Fluorescence: The Complete Tetralogy

by P. Anastasia

  “Hey, pretty boy!” Splitter. His voice was an awkwardly higher pitch than I’d suspect to hear coming from such a husky guy.

  I ignored him.

  “You got a girl back home?” he asked, pressing his face between the bars. “I’m talking to you, Mexico.”

  “No. I don’t.” I looked up at him and sneered. “Leave me alone.” I turned away and went back to shuffling a worn deck of playing cards Herman had lent me. There were “water stains” on the edges, but those were the least of my worries.

  “You might think you’re smart, Mexico, but I run the show here!”

  I laid a card down face up and six more in a row face down, setting up a game of solitaire.

  “You’re in jail. You don’t run shit,” I replied, not looking up from the cards.

  Herman grimaced. “Careful, bro,” he mumbled. “You don’t wanna get Splitter pissed.”

  I smirked. “He already is, isn’t he?”

  I knew guys like Splitter. They were all talk and when that didn’t work, they were all jabs and punches. Ignore them—you’re a dead man. Confront them—you’re a dead man. I wasn’t about to end up on the bottom of the pecking order.

  Once you hit bottom, you’re everyone’s bitch.

  And I am nobody’s bitch.

  Chapter 22

  5:30AM. “Chow time” they called it.

  I rolled over on my bunk and groaned. A headache pounded in my forehead. My shoulders ached and there was a tightness in my chest from tossing all night. Sleeping on the ground would have been more comfortable.

  I sat up and put my feet on the floor.

  Herman poked his head out over the side of his bunk above me. “If I were you, I’d go back to sleep,” he said.

  “Why?” My stomach grumbled. “I’m really hungry.”

  “One thing you’ll learn here, David, is sleep is more valuable than food.”

  I thought on it a moment. “Hmm.” It made sense. Sort of. I rubbed my tired eyes with my palms and blinked a few times to bring everything back into focus. Splitter was shuffling his way out of his cell and heading off to breakfast. With him gone, maybe I could get some rest. He was a noisy night owl and the place didn’t have a lights out policy.

  “Thanks, Herman.”

  He lay back down and I did the same.

  About an hour and a half later, I awoke to a hand waving something around in front of my face.

  “Hey! What!?” I sat up and snatched the thing from Herman.

  A croissant? A quick sniff and a gentle squeeze. It was fresh.

  “It ain’t poisoned, I swear,” he said, smiling, though he had few teeth to do so with.

  “I believe you, actually.” I chuckled. “Thanks. What do I owe you for this?”

  “Complimentary. Today only.” He laughed and tore his teeth into another croissant he was holding. “When you get your job, you can pay me back,” he said, crumbs escaping his mouth.

  I was supposed to be given a job to do soon. A whopping $0.36 an hour, but meals—aside from specialties from the commissary (like the croissant)—were provided.

  “You alright?” Herman asked, motioning to my knee while I chewed the last bite of breakfast.

  I couldn’t stop twitching. Nicotine withdrawal.

  “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

  “So what do they got you for?” Herman hopped down from his bunk and bent over to touch his toes in a stretch.

  “Everything and nothing at the same time.”

  “Oh?” He lifted both arms over his head and bent to one side and then came back and bent to the other.

  “They think I kidnapped my own daughter and six witnesses are claiming they saw yellow light coming out of my chest during a police confrontation.”

  “Well, damn, and I thought having a glowing reputation was only an expression.”

  Herman made me laugh. I liked that.

  After a friendly game of poker, we watched the news from the tiny television in our cell and talked about nothing for a while. Turns out Herman had a daughter, too, but she had graduated from college and moved to another state a long time ago. He hadn’t seen her since he and his wife separated seven years back. I didn’t ask him what he was in for. I didn’t want to know. He was the only ally I had at the moment and I didn’t need a reason to question that.

  Pembrook had open door hours during the day, which allowed select inmates (including Herman and me) to leave the confines of their tiny cells and access designated areas of the facility.

  I got up to stretch my legs and took a walk out into the main courtyard. It was about the size of a little league baseball field, and there was a concrete wall wrapping around the entire yard that stood about ten feet tall. There were guard outposts on both ends and electrified, barbed wire strung across the top like Christmas lights.

  Some jails had gyms, but this place… all it had was a flat of concrete with some benches and a small basketball court set up on the other side. Guys on the benches were smoking and talking. Seeing puffs of cigarette smoke made me antsy.

  Ripped guys were playing basketball at the court and a few dozen others were jogging around the perimeter. They had the right idea.

  If there was something I learned on the streets, it was to maintain your body. Work hard. Fight harder. Staying in good shape was the only way to stay alive on the streets. And in a place like this.

  I found a quiet corner near the wall, rolled up my sleeves and flexed my hands a few times, cracking my knuckles. Then I dropped down and started doing pushups. Fifteen. Twenty-five. I rested a minute and then finished with a second set. My hands ached from grains of concrete pressing into them, so I stood and brushed them off.

  Exercise would help with the nicotine cravings, too. I’d kept myself in decent condition over the years—sometimes by choice, other times by necessity. You don’t need to throw a strong punch to put someone in their place, you just need to throw a good one. One that makes contact, and to do that, you have to be quick.

  To survive, I had to be faster. Stronger. I had to keep myself on the tip of my toes and at the top of my game. These guys were thieves and cutthroats. And if I didn’t give them a reason not to mess with me, I could be dead before trial day—whenever that was gonna be. I hadn’t gotten a date set yet. It had barely been forty-eight hours since I’d been taken in.

  I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my sleeve and began jogging along with the rest of the group already doing laps.

  What were the others doing without me? Were they trying to find me?

  Of course, I—the Tracker—had to get my ass thrown in jail. A whole lot of good I was doing tracking myself.

  I passed a few inmates and sped up, pushing the air from my lungs and sucking it in as my feet pounded against the ground.

  I used to jog every morning back home. Gave me time to think.

  I was tired of running from the law. I just wanted to settle down somewhere and—

  “You!” Someone grabbed a hold of the back of my shirt as I passed. They jerked me back and I lost my balance and slammed into the ground.

  I shook my head, disoriented.

  “This is a no passing zone,” Splitter said, leaning over me with a crooked grin on his face.

  Crap.

  “I’m not bothering you,” I grumbled, pushing back onto my elbows and scrambling to get back on my feet.

  He shoved me in the chest with a massive elbow and knocked me back down before I could stand. “I didn’t say you could get up!”

  Two other heavily-built men surrounded me and my adrenaline went into overdrive. I rolled over and pushed myself up off the ground as fast as I could and made a few feet of space between us.

  “I don’t want trouble,” I said, bringing clenched fists up to my chin. “I don’t want to fight any of you guys, but I will if I have to.” I adjusted my stance so I was steadier on my feet.

  Splitter laughed and his two henchme
n boxed me in.

  Damn it.

  “Why are you harassing me?” I hissed. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”

  “I’m just putting you in your place, Mexico,” Splitter sneered. “You disrespect me, you pay the price.”

  I glanced over his muscular shoulders at the guard post in the distance. They weren’t watching us. Herman was still inside somewhere and the other inmates couldn’t have given a shit less about me. They were all going about their business, some of the other joggers even passing us by like we were having a friendly conversation.

  I glanced at the guys surrounding me. One was blind in one eye. The other one looked like he could skin a deer with his bare hands.

  Stay calm.

  Be faster.

  Be smarter.

  Splitter made brief eye contact with the guy behind me and nodded. I ducked and spun around, raising my arm to deflect a fist aiming for my ribs. A swift kick to the knee sent the half-blind guy down with a crack and a moan of pain.

  “Look, man,” I said to Splitter and his pal. “I’ve been through some shit you can’t even begin to imagine in that tiny brain of yours. I have no idea where the hell my daughter is right now, the girl I thought I had feelings for just sold me out, and I haven’t had a goddamn cigarette in two days. Don’t get on my ass, because I’m not afraid to put you in your place if I need to.”

  “Randy, get up,” Splitter yelled at the guy rolling around on the ground holding his knee. He shoved him in the back with his foot.

  “I think he shattered his kneecap,” the other guy said with a grimace.

  “I was gonna spend the rest of my day picking flowers.” Splitter laughed. “But if you insist on getting your ass kicked, I guess I must oblige.”

  I planted my feet again and Splitter came at me like a raging bull. A fist swung at my head and I ducked. A second one at my ribs and I dodged backward.

  Splitter roared in frustration. “Quit moving around!”

  Faster.

  He came at me again and I darted out of the way, leaving him free to bash his hand into the perimeter wall. He howled in pain and shook out his hand. Blood flecks splashed onto his uniform.

  I backed away.

  “My name’s David,” I said, making distance between us. “And I don’t want shit to do with you.”

  I veered around and picked up speed to head back inside.

  My guard was down for a split second as I ran and someone blindsided me with a punch from the side. I went hurling to the ground. I shook my head and opened and closed my jaw. It cracked and popped back into place. Hurt like hell, too.

  I came onto my elbows and someone’s arm swung around my neck and put me into a chokehold from behind. I had no strength or balance with concrete in my face, and I couldn’t get away from the arm squeezing my windpipe.

  Dark spots flickered in and out of sight, and I writhed and jerked to try to get away. Whoever was holding me flipped me over onto my back, forcing me to watch Splitter throw a punch that landed against my cheek. The impact vibrated through my skull, blurring my vision for an instant.

  He straddled my legs and wound up for another swing. Dizzy, I kept fighting, trying to wriggle my way out of their grasp before I blacked out.

  “What the hell?” His jaw dropped. “What the hell is that!?” Splitter shot off me and backed away.

  “Woah! My arm’s burning!” The guy who had me in the chokehold let up, dropping me onto my back.

  I coughed hard, wheezing to get air in as I sat up.

  There was a sensation of heat welling inside my chest and I looked down to see my fluorescence licking up through the top button of my orange shirt.

  “What is that?” Splitter’s cohort asked, shaking.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, slurring the words as I struggled to peel myself up from the ground. My jaw hurt. I swiped the back of my hand across my cheek and wiped the blood on my pants. A single step sent a jolt of pain through me. I cringed and pressed a hand over my lower abdomen where a sharper pain mounted.

  “What the hell are you?” Splitter asked, making space between us as I stumbled past him and his friend.

  I spat blood onto the concrete. “You don’t want to know.”

  Chapter 23

  Aw, damn it! I was bleeding.

  In the sanctity of my cell, I unbuttoned my shirt and peeled soggy fabric away from my skin. A jagged gash split the flesh open just below my rib cage. They’d stabbed me with something during the struggle. Through all the adrenaline, I hadn’t even noticed.

  I wasn’t gushing blood, but it was an unsightly wound. Muscle tissue looked nicked, but the rest was superficial. It would heal alright on its own. I didn’t feel like crying for help. I wasn’t the only guy there with a blood stain.

  I lay back on my bunk and lifted my arms up to tuck them behind my head. It hurt to do that; the skin stretched over my ribcage as my arms rose. I changed my mind and dropped my arms to my sides.

  Day one. Already got my ass handed to me.

  . . .

  This morning, Splitter walked past and didn’t even blink in my direction. Seeing my light earlier had scared him, and that was okay with me. I spent the remainder of the morning resting. Mentally and physically fatigued. I wanted Lucy back. I wanted to know everyone was safe. Even… Kareena.

  Damn it, I was pissed off at her for stabbing me in the back, but why couldn’t I keep hating her? Why did I have to lie there on my bunk in my empty cell and start remembering what it was like to spend a night with her? Even if it was only that one time.

  She was beautiful. The scent of her skin. Her stunning green eyes. The silky long hair that shimmered in the sunlight. Gorgeous full lips, too often slathered with bright red lipstick. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been with other girls like her. I had.

  But… they weren’t her.

  Around noon, a guard alerted me that I was to be escorted to the onsite medical facility.

  “What for?” I asked, my heartbeat racing as he clapped cuffs on my ankles again.

  “Something about gathering more test samples,” the guard replied.

  More?

  I was walked halfway across the facility, wrists and ankles cuffed. Down a long white hallway and then past a series of what appeared to be empty classrooms. At another desk, the guard took me by the arm and tugged me over to the receptionist, who proceeded to sift through a stack of folders.

  She passed one over the top of the desk to me and the guard had me sit on one of the chairs in the waiting room.

  The room was surprisingly empty. And quiet.

  I glanced over at my escort and looked back down at my hands.

  Less than ten minutes later, the receptionist called for me and directed both of us into a tiny room with glass and metal cabinets all along the walls. Each had some kind of electronic lock and keypad attached to its door. A large microscope was set up on one side and a wall of tiny vials and colored Petri dishes were stacked up beside it. There wasn’t a blood pressure monitor anywhere to be seen. No stethoscope. No tongue depressors in little jars on the table. It looked more like a lab than a doctor’s office.

  “The doctor will be here in a moment,” the receptionist said, then stepped out and closed the door behind her.

  Through the frosted glass window in the door, I saw the doctor approach. She knocked and entered.

  “Hello, David,” Dr. Cortez said with a small, friendly smile. “Can you sit down, please?” She pointed to the padded examination table in the center of the room. The guard walked me closer to it and I sat on the edge.

  “Why am I here?”

  “You can wait outside,” she said to the guard. He acknowledged her request and let himself out. He didn’t go far, though. I could see the side of his head while he waited just outside the door.

  “I need to ask you a few questions,” she said.

  “I thought you worked in forensics, not as a medical docto
r.”

  “I do, but that’s also part of why I requested you here. Some of your test results were skewed. It may have been a bad sample. I’m not sure, but we need to run them again.” She looked me over quickly and her brow furrowed with concern. “Speaking of blood, where’s all of that coming from?” She pointed at my side. “Your ribs? What happened to you?”

  “A scuffle. Nothing to worry about.”

  “In my line of work, blood is always something to worry about.”

  A forensics joke? I almost laughed. Almost.

  “Let me take a look at it while you’re here.” She tugged a pair of plastic gloves from a nearby box and put them on.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “David, please. I’m trying to help. This place is crawling with bacteria. You might have walked in, but with an untreated wound oozing blood like that, you’ll be lucky if you crawl out.”

  I huffed a breath, defeated by her nagging. At the same time, she was right about the living conditions.

  I unbuttoned my shirt and parted it just below my ribs. With my cuffs still on, I couldn’t actually remove my arm from my sleeve, but at least she could see the gash in my side.

  “Wow.” She squinted, peeling the flap of my shirt to the side. “This is some dirty handiwork. Any idea what the weapon was?”

  “I didn’t see.” I shrugged and it hurt. “Probably paperclips and a plastic knife or something. Who knows.”

  “When was the last time you had a tetanus booster?”

  “A what?”

  “I’ll take that as never. I’ll leave a note to make sure they give you one.” She turned to her desk and scribbled something down on a sheet of yellow paper in my folder.

  “Again, forensics?”

  “Yes, but before I got this job, I worked part-time for the city health department giving vaccines. Shingles. Influenza. That type of stuff. But when you work in a place like this, you learn a little of everything. You start making yourself useful. I don’t like the daily grind. Get samples. Test samples. Compare samples. Fill out paperwork.” She paused. “Mostly fill out paperwork. It might be riskier, but I like working with the inmates when I can. You wouldn’t believe the number of guys put in here for weird crap that turns out to be someone else’s doing, and then they get pinned for something they hadn’t even been arrested for. And then there are the few ones I’ve gotten out. The wrongly accused.”