I had to admit, prison breakfast was much better than prison dinner, but it still wasn’t that great. The protein bar didn’t nix my hunger completely, but it helped. After breakfast, all of us were herded outside to the courtyard, where we were to spend the next five and half hours until lunch. I walked the perimeter of the courtyard the whole time. It was boring, but at least I was getting some exercise, and no one seemed to want to bother me.
When we went in for lunch, I instinctively got in line, but Dan came over before I even got my tray.
“Your lawyer is here,” he said angrily, roughly gripping my upper arm and dragging me from the room. Once behind the
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door, Dan let go. “Sorry about that. Don’t want to make too much trouble for you.”
“I think I’ve got that taken care of, actually,” I said, following Dan to the break room.
“Oh yeah? What happened?”
“Eric - my cellmate - tried to threaten me, so I told him I was in for murder. That seemed to scare him a little. Anyway, he left me alone.”
“Be careful around Eric,” Mike said over a fantastic smelling burrito. “He’s got some behavioral problems.
“I didn’t realize I put you in his cell. Probably not the safest place for you,” Dan said, opening the fridge. “Want a burrito?”
“Yes, please. Why is Eric so dangerous?”
“He didn’t get in here for anything serious,” Mike said.
“Just selling drugs.”
“But he put his last cellmate in the psych ward. Nasty fight, not sure over what. Poor kid was in here for stealing a video game. Ended up nearly brain dead.”
“He really did do that? I thought he was just trying to scare me.”
“No, Eric really did it. Messed up, that kid is.”
I enjoyed a very delicious burrito and a coke before being sent back into the cafeteria. Fewer eyes watched me, but I was still arguably the center of attention.
The next day was Wednesday, visitors day. It was the only day of the week we were allowed to leave our cells between lunch and dinner, but only if you had a visitor. I felt rather lucky; Mitch came to see me.
The juvenile ward had an open meeting room so that parents could hug their children. I wasn’t expecting my mom to show up, ever, so I was pleasantly surprised to see Mitch.
“Hey, Zac!” Mitch called when he saw me. He smiled and stood up, giving me a hug. “Nice to see you, man. How’s prison treating you?”
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“Well, it’s not the Hamptons but it’s not quite Shawshank, either,” I said, taking a seat across from Mitch.
“I’m sorry you’re in here,” Mitch said, more seriously. “It really should be Jacob. Or me, even - not you.”
“It’s okay,” I said with a shrug. “I mean, I don’t like it here, but I kind of had it coming, you know?”
“Yeah,” Mitch said with a nod. He had a pensive look on his face, as if he was remembering the night my dad went to prison.
“So how’s Sam? She doing okay?” Mitch shook his head.
“She went into a coma. Not sure when she’ll wake up.”
“You mean ‘if’ she’ll wake up,” I said softly.
“She’ll wake up,” Mitch said almost offensively. His eyes were hard, but I could tell he was afraid I was right.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” I said. “I tried but I couldn’t find your rooms.” Mitch let out a soft laugh.
“Yeah, we had trouble, too. Evan said he knew the place by heart, but it still took us five minutes to figure it out. It’s not your fault,” he added. “I should’ve made sure the door was locked. It was my fault. I could’ve prevented the whole thing… if I’d just checked the fucking door.”
“Forget it. We can’t change it now. No use whining about it.”
“You’re right. It’s just hard not to, you know? So do you know anything about your case?”
“A little. I actually haven’t even met my lawyer yet. It sucks I’m still a minor. My mom has to take care of everything.
You know how she is.”
“I wish I could help. I feel completely worthless right now. I’m sure Mrs. Steele is sick of me - I pretty much live at the hospital.”
“What about school?”
“There’s not much of it left. My teachers know what’s happening. Most of them are cutting me a lot of slack.”
“Lucky bastard,” I said with a laugh. “I guarantee SAVE
won’t give me any passes whatsoever.”
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“Won’t matter if you get life,” Mitch said. He looked up immediately after, very apologetic. “Hey, man, I didn’t mean…
Sorry.”
“I know. It’s a possibility. Can you believe Jacob’s alive?”
“Jacob’s alive?” Mitch asked harshly, leaning forward.
“Since when?”
“Since the day he was born. I shot him through the lung.
His pulse was so faint the EMTs thought he was dead – can’t put a dead person in an ambulance. But the coroner realized he was still alive. Last I knew he was in surgery, but that was on Sunday. I’m sure he’s recovering by now.”
“That’s… well, that’s good, right? It means you didn’t kill him.”
“Yeah, it means attempted murder. And now he’s got something to defend. He’s saying we all tortured him, that the whole thing was planned.”
“That’s insane!”
“Yeah, but look who he’s fighting against. Who’s going to believe me over him? Besides, if they did convict him instead of me, he’d probably plead insanity and win.”
“I hate that wimpy little bastard!” Mitch cried, slamming his fist on the table. One of the guards stepped forward, but Mitch apologized and the guard stepped back.
“We all do,” I said. “But there’s not much we can do about it. You going to tell Sam when she wakes up?”
“Not sure that’s the best idea. I don’t want her feeling afraid all the time. I’ll ask her parents, see what they think.”
“Do the doctors have any idea?” I asked quietly after a few silent moments. Mitch shook his head.
“They say she might never speak again, even if she wakes up. They say she’s in some kind of emotional coma, like the whole incident was too much for her to comprehend. Conversion syndrome, I think they called it. Dr. Herman said sometimes intense emotional stress causes people to take a mental stressor and turn it into a physical ailment, like a paralyzed arm. Sam’s was so much, she went into a coma.”
“So you’re basically just waiting until she… gets over it?”
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“Pretty much.” Mitch sighed. “Why did this happen to us? I mean, is my girlfriend really that big of a bitch that she led someone to try and kill her?” I laughed.
“Hey, I thought she was nice.”
“Okay, enough depressing shit. Tell me what it’s like in here. Is the food really as bad as the movies?”
“It’s worse,” I said. “Breakfast is okay… I don’t know what they served for lunch, but dinner Monday night was disgusting.”
“What do you mean you don’t know what was for lunch?
Did you just not eat it?” Mitch laughed. I shook my head with a sly smile, leaning forward.
“I got in with the guards,” I whispered. “There are two that took quite a liking to me. I’ve been eating Mexican food and fancy desserts since I got here.”
“You’re shitting me,” Mitch laughed. “The Universe threw you a pass! You’re probably eating better than I am. I’ve been stuck on hospital food the past few days.”
“It’s great. They just tell everyone I meet with my lawyer at meal times. I get to go into the break room and eat whatever I want. Mike said his wife’s making tacos tonight, so I’ll get the leftovers tomorrow. She’s Mexican and makes the best enchiladas I’ve ever had.”
>
“You’re going to be some kind of food connoisseur when you get out of prison. Probably open some fancy restaurant and make millions.”
“I doubt it,” I laughed. “But whatever works, right?”
Mitch and I chatted about random stuff for another ten minutes. I asked Mitch if he’d seen Lily lately, but he hadn’t. I wondered what had happened to her after she left the station. I assumed one of her “clients” had posted her bail.
Suddenly there was a static bell and all the guards stepped forward, ready to take the prisoners back to their cells.
Mitch said goodbye and gave me a firm handshake before walking out and back into real life.
I, of course, had to waltz back into imprisonment.
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When I got back to my cell, Eric was sitting on the bottom bunk picking his nails with something.
“What is that?” I asked, staring at his hands.
“Something I made,” Eric answered, hiding it in his huge hand and slipping it under his pillow. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Why would I be worried about you getting in trouble?” I scoffed. Suddenly Eric was in my face, his breath hot and copper-smelling, like blood.
“Because if I get in trouble, you’re at the mercy of everyone else,” he said. A low rumble was behind his words, like he was growling in his chest.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded, trying to sound like he wasn’t creeping me out.
“It means I’ll kill you,” he said, that weird rumble still in his tone, “and they won’t.”
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Interlude
The Doberman
“You are my greatest asset,” Ares said. He was speaking to the Doberman, the Assassin of the Gods.
The Doberman appeared in many forms over each cycle, but in this one, he was a young Native American man of mixed blood. He could, of course, shift into a Doberman, but he preferred his human form for killing.
The Doberman nodded his head in acknowledgment and waited for his assignment like a real dog eagerly awaits a bone. “I need your expertise.”
“I am forever loyal to you, my lord,” the Doberman answered with a sweeping bow.
“I need you to kill the Seeker.”
Before rising from his bow, the Doberman clenched his jaw. What Ares was asking was nearly impossible. The Doberman knew he would never be successful. He might wound the Seeker, but killing him would take more than the Doberman had to offer.
“I understand your concern,” Ares said, tapping his fingers on the armrests of his throne. “But the Seeker is young in this cycle. He has not yet discovered his true nature. He is still human.”
The Doberman’s ears twitched, anticipating the change.
“Are you sure?”
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“Yes. He has not yet been visited by the Corruption.
While we cannot change his nature, we can prevent his succession to the throne.”
“I will do my best, sire. I hope that in time you will come to trust me as a warrior as well.”
“You cannot surpass Sagittarius. Your only worth in this kingdom is saving the Signs. Do not grovel for things you cannot afford,” Ares brushed off the Doberman’s request with a flick of his wrist. “You are dismissed, Assassin.”
With a reluctant bow, the Doberman left the throne room.
He silently returned to his quarters in the rear courtyard of the Palace.
And once in the privacy of his own room, he threw back his head and let out a scream so violent the curtains shivered in fear. When he was out of breath, the Doberman growled and began to tear all the pictures of him and Sagittarius in previous cycles off of the wall.
There were hundreds of photographs, most of them in romantic settings. Each picture looked like a different couple, but the Doberman recognized each one. They were all his past bodies; they were all Sagittarius’ past incarnations.
He tore one particular picture into hundreds of tiny shreds by morphing his head into true Doberman form.
He hated Sagittarius, hated his status, hated the gods - but Dobermans are loyal, and his allegiance had already been plead.
He was raised in the Palace in every cycle, and as a result both feared and loathed the Corruption. The Doberman gratefully accepted his duty to protect the Signs, despite his hatred for their hierarchical practices.
While the Doberman had no memory of his previous lives, his room always stayed the same; it did not change from cycle to cycle, and still had the same black comforter from thousands of years before. In each of his cycles, he placed a picture of him and Sagittarius on the wall. Older cycles had left drawings and paintings.
What he couldn’t understand was how, in previous cycles, he could be so content with his lack of status. Sagittarius was
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more valuable than any of the gods; the Doberman was expendable, despite his skill.
Clearly in all his past lives, the Doberman had been worth something. A Sign would never love a lowly assassin. It was just as Ares had said; the Doberman’s sole purpose was to protect the Signs. He could never ascend to warrior status.
But that didn’t explain the pictures.
The Doberman hated Sagittarius. She was the bane of his existence. She had everything while he had nothing.
But a kill was a kill.
And he needed a kill.
Ares ordered the Doberman to spend three months extensively studying human evils of all sorts, from bullies to rapists to serial killers. He also spent most of that time in the human world, learning to act like a juvenile delinquent. Two older demigods came with him to pose as parents.
The Doberman was finally released into unguarded society at the end of his three month training course. The Scrolls had warned him of the Jacob boy, one so fiercely Corrupted he could not be healed by the Goddess herself. The Doberman prepared for this moment by making sure he got into the juvenile ward at the state prison. He waited four months for the Jacob boy to attack, for the Seeker to be blamed.
The Seeker was much skinnier than the Doberman had expected. The Doberman felt confident he could at least survive any attack with the Seeker.
In order to keep his cover, the Doberman pulled childish pranks - more violently than usual, of course. He had learned to pull the victim’s underwear up towards his head. It was humiliating for the victim.
But the Seeker was too easy. Without his powers, he was helpless. The Doberman thought that dragging out his attack -
giving the Seeker plenty of torture before going in for the kill -
would be not only more fun, but more effective. But of course,
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the longer he waited, the more likely the Seeker was to become Corrupted. No, he would attack soon, while the Seeker was weak.
Perhaps this is what always happens, the Doberman thought. Perhaps I always find him before he becomes one of Them, and I defeat him. That would explain Sagittarius loving me.
Until she masters time, I am the only one who can save her.
The Seeker and the Doberman had been sharing a cell for one week. The Doberman had been given the name Eric, and he had acquired a following of weak-willed and shallow-minded criminals to support him.
Eric made his attack right after lunch, while the inmates were being herded back into their cells. He began by creating a distraction.
Randall was in for petty theft. He was a small yet burly boy of sixteen, and he kept a picture of his girlfriend tucked safely into his pocket at all times. Since there were no girls in the juvenile ward, and very few images of them, the picture was highly sought after and considered rather important.
So Eric stole it and put it in Mark’s pocket.
Mark Jones was very tall and very intimidating, even to a highly trained killer like Eric. But Randall was what politicians would call a “firebrand,”
and anything that might endanger his use of his girlfriend’s photograph was punishable by a punch in the nuts.
So when Randall discovered his precious picture was missing, Eric dropped the hint that Mark might have taken it.
Mark of course denied it, and unfortunately emptied his pockets in doing so (therefore revealing the picture Eric had stashed).
And that was all Eric needed to do to create the proper distraction. Randall attacked Mark, and soon the entire ward was punching and kicking and cursing.
The Seeker was trying to stay on the sidelines, out of the many fights taking place all at once. He was hiding behind the
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door to the cafeteria, keeping himself as flat against the wall as possible.
Eric reached into his pocket and removed the shiv he’d been working on for the past few days. It had originally been a plastic spork, but Eric had snapped it in half and slowly grated the edge along the concrete wall until it was sharp enough to break the skin.
Moving quickly to avoid standing out, Eric made his way to the door, dodging the guards desperately trying to break up all the fights. An alarm sounded and more guards came, but not before Eric had the chance to reach behind the door and stab the Seeker seventeen times. Eric knew this attack was not likely to kill the Seeker, but it would wound him, both physically and emotionally.
The Seeker’s cries were lost to the alarm and the shouts.
Eric slipped back into the brawl, throwing random punches until he reached his cell, where he curled up on his bed, protecting himself from the onslaught of angry guards and inmates, hiding his growing smile.
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Chapter Three
When I opened my eyes, a white light was blinding me. I felt so weak I could barely turn my head, but I managed to roll it to the side. There was a tall, skinny nurse standing there, writing something on a clipboard. I also saw a bag of blood and followed the tube with my eyes to see it sticking into my pale arm.
I remembered the brawl, but I didn’t know why it started.
I was hiding behind the door when I saw Eric come out of nowhere and start stabbing me with a small, sharp object. He stabbed me so many times I lost count - mostly in my neck, but he got me in the stomach and legs, too.
Night Prowler Part One Page 19
