What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  The strange softness for my father that had overcome me quickly disappeared as I remembered the truth about him. I could see him, his large hands clamped around a defenseless man’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. The man fought, then finally slowed as his lips turned blue and his eyes bulged. Did my father ever think of stopping? Did he hate the feeling of draining life one second at a time from another living, struggling to breathe human being?

  Or had he been like my mother, enjoying every second of it.

  I slammed my head back against my pillow, trying to chase away the thoughts. I hated the anger that boiled inside. I wanted to hurt them. I wanted them to stop pretending. I wanted to see the true monsters they were.

  Was I a monster too, for wanting that?

  I could hear the snoring of my father rise up from the bunk beneath. Climbing down, I silently paced the floor. My bare feet softly slapped the concrete, becoming more ice-cold with every step.

  They created me. I was a part of them. Was I doomed to the same insanity I saw engulf my mother and shroud my father? The thoughts hurt my head. I could feel the headache grow, banging angrily on the inside of my throbbing head. Laying down flat on my back, I let the coolness of the floor chill me. I welcomed the shivers that fought against the always present sweat.

  “942B, is everything alright?”

  I blinked my eyes. The nurse’s voice sounded harsh and loud, causing me to crinkle my face up in pain.

  “Uh, headache,” I said, barely loud enough.

  I heard the nurse shuffle some papers. Her foot tapped the ground impatiently as the papers flipped. “I’m sorry 942B, but you are not approved for any sort of pain medication.”

  “It’s just a headache, can’t you just −”

  “I am sorry 942B, but you are not −”

  “Okay, I get it.” I wiped my hand over my face, my headache flaring.

  I heard the nurse shuffle outside. “Is everything else alright tonight?”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. “It’s just great.”

  The three cups were shoved under the door. Before I could even look, the nurse hurried away, her shadow disappearing down the walk. Angry, I swiped at the cups, spilling all three across the ground. The pills rolled into the shadows, scattering across the cell floor. Laying one hand across my eyes, I let the darkness engulf me.

  “Millie? You awake?”

  Without moving, I reached and wiggled my fingers underneath the door. I could hear Jude crouch down outside. The light of his flashlight shot into my cell.

  “Is everything alright?” he asked, his voice suddenly panicked.

  Rolling onto my side, I looked through the opening. Jude’s face was lit by the light, his eyes searching and worried.

  “I’m fine,” I said, trying to smile. “Killer headache.”

  “Here,” Jude said, fishing into his pocket. He pulled out a little plastic container, dumping a white pill into the palm of his hand. I reached out and took it. Without asking, I threw it into my mouth and swallowed.

  “Jude.” My voice came out even and solid. “My parents are criminals.”

  I could hear Jude laugh. “And you just realized this?”

  “No, Jude, really. They are crazy. They should be in here, and they should never leave.” I swallowed hard. “They are monsters.”

  No response. I could hear Jude breathing, so I knew he was still there. I let the silence grow between us. I wanted so badly to voice the fears that now ran rampant in my mind. I wanted to scream out my anger. I wanted to cry in heavy tears my utter disappointment.

  Instead, I just lay there.

  Jude finally cleared his throat. In a weak voice, he tentatively asked, “So… have you been studying?”

  I nodded, then realized that he couldn’t see me. “Yes,” I said simply.

  “Good.” I could hear him squirm in his spot. Something was wrong. He cleared his throat again. “Millie, they changed my schedule. This is my last night on night patrol. I had been hoping… you know… to catch up a bit before you disappear into the Nation. But, well, it looks like tonight is it.”

  “Oh.” I suddenly felt empty again. My headache was disappearing thanks to the pill Jude had given me. Now I just felt numb.

  “You be good, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “And you better pass that test with some crazy flying colors.”

  I felt a chuckle tickle my lips. “You know I will.”

  Jude took in a deep breath, leaning his head against the door. “I’m going to miss you, Millie. You’re a good friend you know… Jail Baby and all.”

  “I’ll miss you too, Jude. GF and all.”

  In the distance I could hear the sound of boots. Jude sighed, then sat up. I could hear him part his lips to say something, then snap them back shut. Without another word, he stood and began to walk away. I pushed up against the door, trying to catch a glimpse of him through the small opening along the bottom. I only saw the beam of his flashlight as he swung it back and forth, pausing at each cell to shine it in.

  Just as he disappeared from sight, I faintly heard his voice, lightly humming.

  I crawled back into my bunk, my eyes suddenly heavy and burning.

  I begged for the fog to take me. As if to spite me, it hid out of my reach. Everything was messed up now. I should be feeling elated to be so close to my release day. Instead, I had found that my entire life I had been sleeping above monsters. I would never talk to Jude again. Orrin was only a cell or two away, but always unreachable. Every one of the people I had let in as friends I had always kept at an untouchable distance, and now they were about to disappear.

  Tears stung my eyes and I angrily wiped them away, turning on my side to face the dark wall. Crying wouldn’t get to get me anywhere. Letting out a shuddering sigh, I felt the words of Jude’s song form on my lips.

  “And any time you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders…” I softly sang into the wall. I could feel my voice crack, but kept going, the words burned into my head from the time Jude and I had laid on the ground just the other night and played it over and over.

  Before I knew it, I was asleep.

  | | |

  I wish I could say I was strong. In the world I grew up in, a person had to know how to act strong. I knew how to throw on the tough face, how to push through the crowds, how to put the glare in my eyes that warned others to leave me alone. But inside, every time I found myself forced to act strong, I shook in utter fright. My heart sped and my eyes threatened at any moment to leak the tears that built so strong behind them. I could only act for so long.

  The next day, I decided that acting strong was the last thing I wanted to do.

  I could see the worried looks on my parent’s faces as they got ready for their new jobs that morning. I still hadn’t spoken a word to them. As they dressed and prepared to go, I just laid in my bed and stared at the ceiling. They kept glancing at me, obviously trying to decide if talking was even worth the try. I hoped that my cold presence gave them the answer.

  Maybe I was acting immature. I was sure that is what Dr. Eriks would have said. She would say that even though they were convicted criminals, they were my parents, and blocking them out mere days before I would leave was causing more damage than good. I didn’t care about damage. At that moment, as I lay frozen on my bunk, I didn’t care about anything.

  That was my day. I didn’t bother to eat. Or even stand. I just laid on my bed and listened to the prison. Everything was ticking, every footstep and thud another second gone. There was no music. Just the clock of prison life ticking slowly until I was finally gone.

  I fell back asleep before my parents even returned. No dreams came to me, nothing but blackness and silence. When I woke up again, the prison was already awake and moving. My body hurt worse than ever before, the entire day spent laying on my back on the cement bunk causing my muscles to lock up in pain.

  I slowly climbed down off the bunk, willing m
y knees to bend and my back to straighten. Standing in the center of my cell, I squatted up and down a few times, feeling the joints pop and protest with every bend. My neck felt stiff, my eyes suddenly throbbing.

  Realizing that my only other set of clothing was still dirty, I pulled on my old sneakers and bent down to the bottom of the bookshelf with a groan. All of the dirty clothes were gone. My mother hadn’t done the laundry at all for the last year, if not longer. My breath caught in my throat. I knew I should have felt relieved. The woman really didn’t need me. Instead, I felt a sudden sting of tears threaten my eyes.

  My notebook sat near the edge of my bunk, its worn pages hanging over, threatening to fall out and scatter across the cell floor. I grabbed it and flipped it open to my schedule.

  “Crap,” I hissed, looking at the scribble of writing telling me that today was my last appointment with Dr. Eriks. And it was about to begin.

  I shoved my journal under my pillow, ran my fingers quickly through my mess of hair, then booked it down the walkway. A few inmates, lounging along the walls or in their open cells, glanced up at me as I hurried past. No one ever hurried here. There was nothing ever worth hurrying for, aside from the lock of your cell door at lights out.

  Luckily the hallway was empty as I ran toward Dr. Eriks’ office. I paused just long enough for the guard at the hallway door to scan my bracelet. It felt like it took forever for the little device to beep.

  I had no idea what time it actually was. I usually timed my day mentally from the moment the lights flashed on. When I missed that one event, I always felt off for the rest of the day. I silently begged that I wasn’t late this time. Nothing would look worse than showing up late for the last appointment.

  I should have known better.

  I abruptly drew to a stop in front of the secretary’s desk. She didn’t even bother to look up at me, just waved her hand to motion me to go ahead in. I thought I could see her glance briefly out of the corner of her eye at me as I passed, but I never looked back to see.

  “You are late, Millie.”

  My heart sank. I could feel my pulse racing, throbbing in my head and chest. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest at the sudden burst of movement and I could hear a distant ringing in the back of my head. Clenching my eyes shut a moment, I nodded. “I’m sorry Dr. Eriks. I overslept.”

  I slowly peeked my eyes back open. Dr. Eriks was eyeing me. “I told you to bring your journal today. Where is it?”

  “I…uh…” It was my last session, and I was already messing up. I bit the inside of my cheek before looking down to the ground. “I forgot it.”

  “Sit down.”

  I ducked into my usual seat, thankful to see that there were no added chairs today. Dr. Eriks deftly picked up her notepad then took her usual seat across from me, crossing her legs under her stiff brown skirt. I found myself wondering if she owned anything else in her wardrobe other than that brown skirt. In every meeting I had with her, she always wore the same type of dull brown skirt that fit just tight enough to show her lack of hips. Looking down at my own clothes, I took in my worn jeans and crumpled white shirt, dirty from wear. They were the same items of clothing I wore every single day, without choice. I suddenly longed for the choice, the feeling sweeping over me in a way I had never felt before. As I looked back up at her skirt, I made a mental note to never buy a white t-shirt for myself again.

  “How are you doing today, Millie?”

  I shrugged. “Alright I guess.”

  “I see that you failed to attend any meals yesterday.”

  My mouth went dry. “I… I wasn’t hungry.” As if denying my statement, my stomach growled loudly. Dr. Eriks raised an eyebrow, watching me closely with her lips pursed. I lowered my head. “I wasn’t hungry,” I repeated softly.

  “Millie, are you angry at your parents?”

  I stared at my hands. I already knew what she would say. I had already repeated it over and over to myself the last day, and it still didn’t make any difference. Without saying anything, I let my head slowly nod.

  “Good. You should be.”

  I wondered if I had heard her correctly. Lifting my eyes, I saw no humor on her face. Just a perfect mask of stern seriousness.

  “Your parents are criminals, Millie. They killed two men and attempted to murder the last. If he hadn’t been able to get away and find authorities, they may have gotten away with it. You have watched your parents. You know they are… strange.” Dr. Eriks flipped open her notepad. “You have told me that you are the only one who does the laundry; that you must remind your own mother to bathe herself. Your father rarely speaks. At our last meeting, you stated you were ‘needed here.’ Do you still feel this way?”

  I couldn’t answer. I could sense the fog creeping in, and I wanted so badly to dive into it and disappear from this sudden interrogation. Dr. Eriks watched me a moment, then picked up a slim folder that sat on the table next to her. She pulled out a paper, skimming it for a moment with her eyes before looking back at me. With one hand, her eyes still locked on me, she pulled the table around, setting it between us.

  “Your mother is unstable. She suffers from self-imposed ‘amnesia,’ psychosis, and bi-polar disorder. I am sure that you have seen the moments, where her reality slips.” She paused. When her voice spoke again, it came out gentle, almost soothing. “This is the only safe place for her, Millie. Spokane sees to all her needs, while guaranteeing that her crimes cannot be repeated out in the Nation.”

  Dr. Eriks reached into the folder and pulled out a small stack of photos. She laid them out in front of me on the small table, one at a time. The first was my father’s mug shot. His hair looked as disheveled as ever, but his face was young and barely hinted with stubble. His eyes were bloodshot, heavy with dark bags. The next was my mother’s mug shot. She was beautiful. Her skin glowed. Even though it was knotted with twigs, her hair somehow managed to still flow in honey waves around her slim face. Her eyes, though focused and intense, were blood shot, the stain of tears still evident on her cheeks.

  Dr. Eriks watched me carefully as she laid down the next photo. A shot of a knife laying on the ground, a number propped next to it. Dark blood covered the dirty knife. I could feel my stomach twist, but I couldn’t close my eyes.

  Another photo. This one of a man, his face a chalky blue, bruises dark and painful around his swollen throat. Dr. Eriks carefully laid down the last photo, her hand resting on it a moment before uncovering it for my eyes to see.

  A man lay sprawled on the ground, dirt smudged over his body, twigs stuck in his hair. His face was frozen in a grimace, his eyes wide open. The rest of his body was red. Dark, blood red. I tore my eyes away, biting hard against the nausea that fought to take me over.

  “Your parents are criminals, Millie,” Dr. Eriks said slowly, carefully emphasizing each word. “But you are not. You owe these criminals nothing. You owe the Nation everything. The Nation needs you. You are good and strong and loyal. Aren’t you, Millie?”

  I still clenched my eyes shut. My lips pressed harder together, biting back the waves of nausea that beat against every inch of my body. I barely managed a nod. The soft shuffle of papers let me know that Dr. Eriks had put away the photos. I found myself silently grateful that I hadn’t eaten for the last day. I inched my eyes open.

  “I hope you have studied hard for the Exam tomorrow, Millie. It would be a shame to find my assessment of you has been wrong.” Dr. Eriks sat back and watched me, the smile growing on her face. She looked so smug, so strangely content.

  “Is there anything you would like to discuss, Millie?”

  I shook my head.

  “Anything about the fogs?”

  My eyes shot up to meet hers. I had never told her about the moments the fog took me over.

  Dr. Eriks leaned forward in her chair, her thin wrists dangling loosely off her knees. “Your mother experiences moments where, as she says, a ‘fog’ takes over and sets her free. It would be natural for you to notice.
Maybe even experience them yourself. It is simply your subconscious, in its untrained way, trying to ‘protect’ you. But you know you need no protection, from us, don’t you Millie?”

  Her eyes pierced into me, as if daring me to argue.

  I nodded.

  Fogs. My mother had fogs. My crazy mother, who murdered a man with her own hands and now escaped into her own world in a snap, had fogs. And so did I. My mouth went dry.

  Dr. Eriks grinned once more, then settled back in her chair. “You may go, Millie.”

  Without a pause, I stood and hurried out the door. I could feel those photos behind me. They taunted me, screaming at me to look them in the face. I needed to get as far away from them as possible. As I walked through the door, I looked up to see Carl standing in my path.

  “What…” I could feel my tongue freeze stupidly in my mouth.

  The secretary glanced up at me, then over to Carl. “I called for escort again. The last session is always the hardest.” Her voice sounded doubtful. I could see her watching Carl, her brows slowly knitting together. “But maybe −”

  “No,” Carl cut off her. “Procedure is procedure. Besides, I’m already here.” He grinned at me, then moved aside and beckoned me forward. “Well, let’s get going.”

  The secretary watched me walk past her desk, her face still knotted in sudden anxiety. I looked away from her, walking quickly past and headed down the hall without pausing. I had always thought that walking away from this office for the last time would be liberating. But now as I moved down the hall I felt thicker and slower than ever before.

  Carl hurried to walk next to me. As we rounded a corner and finally disappeared from the secretary’s stare, Carl grabbed my arm and slammed me hard into the nearest doorway.

  8

  My faced smacked hard into the metal door before I even had time to throw my hands up. I blinked. A small grunt escaped my lips as my head spun madly, my cheek already throbbing in instant pain. Carl grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around, driving my back into the wall of the doorway.