Taming the Beast: Charles Manson's Life Behind Bars by Edward George, Dary Matera Read Free Book Online

Wednesday, September 3, 1975, Squeaky phoned me with an urgent message for Charlie. She was happy and upbeat, as if she had finally come to grips with the issue that had been tormenting her. “Tell Charlie I’ve found a way to save the redwoods!”
    “Okay. Sounds good.”
    After that, however, her mood quickly darkened. She began rambling in a menacing tone. “Look, George, you’ve kept us apart long enough. We’ve tried to reason with you, but you’re too stupid to see that you’re killing yourself. Time is running out. There will be blood running in the streets. The people killing the planet will pay with their lives!” Squeaky’s voice grew harsh and shrill. She spoke of murder and mass mayhem, and evoked scores of bloody images. Her tenses shifted oddly as she ranted. “The dagger was raised. Death was at hand. Nothing could stop it, only Charlie, who was in prison for something he didn’t do. We are responsible for him being there and we must pay the price!” She began to cry, softly at first, then building to the point of hysteria. The tears fed a new round of razor’s-edge doom and gloom.
    Then, for a brief moment, she hushed. “I’ve sent you a book,” she said. “It’s about Charlie. The Day They Murdered Christ. I want you to read it.”
    “I can’t accept a book from you,” I explained. “It’s against the rules.”
    That infuriated her, unleashing more verbal abuse. She raved about the children rising up against their parents, killing them and taking vengeance on those destroying the earth, water, and air. “Blood will wash down on the streets. People will die!” I couldn’t stand it anymore. She had pushed my tolerance to the limit. I hung up.
    The next day, before ending my shift, I paid Charlie a visit in his cell. His eyes sparkled with the prospect of outside news.
    “I just talked to Lynette.” At the mention of her name, Charlie cracked his sinister, dirty-old-man grin, as if some depraved erotic flashback from the past had flooded his demented little brain. Charlie liked to make love to his women “in the dirt,” as he said, especially white, creamy, upper-middle-class girls like Squeaky. It was part initiation, part debasement to subjugate them to his will, and a large part pure perversion. “She asked me to tell you she found a way to save the redwoods.” Charlie jumped from his bunk and started rubbing his hands together like a witch over a cauldron. I sensed that I’d just delivered some secret message that only Charlie and Squeaky understood. Never one to back away from a pending disaster, I pushed on. “She acted real crazy on the phone. She threatened me and everybody else, talking just like you about blood flowing in the streets, children rising up. She sounds more like you every day.” My words jabbed him like a sharp stick. His face contorted with rage.
    “Don’t you know who I am, man?” he roared. “You should be on your knees, begging for your life. I hold it in the palm of my hand. I could have you killed anytime!” He rambled on for another three minutes before I cut him off. I found this dark, ugly side to be his least entertaining facet, and could only stand so much.
    “Stop the bullshit!” I interrupted. “I don’t have time for this.”
    As I walked away, I was more convinced than ever that something was up. Charlie had never threatened me like that before. For some reason, he wanted me to know that he had resources on the outside, that he still had power over life and death. Ominous as it sounded, I didn’t take the threat seriously. Sure, Charlie continued to have tremendous control over his robotic minions, and they’d kill for him in a heartbeat. I knew that because I read his mail. I just didn’t think Charlie would turn on me. I was the guy protecting his back and taking care of him in a hostile environment. I was also a gullible ex–seminary student who showed him more compassion, however undeserved, than anyone else had, or