For Phyllis Bricker, a rare tour yesterday through the Supermax prison - where her parents' killer is housed on death row - was the latest step in a painful odyssey as she awaits an execution that has been on hold for years.
"My parents are gone, and he's still here," Bricker said while standing inside the fortified building north of downtown, at the state prison complex on East Madison Street.
For Lisa Spicknall, whose husband killed their two children in 1999 and was later slain by another inmate in prison in Jessup, there was some relief. Though her husband was never at Supermax, she was relieved to see that prison isn't a place where inmates are coddled.
"It does us good to know that it's not a life of luxury and they don't get all kinds of privileges," said Spicknall, who stills grieves for her children. "Their lives are definitely altered and changed."
The women were among a small group of crime victims - many of them grieving for murdered family members - who came to the maximum-security complex that houses some of the most violent and worst-behaved prisoners. They toured the stark corridors with victims' rights advocates and state corrections officials as part of National Crime Victims' Rights Week, which begins Monday.
This year, state corrections officials decided to give victims and the media a glimpse inside a world that is normally closed off from the public and hidden behind steel doors, concrete walls and razor wire. Warden John S. Wolfe and his security chief led the group through what is formally called the Maryland Correctional Adjustment Center.
Another nickname for the prison is "The Cave," Wolfe said. Deep inside the facility - with its tiny narrow windows, small cells and compartmentalized hallways with heavy steel doors that clang shut - the outside world seems far away.
Debbie Neighoff, the victim services coordinator for the Division of Correction, told the group before the tour that the agency organizes such events to "create a supportive environment where victims feel they're a part of our system."
"The DOC even has a small program where crime victims are able to speak to inmates who hurt or killed a family member. There's nothing like a victim telling their story to an inmate," Neighoff said.
Yesterday's visitors had no contact with the prisoners. They were taken through a security checkpoint, the men were given white paper bracelets to distinguish them from the all-male population and cell phones were confiscated.
