Strangeways

by Matthew Samm

  That’s exactly what happened. A right hook smashed into Robert’s guard, buckling it, and carrying through to his chin. A sickening thud sent him to the canvas. He lay there, eyes focusing on nothing, as the Reaper loomed over his prostrate form.

  Victorious, he reached down and grabbed Robert’s ankle, dragging him across the cell to the victim’s box. Inside sat Lucien Venner and his daughter Alix. His son, Isaac Venner, was missing. The Reaper dropped Robert in front of them and raised a hand in victory.

  Robert began to come around, his eyes beginning to focus on the world once more. He saw Lucien, the husband of the murdered Rosie and father to the murdered Alice. He only addressed Lucien. He could only speak in a whisper, but his words seemed to cut through the arena.

  “He’ll find a way,” he said. “My father will get his revenge, and you know it. A son for a son.”

  Lucien stared back defiantly, unmoved by the threat. He didn’t fear Robert’s father; Mad Jack was on Strangeways. What threat could he pose? Still locking eyes with Robert, Lucien raised a half smile.

  A shadow appeared behind Robert’s body. An arm snaked around his neck and pulled tight. Robert didn’t resist, but his face betrayed the agony.

  He was unconscious in three seconds and dead within three minutes. The crowd fell silent as he died, embracing the moment when justice occurred, and balance restored.

  When it was done, the Reaper took the mic to deliver his eulogy. It was considered a great honor and one reason many Wardens wanted the gig.

  “Lucien Venner, Alix Venner and Isaac Venner,” he began, his voice a baritone blend of fluent English and French undertones. “I have delivered to you the greatest sentence the City has to offer. This man killed people you loved. Now I have killed him. I hope this gives you peace and allows you to grieve for those you have lost.” He bowed to the family in respect before continuing, “As always, half the money of tonight’s attendance will go to you and the others who have been given justice tonight. I hope your share allows you to replace the evil this man did, with goodness.”

  The crowd erupted in applause, each audience member bathing in the knowledge of revelations enacted and evil punished.

  Alix sat in her father’s faded leather office chair, the back of it pressed against the desk. She was turned to watch the vid on the screen hanging behind his desk. She was watching the replay of Robert Brooks’ death. She watched, her face impassive, not betraying the torrent of emotions swirling within. It was what Brooks had said before he died that had hit home. “A son for a son,” a clear threat against her father and her brother.

  Isaac had problems. He was violent and rebellious and had gotten in more fights since their mother and sister’s death than he had for years before. She knew the anger was there before. He’d always had this streak in him, and he had never been able to control his furious emotions like she could.

  She’d been in the cells. She was a Warden. It was her job to punish criminals and she always used enough force to get the job done, but never to stray into cruelty. She knew her father wanted the Wardens to be a family affair. He wanted Isaac to join the ranks as well, but she was glad Isaac hadn’t. He didn’t have the temperament for it. He’d beat an opponent to the ground as quickly as he could and then use the rest of the round to humiliate them. Some people loved this behavior, but to her, it was the opposite of law and order. They must ruthlessly uphold the law but always separate themselves from the likes of common criminals.

  On screen, her father had just stepped into the chair at the post-event press conference. As the ‘father’ of the Wardens, he was always questioned. He was always given a chance to speak about his ‘baby’ and how it benefitted the city.

  He spoke about the event and of his pride for the Reaper and how he could always be counted on to deliver justice. He spoke about his vision and how he foresaw a greater a role for the Wardens in the future, but then, with a brief sigh, he called on a journalist for the New Manchester Tribune. Elletta Bly did not support the Wardens.

  Alix’s father disliked talking to her, but the Tribune had one of the largest readerships in the city. He had to invite their reporters to these events.

  “Mr Venner, congratulations on another successful event,” she began. “I’d like to draw your attention to a report released this week…”

  “What report?” her father interrupted, the testiness already evident in his voice.

  “The report from the University of New Manchester, which states the Warden system sends us back to the gladiatorial times of ancient Rome…”

  Lucien Venner sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. His eyes bored into Bly’s and for a moment, the room grew thick with tension.

  “Do you have a comment on that report, sir?”

  Lucien considered his answer for a moment. “The Warden system is completely different to the gladiatorial games of ancient Rome. Our system is built on the system of law from recent history. When criminals no longer fear prison and innocent people walk through their lives in fear, society has a problem. The Warden system is not about entertainment. It is about rebuilding peoples’ lives at the criminal’s expense. They get a dose of their own medicine by a trained professional. We televise it so people can see the effect properly enforced law can have and any profits from these shows are poured back into law enforcement and the victims’ pocket. No, Miss Bly, we are not ancient Rome.” Her father tried to move on to someone else, but Elletta pushed for a follow-up.

  “Mr Venner, what would you say to those who feel the Warden system is punishing those who do not deserve it, those who have committed no crime?”

  Alix saw her father’s eyes darken. This was a ballsy question and Alix knew her father was seething inside. There were always rumors, as there were with any successful enterprise and there were always those who criticized successful people, but this rumor had really hurt her father. He prided his system on being an arm of the law. Anyone who ended up in the cells had been through the courts. They were convicted by a jury of their peers and sentenced. If their crime was severe enough and usually violent, they’d take a stint in the cells. It could be 5 bouts, it could be 25, but whatever the sentence, the convicted had been through a trial of their peers.

  Criminals were punished with more than a slap on the wrist and a private room with three squares a day. If they offended again, they were sent to Strangeways Island and forgotten about so that the city always remained pure and, she had to admit, no one wanted to go to the Island.

  It was a cesspool of scum. All those living there were criminals, for whom the cells had not been deterrent enough. When someone is sent to the Island, they lose the protection of the law and only when it’s gone do people realize how much they wanted it.

  This rumor was spread by God knows who, but it said that people were being sent to the Island when they’d committed no crimes. It hurt her father because of the time and money he’d invested to ensure the system was perfect. Besides, they’d never provided any evidence, so that’s all it was: a rumor. Alix thought it was her father’s inability to quash the rumor mill that really bothered him.

  Slowly, and with deliberate intent, Alix’s father framed his answer. “I’d say that evidence speaks volumes in this case, Miss Bly. You of all people should want the Wardens to be successful after what happened to your friend, Ms. Gilburn, at the Tribune. I know you were close. We caught her killer and we gave her family justice. We gave you justice! These ‘rumors’ are nothing more than baseless lies. If someone wishes to provide some evidence, then New Manchester will listen. Until such time, I’d ask that you refrain from spreading such slander.” The courtesy never faded, but the loathing was evident and leaped from his eyes to stab at Bly as he spoke.

  Elletta sat down, scribbling in a notebook as her cheeks reddened, and the press conference moved on.

  Alix turned off the vid and spun the leather chair back to the desk. She reclined and closed her eyes. Her brother flashed into the dark o
f her mind and the knowledge that he had been threatened. A son for a son. Would Mad Jack really come for her brother somehow? She couldn’t see how. Mad Jack was on the Island and her father had made sure he was never leaving it. How could Isaac be in danger? She tried to whisper reason at her dark thoughts and just when she’d about convinced herself, the fear would return.

  She opened her eyes and gazed out of the window at New Manchester’s chrome and glass cityscape which gleamed as rain trickled down the office window. New Manchester Prison stared back at her. There were criminals in there awaiting trial and awaiting their turn in the cells, but those were the only criminals in New Manchester. They couldn’t possibly harm her brother.

  However, despite all the reasoning, she couldn’t shake the thought. Her brother was in grave danger.

  2

  It was late, well past midnight when they sat down to eat. Their father was tardy, as he often was on event nights, but a meal had been prepared and Alix and Isaac still sat down to eat.

  The table was made of black oak and stood on its own, like an island in an extravagant kitchen. Floor to ceiling windows walled the dining room and the New Manchester lights sparkled in perfect unison; a city breathing easy in its own utopia.

  “You watch the bouts?” Alix asked as they both took their seats. Neither of them said their greetings. They never did. They just assumed each was OK and never felt the need to ask. If something wasn’t right, it would be the first thing discussed.

  “Of course not, Alix. Why would you think that?”

  “Well, you sometimes do when you’re not invited. You go into dad’s study, switch the video on and watch along with us. Don’t think he doesn’t know, by the way, he does.”

  Isaac sighed. “I guess that’s something else he’s going to get on my back about,” he said, resigning himself to a difficult conversation in the coming hours. “No, I didn’t watch it. I’ve got, you know, I have more important things on my plate right now, don’t you think?”

  “Does he know you were kicked out?” Alix asked.

  “Probably. Is there anything he doesn’t know about?”

  “He’s had a busy day; he might not have seen it yet.”

  “He doesn’t need to see the letter; he’ll have heard it from one of his people. They’re into everything, they’ll have known before the head teacher made the decision.”

  A moment of silence grew between them. Alix broke first. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really. I’m gonna have to talk about it with him and I don’t want to say it twice,” said Isaac, hoping this would end the conversation.

  Alix wasn’t to be dissuaded that easily. She hated the silence and refused to allow it room to mature. She had to fill the void with some noise. “He probably had it coming, didn’t he?”

  Silence.

  “I mean, what was it that set you off this time, Isaac?”

  Silence again, but Isaac’s face twitched slightly, and he put his spoon back into his soup, picking up the napkin and dabbing his lips.

  “Did he say something about you? About Mom?”

  Isaac shook his head almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to burst the dam and get his words flowing. “They didn’t particularly say anything, this time, but they’ve said stuff before. He had to be made an example of.”

  “What do you mean, Isaac? He had to be made an example of?” Alix asked, looking worried about his answer.

  “He’s talked about Dad, Mom, Alice and you before. He’d been pulling my strings for weeks knowing that one more would have me out. I can only take so much, and you know it.”

  “How bad was it?” asked Alix, knowing it would be pointless to try and chastise him for what he’d done. As Isaac saw it, what was done, was done and there was no point in reliving it.

  “It was bad. Let’s just say he won’t be talking about us anymore.” He paused for a moment. “Come to think of it, he won’t be talking to anyone for quite a long time.”

  A chill coursed through Alix’s veins. Sometimes, Isaac had the power to terrify her. He had changed into someone else, and she now only caught glimpses of the brother she knew before their mother and sister died. “Was it worth it?” she said.

  He took a sip of water, placed the glass back on the coaster and looked her dead in the eye. He didn’t say a word. She knew it was worth it to him.

  “I sometimes don’t know what’s happened to you, Isaac,” she started, and he immediately started shaking his head, trying to shut her up before she spoke again.

  “Don’t start, Alix.”

  She didn’t stop. “I mean, we both lost Mom and Alice, didn’t we, but you don’t see me throwing my life away, do you?”

  Isaac slammed his cutlery down on the table and covered his ears. If he couldn’t get her to stop talking, he’d make it impossible to hear what she said.

  “The guy you beat up? He won, Isaac! He beat you! You’re gone. You’re out of school now and whatever you wanted to do is finished,” Alix carried on. “Dad wanted you to become a Warden, you know that, but not anymore. Heaven only knows what he’s going to say about that. He said you were on your last chance and he looked serious. Dad sends people to the cells every day. You don’t think he’ll follow through on a threat?”

  Isaac’s head shot up and his eyes blazed towards his sister, the speed of it catching her slightly off guard. “I don’t care what he thinks, or what he’s going to do. You should hear what people say at school, Alix. Stuff that would make you sick!”

  “Like what?”

  Isaac went quiet again. After a few moments, he whispered “never mind.”

  “You can’t say something like that and then leave it!”

  “I can, Alix, and I just did.” Isaac was enjoying knowing something his sister didn’t.

  “You can’t!” She fumed, feeling herself tighten like she was in the cells. When Isaac broke his gaze first, she knew he’d tell her.

  “It’s just…” he paused to form his words. “…you know Matthieu from school?”

  Alix looked at her brother with a sarcastic frown. “how would I know Mathieu? I’m not in school anymore!” She felt like adding ‘like you’re not’ but stopped herself. The wound was still fresh and saying it wouldn’t help matters.

  “Alright, sis,” Isaac laughed, putting his hands up in surrender. “Mathieu is the Reaper’s son. I thought you might have known him from working with his father. Anyway, he says that…”

  “I’m sorry I’m late.” Their father interrupted, striding into the dining room as he folded up his scarf and took off his full-length coat. “What’s for supper?” he said, sliding a chair out and sitting down. He sniffed the soup and let out a contented sigh. “Ah, broccoli and stilton. My favorite.” Silence reigned and this time, Alix was happy to let it stretch. “So, what are you kids talking about?”

  “Nothing, father,” said Alix. “We were just talking and messing about. You know, as siblings do.” She risked a knowing glance at Isaac as she spoke.

  Their father took a slurp of soup and nodded while not looking at either of them. “Just ‘messing about’” he said, copying her tone. “I thought you might be talking about Isaac’s day at school?”

  Alix glanced over at the counter. The letter from the headteacher was still there, unopened. Isaac was right, their father already knew. He always knew!

  “Well, it may have come up,” Alix said.

  “It came up,” their father repeated. “Do you have anything to say, Isaac?”

  Isaac said nothing. He didn’t even look at their father. He stared in the opposite direction, out of the window into the rain-soaked night. For a moment, Alix thought he was looking for a way out as if he was considering launching himself through the glass and plummeting to the concrete below because it was preferable to having this conversation.

  “Nothing to say, Isaac?” their father continued. “Nothing to say about your expulsion from school today?”

  Still silence.

>   “Well, I have some things to say if you don’t. They tell me the boy has had to have his jaw wired. He’ll be fed through a straw for several weeks. He won’t be able to speak for months.” Strangely, their father didn’t seem too angry at the injuries. There was a short pause before he spoke again. “Still, that’s none of my concern. Maybe he deserved it, but do you know how this looks?”

  Isaac still wouldn’t speak.

  “Look at me, Isaac.”

  He didn’t.

  “You will look at me, boy!”

  Isaac continued to refuse, his jaw clenching as he fought the fear creeping up his body.

  In one swift moment, their father was out of his seat. He flashed across the table and gripped Isaac’s chin in a vice like grip, twisting his face towards his own. “I asked you a question. Do you know how bad this looks?”

  Isaac squirmed and tried to twist his head away, eventually bringing his hands up to help. He couldn’t pry his father’s hands off. Alix looked away, hating to see how helpless Isaac was. She wanted to help him, but her muscles were paralyzed by years of learned helplessness.

  “Let me tell you how bad this looks, Isaac. You’re my son! What you do reflects on me and when I look bad, the Wardens look bad. Do you understand me?”

  Isaac didn’t answer, his face still contorted, struggling to free himself from his father’s grip.

  “Most children could get away with a fight or two in school, but you are held to a higher standard because of who we are and once again, you have failed to meet those standards.”

  Isaac stopped squirming and stared into his eyes, a fiery loathing burning there.

  “Now that I’ve got your attention, how are we going to make this right, Isaac?” Lucien threw Isaac’s face backwards as he finished the question, leaving finger shaped red welts on his jaw and cheeks.

  Isaac’s head recoiled from the throw and then re-centered. He didn’t turn away now, but he couldn’t speak, his voice evading him.