f. Close inbound side of feeding port.
g. Observe cell occupant during toilet period.
h. If occupant finishes toilet and approaches feeding port, open outbound side of feeding port. Cell occupant should then remove toilet tissue. IF OCCUPANT DOES NOT REMOVE TOILET TISSUE, NOTIFY ONE OF ABOVE- NAMED INDIVIDUALS IMMEDIATELY.
i. If occupant does not finish toilet before timer goes off, press talk on intercom unit and announce, “STOOL PERIOD OVER.” Occupant should approach outbound side of feeding port. IF OCCUPANT DOES NOT APPROACH FEEDING PORT IMMEDIATELY, NOTIFY ABOVE-NAMED INDIVIDUALS.
j. When occupant has removed toilet tissue, close outbound side of feeding port.
k. Cell occupant should then return to toilet commode for completion of utilizing toilet.
l. Continue to observe cell occupant to determine visually that all pieces of toilet tissue have been placed in toilet commode, and that commode is flushed in normal manner.
m. After wiping self, cell occupant should assume standing position, clothing positioned for observation.
n. Press TALK on intercom unit and announce, “STOOL CHECK.'
o. Cell occupant should bend over in position enabling observer to make visual determination that no toilet tissue or other objects have been placed in occupant's rectum.
p. IF OCCUPANT DOES NOT COMPLY WITH “STOOL CHECK” TO SATISFACTION OF OBSERVER, NOTIFY ONE OF THE ABOVE-NAMED INDIVIDUALS.
q. Following accomplishment of visual determination that no tissue or other objects have been placed in occupant's rectum, daily toilet privilege may be considered complete.
3. WEEKLY HYGIENE PERIOD
a. Cell occupant shall be allowed to brush teeth, floss, gargle, shave, and take warm-water shower one time each week. (SEE VIOLET UNIT HYGIENE PROCEDURES.)
* * * *
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” the man in the white coat said, “the twenty-four-page memorandum you've been provided gives you an idea of the special care and attention to detail that goes into the performing of your duties with relation to Cell Ten. We call it the Cell Ten Bible. It is imperative that you learn every word, forward and backward, and never deviate from a single procedure. Your life and the lives of your fellow officers will depend on it.” His voice was well modulated, but sounded loud in the small enclosure.
“Only six persons are Cell Ten-cleared to act in the capacity of advisory personnel: Warden Dickett, Captain Lawler, Lieutenant Lopez, Officers Brock and McCullough, and myself.” The doctor wore a Formica name tag next to his ID. Dr. Norman was something of a legend in what was referred to in-house as “the program.'
“You ladies and gentlemen will never enter Cell Ten for any reason without one of us being present. You will never transport, attend to, or otherwise involve yourself with the occupant of this cell for any reason, such as weekly hygiene, exercise, or medical matters, without observing the strictures set forth in the Violent Unit Hygiene Procedures section, which means a minimum of two supervisory personnel must be present.
“Entering the cell—one supervisor at all times present. Transporting, exercising, or otherwise directly attending to the occupant—a minimum of two supervisors required. Get clear on that. Never deviate from it. Remember—when you are in the immediate presence of the occupant of this cell, you are potentially in extreme danger. Even when all shackles, cuffs, restraints, and lock boxes are in place. The occupant of Cell Ten is...” The doctor paused, took a deep breath, and said in an almost reverent tone, “...probably the most dangerous individual living. You must never underestimate the risk you are in when you have any direct contact with said occupant, however protected you may be.
“You have been chosen because you have special aptitudes for working around violent persons. You are probably no stranger to D Seg, Disciplinary Segregation. And you've doubtless heard rumors about who occupies Cell Ten. Put all of it out of your mind—everything you've heard. Nothing—no wild rumor, no piece of grapevine gossip—has prepared you for contact with such an individual as this.
“As you know from the documents you've signed and the agreements you've made, you have entered into a contract with your government. That contract forbids you to ever discuss any of the events you will see or hear in your duties—and you will want to tell someone about this. You must not. You must keep your own counsel.
“As officers involved in the Cell Ten Unit, you will begin to learn jargon, a unique vocabulary. The person who occupies Cell Ten is never an inmate, a prisoner, a convict, a con, a fish, or anything but ‘occupant.’ In your reports it is never ‘and then he said,’ or ‘we fed the man in the cell.’ It is ‘and then the occupant said,’ or ‘we fed occupant.’ Get used to that euphemism. We never identify occupant, refer to occupant's name, nor—when addressing commands—do we employ any slang name, nickname, or proper name of any kind.
“We never threaten occupant or speak harshly to occupant in any manner. One issues a direct command, when necessary. Should occupant not comply, one withholds appropriate privileges: food, for example, for a daily feeding infraction such as refusal to return tray and cup. Or withholding of toilet tissue, or even weekly hygienic ablution—or, in severe instances, we have the spectrum of physical acts of recourse ranging from drugs to sleep deprivation.
“Are there any questions so far? I'm sure you must have many. Yes?'
“I was reading the hygiene period regulations. I can understand how he—uh, how occupant can never be allowed to retain anything like a toothbrush or shaving gear. But wouldn't it be easier if he had a small plastic bowl and a soft washrag and soap so the occupant could keep himself cleaner and—'
“You must get used to the nomenclature, Officer. ‘Wouldn't it be easier if
“Sorry.'
“It takes time. And one hears such questions frequently. Let me give you a rather bizarre illustration to answer your question. Here is a rare survivor of a brush with Cell Ten.” He passed a photograph of a guard with a black patch over one eye. “He liked to call occupant by name and take other familiarities while in the cell and during transport. Occupant managed to hide a tiny piece off a bar of soap. We keep it as a kind of training artifact.” The doctor produced a small vial and held it up.
“Would anyone like to speculate what this is?'
“It looks like a fleshette made for a .22 handgun,” one of the officers said.
“Excellent. It's a dart for a blowgun. The body of the dart is soap that occupant managed to anneal in some fashion, then carefully reshape, harden, and sharpen to the tiny, needlelike dart you see. Interestingly, the feathery material happens to be rodent hair. The machinelike precision of the craftsmanship is quite typical.
“We never found the blowgun itself. Some speculated that it was part of a drinking straw and that occupant swallowed it after shooting the correctional officer. The dart struck the man in the left eye. It had been dipped in feces. The eye became infected, and as you can see—or rather, as you can't see—he lost it.” The doctor almost had a note of pride as he explained the way the incident had occurred.
“Occupant's many skills include a martial art of considerable obscurity, one fighting technique of which involves the control of an acute and focused halitosis. It is my belief that one of the occupant's methods of passing time during incarceration is to practice control of vital signs—respiration, heartbeat rate, and so on—and that this martial skill is honed even while wearing a facial restraint. I further contend that one of the ancillary benefits of this odd discipline is increased facility at expectoration. The dart was—in my opinion—expectorated.” There were a couple of nervous giggles in the room, immediately stilled by his look.
“The halitosis technique is called ‘breath of death.’ Bizarre, to be sure. Once you become better acquainted with the occupant of Cell Ten, I can assure you that you'll find nothing whatsoever humorous about the possibility of occupant spitting a feces-poisoned dart into your eye—from some eight feet away, I should add—or forcing a column of foul exhaled air into your face when you least expect it, blinding you perhaps for just the half second it takes to head-butt you to death, or sever one of your carotids with his teeth.” He looked into each face for a moment. He was certain he had their attention.
“And now we come to the reason why we've chosen the Cell Ten Observation Room for this initial meeting,” He glanced at the thick gray curtain behind him.
“Let me tell you a story.'
The room itself was unthreatening in appearance: brown steel door and steel-rimmed observation port, over
