Dark Needs(9)

I wanted to f*cking END him.

I leapt back to the cell door and grabbed a hold of the bars. Abbot gasped in surprise and fell back onto his boney ass. "You spook easy, don't ya, officer?" I growled, squatting down so we were eye to eye. His beady little eyes turned to black, the fear had caused his pupils to dilate.

I was very familiar with that look.

It was a look I quite enjoyed.

I wanted to do a hell of a lot more than just scare the little f*cker. "It's so easy to be a smug little shit from the other side of the bars," I said coldly. "Why don't you come on in here with me, and say that sarcastic shit again?"

Even though Officer Abbot was obviously scared shitless, the truth of the matter was that he had the upper hand. I was securely locked into a windowless cage, and although he may have been on his ass, he was on his ass on the freedom side of the bars.

"Maybe I will, inmate." Abbot stood and brushed himself off. The cockiness in his tone wavered. Pointing at me with his nightstick, Abbot looked around to make sure no one had witnessed him almost pissing himself on the floor. "I'm watching you, inmate." He warned. "In here you an't nothin' more than a f*cking number. You ain't even worthy of the name your mama gave ya, so if you choose act like a f*cking animal, you're gonna be treated like a f*cking animal."

With a final bucktoothed sneer, he walked off, dragging his night stick across the bars of my cell, then across all the other cells in the corridor, as he made his way to the only door at the end of the cell block. The inmates shouted obscenities at him as he passed without any sort of reaction from the guard. He signaled to another guard who sat on the other side of a glass partition. The red blinking light above the door temporarily turned green as he was buzzed through, disappearing from site, the door closed with a heavy click, the light above the door once again blinked red.

"Motherf*cker," I mumbled, taking a long hard look at my new accommodations. I knew that doing what I'd done for as long as I'd done it, that I was possibly paving a path for myself that lead me right to a cell just like the one I found myself in.

In all honesty, it's a path I never truly thought I would ever be traveling.

If I had to bet money on how my life would end up, with either my early death, long before old age took hold, or a life behind bars, I would've placed my money on death every f*cking time.

The DA, some nitwit named Sparrow, was seeking the death penalty, so I guess there was still time to win that bet after all.

I could die tomorrow, and it wouldn't mean jack shit to me. Death was one of the only certainties in this life. It's always been a comfort to me, knowing that since the moment we all first came into this world kicking and screaming, that we were all heading toward the same end.

Although once dead, some people would go in one direction while others, like me, will go in another.

Some of us still kicking and screaming.

The only thing that bothered me about the possibility of dying, was that I wouldn't be around to protect those I vowed to provide for and keep safe. That the time I'd spent with the only two people I didn't feel indifferent about was entirely too short.

Abby. Georgia. My wife. My daughter.

Team redhead as Georgia called them.

My family.

Over the past year, my life seemed like a dream. A dream someone like me was unworthy of even having. Every day of my life was a gift I knew I didn't deserve but selfishly accepted anyway.

Being thrown into a cell was a harsh reminder that life could be both a horrible nightmare and a terrific dream. But they both had something in common.

Eventually, no matter the dream, you always woke up.





FIVE




I'd been in my cell for less than a day, staring at the f*cking wall when yet another correctional officer rapped on the bars of my cell with his night stick. "Let's go, let's go!" he shouted impatiently.

"What's with you guys and that shit?" I asked, rubbing my temples. Jail had seeped into my head and started giving me a migraine.

He ignored me. "Let's go, inmate." He unlocked my cell and produced a pair of handcuffs. "Turn around. You have a visitor."



The guard scuffed me, shoving me into a large bright room filled with circular tables. He left me at the door, and I was left to find my visitor on my own.

Inmates, decked out in the same orange prison attire I was sporting, sat next to or across from visitors and people who were very obviously lawyers. At a table in the far corner a woman sat crying, holding the hand of an inmate with a spider web tattoo on the back of his neck while an excited toddler with dark curls ran around the table screaming like he was in Disney instead of a prison. A couple at another table argued, the woman pointing at the man accusingly with a long curved fingernail, the inmate she was visiting appeared disinterested in whatever she was chastising him for.