by Silla Webb
I sulked for ten days, only exhaling the frustrations through push-ups against the cold concrete. I came to the pain-staking revelation that Savannah and our kids are better off without me. I’ve caused them enough suffering, and with the number of crimes I’ve being charged with, there is no telling if or when I’ll see the light of day.
On my final day in Solitary, I laid my demons to rest and accepted my fate. I said my final goodbye to the love of my life.
Savannah Marie,
It’s dark in here, the light continually dimming—just barely a soft glow in sight now. I fuckin’ hate it. I feel like I’m suffocating, and I beg death to set me free each time air expels from my body.
But the suffering, Savannah, this fuckin’ suffering, this all-consuming ache that I feel in my heart will always pale in comparison to the suffering you endured at my hand. My God nothing can ever relate. I can never forgive myself for destroying you, for breaking the beautiful soul of the woman who stole my heart, giving me the only love I’ve ever felt. I was never deserving of the love you showered me with, and I hate you so fuckin’ much for ever thinkin’ I did. I hate you for letting me break you, for letting me rob you of your strength. I wish you would have fought back, wish you would have hated me from the start, but the past can’t be changed. I hate you so damn much, Savannah, but I love you even more.
I never knew that love could be so strong, such a persistent need for attention. You gave me all the things I always wanted but never earned. Our children, my precious Brailee and Braden, are the greatest measure of my life. My reason for breathing, although I’m most undeserving of it all. Protect them, Savannah, guide them through this Hell called life with loving arms embracing them. Their hearts reflect the beauty of yours, not the ugly, monstrous, blackened heart of their disgraceful father. They’re too young to understand everything now, and I pray that you’ll allow them to keep their memory of me intact. They don’t know my darkness, Savannah. And I pray they never do.
Drew fuckin’ Varney. Savannah, I beg you to do whatever you can to protect my family and yours from that fuckin’ depraved bastard. He manipulated and controlled me much like I did you, for as long as I can remember. I accept my sins, but the evil among them starts with Drew, and I won’t stop until that fuckin’ bastard is dead.
Breathe, Savannah Marie. Enjoy your life, our children, and always bask in the beauty that surrounds you. I was too blind to see it when I had the chance, and I wish you had the strength then to open my eyes so I could see everything clearly. I’m unworthy of your forgiveness, but you’re too gracious to cling to the hatred that you carry for me. Let it go. Not for me, but so you can find the happiness that I deprived you of for far too long. Open your heart to love, Savannah. There are few monsters among men, few men as sinister as me. You deserve someone who will treasure your heart and beautiful soul.
-Josh
“Moore!” The guard shouts against the glass, clinkin’ his baton against the heavy steel door. “Scoot your ass. Gotta visitor.”
I continue my pushups ignorin’ the fucker, concentrating on my ragged breathing as I fight through the rage that consumes me. It’s never gonna dissipate. I had hoped that by setting Savannah free, somewhere deep inside my blackened heart I’d find peace. I was fuckin’ wrong. I’m at an even stronger war with myself now, the demons that I’ve tucked away for so long rearing their fuckin’ heads, tormenting and teasing me. After signing the divorce petition, I had a real bad fuckin’ day. Unfortunately, so did the fuckin’ prick who tried to rush me off the weight bench. The anger had been brewin’ for too damn long and I exploded, beatin’ his fuckin’ face against the concrete wall of the weight room. So I’m slummin’ it down in Solitary, again. And let me tell you, that hell I was livin’ in is the damn Ritz fuckin’ Palace compared to the bowels of Solitary Confinement. I can smell the raw sewage seepin’ into the cracked basement walls, rats and mice runnin’ amuck, crawlin’ on me in my sleep.
“Final warning, asshole, or I’m tazin’ your big ass!” the guard barks out his warning maliciously. I press up to my feet and stride to the steel door placing my hands through the slot. He snaps the cuffs in place, then instructs me to step back as he slams the door open.
“Who the hell’s here for me?” I ask as he leads me through the corridor, silently hoping it’s Savannah. I know it’s farfetched. After all, she owes me nothing when I owe her everything. But it would be nice to apologize for wrecking her life face to face. Written words on a slip of paper can never do justice to the spoken word. At least then she could see that it’s heartfelt and endearing.
He shoots me a cocky sneer saying, “Fuck if I know who she is, but I wouldn’t mind findin’ out.”
He best pray to God he ain’t talkin’ ‘bout Savannah, or I’ll break his damn jaw. I’m shocked to have a visitor. James McCoy hasn’t been here since I signed the divorce petition a few weeks ago, and when I call asking for information about my case I get his secretary’s bitchy attitude and lame excuses which I’m fuckin’ tired of. I’m payin’ him good money to pull my ass from this hell, yet it seems he’s only workin’ to keep me in here longer. Drew, well, that fuck turned his back on me the moment our plan unraveled, feedin’ me to the lions to save his own greedy ass.
Instead of taking me to the inmate visitation room, the guard shuffles me down a separate corridor and into a private room which is empty. “Where the fuck is she?” I growl, craning my neck to look at him.
“Sit your ass down and be patient, Moore.” He shoves me down into the seat, and I cast him a piercin’ scowl. Pisses me the fuck off bein’ touched, these bastards having control over me like this.
He slams the door closed, leaving me in silence while I wait for the mystery visitor. I know it ain’t Savannah or they’d sent me to the inmate visitation room, not here.
My patience begins to wear thin, the clock tickin’ on the wall the only sound filling the stark silence. After ten minutes, the door swings open and I glance up momentarily to see a suited prick and legs with long, blonde tendrils stride into the small room. I cast my eyes back down to the peeling table top, brooding and angry from waiting so damn long. They both sit down scooting their chairs forward, and the prick places a thick file on top of the table.
“Mr. Moore, it’s been a while.” I look up hearing the familiar voice, and my jaw ticks when recognition of the leggy blonde washes over me.
“What the hell, Alisa? Where’s James, and who the fuck is this stiff clown? I didn’t ask for a damn substitute counsel, so y’all can pack your asses back to James and tell him he needs to get his shit together!” I bark out, frustration clawing through my skin.
“Mr. Moore, my name is Agent Warren, and I’m with the FBI. We’d like to ask you a couple questions.”
“Fuck’s goin’ on Alisa? Why would James allow a fuckin’ Fed to question me and send you in his place?” I bark out.
“Josh, I’m not here in James’ place.” She reaches into her bag and slides a small identification card across the table, and I pick it up, twisting it in my cuffed hands to look at it. At first, I don’t recognize the woman in the photo, but the harder I look, the more and more I can see it. Her hair is different, instead of the long, platinum blonde tendrils of curls she wears now, in the photographs its as dark as night and neatly pinned at the nape of her neck. The seductive smile that usually graces her fuck me lips is pursed into a thin line in the photo, but her eyes are exactly the same.
I sling the card back in her direction and shoot up outta the chair, my eyes blurring over as rage fills my chest. “You’re a fuckin’ federal agent?” I shout.
“Yes, I am,” she confirms, confidently.
“Well ain’t this some fucked up shit.” I chuckle. This just keeps getting better and better. Alisa has been James McCoy’s secretary for a couple of years now.
“Why the hell you here then, Alisa? Hell, you have all you’d need to toss all three of us under the fuckin’ prison. So tell me, why am I in
here alone, while Drew and James both have their damn freedom?”
“Because we need your help,” she replies opening the folder and pulling out what looks to be pictures and spreading them across the table. “The FBI has been investigating Black Pike for a few years. Once you were arrested, a team was sent in to test the chemicals and to prepare the mines to be closed off.”
She flips the first picture over, and I try my damnedest to stay passive as I look over the familiar face that abused me as a teen. “This is Evelyn Hager; do you recognize her Josh?” she questions, and I shake my head yes because she already knows the fuckin’ answer. Hell, her son was one of my best friends growin’ up; that shit ain’t too hard for any average Joe-Shmo to figure out. “She was reported missing over ten years ago by her husband, Elliott Hager. The local and state police investigated her disappearance for months to no avail. Her husband mentioned he suspected she had been having an affair for years, but no evidence was clear to support the claim. Her case went cold until recently.”
She continues to flip the other pictures over, and I grit my teeth together as my stomach rolls a vicious wave at the decaying corpse in the photographs. “Evelyn Hager’s body was found in the depths of Black Pike with two gunshot wounds to the head.” She glances up at me with her lips pursed thin, glaring at me inquisitively, gauging the shock that’s plastered to my face. “Care to explain how your best friend’s mother ended up dead in your coal mines, Josh?”
Two fuckin’ gunshot wounds to the fuckin’ head? Fuckin’ hell is goin’ on?” I cup my cuffed hands over my face, trying to steady my breathing. This has to be one sick fuckin’ joke.
“You gotta take control of what she took from you, Josh. You just ain’t been the same since she started her fuckin’ games,” Drew says.
“Fuck off, Drew! I’ll deal with this shit on my own. Don’t wanna do things your way. That ain’t me.” I spit at him through gritted teeth. I know Drew’s pissed. Things have been fucked since he caught me chained to Evelyn’s bed with her ridin’ my dick two years ago. He knew then what had caused me to change so much and had been tryin’ to recover the old me since. But the old Josh was dead and gone. I was a completely different guy. I was broody and angry, humiliated of the secrets that burdened me. I didn’t want to let anyone in. Fuckin’ hell, I just wanted to die. The time in my life when fuckin’ pussy should be the center of my universe, I was pushin’ every sweet ass that approached me away. I hated sex, the thought of it made me sick. What should be pleasurable and erotic had become a disgusting, gut-wrenching act in my mind. Fighting was my release. It was my euphoria to escape my demons, to discharge the pent-up hatred I felt. I craved control, refused to ever let another person touch me without permission, and refused to ever fall at the hands of someone else.
“You want fuckin’ revenge? Take that shit! Give her a fuckin’ taste of the pain she inflicted on you!” he shouts in my face, the scent of bourbon heavy on his breath.
“Drew, you saw how outta control I got with Clay at the party last night. Damn bastard runnin’ off at the mouth.” I shake my head in disbelief. One guy shouldn’t feel this unhinged. I need fuckin’ help, not revenge. “I don’t know that I could stop with her. My restraint is diminishing.” He hasn’t let up on this shit for months. Tellin’ me that retribution is the only peace I’ll find from my abuse. I know he’s fuckin’ right. I want to see the fuckin’ fear in her eyes as I control her, taking back what she took from me. But I don’t want to be that man.
“Who the hell’s always had your ass, Josh? Either you get your revenge on that twisted bitch, or I’ll fuckin’ do it myself,” Drew bites out.
“Not your revenge to seek, Drew.”
“Yeah, true. But when the hell’s your bitch ass gonna set shit straight? I’ll be there in case shit gets heavy, brother. Elliott will be outta town again this weekend, and you know Chase is never home. It’s the perfect time.”
“I didn’t fuckin’ shoot her!” I snap, shooting up from the chair, pacing the floor nervously. I’ve done some bad shit in my life, I’m one depraved bastard. That bitch deserved to die, but I didn’t shoot her. “Brother? Fuckin’ hell he was!”
“JOSH! Sit down before I call a CO!” Alisa yells, but I continue to pace, my chest tightening with strife, confusion marring my face.
I snap my head toward Alisa and Agent Ball-Sack, and with a malice-laced timbre, I say calmly, “Revenge. You wanna know what the hell happened to Evelyn Hager? It was fuckin’ revenge.” I seethe, and my skin flames. “But I didn’t shoot her.”
“Revenge, huh? Well, why don’t you tell us about that, Josh? It seems you have enough motivation to seek revenge on Drew Varney and James McCoy as it stands. Let us help with that, legally,” Alisa replies, intrigued.
“What the fuck’s in it for me?”
“Depends on what you tell us and what charges we can slap Varney and McCoy with,” Agent Ball-Sack replies, stoically.
I chuckle, “Well y’all best get fuckin’ comfortable, because we’ll be here a long while.” I kick the chair back and sit down, prepared to finally unleash my demons from the darkest level of Hell…every fuckin’ one of ‘em.
“Thursday, October 16th. Federal Agents Dylan Warren and Alisa Pack interrogating Josh Moore, inmate at the Hatfield County Detention Center in regards to missing person’s case H01-S765T. Mr. Moore has consented to the recording of this interview and has agreed to comply with the nature of our investigation,” Agent Ball-Sack says into the recorder, then places it in the center of the table.
“Mr. Moore, do you recognize the woman in the photograph?” Alisa inquires.
Repeating myself for the sole purpose of the recording, I reply, “Yes, that is Evelyn Hager.”
“How do you know Evelyn Hager?”
“Evelyn was a family friend.” I pause briefly as the bile crawls up my throat. “And I was sexually assaulted by her for nearly a year.”
Alisa’s mouth drops open wide as Agent Ball-Sack’s brows furrow deep into the bridge of his nose in confusion. “I’m sorry, do you care to repeat that? You claim you were sexually assaulted by Evelyn Hager?”
I reply with a quick yes.
“How old were you when this sexual assault began?” he asks.
“I was fifteen.”
Agent Ball-Sack looks at me doubtfully, then sighs in suspicion. “Ah, I see…” He nods, then removes his suit jacket, neatly hanging it on the back of his chair. “You’re a big man, Mr. Moore. I’d imagine you matured early, was obviously very athletic in your younger years. Do you mind to enlighten me on how a thirty-eight-year-old woman, weighing no more than one-hundred-twenty-five pounds sexually assaulted a fifteen-year-old boy?”
The very fuckin’ reason I always kept this shit to myself. I knew that nobody would ever believe my claim, and honestly, I was too ashamed that I let the relationship get that far. That I let it happen to begin with. “Well, let’s shove double D’s and a bare pussy in your face at fifteen and see if you walk away still a fuckin’ virgin! Oh, but I’m sure your uptight ass prefers dick, huh, Ball-Sack?” I yell, my fist crashing down on the chipped Formica table.
“Girls, girls, you’re both pretty! Now can you stop with the pissing contest and please continue with the interrogation?” Alisa cuts in, quickly realizing that the interrogation is going south fast.
“No, I’ll tell ya what. Fuck you”—I point at Alisa then to her prick partner—“and fuck you and the white horse your tight ass rode in on. I’m fuckin’ done with your bullshit. You’re the FBI, figure this shit out all on your own. Call my CO,” I yell, shoving myself away from the table.
“Josh, please. I really need your cooperation on this,” Alisa urges, but I have no interest in what they’re offering. I’ve accepted my fate.
“Fuck. You.” My decision is made. Why the hell should I help them build a case against Drew when I’ll only be diggin’ my sorry ass deeper into a bottomless pit. To hell with ‘em all!
Alisa and Ag
ent Ball-Sack collect their files, stuffing them inside their briefcases, then stand from their chairs. Removing a card from her jacket pocket, she slides it across the table in my direction. “Josh, I understand the betrayal you feel from Drew, James… hell even me. But I wouldn’t be here asking for your assistance if it weren’t pertinent to the case. Take some time to think about it. I can’t make you any promises in regards to your sentencing, but I will put in a word with the DA if you decide to help me put Drew Varney away.”
They exit the room quickly, the heavy steel door slamming shut, echoing a stark silence against the crumbling walls.
Rain splashes against the window, gray clouds hanging low in the sky. My jaw ticks with impatience waiting for Dr. Hampton to arrive for another therapy session. She’s late…she’s never late. Always here waiting, but today she’s late. I crack my knuckles, trying to relieve the frustration building in my joints.
She’s warranted me a bit of freedom as of late. Since I’ve managed to contain my temper during our sessions, regardless of how stressful the moment may become, she’s allowed me to remain unrestrained. The doctor-patient relationship is growing as time passes. I’m beginning to feel dependent on her which is foreign to me.
After the turn of events over the last few weeks—the divorce from Savannah, to learning that Evelyn Hager didn’t die at my hands, I feel completely unraveled, and I’m eager to spill my black, tainted truths to Dr. Hampton. I think the darkness has plagued me for so long that finally releasing my demons feels almost freeing.
The door clicks open and Dr. Hampton enters, flashing me a gentle smile. She takes her time placing her things at her desk then retrieves her notepad and pen from her briefcase before settling in the chair adjacent from me. She taps her pen against the notebook lazily, and my nerves pick at the annoying sound, frustration growing by the second. A thick air of tension hangs between us, always waiting for me to free the willing demons.
