I sat there still and somber as the judge read out my sentence, 6 counts… 1st count, Five years, four years with 10 months suspended. Second count, Five years with 10 months suspended. The third, fourth, fifth and six counts were all the same, five years with four years and ten months suspended. Quickly the words raced through my mind, what did it mean? What was happening? Jail? I was going to jail? What the hell did that mean? I didn’t understand, This couldn’t be real! And without a goodbye or even a glance at my husband and family I was taken away, off to a holding cell. WHAT!!!
Shock. Fear. Heartache. Confusion. And a million other feelings raced through my mind and body. But at the moment it was Anger that was taking charge. What the hell happened? My family, my lawyer, the case president, nobody thought I would be serving time, nobody prepared me for this. Finally, after what seemed like hours, my lawyer came to see me and explain my sentence and what I could expect going forward. Then he walked away. Free. As I sat in a holding cell at the courthouse just wondering and waiting for what was going to happen next.
Time passed, and eventually I was rehandcuffed, just hands, and lead off to collect other prisoners who had come from jail to court and were shackled, hands and feet, and then off to a waiting van destined for jail.
As the van was loaded, the guard reminded everyone that male and female prisoners were to have no verbal exchange. This warning fell on deaf ears and everyone talked to everyone else regardless of gender, everyone except me. I just sat there, sat trying not to cry, trying to seem less scared than I was.
The ride from the Courthouse to the jail was less than a mile and took maybe 3 minutes, with the majority of that time spent waiting for the garage to open. Once inside the garage I got my first real taste for how inefficient and slow everything ran at Rappahannock Regional Jail. The van was parked but we didn't move. We just sat. Everyone else in the van seemed content with this delay but not me, I was anxious to move the process along. After 15 or 20 minutes it was finally time to unload. Through the automatic doors we went, quickly hurried against the cinderblock wall to be patted down (My first, of what would be many pat-downs). With that done all the prisoners I had riden with were herded off like sheep through a metal door, I was escorted to in-take.
On first glance, in-take didn't seem like it was going to be too bad. It was quiet and fairly empty. I was led through the in-take lobby to a holding cell with only one other woman inside. Once inside I again broke down in tears. The tears must have seemed neverending because they prompted the other woman in there to attempt to console me. “Is this your first time in jail?” She, asked. “Yeah”, I responded. “Well, could you stop crying so loud, it's annoying?”, she asked. With that I sat facing the wall, crying in silence as best I could, waiting just waiting to be called for processing.
Processing, that wait was forever! Thankfully the charming lady in with me was taken long before me, as were the 5 other women that came in and out as I waited. As a guard came to bring in another woman to be processed I finally asked how much longer. “Your name?” she enthusiastically demanded. “Emily Fallon”, I responded. Seconds later the metal door slams and the guard yells “Someone forgot that Fallon, she's still in holding”. “Oh man, she should have been processed last shift. I'll get her next.” another guard said.
For whatever reason, I'm not sure what that set my tears streaming again. Take a look at my mugshot sometime, hours of nonstop tears, fear, anger, it's a keeper.
Pictures taken and it's on to questions. The basics, name, age, race, gang affiliation, etc. Onto health, meds, conditions, etc. Housekeeping, clothing size, bunk restrictions, etc. This is going alright. I mean I've been crying the entire time but it's fluctuated between sobbing and quiet sniffling. To finish in-take the is a mental health questionnaire. This my friends was the kiss of death!
“Do you feel like you want to hurt yourself?” the guard asks. I answer, “Ummm...Really?!?! YES! Yes, I want to hurt myself, I want nothing more than to be dead right now!” “How would you do it?”, she asks. I answer, “I am going to bang my head against the cinderblock wall or cement floor.” “I'll be right back”, she says.
Back she came but not alone. She brought two extra guards with her. They explained to me that I would be taken to crisis and put on suicide watch until I could see someone from the psychiatric staff. This seemed reasonable, infact I was thrilled to hear there was a psych staff here so I could continue the treatment I was currently getting.
Crisis was a hidden closet in medical with 4 cells. Each cell was the same, cement floor, cinderblock walls, glass door and a hole with a grate over it for a toilet. As you went in you were made to strip, completely naked and you were given a green vest with velcro (that was worn out and didn't stick) and a blanket to put on the cement to sleep on. Essentially, you're left naked trying to hold a wrap around yourself in a cement room that smells like a NYC subway platform.
*as a side note here I want to add that I had my period and wasn't given a tampon or pads...again, I had no underwear. Add to this that I have no toilet paper and only a hole in the ground to relieve myself in.*
So, for the next several hours I paced and cried, I bled all over myself while I waited to see what was next.
Around 8 am, 3 guards came to get me and take me to see the therapist. This wasn't an easy task. My vest wouldn't stay on, not even a little and I was to walk through the clinic and by this point I was numb I didn't care at all. I could have walked out naked and not cared. I made it over to the therapist who took one look at me and yelled at the guards to get me a blanket to cover up. He told them it was disrespectful to parade me around that way and that I was to have a full uniform as soon as we were done talking. And that was the last helpful thing he did or said to me.
He spent maybe 15 mins with me, told me I should see my time in jail as a vacation from my life and enjoy it. A year really wasn't that long and time away from my husband and especially children was healthy. I didn't respond to this ridiculousness. I simply looked at him long enough to convince him I would not hurt myself in hopes of moving to a cell with a toilet and toilet paper!
It worked! Five hours later I was moved! I was never so happy to see a toilet in my life. What I've not seen since then is my dignity.
Dehumanized. Humiliating. Traumatic. That is what the first 24 hours in jail were like for me. More days than not I relive that day. It has shaped who I've become or better who I've failed to become.
