Zach knew what was expected of him when the guard came to visit in the night. And he knew what would happen if he didn’t comply. He learned that lesson the first time. A Taser shot to the groin had a way of making a lasting impression. Letting the guard use him as he wanted paled in comparison, though some nights were worse than others.
He glanced toward the cell door. Might be morning soon. Might not be. Wouldn’t know until the daytime lights snapped on. He leaned back against the cold, rough concrete wall and decided the morning held nothing for him anyway. Neither did spending another night waiting in darkness for the sound of the boots, and what came after.
Zach clenched his eyes shut, tears welling up and seeping out the corners. Days went by when he wasn’t sure where he was, who he was, like his mind was losing its grip. He couldn’t take the slow descent anymore. He’d lost too much, would never get it back. Sammy. He’d finally started to let someone in, and now he’d lost her. Where was she now? Had she finally given up on him and moved on? He hoped so. She shouldn’t waste any more time on him now. Life’s too short and precious for that.
He slid his fingers beneath the corner of the mat where he’d kept the knife concealed all this time. He’d thought about using it to make a run sometime, maybe stabbing his nighttime visitor and breaking out while he lay bleeding on the cell floor. But where would he go? He had nothing but a prison jumpsuit and some ragged slippers. Even if he could actually get off prison grounds—doubtful enough—he wouldn’t get far dressed like that. They’d get him, and they’d think of some way to make his existence even more intolerable than it was now.
He’d managed to survive so far by deluding himself into thinking that conditions might eventually improve if he could just tough it out a while. Maybe the food would get better. Maybe he’d get a nicer cell for good behavior. Maybe the forced sex at night would stop—or at least become more sporadic. But that was bullshit. If anything, conditions had gotten worse. He could barely keep his food down anymore. He felt sick and weak all the time. And the nighttime visits had gotten more creatively brutal.
He held the knife up in the low light, its grimy blade glinting a message of hope. It looked like some sort of kitchen knife, nothing fancy, but with a blade sharp enough to do the job. Had someone left it behind on purpose? Did it belong to a prisoner, or had someone else planted it? Didn’t matter. Wherever it came from, he was grateful to have it—and the power it granted him.
He pressed the fingers of his left hand against the side of his neck, feeling the deep arterial throb there. He couldn’t risk them finding him too soon, reviving him and confiscating the knife. He had to get it right on the first try.
Zach slid the tip of the knife right next to where his fingers pressed, aiming it straight at his carotid. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, then rammed the knife home with a quick, strong jab before he could change his mind. He gasped in pain. The knife clattered to the floor. Clutching his neck, he slumped against the wall, felt the hot blood pulsing out between his fingers.
He panicked, wished he could undo it. Had he even done it right, or had he screwed this up, too? But then, the pain from the cut receded, replaced with a feeling of relief, of lightness. Zach slid down onto his back and smiled, covered in a blanket of his own warm blood. So soothing, comforting. Back in control at last, he wrapped his arms around himself and welcomed the darkness.
He’d served out his sentence. Now he was free.
Other books by Lisa von Biela now available or coming soon from Crossroad Press
Ash and Bone
Blockbuster
Broken Chain
Incidental Findings
Skinshift
The Genesis Code
The Janus Legacy
Down the Brink Page 22