The probe touched her a couple of times, squirting cold jets of liquid on her vulva of what she assumed was lube. She felt like helping, guiding it in, but quickly recoiled at the thought.

"It's lower. My vaginal cavity is lower than that."

"I've got no control over this part except to stop it."

"Can I lift my hips a little?"

"No. Stay as still as possible."

Morgan counted the seconds, anticipating the probe's intrusion. When it finally came, it felt too hard and forceful but was slippery and warm. This was the exact opposite of sexy. The probe slid a bit deeper than was comfortable, and then went a little farther than that.

"Oooof," Morgan complained. "Fuck."

"Almost done. Ultrasound is on now. It should feel like a vibration or a deep rumble."

The sensation was nauseating. All she could do is grunt and clench her jaw. She could vaguely feel her short nails digging into her palms while her toes were flexed so hard, they felt like they were trying jump off her bare feet.

"Images coming through now. Almost done."

Morgan pushed as hard as she could against the stirrups and pulled against the wrist straps.

"Looks like you are all clear, no contraband, no pregnancy."

The probe withdrew, leaving a hollow, violated feeling behind. She wanted to press her thighs together, hide her shame, but her legs were held fast.

"Blood test and breathalyzer are also clean. Good girl."

"Save it, please. I don't mean to be rude, but just, I don't know, stuff it."

"Sorry," the voice repeated. "The machine will loosen your bonds in a moment. You can get up and proceed down the hall to the next room after that."

"Can I get a tissue or something?" No answer.

Morgan had only been in the exam room for a few minutes, but her legs felt wobbly as she walked down the corridor. The bare concrete floor felt like walking across an iceberg.

The final room was empty except for the small stainless-steel doors along each wall that reminded her of a bank's night deposit slot.

"Clothes coming through. Put it on and stand in the middle of the room with your fingers laced behind your head."

The closest bank deposit door opened on her right. Inside was a simple t-shirt and loose pair of pajama pants, both with a pattern of thick orange and white stripes, sealed inside a thin plastic bag.

"Underwear?" Morgan asked but didn't expect an answer.

She dressed quickly and put her hands behind her head.

"Coming in now. Turn towards the door you came in through please."

Morgan turned, still wondering how the fear that was reverberating throughout her body had failed to shake her mind.

The door opened behind her, and the soft scrape of thick rubber soles approached.

"I have to cuff you now. You are going to speak with a state provided advocate. You'll have about an hour before you get to see the judge. If you need some water or to use the bathroom, let the advocate know, I'll come back and take care of you."

Morgan sighed. She couldn't make heads nor tails of the guard's manner, but at least he wasn't actively cruel. The cuffs went on behind her back, looser than the cop did but just as unnerving.

"I'm putting a monitor on your right wrist too. This will keep track of your health and location while you are at the justice center. Don't try to tamper with it, okay?"

Morgan nodded. A thicker, heavier metal bracelet went on just above the cuffs and chirped a couple of times after it was locked into place.

"You can turn around now."

The man who stood before her was a rookie cop straight out of central casting. He didn't seem to be much older than her, was clean shaven, short cropped brown hair, and as white as sun-bleached Wonder Bread left on a dry lakebed.

"I'm corrections officer Timothy. I'll be helping you until my shift ends at 8 tonight."

Officer Timothy's light blue blouse over dark blue trousers were ironed to perfection and fit tight around his athletic form. He didn't have much on his utility belt other than a contact stun gun and leather holster for cuffs. He had a Bluetooth earpiece in and reeked of coffee and Old Spice.

Morgan wondered if Timothy was his first or last name but was so tired of talking to him that she didn't ask.

"I haven't been doing this long, and I don't know how much longer this place will be operational. State is going big leagues with the program, it's been so successful."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. She couldn't figure out why he kept trying to have a conversation.

"Jeez, I get it," the officer said. "I get it, alright? I'll shut up now. Let's go."

-

The rest of the facility seemed to be a maze designed to disorient, no signs or door markings other than numbers, and those seemed to be out of sequence in some places. There wasn't much to see other than solid wood doors, gray walls, and gray carpet. It was hell with fluorescent lighting. Officer Timothy took her up a flight of stairs and took a couple more turns before stopping before the only door that Morgan had seen that was ajar.

Officer Timothy knocked, announcing, "Hey, Mr. Singh, got the out-of-towner, Miss Morgan Forrester, for you."

A short bald man in a badly fitting brown suit pulled the door open.

"Can you take her cuffs off, please?" the advocate asked.

"Yes, but you take respon..."

"Yes, yes," Mr. Singh interrupted. "I'm familiar with the policy. She's in for shoplifting a case of Faygo, give her a break."

Officer Timothy removed Morgan's cuffs and left without another word.

Morgan stepped into a room that shouted shared office space. There was a single secondhand wood desk, a sad executive chair, a couple of file cabinets with no file drawers, and five metal folding chairs. Other than a couple of large OSHA-style posters taped to the wall, it was just as gray and lifeless as the rest of the place.

Morgan rubbed her wrists before grasping Mr. Singh's offered hand. "Sit, please." She pulled a chair nearer to the desk and plopped down with a sigh.

"So, Officer Doocy's report just came in. My tablet is downloading the video and statement from the Walmart manager, so that'll just be a moment. Why don't you tell me what you think happened."

"Well," Morgan began. "I mean, I picked up a bunch of stuff for home and my trip back to college, used the self-checkout but forgot that I put a case of Red Pop! on the bottom rack. I almost got to my car when I realized it was down there and I turned back. I was stopped by the self-checkout attendant and Officer Doocy at the front door. I tried to tell them that I intended to pay, over and over, and they ignored me."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, that's a problem, you see."

"What?"

"You confessed."

"What? No, I didn't!"

"Let's be calm about this, okay?"

Morgan wanted to scream. Telling someone to calm down never, ever worked.

"You mean, by coming back and offering to pay for an item I forgot to scan, I confessed to stealing?"

"That Walmart is notorious for its attitude towards shoplifters. You're lucky Officer Doocy was the one who got you out of there. I've heard some stories..."

"What stories?"

"Not relevant, but believe me, you are way better off this way."

Morgan shook her head. "What way? I mean, what's going to happen to me here?"

"This facility only has a few corporal punishment procedures that it uses. None of them cause any lasting injury or even marks, signs that anything happened."

"Except for the lifelong trauma."

"Except for that, yes."

"How can this be? I'm going to plead innocent."

"Won't matter," Mr. Singh said bluntly.

"Alright, then I'll appeal."

"Good luck with that. Not a single judge, state or federal, has put an injunction on this program while the cases work their way through the courts."

Morgan couldn't believe it. What about the Constitution? What about her civil rights, basic human dignity?

They spent the entire hour, save a short pee break, discussing her strategy in the judge's chamber.

"You aren't going to be with me?"

"No, representation isn't allowed in these hearings."

"How can that be?" Morgan found herself saying over and over.