The Eye of God
The clanking rattle of shackles could be heard in the immediate vicinity of Fairmount Avenue as the armed guards removed new inmate Eddie Lingle from the police wagon. The prisoner looked up at the imposing edifice before him, a stone fortress known throughout most of America and much of Europe: Philadelphia's famed Eastern State Penitentiary, an institution that began as an experiment by well-intentioned prison reformers and later became the jewel of the Pennsylvania penal system.
The Quaker ideal on which the prison had been built was a simple one: isolation would force the prisoner to reflect on his crime and thus repent his evil ways. Solitary confinement, which would later be used only as an extreme measure to punish inmates in penal institutions such as Alcatraz, was the norm at Eastern State. While this treatment seems unnaturally cruel to us today, Eastern State was a vast improvement over nineteenth century correctional facilities such as Sing Sing and Auburn that routinely resorted to flogging, sweatboxes, iron yokes, thumb screws and "stretchers" to keep unruly prisoners in line.
Humane as Eastern State was thought to be at the time, however, Eddie still dreaded walking through its doors.
"Come on now, Lingle. Get the lead out of your arse," one of the guards goaded him. "This is going to be your home for many years to come."
The chained man stumbled over the threshold when the guard pushed him forward, evoking laughter from the other prison officials.
"Watch your step there, Lingle. You don't want to wind up in the infirmary on your first day."
Once inside the penitentiary walls, Eddie was processed, stripped, weighed and measured. After a physical examination, he was given a woolen uniform with a number sewn on it. For all intents and purposes, Edward Eugene Lingle would cease to exist until such time as his sentence was served and he was released from prison. Until then, he would be a number, just one among many.
After the necessary paperwork was completed, a hood, little more than a linen bag with two thin slits as eyeholes cut out of it, was placed over the prisoner's head, and he was led to his cell. The hood served two purposes. It not only prevented the prisoner from learning the layout of the penitentiary, but it also curtailed communication between other inmates and familiarity with the guards.
The door to his cell was low, forcing Eddie to stoop to enter. It was a rather ingenious way of teaching the prisoners humility. The hood was then removed, and the door was closed behind him.
At the time it was built, Eastern State Penitentiary was one of the most expensive and state-of-the-art buildings in America, having both electricity and indoor plumbing, neither of which was available in the White House. Of course, Eddie did not exactly marvel at his surroundings; rather, he cursed them. He damned the comparatively roomy cell with its personal toilet and private exercise yard. Had he been guilty of the crime of which he was convicted, he might have thought he had gotten a fairly light sentence, but Eddie was innocent and any incarceration or punishment at all was unwarranted.
Still, Eddie tried to maintain a positive outlook. Since he had not committed a crime, he sincerely believed that the truth was bound to come out eventually. The real murderer would be found, and he would be exonerated. Until that day arrived, he would use the time behind bars to rest and hopefully remember the events that preceded his wife's death. Perhaps he would be able to recall a seemingly insignificant detail that would lead to the capture of the real killer.
* * *
Despite Eastern State's many modern features, the only light in the prisoner's cell was from a small, narrow window in the ceiling, affectionately referred to as "the eye of God." On clear nights, when the moon was bright, the light shining through the overhead window cast eerie shadows in the quiet, tomb-like space of Eddie's cell. Eventually, these shadows began to take human form. Barely two months after his arrival at Eastern State, the prisoner encountered the ghost of his dead wife, Blanche.
Since talking was prohibited and offenders were punished for so much as whistling or humming, Eddie spoke to the apparition in a whisper so low the guards could not hear.
"What are you doing here?" he inquired. "How did you get in?"
Like an obedient inmate, Blanche Lingle remained silent.
"Have you come to help me escape? No, I guess not. Maybe you can help me remember what happened."
Blanche's eyes stared into her husband's, but her lips never moved.
"I know. You came here because you wanted your murderer to be brought to justice. Am I right? That's what I want, too. Not only did that monster take you away from me, but I'm forced to suffer an unjust punishment for his crime."
The expression of sympathy on his wife's face warmed his heart. It was clear that even from beyond the grave, Blanche loved him. Maybe that was the reason she haunted him. It was not that she wanted justice; rather, she came to him in the God-awful prison so that he would not be plagued by loneliness during his long confinement.
* * *
From time to time the isolation imposed upon them would drive inmates mad. Their tortured minds would make them cry out and break the impenetrable silence.
The poor bugger, Eddie thought as yet another one of his fellow prisoners was dragged from his cell by the guards to be punished for breaking the rule that prohibited speaking.
Lingle considered himself extremely lucky in that regard. He would never crumble or break under the weight of solitude, for he had Blanche's ghost to keep him company, and even though she never spoke, the love she felt for him was as solid as the stone beneath his feet and would console him whenever he was down.
Months passed, and Eddie found himself becoming complacent and almost comfortable with prison life. When time permitted, he took naps during the day so that he would be able to spend most of his nights awake, in whispered conversation with his wife's spirit. Whereas Blanche never uttered a word, he rarely stopped talking, albeit always in a barely audible voice.
Eddie spoke of mundane, trivial things mostly, cherished memories the two of them had shared during their years of marriage. He described in great detail the many Christmas and birthday presents he bought her, the delicious turkey dinners she cooked every Thanksgiving and the hand-picked bouquets of lilacs he brought home to her in the spring. In all his ramblings, Eddie never touched upon the subject of her murder, although he had previously vowed to remember the details of that fateful day in order to aid the police in apprehending her killer.
Then one night, on the anniversary of her death, Blanche's ghost failed to materialize in her husband's cell. Throughout the long, lonely night, Eddie lay on his bed, staring at the single star visible through the eye of God window.
Maybe it isn't a star, the prisoner reflected. Maybe it really is God's eye looking down on me, keeping watch over me at night.
The thought consoled him and helped him pass the empty hours until he fell asleep just before dawn.
The dreary day that followed was unbearable. A dense fog covered Philadelphia, and a gloomy half-light filtered into the cell from the narrow window in the ceiling. In the eerie murkiness, the prisoner felt more alone than he had ever felt before. This was isolation at its worst. Not only was Blanche not there to comfort him, but the presence of God was also noticeably absent.
It was while Eddie was at the lowest point in his life, feeling abandoned by both man and deity, that his brain finally began brushing away the cobwebs of the past. Repressed memories began to surface, and the prisoner recalled events not nearly as pleasant as Christmas presents, Thanksgiving dinners and fresh-cut lilacs.
"No," he screamed as he tried to contain the painful recollections.
The outburst brought an immediate response from the guard who warned the prisoner that further disruption would not be tolerated.
I must force myself to concentrate on something else, Eddie thought desperately. Since I can't turn off my brain, I have to try to steer it in a different direction.
He deliberately tried to remember happy episodes from his childhood: spending his summers at his uncle's dairy farm in Lancaster, fishing in the Delaware River with his grandfather, sitting on his mother's knee as she told him stories by the Brothers Grimm and helping his father saddle the horses at the livery stable.
Yet despite his best efforts to control his own thoughts, terrifying images continued to plague him, demanding to be acknowledged. Flashes of memories of Blanche with a broken arm, a black eye or a bleeding lip kept creeping up from the dark recesses of his brain. He could hear her screams of anger, fear and pain.
"Why are you torturing me?" he cried out, pleading with the mocking, narrow window in the ceiling.
Moments after his outburst, two guards opened his door, dragged him off to a punishment cell and placed him in a straitjacket. Once Eddie was properly restrained and silenced, the guards left, locking the door behind them. The prisoner tried to focus on the warm, romantic moments he had shared with Blanche. He envisioned her lying beside him on a cold winter's night, sharing a tender embrace and a soft kiss, but when his wife's lips parted, it was another man's name she spoke.
That's it! he thought triumphantly. That's what I couldn't remember.
Blanche had had a lover, and she attempted to leave her husband and run away with him. Eddie came home from work one evening to an empty house to find his wife gone along with her clothing, suitcase and handbag.
He was the one who murdered her! Eddie's brain screamed. First he stole her love from me, and then he killed her.
But who was he? What was his name? There were still a few important missing pieces that continued to elude Eddie.
The prisoner's eyes narrowed, and his mouth hardened in determination. He would relive the days preceding Blanche's death over and over in his mind until every last curtain blocking the truth was pulled aside, every last door to a repressed memory thrown open.
* * *
When it was deemed that the prisoner had been properly punished, the guards removed the straitjacket and returned Eddie to his cell, where he lay down on his cot and remained as still and silent as a statue. His mind, however, was quite active. Like an endless loop of a tape recorder, his memory replayed the scenes leading up to his discovery of his wife's body. Each time the sequence ran through, a few more details were added.
The sunlight shining through the overhead window spurred him on. God was not only watching Eddie Lingle; he was also smiling down upon him.
By the time the sun set and the full moon appeared in the narrow aperture, the prisoner had endured more than fifty showings of his memory loop. Finally, the last piece fell into place, and with it all hope of Eddie ever finding peace of mind vanished.
"I killed her," he sobbed.
When the prisoner repeated those three agonizing words, the guard looked through the feeding slot on his cell door.
"Talking again, Lingle?"
"I killed my wife because she was going to leave me for another man. I figured if I couldn't have her, no one would."
The guard opened the door, took Eddie by the arm and for the last time led the prisoner to a punishment cell.
* * *
Eddie Lingle served the remainder of his sentence without incident. He never saw Blanche's ghost again and chose to believe that she was resting in peace now that justice had been done and her killer was paying for his crime—and pay he did, for his guilt hung heavy upon his heart. Even the eye of God that had once comforted him became a means of reproach. The night stars were a constant reminder of his guilt, and the bright sunlight was a harbinger of the fires of hell that awaited him.
* * *
After being locked away in Eastern State Penitentiary for more than twenty-seven years, Eddie Lingle was finally released. The prison officials congratulated themselves, satisfied that they had done their jobs: the prisoner repented his sins. He was thus given back his name and was deemed fit to return to society.
As Eddie walked out the prison door onto Fairmount Street, he felt the warm sun beat down on his face and a cool breeze ruffle his graying hair. He did not, however, feel the eyes that watched his every move.
No, they were not the eyes of God, but those of Norris Stone, the man who had fallen in love with Blanche Lingle and who had wanted to rescue her from an abusive marriage.
Norris stared as Eddie slowly walked away from the gothic-looking penitentiary. Then he turned toward the beautiful ghost who stood beside him.
"After twenty-five long years, your husband is finally free," Norris observed.
"Yes," the revenant replied with a malevolent grin, "and when we're done with him, he'll wish he was back in prison."
As the star-crossed lovers planned their long-awaited revenge, somewhere overhead the eye of God continued to watch.
The picture in the upper left corner is of a hooded prisoner of Eastern State Penitentiary.
If you feel eyes watching you as you read this story, don't worry. It's not the eyes of God. It's just Salem wanting to come inside and eat.
