I slam my fists against the small desk in front of me, my chains rattling, and grind my teeth, my anger bubbling to the surface. No, I wouldn’t have stopped. That asshole deserved everything he got. I look across at him, his smug face leering back at me.
“Mr. Daily?” Judge Corresdone shouts my name and I look up at him through hate-filled eyes. “If it wasn’t for your background serving your country, you would be receiving a much longer sentence, so be grateful for that.” He eyes me with disappointment and a shake of his head. “Guards, escort Mr. Daily away.”
I turn to look at Amy, tears pouring silently down her cheeks. Ben, our son, is nowhere to be seen—probably with Amy’s mother. I would have liked to see him one more time before I’m sent away; who knows when I’ll be able to see him again? I shake my head, all the anger deflating and self-pity filling the emptiness left behind. I don’t regret doing what I did, but I do regret that I won’t get to watch my son grow up. He’ll be eleven when I get out, and he won’t know me. Tears fill my own eyes as the guards approach. I blow a kiss to Amy, and mouth that it’ll be all right. But we both know that’s a lie. I won’t allow her to wait for me. Eight years is too long. She’s a beautiful, young, intelligent woman, and I’m not going to let her waste her life waiting for me.
The guards lead me away out the back of the courtroom, down some steps, and to the waiting van outside. I step up and inside it, and as the doors shut behind me I say goodbye to my life.
*
The ball bounces off the ceiling and I catch it in my hands before bouncing it up again, my mind closed off to everything as I focus on the repeated action. Ball, ceiling, bounce, catch, ball, ceiling, bounce, catch. Over and over and over.
“Will you shut the fuck up?” Jason snarls from the lower bunk.
Ball, ceiling, bounce, catch.
“I said,” he climbs off his bunk and looks up to me, “will you shut the fuck up? Some of us are trying to read here.”
Ball, ceiling, bounce, catch.
“Motherfucker, I will—”
I turn to look at him and he shuts his mouth, dropping his porno magazine to the floor. “And I’ve told you,” I begin, “repeatedly, not to ever speak to me.” I sneer. “It’s bad enough that I have to breathe the same air as you.”
His face turns red as he splutters his words. “You and me, boy, we’re equals whether you like it or not.” He cackles gleefully.
I push up and jump down from my bunk, landing with a loud thud, and grab his chin in my grip, slamming him against the wall. “Let me make this very clear to you once and for all: we are not equals. You are a murdering piece of shit who likes to make women scream. I, on the other hand, like to make people like you really pay for their crimes. Do you see the difference?” I push my forehead against his sweaty pale one and flash a smile. “I said,” I squeeze harder on his chin until he squeaks, “do you see the difference?”
He nods at me and I continue. “You are a piece of shit, and I hate pieces of shit. We were never going to get along, were we? So let’s make the best of it and I’ll try not to kill you. Okay?” He nods at me again and I release him, slapping his cheek. “Good boy.”
I climb back up on my bunk, my weight making the mattress sag, and continue to throw the ball up in the air. Ball, ceiling, bounce, catch. I’m bigger than before I got to this place, and I was big before, but since there’s nothing much to do all day—nothing to keep the menacing thoughts away from my dreams—I exercise, build bulk, and try to keep out of trouble. Trouble has a way of finding me these days though.
Jason stumbles out of the room, muttering about what a dick I am—like I give a shit what that scum of the earth thinks about me. A few minutes later a guard swings by and I wonder if good ol’ Jason told on me. Not that I care if he does or not, because the guards don’t give a shit about him and neither do the other cons, he’s a snitch through and through. He’s in for armed robbery and the attempted murder of a security officer and a female hostage, but only after he repeatedly raped her. In a cruel twist of irony, I’ve been stuck in a room with the very thing that I hate. The very thing that put me in here in the first place.
“JD? You have a visiting order.” The guard drops it on my bed and leaves without another word.
I know who it will be from before I even open it. With no mother and father, and a sister who’s ashamed of me, it can only be Amy. She’s the only one who has repeatedly asked to come and see me for the past six months. So far I’ve said no, but maybe it’s time to see her and let her know that I want her to move on—no, that I insist she move on. She isn’t taking the hint with my silent treatment, so I’m going to have to make it clearer to her.
Two.
I walk over to the little wooden stool in front of the glass viewing window, my large frame filling the small space. Amy’s already holding the phone to her ear and gesturing wildly for me to pick mine up—tears in her eyes, her pink flowery skirt splayed out over her knees—but all I’m hearing right now is white noise. The sight of my son in her arms is gut-wrenching, but most of all, I’m pissed off that she would even bring him here to see me. I can’t make my body sit down, my legs frozen to the spot in angst.
My stomach twists and turns as his beautiful blue eyes stare back at me, a little dribble on his chin as he pops a little chubby finger in his mouth. The guard puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes me into my seat, and I succumb to the little wooden stool, my hand shaking as I reach for the phone. She’s talking before I’ve even got it to my ear.
“. . . I know what you said about bringing him here to see you . . .” White noise, static, my heart thumping. “But he’s been so cranky without you, he misses his daddy . . .” Her voice pleading, his dimpled cheeks. “He has a right to see you . . .”
He misses his daddy? The thought kills me. Literally eats me up from the inside out and spits me back up. My palm goes up to the window and she stops talking. Ben reaches his chubby hand across to touch mine; he looks confused when he touches glass instead of me, but giggles nonetheless. A sob works its way up from my chest and I drop the phone to clutch at my heart in pain.
My boy. My boy. My boy. I shake my head sadly, all resolve to dismiss them out of my life dissolving. I need her and I need him. How am I going to survive the next eight years without them? Tears form in my hooded brown eyes , and drip down my face in silent rivers. My boy. My boy. My boy. Amy’s crying now , and rocking Ben in her arms, but he seems unperturbed by it all. He’s changed so much in such a small span of time—what is he going to be like in eight to ten?
I catch my breath and retrieve the phone, bringing it back up to my ear.
“I’m so sorry, Amy. I never wanted this for you—for him.” I take a steadying breath, my eyes finding hers.
She smiles. “I know you didn’t, but we’ll be here every second that we can. You won’t miss him growing up—you’ll see him all the time.” She smiles again, but I think my heart just splintered into a thousand pieces.
I can’t let my boy grow up seeing his daddy in prison. I look around at the other families, the other children uninterested in their daddies, playing checkers on the floor. Grimy little boys with snotty noses, and mothers who look like whores. I look back at Amy, not hearing her words anymore. She’s beautiful—more than any man could ever want in a woman; and Ben, he’s better than I could dream of. I can’t let them waste their lives on me. Ben needs someone he can be proud of; someone to look up to.
“Amy,” I begin, but stop as shouting breaks out at one of the booths. We both look over and see that one of the visitors has fallen to the floor—a young man, from what I can see, probably come to see his father. I shake my head. A guard rushes over to see what the fuss is and I keep talking. “Amy, I don’t want you or Ben to come back here.”
Her head flips back to me, her eyes widening. “You don’t mean that.” She hugs Ben tighter. “He needs his daddy.”
“I know, but I can’t be it. He needs better than me, a better life
than I can give either of you now. You are, without a doubt the most beautiful, courageous woman I know. You’re intelligent and kind, and you’re young enough to meet someone else.” The thought of another man with her makes me angry as much as it hurts.
“I don’t want anyone else!” she shouts, attracting the attention of a guard.
“You have to move on, for both your sakes.” I swallow down the bile that’s threatening to come up. I don’t want to give away my family, I don’t want Ben to have a new father, but I won’t let them suffer for me.
Another guard rushes over to the man on the floor and I watch them, trying to think up the right words to get her to understand me. Two guards are over the man now. One of them shouts into his walkie-talkie before standing back up. Amy looks across at him fearfully and then back to me. An alarm sounds overhead, and both Amy and Ben jump before my boy begins to cry at the noise. I want to soothe him and tell him it will be okay, but I can’t, and it just fortifies my point that he shouldn’t be here. The door to the visiting room opens and more guards come in.
“Prisoners, get up, we need to get you all back to your cells,” shouts one of the guards on my side, and everyone starts to stand up.
I can hear the muffled voice of one of the guards on Amy’s side. “Everyone stay in your seats, there’s been an incident and we just need to get medical in here—” He screams his final word as the man on the floor grabs for him, and I jump out of my seat trying to get a better look at what’s happening.
Everyone is jostling around and I can’t see for the amount of feet around him. The door is still open and more guards filter in before the guard screams again, falling to one knee, and the people around him start screaming and shouting.
One of the guards on my side of the glass stands to attention. “All prisoners line up ready to go back to lockdown now!” he barks.
Amy looks up to me, her arms wrapped tightly around Ben. My heart thumps, I don’t want to leave them while all this is going on. Ben cries louder and Amy stands up and rocks him on her hip, her phone forgotten as she watches what’s happening at the far end of the room.
I can’t see anything, just people pushing and shoving and shouting. Blood suddenly sprays up into the air, coating the closest people in it, and everyone screams in unison and starts to push for the door. The guards push the visitors back and try to close the door behind them, but the one that’s closest suddenly falls from sight. The only thing left of him is his long, drawn-out scream.
A hand touches my shoulder and I instinctively turn and swing at whoever it is. It’s one of the guards and he stumbles backwards as the full force of my fist connects with his nose, sending a spray of blood everywhere. The other guards charge me, and I see rather than hear Amy screaming and shouting at me to calm down, even as she looks fearfully on at whatever is happening over there.
I shrug the guards off, swinging at them, putting one to the ground and another flailing against the opposite wall. The guard with the broken nose—Pete, I think his name is—pulls out his baton, and as the other guards get back up, they pull out theirs too. I turn to look at Amy, panting out of both exertion and fear, and see fighting has broken out on her side too. She backs away from the glass, moving toward the far wall, clutching Ben to her chest as a mob of angry people moves toward her and the other visitors.
The alarm blares, more guards move into the room, and the angry visitors stumble forward. One of the women who’s dressed like a whore clutches her teenage son in front of her even as a bloodied guard reaches for him with both hands and drags him to the floor before sinking his face into the boy’s neck.
I yell and shout out, pulling myself free from the guards’ grip as they see what’s happening. I charge at the glass, banging it with my fists as the teenage boy kicks out at the bloodied guard, screaming for his mom. She stands staring, jaw slack, eyes watering and body unmoving.
“Help him, somebody help him!” I shout and bang on the glass again.
Some people have made it out of the room, and I can now see the full extent of whatever is going on: A man’s body lies on the floor, a huge crater where his stomach should be. Intestines and blood have spilled out of the hole, and another man is gorging on him, diving hands first into the other man’s insides and pulling out whatever he can grab before shoveling it into his waiting mouth. Two other bodies lie prone on the floor, unmoving and pale.
The guards behind me start shouting again for me to move, dragging me backwards and away from the window, away from Amy and Ben. I resist until they use the batons on me, beating me across the backs of my legs until I collapse to my knees and they slap cuffs on me.
“Get up, now!” one bellows.
“We’ve gotta get these prisoners out of here,” the other guard shouts above the alarm.
I finally notice that the other prisoners are going as crazy as I am, and more guards have come in to try and help out, but they seem to be as transfixed by the horror in the visiting room as the rest of us.
The bloodied guard stands back up, a trail of sinew hanging from his lower jaw. The kid is whimpering and unmoving as blood pumps out of him, and the guard trips on his body before lurching forward for the others. Movement to my right catches my attention, and when I look, a greater horror than I have ever witnessed shows itself.
The people on the floor are getting back up. With cloudy gray eyes and bloody wounds, they start to lurch forward; they open their mouths and I assume they’re growling—but from my side of the glass, they’re silent.
“We need armed guards! I repeat, armed guards—now!” a guard bellows into his walkie-talkie.
Three.
I look at Amy; she’s screaming my name, grasping Ben to her and crying as the things move toward her. She wants to run, but there’s nowhere for her to go. The guards finally take control of the other prisoners, putting them in cuffs and dragging them from the room. I’m the last to be taken, with Pete’s shaky voice in my ear.
“The sooner I get you secure, the sooner I can go and help them.” He tugs on me again. “Please, if you want to help her, I need to secure you!” he shouts, pulling me closer to the door as the bloodied guard on the other side of the glass reaches for another person.
My last sight before I leave the room is more guards running in to the room with batons raised; after that I’m in the hallway, and suddenly my feet are moving and I’m running with Pete the guard so he can secure me and get back to help Amy and Ben.
Another alarm sounds and the lights go off, making the prisoners scream and shout, before red emergency lights take over. Everyone is shouting and screaming, guards are fighting with prisoners; the prisoners are taking the opportunity to riot without realizing that this is something really serious.
We stand at one of the metal doors as Pete pounds on it with his fist and stands back, waiting for it to be opened. The screaming is getting louder, and sweat trickles down the side of his face. He pounds on it again, speaking into his walkie-talkie, but no one replies. It takes every ounce of control not to lose it again; my body is trembling with contained anger and fear, my muscles twitching to punch him and run back to the room and help Amy. The door still hasn’t opened, and all I can think about is Amy and Ben and that guard reaching for them. I look at the handrail and then back to Pete.
“Cuff me to the rail and go!” I bellow over the noise.
He looks at the rail and back to me. “I can’t do that, it’s against protocol,” he says, his voice shaking.
“People are killing each other back there. Cuff me to the rail before I flip the fuck out and break your neck! They need your help. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be right here.” I hold out my arms to him. He looks uncertain, and I shake my arms at him. He takes them and cuffs me to the rail, pursing his lips at me and still looking uncomfortable.
I rattle the cuffs. “Not going anywhere. Go and help my girlfriend and son, please,” I beg.
He nods and runs back the way we just came, exiting through a d
oor and slamming it closed behind him. No one electronically locks it, though, and it swings back open. I look around me, checking over the side of the rail, and see prisoners going crazy in their cells, blood trailing walls and floors. Guards are running back and forth between rooms, locking as many doors as possible. I look back at the door I came through, feeling high on adrenaline. I watch all around me as the alarm continues to blare , but the screaming and shouting begin to die off. I breathe a sigh of relief that it might all be coming to an end, and pray that Amy and Ben are okay.
I don’t know how long I’ve been waiting, but my legs and back are aching and my head is throbbing with pain from stress and from the batons earlier. The alarm is still blaring loudly, the red lights casting an eerie glow everywhere. Shadows dance around me, but when I turn to look there’s nothing there. My jaw aches from grinding my teeth in anxiety. I look back over the railing: nothing is moving down there now—no guards, no prisoners, nothing. But the blood, I can see.
I look back out the doorway and see a shadow approaching, and I pray that it’s Pete or someone else who can tell me if Amy and Ben are okay. Whoever it is walks cautiously, and I take a breath to shout a hello just as the alarm cuts out and makes me pause. I try to focus on whoever it is, but the red lights make it too difficult.
Finally the person steps under a red emergency light and I see it’s Pete, but he’s covered in blood. His eyes meet mine as he slides along the wall clutching his side, leaving a trail of red along the floor and wall. He coughs, expelling blood in front of him.
“Pete?” I ask, but I know it’s him. “You okay?” My eyes narrow as he gets closer, blood dripping off his chin as he coughs and brings up more of it.
The Dead Saga (Novella Part 1): Odium Origins Page 9