It seemed like a great idea at the time. It really did. A noble deed, an act of kindness, a favor to society. I first got the idea after watching a documentary about one of the most notorious criminals in modern history. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t as though I marveled at the concept of crime. I didn’t, but I’ll admit that curiosity got the better of me, so I grabbed my laptop and pulled up a forum which seemed to cover every topic under the sun related to prison and people’s personal experiences.
After about an hour of scrolling through various posts, I came across several that mentioned prison pen pals. Unfamiliar with the term, I looked it up, only to discover the definition was very much akin to what the title insinuated. It was literally a pen pal in prison. The forum was filled with stories of success – and failure – and discussed how rewarding the process itself was, and all the benefits it could provide to both parties.
I clicked one of the links I kept seeing throughout the page and was immediately taken to a website specifically detailing each inmate’s name, age, and location, among other things. Was it really that easy? I mean, I’d always known that criminal records are accessible to the general public, but the ability to freely browse through and write to any of my choosing was news to me. The crimes were listed as well. Well, at least for most of them. Some had simply left the box blank. It was nothing too extreme, as far as I could see.
I wasn’t intentionally looking for anything extreme. I felt relieved that most of those listed were petty thefts, drug charges and other misdemeanors. I suppose I continued scrolling out of morbid curiosity. I wanted to see if there was anyone I recognized. Someone big. Someone truly infamous. But there wasn’t. I wasn’t sure whether to feel dismayed or relieved. I mean, of course, I wasn’t planning on writing to a serial killer. I wasn’t that brave.
Nonetheless, after researching the topic further, I felt slightly indoctrinated by the myriad of encouraging posts throughout the forum. Having a pen pal in prison seemed to be something people were proud of. A badge of honor if you will.
In light of this, I decided to try it out too. I wasn’t a big fan of writing traditional letters on paper, but what was a little inconvenience in the grand scheme of things? I was doing a good deed. I was helping society.
I chose a 21-year-old guy incarcerated in a penitentiary in a neighboring city. He was doing a five-year sentence for petty theft, and I felt sorry for him. Five years of staring at the same concrete wall every single day and not having loved ones to talk to! Of course, he’d likely be out on parole much sooner, but nevertheless, five years seemed like an incomprehensible amount of time to me.
The website said that his name was Robert and a little paragraph of text under it disclosed that he was a ‘kind, thoughtful person, that simply made a mistake’. I could sympathize with that. The picture he’d attached looked rather friendly too. I couldn’t even imagine him inside a prison.
I took an envelope from the living room cabinet and started my letter.
Dear Robert,
My name is Alexandra, but friends call me Alex. I don’t often write letters, but I found your profile and figured I’d give it a shot. I’m not interested in romantic relationships and would prefer keeping our exchanges platonic. I’m thirty years old, so probably too old for you anyway!
I live in a city nearby, so it shouldn’t take too long for our letters to find us. I’m looking forward to getting to know you and hearing all about your experiences!
Alex
But as I slid the letter into the envelope, I hesitated. Obviously, I had to write down the return address, in case anything went wrong, or in case he wanted to mail me back. I wasn’t sure how comfortable I felt with this arrangement, but I didn’t have a P.O. box or anything I could have used as a substitute. I decided to go through with it anyway. I mean, how likely were things to actually go wrong?
I mailed it the following day and felt anxious as to whether I would receive a response. Robert was a young man, after all, and probably had many women wanting to write to him for all the wrong reasons. The online forums had also forewarned that certain inmates were notorious for trying to leech off their pen pals for money, photos and other favors.
It took a while, but about two weeks later, I received a reply.
Hi Alex,
Nice to meet you! It gets pretty lonely here and getting your letter really brightened my day! Don’t worry, I’m not the type to pursue romantic connections, but I can’t blame you for being cautious.
Prison sucks, but I have a parole hearing coming up, as I’ve already served a couple of years. Hopefully, I am eligible.
We don’t really get that much mail here, so I’m pleased you stumbled across my profile!
Rob
Well, it certainly seemed like we were off to a good start. Rob seemed pleasant enough, and I felt proud of myself for having taken up such a productive pastime. I wrote him back immediately and mailed the letter the following morning. He had said that my letter brightened his day, and I didn’t want to keep him waiting.
This continued for several weeks. We wrote back and forth, and I got into the habit of expecting his letter every ten days. He told me about his childhood and the reasons for why he’d ended up in prison in the first place. Turns out, he got with bad company (isn’t that always the case?) and started stealing bicycles and mobile phones, before slipping up and being apprehended by the police. But Robert was adamant he’d grown and was no longer the person he used to be.
I had no reason to doubt him. I mean, it wasn’t like he’d killed anyone or caused anyone physical harm. Not that I knew of, anyway. He seemed like a genuinely kind young man, at least judging by the letters he’d sent me. And he did keep his promise. He never asked me for anything aside from my written company, and that made me trust him even more. Our friendship had flourished quickly, and we soon got to the point where we were sharing our daily schedules and discussing personal affairs.
One evening, I was sitting in front of the TV and writing my letter, when an alert appeared on the screen. Apparently, a convicted murderer had escaped prison in a nearby city. I tensed up as I realized it was the same prison Robert was in. They put this man’s mugshot up on the screen and warned viewers to be on the lookout for anyone suspicious. The man in the photo had a rather memorable face and his lack of hair largely narrowed down the pool of possible suspects.
They hadn’t specified during the alert, and I couldn’t help wondering how he had done it. Had he carved his way out with a spoon, like they did in the movies? Had he devised an elaborate plan involving contraband and outside connections? Had he simply made a run for it? I wondered whether this was someone Robert knew and what he thought of the whole ordeal.
I looked down at my paper. I’d read on the forums beforehand that the contents of the incoming letters were scrupulously checked before being handed out to the inmates, so I was careful not to be overly explicit in my writing. I just wanted to know what really happened.
I mailed it the following morning and went about my routine. I wasn’t expecting a letter for at least another ten days. But I didn’t receive one at all. Not after 10 days. Not after two weeks. In fact, three weeks had gone by, and my mailbox was still empty.
I wondered what happened. Did I maybe put down the wrong name or address? Did my letter get lost in the mail? Were its contents too unsuitable for it to get passed on? But wouldn’t they have returned to sender in that case?
I decided to write another one, racking my brain for possible explanations.
Hi Rob,
Did my previous letter not find you? I sent it about three weeks ago and I’ve yet to receive a response. I think it may have been lost in the mail, and I didn’t want you thinking I’ve forgotten about you, so I decided to write a new one.
I hope you’re well, especially after the escape incident. I heard they still haven’t found him. Was he someone you knew? What kind of effect has that had on you and your friends?
Alex
I sent it that same day, not wanting to waste anymore time. To my utter surprise, I received a reply the following morning. At first, I thought that perhaps it was the response to the letter I’d sent beforehand, but as soon as I opened it, I realized that wasn’t the case.
Alex,
Thanks for your letter. Could you please enclose some money in your next one? I’m really struggling for food. I know they search the envelopes, but don’t worry, I’ll handle it.
Rob
What? Not a single word about anything I’d asked him. And what was this about money? He’d said he’d never ask me for a dime, yet here he was. What kind of food was he struggling to buy? Didn’t they feed inmates in prison?
Robert’s letter left a bad taste in my mouth. Was this it, after three weeks of waiting, seriously? I put it in the drawer with all the other letters and contemplated my next course of action. I considered Robert a friend now, and if he really was struggling, then of course I could help. I was reasonably well-off and sending twenty dollars to my friend in prison definitely wouldn’t hurt.
On the other hand, why was he asking me to enclose the money in an envelope? Didn’t prisoners buy their food from the commissary? The twenty-dollar bill would have been considered contraband…
I decided to leave it. I wasn’t going to break the rules and possibly even risk getting into trouble of my own by giving in. Moreover, the prison forum I had actively been studying did warn about these types of scams. I felt disappointed, of course, but I was definitely not going to be led astray.
The next day I got up earlier than usual and found another letter sitting by the front door. It was strange because the post didn’t usually get delivered until about an hour later.
I picked up the envelope and extracted the letter.
Send me money, right now. Right this instant. Put it in the envelope. Do you want me to die?
I stared at it, my skin prickling. This wasn’t like Robert at all. He’d been so well-spoken and courteous; I had a difficult time believing he’d written this nonsense.
Still, this was treading into dangerous territory, and I wasn’t having it. I picked up the phone and dialed the number for the penitentiary he was in. I was going to sort this out right now, even if it meant having to drive to the prison itself.
“Yes?” a woman’s voice snapped on the other end.
Oh well, I should have known this was not going to be pleasant.
“Um, yes. My name is Alexandra Greene. I’m calling about one of your inmates, uh, Robert Baker, who has been sending me extremely inappropriate mail. Could you help me with this?”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
“What was the inmate’s name?”
“Robert Baker?” I sounded unsure.
“Please hold.”
I heard the click-clack of the keyboard.
“Ma’am, I’m afraid there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. There is no one by that name in our facility.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“There is no person by that name here, ma’am.”
“But I-I’ve been receiving letters from your facility from Robert Baker,” I stammered.
She sighed impatiently.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, ma’am?”
My stomach was in knots.
“N-no,” I managed, before she hung up the phone.
I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. Was Robert out on parole? I should have asked. But then who were the letters from? My heart was in my throat as I took them out from the drawer to inspect them more carefully. At first, there didn’t seem to be anything amiss. The letters were all written in pencil, on plain, white paper. I was about to place them back in the drawer when the envelopes caught my eye.
The address. I pulled up the contact page of the penitentiary on my mobile phone and my heart sank. It was different. The address on the envelope was different from the one on their website. Sure, the street names were the same, but the numbers were all wrong. W-what? Was this sent from their mail unit or something? Did they even have a mail unit?
I couldn’t sleep that night. Thoughts kept going round and round in my mind, and I couldn’t put the puzzle pieces together. Was Robert not actually a criminal? Was he just a regular person who lived near the prison? That couldn’t be right. Why would his profile be on that pen pal site then?
The following morning, I descended the stairs only to find a new letter sitting on my front step.
Either you enclose the money, or it’ll be the last time you ever read anything.
I’m not going to lie, I freaked out. Whoever this person was, how did they know I hadn’t already mailed the cash?
I was about to call the prison again when there was a knock on the door. I approached it hesitantly and looked through the peephole. It was an officer.
“Alexandra Greene?” he asked, his tone grave.
“Yes?”
“You are under arrest.”
I gawked at him.
“Under arrest? For what?!”
The officer consulted his notes.
“For harboring a convicted felon.”
I stared at him, considering if perhaps he wasn’t in his right mind, or this was all a dream.
“I-I haven’t?” I stammered.
“We have reason to believe he is in this house,” the officer said matter-of-factly, “Do you understand the dangers of providing shelter to this extremely dangerous individual?”
I gave a hearty laugh.
“There’s no one here! I live alone! I don’t know anything about a convi-“
I trailed off as I heard the sound of a door creaking open upstairs.
It was the same man I’d seen on TV. He looked older somehow, but there was no mistaking it. As the officers led him down the staircase, he stared at me with what seemed like a satisfied grin.
“Got you good, didn’t I?” he chuckled.
I watched the interaction, dumbfounded.
“I’m not sure what’s going on,” I said, leaning against the wall for support.
“Thanks for letting me stay here… Alex,” he winked.
“R-Robert?”
“Nah. That’s just an alias my friend put up on the website. He put a picture of himself too. Didn’t expect his plan to work though,” he smirked.
“H-how did you break out?” I stuttered.
“Ah, classic spoon method,” he said, leaning closer and whispering, “I’ll teach you in the car.”
I watched as the officer pulled out an extra pair of handcuffs.