Strangeways

by Matthew Samm

  He was led into the prison cell, completely blind, but under his own steam. His right arm hung loosely, and Alix remembered the hammer fist that had crashed through his defenses and broken the collarbone.

  “We’ve done all we can for him. If you want him to live, you better do something,” one of their captors said, a twisted, jagged scar running down his cheek. He threw Isaac into the room, his beaten legs struggling to keep up with the momentum, as he thought of the pain in his arm and face and how it would be exacerbated by a hard tumble to the solid rock. He made it to the rack and collapsed onto it, making sure to keep his arm secure and above his body resting down his side.

  Alix couldn’t easily tell with his eyes closed, but it looked like he was grimacing in agony, as his body stilled, and the full measure of his injuries began inflicting themselves on his senses.

  “I hope they taught you some first aid in that Warden training’ of yours,” Scar man said. “If they didn’t, I don’t think he’s got much chance. He looks bad to me. You better hope it’s just a concussion. If he’s bleeding in his head, he’s done for.”

  Alix agreed and noted the man’s sincerity. He was crude and salt of the earth. There was no malice in what he said, but no tact either. He called it like he saw it without any sentimentality. He didn’t care that he was a kid. He didn’t care about what had happened to him, or that his boss, Mad Jack, had done the deed. It had happened, get used to it. If Alix wanted him to live, she had to make him live. She nodded at Scar man. “I know some,” she said.

  Scar man tossed a bucket of chilled water into the cell with her, miraculously landing it next to her leg where it threatened to topple, but then braced against her and leveled out, the water spilling slightly, but leaving plenty inside for medicinal use. He also threw in some bandages, medical tape and a sling. Where had they got the tape and a sling from? They were perfect medical standard and had clearly come from the city. She didn’t know how.

  “I’ll need more water for us, and you’ll need to keep these coming,” she said, holding up the tape, sling and bandages.

  “They will. Feeding time’s at dusk and dawn. Not sure what’s on the menu tonight,” Scar man said, his smile revealing stained teeth and another scar on his lip.

  Feeding time? They were to be kept alive then. For what purpose. Alix became more and more confused. Her day had started out simply. Find her brother, rescue him and bring him home. After her first day on Strangeways, she’d been found, captured, betrayed by her brother, forced to punish him, then forced to watch him punished when she refused and then sent to a rudimentary, though very effective jail cell built into the mountainside, where they were to be fed and watered. She could not think of what they wanted with her. Why not kill them both and claim his revenge?

  Suddenly, a possible savior leapt through her mind. Her virtual trainer! It had been strapped to her wrist the entire time, feeding bodily data to her suit for her or her trainer to analyze and boost her performance. If Mad Jack knew what she was wearing, he would probably have let her keep it. It was for data only, after all, and he might even find the stats useful if he ever felt the need to peruse them. What he didn’t know was the tracker; the one she was to press when she had found Isaac so that the cavalry could come to pick her up. She merely had to press the button down until it vibrated.

  Her hand closed over the opposite wrist, pushing the button, waiting for the glorious tremble to emanate through her body, dispersing hope and joy. It was this moment, Isaac decided to stir. He must have felt a jar of pain, perhaps as his body began drifting into an agonizing slumber. His arm, the one with the broken collar, shot out, searching for her, for comfort. He grabbed her arm, just as the seconds passed where she should have felt the vibration.

  Alix gasped, shocked by his sudden movements and cries of pain, but she moved her hand instinctively to comfort her brother, who was now sobbing uncontrollably on the bed. “It hurts so much, Alix,” he whimpered, his voice muffled by the single filthy pillow.

  “It’s OK, Isaac. You’ll be OK. You just need to be brave.” She managed to cover her annoyance. His movements meant she had no idea whether the tracking beacon had fired and her father, away on his business trip, would know that she needed to be picked up with her brother. Had it vibrated? She was sure it had but couldn’t be certain. If only Isaac hadn’t spasmed at that moment!

  She clamped her hand back over the tracker. Nothing. She raised her hand, waited a moment and then clamped it down again. Nothing. She repeated this process several more times before giving up and resigning herself to not knowing.

  She had been denied the hope she craved. Her brother moaned again. At least she would have something to do until her father arrived. She could pass the time nursing her brother back to health. Well, unless he died of his injuries.

  At that moment, she couldn’t tell which way it would go.

  15

  Alix woke from her bed as the sun crossed the tiny window and scattered rays onto her eyelids. She stirred and glanced around the room, feeling her heart sink at the understanding of where she was. Still here. Still in this prison; this cave, her home for the last…she counted the tallies on the wall. 45 days. The last 45 days, she’d gone to sleep praying that it was all a dream and that, as the sun broke, she’d awake to find she was in her own bed, the door closed, the bed warm and the promise of a day in the city to greet her.

  Instead, the cave cell was icy. The tiny window, though it let in little light, seemed adept at letting in the cold and letting any warmth accumulated, escape. She shivered, swinging her legs off the bunk and stepping into her Warden’s training gear, the same clothing she’d worn for the last 45 days and the same clothing she might wear for another 45. It was icy itself, but she knew that her body heat would soon warm it. The suit was remarkably hard wearing. She’d never intended to wear it for this long, no one had, but when need’s must, it had stood the test.

  Alix rubbed her hands across her torso, trying to speed up the healing process and as she did, she glanced across at her brother. He was still sleeping. He’d finally managed to get through the night without screaming about a week ago, now it was becoming regular and Alix had found the pressure lifted slightly.

  As she always did, she walked over to the little window and tried to crane her neck to view the sights. She could just about see the lakes separating Strangeways from the mainland. There were no huts or boundaries to spoil the view, just the sparkling blue of the lake and then the tree covered hills of the far shore. Freedom. Humanity. She’d been away from it a long time, and yet hardly at all. She felt different on the inside. Being in solitary confinement did terrible things to a human. She had her brother to thank that the damage wasn’t worse. They’d talk about anything, except what had happened on Strangeways. They’d play games on the wall, using one of the rocks littering the floor to scratch letters onto the cave wall. All it took was a dab from the water bucket to clean the slate.

  For the last six weeks, neither of them had set foot from the cave. They hadn’t seen anyone, just the fleeting glimpses of hands and arms that opened the hatch at dawn and dusk to push food, water and medical supplies into the cave. She’d stopped saying thank you. At first, she felt guilty about that, but not anymore. What did she have to be thankful for?

  In the recesses of her mind, the more human part thought about Isaac. ‘You have to be thankful for him’, it said. He was at death’s door, but now he’s recovering. In a few more days, maybe a week, he’ll be as fit and healthy as he ever was, at least physically. Mentally? That was a different story.

  Isaac had been in a bad way. His eyes couldn’t open for at least a week, the swelling finally receding at about eight days. He didn’t notice it much since he spent the vast majority of that time slipping in and out of consciousness. Alix was terrified that he’d be bleeding internally, the blood swelling his brain and causing permanent, fatal damage, robbing her of her brother and her brother of his life.

  Many time
s, she thought he’d gone. There were times his breathing would become so shallow; she’d strain to check if she still heard it. Every time, she’d be certain that she had and then immediately certain she hadn’t. Often, she’d have to crouch down in front of his mouth to hear the air softly pass through his lips, or the wisp of breath tickle her cheek.

  That first week was the hardest. The walls closed in each day, making the cell seem so much smaller than it was. She took to singing, or conversing with people that weren’t there, sometimes her dad, where she apologized for all she’d failed to do for him, and sometimes to Dom, where she asked him about his life on the island and learned as much about him as she could. After the first day or so of doing this, she didn’t care that she was making up the answers and they could be miles away from the truth. It was the answers that kept her sane.

  After that first week, her brother’s eyes opened, and Alix knew he’d make it. He couldn’t speak for another week. The damage to his jaw was extensive. Alix couldn’t be sure, but she thought he might have fractured it. In New Manchester, they’d have probably wired it shut so that the fractured areas could fuse back together. Since they didn’t have that option, Alix and Isaac resolved to speak as little as possible. It was at the end of the second week that he finally felt little pain when he opened his mouth, so they began to talk.

  At first, it was small talk. Locker room banter, all of it light-hearted and all without substance. There were elephants in the room, topics they both wanted to discuss, but neither of them had the guts to do so. Who knows where it would lead and when you’re trapped in a such a small space, it would not go well to lose control. There was one thing for which Alix was certain. No one could hear them scream, and even if they could, no one would care.

  It came early one morning. Alix had startled awake and stared at the wall opposite her. The room was black, only a few strands of fading moonlight penetrated the small window. Her eyes heavy with drowsiness, Alix wanted clarity to come. She tried to force her eyes to stay open and stared at the far wall, its blankness allowing her to avoid any stimulation to her senses.

  Then the wall began to shift.

  She saw the black swirl into shape and press forward out of the stone. It was her brother. He was wearing the same clothing as he had on the day he’d fought Mad Jack. His face bore the same injuries as well, except this phantom from the wall wasn’t encumbered by them. His eyes were open, although blackened and the broken collarbone caused no slowdown of his movements.

  He ran at her, raising his hands and balling them into fists. His collar bulged horribly where the separated bones parted and slid atop one another. He coiled an arm back and, his lungs emptying into a bestial snarl, fired forward aiming for her unprotected face. Alix screamed and recoiled, shattering the silence and causing the panic to reflect around the room.

  Then her eyes opened for real and she saw her brother holding her shoulders, trying to speak calmly and sensibly to her, terror showing in his mending features.

  Alix managed to bring the heel of her foot up and between them. She clawed him away, pushing his body off her bunk and sending him clattering uncontrollably to the floor.

  Then it was his turn to scream as he planted on his backside and instinctively placed his arms backwards to arrest his fall. The collarbone had not healed fully and when he fell, it re-snapped. He lay there howling.

  Instead of waiting for the wails to end, Alix began her own verbal assault, still half in a sleeping nightmare and shouting curses into the real nightmare against her brother. “How could you! You spoiled little brat! You chose them over us! I hate you!”

  On the floor, Isaac cradled his arm, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, the words only coming out between sobs of clear pain. It was all he could say.

  Alix came back to her senses, feeling a cathartic release after her outburst, but also shame and sorrow for re-breaking her brother’s arm. She shuffled off the bed, wiping the sleep and wet away from her eyeballs and helped him onto his own bunk. She gently extended his arm, watching as his face twisted with either pain or the expectation of pain. She wasn’t trying to hurt him, but the healing had reset and now, she would have to go further.

  Whereas before the bone was straight and just needed to be kept that way, this time there was a bulge of bone making the skin at his shoulder bulbous. The break had dislodged the bone completely and it would need to be set before the healing began again.

  “I need to set this, Isaac. I need to pull the bone back into line,” she told him.

  He shrank back, bringing his other arm across to comfort the broken on. He shook his head. “You can’t. I…I don’t think I can take it…” he whimpered.

  “I have to Isaac. It’s going to try to heal any way it can, but if I don’t set the bone level, you could lose the use of your arm.” Alix glared at him, lending authority to her voice and urging him to get it done.

  Still, he hesitated.

  Alix felt the frustration and the anger well up again. “What would your new family make of you sniveling like this?” Her face made a mask of mock disgust, that she only partly had to act. She felt bad that it was a ploy, but she was also disgusted at him and his choices.

  He looked at her again, his cogs of thought whirring. He was trying to convince himself that she was right. He still wanted to stay here, despite all that Mad Jack had done to him, he still wanted to stay. How could he hate their father so much?

  Slowly, he extended his arm, the bone ends scraping against each other, making Alix feel physically sick.

  Isaac turned his face away and closed his eyes.

  Alix probed the arm and the bulge, not really caring to be too gentle. It wouldn’t be difficult to set. The healing that had already taken place had saved him from more damage than before. His healing would be delayed, but there would be no more lasting damage.

  Finding the sweet spot and understanding the movement, she committed to memory the path she wanted her hands to take. They gripped the correct place on his arm, tensed their strength and finally, pulled. The pull was surgical in nature and Alix watched the bulge disappear as the bones aligned and Isaac let out a momentary scream that ricocheted off the cave walls.

  She made a sling out of the bandage they’d received and slung it around his neck, positioning his arm in the proper place within. “You can’t move that now,” she said. “If I’m knocking my head on the wall, you stay in bed and leave me. You understand?” Her head was pressed against his.

  She felt the head bob, an understanding of assertion. He wouldn’t intervene. Alix thought that he’d acquiesced very quickly, but perhaps his experiences over the last month gave him enough suffering for a lifetime.

  As the days passed, they talked about good times they’d had. The vacation with their mother and sister, when Alice had slipped down the slide and scrunched her eyes up so tight because she was afraid of the water going in them. The movie nights where they would bring down the cinema screen in the theatre room, fire up the popcorn maker and watch the latest releases from the comfort of their downtown home, all at the pleasure of their father, the master of the Wardens, who’s power allowed these little indulgences.

  The cinema night got them talking again about the relationship between Isaac and their father. This time, there were no raised voices. Their talk had brought tears of joy and laughter only, the memories of happier times corralling in the prison cave and dancing in the darkness. The memories were so vivid it was like Alix and Isaac could see them.

  After the laughter had died and the silence began to press heavy again, Alix felt the time was right to ask the question that weighed on her mind. “Where did this hatred of dad come from, Isaac?”

  The smile immediately vanished, and he rolled over onto his other side, carefully avoiding his rapidly improving arm. “Do we have to talk about this, Alix?” he said, not wanting to go back to a place of displeasure when they’d moments before been laughing so heartily.

&nbs
p; “We’ve been here weeks, Isaac, and it’s been in both our minds that whole time. Don’t you want to just talk about it and get it out in the open? No matter what you say, you know I love you.”

  Reluctantly, Isaac turned back over and sat up. “What do you want to know, Alix?”

  “I just said it. Why do you hate him so much?”

  “Why don’t you? He treats us both like dirt. We’ve been over this, Alix!”

  “We’ve not while we’re quiet and actually listening to each other and not with them at our necks,” she jutted her thumb towards the door, meaning that now, it was just the two of them, without the outside influence of Mad Jack and his cronies. “I can’t believe dad is as bad as these. Dad never hit you like Mad Jack did and you want to throw yourself into his gang!”

  “It’s not a gang, Alix. It’s a tribe. They work together mostly, except for those others up north. Mad Jack has to do things like that sometimes, to show the others who’s boss.”

  “How are you not fuming at what he’s done to you?” Alix scorned. “He beat you half to death! There were some days back then, I thought he’d killed you. You’re acting like it was all planned or something like you knew it was coming! Why aren’t you angrier, Isaac?”

  He said nothing, just lowered his head in the strand of moonlight.

  Alix knew the answer then. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew he was going to punish you.” The disbelief peeled off Alix’s face like tattered wallpaper, her eyes glaring at her brother, unblinking.

  He sighed “He told me the night they took me that I was good, but he had to know that I was strong enough. He said you were coming to Strangeways and that if you were as good as he thought you were, he’d get you to punish me. I’d get to see if my sister really loved me and he’d get his example and gain their loyalty even more. If I did alright, I’d be one of them. He thought you’d do it. When you didn’t, what choice did he have?”