The main lights went out with a flick, leaving the cell dim. Dion rolled to his side facing the wall and pulled the rubber hose from under his blanket. He shoved the awkward mouthpiece in between his teeth, made sure he had a good seal and did his best to breathe normally. He pinched his nose just to be sure.
The cell echoed with the sounds of his cell mates laughing and joking into the night. The excitement of what was to come wore off after what must have been two hours.
His eyes grew heavy. Maybe there was something in the breather making him drowsy. He’d have to tell the Professor about it. Maybe they wouldn’t come tonight. Maybe they’d wait one more day.
No. They never waited that long after a killing.
Then, the voices around him went quiet. Soft thuds as heads hit pillows. Louder thumps as bodies hit the floor. He didn’t feel sleepy at all. He didn’t feel that familiar, irresistible pull on his brain tugging him towards sleep.
He couldn’t believe it. The breather worked just like the Professor said it would.
This was it. He’d be here soon.
Minutes passed. A clunk at the door and a soft wind rustled the hair on his neck. Someone had opened the cell door. His heart pumped like a mule trying to kick its way out of his chest.
This was it. He’d get that son-of-a-bitch.
Voices behind him. Two voices. A man and a woman. That woman Tapper; she was here too. No concern there. It would be two for the price of one.
And she’d be a nice little treat for him after he’d finished the job. He’d deserve a sweet reward for his work.
And with everyone knocked out but him, there would be no interruptions. He could take his time.
* * *
In the days since observing the Sacred Task, Francesca resumed training with her Mentor and there’d been no mention of the harsh exchange during Rudolfo’s recovery. Despite his promise of transparency, she asked no questions about the logbook she witnessed being delivered nor the guard who accompanied it.
She concluded if the information were necessary for her training, Rudolfo would have disclosed it. She held no ill feelings for her Mentor for the way he acted. She had been presumptuous and naïve. She’d been given a direct order and she disobeyed. She had meant it when she said it wouldn’t happen again.
Rudolfo recovered swiftly. The day after she visited his room and had witnessed the strange delivery of the logbook, he turned up fully healed.
She thought the nature of the solution must be to hit the body hard and then retreat, or Brother Rudolfo must have taken some form of treatment. She doubted the latter. Every Member embraced the burden the role put upon them.
Once he had returned to full duty, Rudolfo began mentoring her as if he had never stopped. When he was with her, they rarely used the video monitoring room unless an incident occurred for which they were not present. They watched the inmates in real time, as personal as they could make it.
They spent mornings observing the inmates in the showers, mess hall, and along the corridors. Every day he’d give her a specific inmate to observe and request input before she went to bed.
One evening, she broached the subject of Zentransa.
“Do you sleep, Brother Rudolfo?” she’d asked when he was skimming her logbook entries for the day. “I mean, do you take the Zentransa pill like most Members?”
His only reaction was a minute twitch in the corners of his eyes. Without looking up, Rudolfo said, “You should have noticed by now that I do not do anything as most Members do. That includes the pill. And while you are my Apprentice, you shall not either.”
During the day, the two of them would follow the inmates on their working parties, mingling among them as they dug with shovels, repaired leaking pipes, and laundered clothing. It was important, Rudolfo insisted, to watch and listen in every aspect of their daily lives.
“If you only watch them when they eat or work, you’re only seeing part of the picture,” he told her. “It’s just as important to watch them walk the corridors, during transportation to work, while they’re in line in the mess hall. Mundane interactions are often the most substantial.”
Occasionally, Rudolfo would stage an interaction for the purposes of observation.
“Sometimes, there is the question of circumstances,” he told her. “We see them in this situation or that and they act as they do, but is that truly the person they are? The routines of the prison are naturally constraining in the variety of situations we can find them. How would a spider behave if he was in a glass tank forevermore? You may conclude that this spider is kind and harmless. Place a cricket in the tank with him and you will find his true nature. Alas, we can only assess their true nature.”
One afternoon, five inmates received notice that their good behavior was going to be rewarded with extra time in the rec room. They were escorted from their working parties to the ward by guards and deposited in the rec room. As the guards left, they locked the door behind them.
One inmate sat in the corner on a hard, plastic chair and read an old paperback book. Two sat in front of the wall-mounted television. The last two found a deck of cards and sat down at a table.
Rudolfo and Francesca watched them from the monitoring room down the passageway. Ten minutes into their ninety minutes of extra free time, all five inmates were in good spirits, playing nicely together or politely ignoring each other.
Rudolfo reached forward and tapped a few keys on the computer. Francesca noticed a number in the corner of the screen start to climb. He had turned on the heat in the room.
Other than some rolling up of sleeves, the inmates seemed not to notice. Five more minutes passed and when nothing more happened, Rudolfo keyed in another command. The lights in the room began to flicker—subtle at first, then steadily more intense.
One of the inmates at the card table grumbled something about the “cheap ass warden and his broke ass prison” but nothing more occurred.
For a third time, Rudolfo reached forward and typed a command. The television went out.
The two men watching it cursed and slapped the control panel on the wall. For five minutes, they struggled to make it work again. Failing to resurrect the television, they stood and made their way to the card table and sat next to the two men already playing.
The newcomers were dealt in peacefully enough, but after a few hands, an argument broke out. One man claimed he knew a better game to play. Another retorted that they were playing the first game, the one they’d started and that was that. An agreement was made between them and the game continued.
The remainder of the time passed without incident. As the inmates left to meet their wardmates at dinner, Francesca turned to Rudolfo.
“Nothing happened.”
“Did you want something to happen?” he asked.
She did want something to happen. Deep down, she wanted to witness something significant so she could make an assessment—one that would prove she would be a worthy Member.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I think I assumed something would happen as you applied pressure on them with the heat and the rest.”
Rudolfo leaned back and crossed his arms. “That is why we observe. Our assumptions about who these inmates are is immaterial. We can only assess actual behavior in their present state. It is essential that you understand this.” He squinted at her.
“What if it would have turned bad? What if there had been violence and one of them killed?”
“Then the perpetrator would be selected for the Task.” He gestured to the screen showing the mess hall and the inmates gathered there for evening chow. “One who would murder another inside this prison cannot be permitted to live amongst the others.”
“But,” she stopped herself for a moment, then decided she must continue, “you would have been responsible. They would not have been in the situation to kill if you hadn’t put them there.” She avoided his eyes and did her best to keep her voice steady.
“True.” He nodded. To Francesca’
s relief, his voice remained calm. “But a killer would have been exposed. And a killer is a killer.”
He lifted his chin, rubbed it then massaged the back of his neck. Perhaps the Taint was still with him, she thought. “Whether we expose him now or he exposes himself later is irrelevant. We created the situation, but we didn’t drive his hand. This is something else you must understand: we observe behaviors to assess the true nature of a person. We don’t influence the nature of him. We measure it.”
“It’s a test.”
“All of this is a test,” he said, waving his arms to the side and overhead. “What part of life isn’t a test? Even if you spent your entire existence locked away in a room apart from every other person, that is, in itself, a test.”
During their observations, no matter the situation or the place, Francesca was cognizant of the prisoners’ feigned lack of awareness of them. With few exceptions, she and Rudolfo may have been ghosts.
Some would quiver as the two of them passed, while others went stiff. A few talked aloud, narrating their actions as if illustrating they were behaving and doing as they were told. They would speak to no one in particular, just loud enough to be heard by the Member and his Apprentice.
“Just boiling this here water on the stove now. Going to put the corn in here when it’s bubblin’. Then, I’m going to take it to the pot man, so he can dole it out.”
One morning found them outside, observing a work crew fell a tall pine tree. She and Rudolfo were on the edge of what was once a dense forest of conifers. Stumps, cut clean inches from the ground, were spread all around them like stepping stones perfectly spaced and lined up in rows like a well-disciplined marching band.
Francesca watched the team use long saws—some manual, some electric—to clear the fallen tree’s trunk of its limbs while another team removed the debris with metal rakes. A third team began the process of dragging the bare log to an enormous machine whose purpose eluded Francesca.
It looked to be a gigantic tin can laying on its side and propped up on wheels as tall as her. A crane sat atop it like a long-necked bird of prey. A newly felled tree would go in one end of the can, hoisted by the crane’s massive jaws and come out the other end totally smooth, free of bark, the nubs of its limbs completely gone. Where the logs went from there, she did not know.
She and Rudolfo walked on past the field of stumps to a clearing where a collection of guards and inmates watched another tree come down, ready to pounce on it with their tools. The two of them observed the inmates performing their various duties.
“The equipment they’re using is deadly.” She stated it as a point of fact, knowing the reply before it came.
“Certainly. It has been a point of contention between the Order and prison administrators for a long time.” He stood with his hands behind his back, the bright sun beat against his black cassock. “The Order’s position is what I explained to you earlier: our purpose is to observe true nature. If one’s true nature is to pick up a rake and drive it through a skull, then that person will necessarily have to be removed from the population.”
“Then, you’re waiting to see what happens.” She looked up at him, squinting against the sun behind him.
He shook his head, still watching the tree crews. “I’m not waiting for anything. If something happens, it happens. If nothing happens, nothing happens. When something does happen, we observe and assess.”
* * *
Nicholas Fox walked at the tail of the tree hooker crew with his face angled toward the sun, letting it bake his pale skin. He felt pleased with himself. So far, his plan was playing out as intended. If tomorrow went the way he thought it should, things in the Keep would soon be very different. And he would be at the helm of the revolution.
The team of tree hookers passed near a lone guard watching them. Fox’s long, metal tipped tree hook hung lazily across his shoulders as he altered his path to come within feet of the guard.
As Fox came abreast of the short, stocky man in light blue, he suddenly realized his shoe needed retying. He stopped and bent down, laying his tree hook on the ground. His team of tree hookers kept walking leaving him and the guard alone.
Nicholas stood with his hook, leaning on it and looking high into the trees surrounding them.
“Birds are out.” Fox continued looking at the bows high overhead.
The guard didn’t speak. He only grunted his acknowledgement.
“Migration season is coming soon, I think.”
“Mmm, hmm.” The guard looked to be more interested in a group of cutters nearby. He didn’t look at Fox.
“Yes, I think the birds will be leaving soon.” Fox turned his gaze to the guard, waiting for confirmation.
The guard gave him the slightest of sideways glances before returning his gaze to the group of cutters.
“When do you think that’ll be?” His deep voice rumbled in his chest. Fox had always been jealous of men with naturally deep voices. Himself, he’d been cursed with a high tenor.
“Couple of days, I think. Could be as soon as tomorrow night,” Nicholas said, returning his eyes to search the tops of the trees.
Another grunt, a short pause, and the guard gave Nicholas an angry look. “Move along, inmate. Your working party is waiting.”
Nicholas Fox bowed his head, lifted his tree hook, and headed off toward his group.
* * *
The next morning, Francesca and Rudolfo stood in the mess hall during the inmates’ morning chow. Many were already seated, but most of them waited in line to receive their food served out on paper trays. The line snaked down one long wall and when it reached the door the guards broke it into two.
Francesca walked down a wide aisle between two of the three columns of tables. She looked left and right, watching the inmates eat, listening to the talk. The conversations were what she expected for first thing in the morning—mostly grumblings about how they slept the night before or the temperature of the food.
Rudolfo stood near the head of the line for several minutes before moving into the kitchens, out of Francesca’s line of sight. She was passing the fourth row of tables when a commotion to the left caught her attention.
A short, broad shouldered man sat alone on the end of the table opposite Francesca. Another inmate had just left the line with his tray and passed the seated man.
“Hey, son, freshen my cup for me,” said the seated man, pointing to a plastic cup in front of him. The other inmate kept walking, shook his head, and muttered something Francesca couldn’t hear.
The seated man jumped to his feet the second the other man passed him. With both hands, he grabbed the man’s head, digging his fingers deep into his eyes. The inmate dropped his tray and screamed like a wounded animal.
The guards rushed in from all sides, but it was too late. In one swift motion, the first inmate twisted and flung the other’s head into the table with a force Francesca would not have thought possible.
A dull clang rang when the inmate’s head collided with the corner of the steel table.
He had refused to get the other man a cup of coffee. Now he lay dead on the mess hall floor.
* * *
That evening, Francesca and her Mentor sat in the observation room. Rudolfo wrote in his logbook while Francesca scanned the video feeds.
“Inmate 3916 is back in his cell.”
Rudolfo did not respond, but continued writing. His stylus smoothly scratching on the digital paper.
“It hadn’t occurred to me to ask before the last Sacred Task, but 3916 has nothing to lose now.” She turned to face Rudolfo. “He must know that his hours are numbered. Isn’t he a danger to his cellmates?”
He did not look up from his writing. “His true nature has been revealed, so they will take measures to ensure he does not harm anyone else.”
“Measures?”
“Yes.” He looked up from the book and pointed with his stylus at the computer monitor. If you look closely, you’ll notice a small bulge around h
is ankle. 3916 will be closely monitored for the rest of the evening. If he poses a threat, he will be given a debilitating shock.”
This puzzled her. “Why not just sequester 3916 in a room by himself? Now that his true nature has come to light, the threat to the others seems unnecessary.”
Rudolfo looked up. He seemed to be considering her for a moment, then said, “I’m glad you are thinking of these things, but you must remember that everyone has a role to play.”
“Even a man whose death is imminent?” she asked.
“Especially him.”
She stared at the wall, thinking of the roles everyone in this place must play. It occurred to her that the prison was an ecosystem where the contributions of each individual contributed to the overall balance. In nature, that balance was created to support lifecycles. Here, that balance was created to support death.
“They must see him,” she said, turning back to the screen to watch 3916 enter his cell. The other inmates gave him space. “The others must be reminded of the cycle.”
“The cycle?” His face contorted into a pensive frown. “Yes, I suppose you could put it that way. But as I mentioned when you first arrived, it is not about consequences or punishment. He is left in his cell tonight to remind the others of death, but also of life.” He bent back to his book and continued writing.
When she saw 3916 murder the other man in the mess hall, she knew the Sacred Task would be performed tonight. The killer belonged to Rudolfo’s ward and was therefore their responsibility. She wondered how badly the Taint would affect Rudolfo tonight, so soon since the last Task. This thought brought another question to her mind.
“Are killings, or murders, this frequent in the ward?”
“No. They are usually much further apart.” He continued writing, his brow creased in concentration.
“Does the frequency of these last two concern you?” She watched him write. He didn’t seem to miss a beat, his quick scrawl never pausing.
“Not yet,” he said.
* * *
Late that evening, well past lights out for the inmates, Francesca and Rudolfo met in the outermost passageway and walked to the central corridor. At passageway three, they turned left. The next few minutes passed in the same way as the last Sacred Task Francesca witnessed—Rudolfo opened a hidden compartment in the wall, inserted his hand and a moment later the chatter in the passageway fell silent.
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