Crack3d Picture

  Henry can’t sleep. His stomach is knots and his face and head are swollen. He lies in bed on his side staring at the clock, waiting for the alarm to ring true. Hopefully once that alarm goes off his day will start just as the others and provide a renewed sense of familiarity. He inhales deeply, closes his eyes and when he begins to slowly exhale the walls begin to rumble and shake violently. The plastic crate night stand falls over, clock radio also. Henry jumps out of bed confused. He cannot regain his footing and is stumbling around his room. The floor is flowing and bending as if it were water. He hears something crash in another room in the house, maybe and old picture frame. He cannot gather his footing and falls over onto the floor crawling helplessly towards his the door.

  As quickly as the quake happens, it ends. He grabs his clock radio, still on the ground; it shows no time. Henry is panicking. He rushes to the shower; he turns the knob but no water. He runs towards his sink; no water from the sink either. He cannot shower or brush his teeth. As he attempts to run through his bathroom doorway, he steps on something which pops like a blown light pulp. He looks down to the ground and sees the mirror to the medicine cabinet has fallen to the floor. Blood starts running from the bottom of his foot. He grabs a large band aid from the cabinet and tries his best to cover the wound. Finally able to leave, he runs in front of his closet and blindly yanks his work clothes out.

  The talk radio show turns back on somehow with breaking news surrounded by static and white noise,” we have just received word from Sheriff Wharton that a body has been found and was taken to the hospital where this person was pronounced dead on arrival. The body has since been transported to the coroner’s office for identification. The investigation is still ongoing but it is believed to be an apparent homicide. This is a developing story and we will have more for you later when we get more information. But let me repeat a body of a young female has been found.”

  Henry finishes getting ready for work and grabs his keys. The radio is now suffering from complete signal loss. A massive storm has arrived with torrential rains colliding into the home like bodies and strong, whistling winds. He runs across the room to turn his radio off then proceeds toward the door. He does not even have a jacket on.

  The sky is dark grey and purple from a thick cloud cover. The down pour continues with rain drops the size of large marbles. Not only that but it is cold, so much so that when Henry exhales it looks like he could breathe fire.

  He looks at his wall mounted mail box and notices a white envelope partially sticking out. He grabs it. The letter is not sealed, stamped nor addressed. There’s something inside. Henry pulls it out. It is a cut out portion of a newspaper article. The headline reads:

  ‘PARANOID SCHIZOPHRENIC MOTHER KILLS SELF IN HOTEL ROOM WITH YOUNG CHILD WAITING AT HOME’

  Henry begins to read the article aloud, “After a 5 hour hostage situation authorities finally detained the couple were spotted stealing drugs from a local college dormitory.” He skips ahead in the article because the names in have deliberately blacked out. “During interrogation the male was sweating profusely, stammering and slurring his words and was talking nonsensical gibberish. Prominent interrogator Detective Pash asked the young man if he was alright and he answered that he had been smoking and shooting heroin for two hours prior to the police arrival.” he skips ahead to the last paragraph of the article and reads, “the woman at the scene was an older woman, a mother, and had died of a self inflicted gun shot wound to the head.”

  Henry, confused, angrily crumples up the article without reading another word and discards it on the ground. The crumbled paper floats along the water following him as he runs up the stairs.

  Henry sloshes his way down the same streets as he does every morning onward to the cemetery, pushing open the creaky gate and following the path that leads to where the grave of his deceased mother lies. He is being pelted by the rain drops and now hail which are falling much faster and harder. He is unfazed.

  He hears a camera clicking and popping. He snaps his head around the graveyard, sees nothing. All he sees are endless headstones, small scraggly bushes and trees being pushed astray by the gale force winds. The winds are lifting his wet hair from his head. While bringing his head back around he sees the statue of the bereaved angel. Her head has been taken off, not by the strong winds, but by a vandal; evident by the pulverized stone that used to be her head.

  He refocuses his attention back to his mother’s headstone, when he hears it again. He angrily turns, clinching his teeth and starts the hunt for the photographer, knowing it is probably crazed woman from the night before who left the throbbing, swollen mass on his head. He stomps through the graveyard, surveying his surroundings. The ground is loose so he cannot keep his footing very well. He looks behind the bushes and up trees. He still cannot see much beyond the dense fog which is finally starting to rise. He begins to wonder if the spirits of the dead are merely playing tricks on his fragile mind, this being a somber day. He frustratingly ends his search and leaves the graveyard in disappointment, built upon a foundation of sadness. He passes through the creaky cemetery gate and onto the street.

  The wind is blowing the pouring rain side ways. The dense fog remains as well and visibility is only about three feet. Henry doesn’t even have a jacket on. He hears something in the distance other than the rain. A voice. He cannot see who it is coming from but it seems to be getting closer and closer. Louder and louder, but he still can’t make out what exactly is being said or who is saying it. Just then a violent collision sends Henry on his back on the side walk. The back of his head bounces off the concrete. He slowly raises when another black shadowy figure hits him again in the back and disappears into the fog. While dazed another shadowy figure rams into him, then another. More and more heavy impacts send him spinning and falling listlessly to the wet concrete. Finally, they all completely disappear into the dense fog before Henry can get a decent look at them.

  Henry starts to run down the street blinded in pain. Another massive, violent collision stops him. He cannot move. Henry is seized by two hands on his upper arms. Squeezing tightly. A dark face fades into his view. It is the drunk, psychotic Holy Roller. Reeking of gin, cigarettes and bad breath; he closes in on Henry, who is shocked, bringing his face in close to Henry’s.

  “Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

  Holy Roller has a sense about Henry. He can sense that there is no God in his life. This aggravates him. He clinches his teeth and squeezes Henrys’ arms even tighter to where his grimy, untrimmed and germ infested finger nails dig into Henry’s skin and blood begins to trickle down. He starts shaking Henry violently. Henry can only groan and struggle for deep breaths. He is unable fight himself free.

  Holy Roller brings his head even closer. They are nose to nose. He lowers his voice and speaks sternly and slowly. This a voice ravaged by years of alcohol and smoke.

  “The people of the land have practiced extortion and committed robbery. They have oppressed the poor and needy, and have extorted from the sojourner without justice. He holds victory in store for the upright; he is a shield to those whose walk is blameless, for he guards the course of the just and protects the way of his faithful ones. Then you will understand what is right and just and fair—every good path. For wisdom will enter your heart, and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul. Discretion will protect you, and understanding will guard you. Wisdom will save you from the ways of wicked men, from men whose words are perverse, who leave the straight paths to walk in dark ways, which delight in doing wrong and rejoice in the perverseness of evil, whose paths are crooked an
d who are devious in their ways. It will save you also from the adulteress, from the wayward wife with her seductive words, who has left the partner of her youth and ignored the covenant she made before God. For her house leads down to death and her paths to the spirits of the dead. None who go to her return or attain the paths of life. Thus you will walk in the ways of good men and keep to the paths of the righteous. For the upright will live in the land, and the blameless will remain in it.”

  Henry finally breaks free by shoving the man with his foot and runs down the street as fast as he can.

  The Holy Roller laughs at Henry and yells to him, “Don’t you be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. Yes, I will help you. Yes, I will uphold you with the right hand of my righteousness.”

  He runs through the downtown streets, passing the train station, the old paper factory and finally makes it to Al’s Used Auto Parts. Once in the parking lot he slows down, panting as he walks with his head down and hands in his pockets, he is rattled and at his wits end. He brings his head up and sees two men in black uniforms and black sunglasses leaving the front door of the shop. They both stare down him as they walk towards their car. They keep their gaze on him throughout their walk to the car and while they are in the car.

  Henry arrives at the back ‘Employees Only’ door staring at the car in bewilderment. He opens the door and walks to his desk. He is late. Of course Maxwell hasn’t arrived either. To his surprise, his desk is empty. There is no Encyclopedia of parts inventories on his desk or any form of transaction sheets. He sluggishly lowers himself down into his chair to rest just for a second. Maybe work can be his sanctuary. Henry throws his head back and inhales deeply. Before he can exhale a voice comes over the intercom, “Henry to the office, please. Henry could you please come to the office.”

  Henry remains seated just for a minute. He just can not get a moments peace. He eventually gets up and walks by the window to the office and stops to look in before he enters. Tim is sitting at his desk with papers scattered everywhere. His head is in his hands. He takes his head out of his hands to rubs his forehead and eyes raw. John is standing behind him leaning against the wall with a cup of coffee, looking sadly down at Tim and his desk. John is also shaking his head and talking to Tim, who doesn’t seem to be listening.

  Henry walks nervous because Tim looks absolutely distraught. John, however, looks like he has accomplished something. His new confidence makes Henry even more nervous. Henry rubs his sweaty palms together and looks down at the ground.

  “John, you’re going to have to excuse us for a moment,” says a Tim solemnly.

  John walks towards the door, not taking one eye off of Henry.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “We have a problem, Henry, we have a big problem. These inventory reports you have been doing are not matching up. There are too many variations.”

  “I don’t understand. I can’t be wrong. I know what I am doing.”

  “We are getting audited. That is what you need to understand. Somehow, someway you haven’t been doing your job. “

  “That is not true. I do my job well. I have been doing this for a long time and there has never been a problem.”

  “Well there’s a problem now, a big problem. Al doesn’t like to see that there is any chance that he is losing money. And when these reports don’t match up with what comes in and what goes out, he assumes he is losing money. He actually thinks someone is stealing from him. And John tells me you go into the break room and steal the newspaper every evening. So he has an auditor coming to look at the books and look at our inventory. This is all on you.” He sighs and sits back into his chair with his arms raised and clutches each behind his head. He continues, “I understand things get hard on you this time of year. Personally I know. Al doesn’t want to hear excuses however, not from me or you.”

  “Yeah, I guess I haven’t been seeing things clearly lately.”

  Tim rises in his chair. His face goes pale. His stomach is starting to turn and he goes cold.

  “Al wants you gone, Henry. I have the last of you pay checks here.”

  “I am beyond words. This is coming out of nowhere. I just hope you know how hard I have worked for you. I have never caused you problems. I am never late, and I have always been reliable and dependable. Other than that, I have no idea what is going on. I have no idea.”

  Tim hands over an envelope which Henry reaches for and grabs. Henry gets up, and walks towards the door.

  “What happened to your face Henry?” Tim yells trying to reach him before he leaves.

  “I fell during the earthquake.”

  Tim looks down to the ground and shakes his head.

  Henry immediately walks into the break room and picks up today’s paper again and tucks it under his arm. The television is on and there is a press conference taking place outside of Radcliffe City Hall. The man at the podium is eerily familiar. He is Sheriff Wharton, smirking, chewing on a toothpick with his turkey neck swinging below his chin. His large cowboy hat is shielding his eyes.

  “This morning I was awaken by one of my deputies to arrive a particular crime scene. Upon arrival we noticed a beaten body of a young woman. This was a woman full of intellect, adventure, and ambition. A sweet woman who bled the colors of our flag. Unfortunately, I knew this woman. I knew her real well. The hardest thing I had to do was pick up the telephone and call this young lady’s folks. That, my friends, is a phone call I never want to make. I am sure that it will take a life time to get over the pain from losing something you created. Her life was taken from her too soon. However, we are encouraged. The Radcliffe Police Department did not and absolutely does not rest. We work hard to make this the safest damn city in this here country. Our meticulously detailed investigation is almost wrapped up. As a matter of fact we plan to make an arrest this evening on the suspect. This clearly eases no pain or brings this beautiful lady back. But-”

  A sharp ringing commences in Henrys’ ears. He is able to see the televised press conference but cannot hear it. The mouths continue to move. His body goes numb and his legs give out. He stumbles into a chair at the table where he picked up the paper. He clutches his chest and is gasping for air and having a hard time catching his breath. He grinds his teeth, closes his eyes and frantically gets up runs out off the break room.

  Henry, panicking, sits back down at his desk, picks up the phone and dials numbers faster than he ever has before. The phone rings twice and goes to an automated voice message system, “Hello Mr. Hoffer how are you? I have been better. Look, I know I am not supposed to see you for another couple days but I really need to talk to you. These past few days have weird and different and I just need someone to talk to about it.”

  Out of the corner of Henry’s eye, he sees Maxwell arriving late as always. And as usual he immediately switches on the old radio to his favorite classic rock station, but it is all static.

  Henry continues, “Fit me in anywhere. Now later whichever, I hope you have time but I just need to talk to you. So much has gone on this morning. It has nothing to do with the accident or the significance of today, but then again I can’t be sure. I guess I can’t be sure of much right now.”

  Maxwell continues turning the tuning knob but to no avail. The static seems to be growing louder and louder. The white noise has returned and so have the mysterious voices. A high pitched ‘rise’ is said repeatedly. The static has taken on a life of its own and now seems to be attacking and taunting Henry. It slithers into his ears and into his brain. His heart starts to thump rapidly inside his chest. His blood is boiling and irrational thought are being considered. Finally another vocalization is heard; a guttural growl, ’FALL.’

  Maxwell is absent minded and unconcerned.

  Henry slams the phone on his desk and walks over to Maxwell and his radio with a vengeance.

  “Hey man, I was getting ready to ask you for help with this old piece of…” Maxwell is interru
pted as Henry seizes the radio and picks it up over his head and smashes it to smithereens on the concrete floor. He grabs his computer from his desk and throws it on top of the radio. A black heavy torsion bar is leaning up against the wall, which Henry grabs. He swings it at the pile of broken old technology and shatters it all to pieces, constantly swinging and swinging.

  Maxwell stares for a moment in awe then finally runs to the front of the shop in absolute terror.

  Henry continues slamming the bar into the ground and begins screaming loudly. Sweat is pouring from his head. He yells and screams with each swing. Finally after a few more minutes of trying to smash each piece of plastic into a fine powder, he stops. He looks down at his mess and for once he has released some form of tension. He merely drops the bar to the ground and the clanging echoes of the walls of the shop. He stares up to the ceiling where there are large cracked windows, slowly dripping water onto the floor. He lets some of the drops fall on him before he turns and walks out of the door.

  Henry is sitting alone waiting for Mr. Hoffer.

  The office has completely changed. The room is much smaller. The walls seemed to have closed in. Henry can sit in the old, rusted steel chair, extend his arms from his side and touch the walls with the palms of his hands. They are also empty. Gone are the shelves of medical books and journals. There isn’t even any wear on the walls as if they were there in the first place. The only wear on the walls seem to be structurally. There are cracks running from the ceiling to floor. The wallpaper looks like it has been peeled off, but not all the way as some pieces are still hanging. There are also holes in the wall revealing the studs behind the dry wall. The studs look as though they have been feasted on by generations of termites

  The rain is pounding against the roof of the office causing it to leak and form puddles on the floor, creating a mixture of upswept dirt and water.

  Mr. Hoffer bursts through the door looking flustered and haggard. His hair is not wet from the rain, but greasy as if he hasn’t kept up with himself. The water must have just slipped right off after it couldn’t be absorbed. He is panting and anxious. His clothes are filthy. He looks as if he has been sleeping outside in the mud.

  The lights begins flickering on and off like a strobe light.

  “Ok Henry, let’s go. How can I be of service to you?”

  “Well, it just seems like a lot of strange stuff is happening to me. I would hate to think it has any meaning, but I do. It is all too coincidental…”

  “…to your mother’s death?” Mr. Hoffer interrupts.

  “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I just have this feeling like I’m being watched and targeted. Like at any moment something really bad is going to happen to me. I don’t think at this moment my mind is in sanity. This paranoia is becoming reality to me.”

  “Of course it is. None of our minds are completely sane. You are not alone or special. And it will only get worse. There is a lot of change on the horizon. Your life will change, forever, everything that you have become accustomed, forever being different, it will be painful. You will have to adjust. And then something else will happen and you will have to repeat over and over again. Everything is the same but different. When you try and keep the status quo you will be swallowed up by those who induce the revolution.”

  Revolution?

  Mr. Hoffer is getting excited and his nerves make him wiggle and fidget in his rusty metal chair.

  “Yes, yes, Henry! The revolution! The personal apocalypse! The change of us all. When it all happens where do you think you will be? In your dumpy little shack? One day you are going to be inside that place when they board it up. Never to see the light, never to see the new world around you, is this how it is going to be? “

  “I really think I just need rest. Sleep may help. I can just fall back asleep and sleep through it all. “

  “Leave the sleeping for the dead,” Mr. Hoffer says in a deep, guttural voice. “The rain will stop and the storms will pass. The streets will be as clean as our conscious. The trees will bloom the most beautiful leaves. The sun will shine brighter than it ever has a blinding light but not a burning light. “

  Mr. Hoffer is now standing looking towards the water damaged ceiling. The lights are still flickering.

  “I do not know how much more of this I can take. I have come so accustomed to the way I live my life. I have become tolerant of the misguided hopes of the people here. This place is too absurd for hope.”

  His face begins to throb and pulsated again. Blood slowly trickles down his face causing Mr. Hoffer so divert his attention from the ceiling to the red. He is transfixed and slightly turned on.

  “Everything in my life was neither good nor bad,” Henry continues. “It was managed and dictated by me. No one else. Not anymore. My life is being managed and dictated someone or something else and I am in now in a place where I am being pushed and pulled in directions I have never thought existed. It’s like my endings have no beginnings. I just need rest. I don’t think I have truly slept in weeks. Maybe my mind is torturing me. I think that is what it is. My mind is deprived. It is starving. I’m so tired.”

  “Everything will be as it needs to be,” says Mr. Hoffer who is staring at the blood intensely.

  “Or maybe everything I do and say is really meaningless?”

  “No, Henry. You have a meaning. Your life has a meaning. It may not be meaningful to you, but it is to someone else. Justice has a meaning and a reason. We are in a time where justice’s meaning may be twisted and manipulated to accommodate those who have the power to use it.”

  “Are you talking about the girl who died?”

  “She will be used as the symbol for them. A means to let the people know that the change is for the good, a means let the city know that good will outweigh evil. It will be a means to let the city sleep with their doors unlocked having been blessed by the venom of bliss. The black sunshine will rise, Henry. The reign will rise to unprecedented heights. You will not see them. It is far from your comprehension. The abuse and illusions will be the result of the high which we all look for and will continue to chase to no avail. The madmen will be wiser then the wise men, for the wise men have been banished into death’s graces clutched in the frozen pit of the ninth circle. Their morals gnawed on by blunt teeth that can’t tear. But to the madman what are morals? And what of hope? Hope and morals lay on the wings of and insect that aimlessly flies around the spider whose web was spun with webs laced with injustice and failure. Once trapped, ambition is lost and freedom comes from death’s release. Hope has been extinguished by the man who created her. He sat atop her and silenced her demons. Now rest.

  “What if the men or spiders as you call them, who bring this change, are evil?

  “You and I both know where this is headed. There is not the need to waste breath or energy on something as pointless and nonexistent as hope should be. The spiders will look for those on the fringe. The people who can easily be disposed of will be the guilty and subsequently persecuted. I think that will be all for today Henry. I hope I helped. If I were you, run. Sleep will do us no good right now. “

  Mr. Hoffer runs out of the door, leaving Henry by himself in the small room. The lights are still flickering.

  Henry finds himself sitting in a clean room sitting at a small table across from an older, bearded man in a white sleepwear. Henry doesn’t quite know how he got to where he is at, but somehow feels an ironic sense of comfort.

  “This doesn’t make since,” Henry mumbles.

  “It’s complicated,” says the old man trying to comfort Henry.

  “How did this happen?”

  “He’ll be fine Henry, don’t worry,” says the nurse who is knitting but otherwise not paying much attention.

  “Can I get a minute with my dad alone?” asks Henry

  “Yeah sure, just try and make it quick. The doctors don’t like being held up,” says the stuck up nurse.

  Henry turns and looks at the nurse with disgust. The
nurse turns to leave Henry alone with his father.

  “I need to tell you something, Dad. And I was hoping that you would tell me something also. Honestly. Man to man.”

  “What’s that? You look worse than I do. Is everything ok?”

  “No Dad. No. This is hard for me because I know how much you want to see me do well and succeed and all, but I don’t think Radcliffe is a place I can do that. Like you said, I look like a freak, and I feel different. I think I have found myself in some trouble. And I don’t know how, but I just want to get out of this place.

  “You’re just saying that because I’m in a hospital.”

  “No dad, this is something that’s been on my mind. I’m so lonely here. There’s nothing here for me. I’ve become something I want no part of. I see things I want no part of. And it’s hard for me to see you being so far from home. You’re here with all these things constantly hooked up to your head and monitoring everything and I’m hundreds of miles away. I miss someone being home. I miss the bed I sleep in. I miss the smell of our house. I miss mom freaking out when the dishes aren’t done or when she gets off of work and there’s laundry everywhere and she complains about how she’s the only one who does anything around the house. don’t you remember those days? I miss everything. Don’t you?”

  Tears flow from both of them.

  “Sometimes, I miss those days, too. Unfortunately those days are why I am here and you are there. All we wanted was what is best for you. And if deep down you know that you need to leave, and then leave. I’m behind you one hundred percent.”

  “I know dad. I know.”

  “Can you give it until the end of the semester? Just take care of that, find out where you want to go and I’ll help you.”

  “Thanks dad. Wait. Semester? I don’t go to school Dad.”

  “Oh.”

  “Look I know you may have a hard time talking about this although I’m sure you talked about it with someone and had it run through your head a million times, but I gave to know. I got this newspaper article in the mail this morning unmarked.”

  “That’s tampering with a mail box! That’s a federal crime!”

  “Yeah I know Dad, but that’s not the point. It was the article itself. About a woman who shot herself in a motel with a college student. It is eerie that I got this letter on the anniversary that you say you found Mom dead.”

  “Strange day indeed. Rather peculiar.”

  “How did she really die?”

  “Did you read the entire article?”

  “Not all. The names were blacked out.”

  “Of course.” Henry’s dad takes a deep breath and sits back down on his bed shaking his head. “She was always full of dreams which changed everyday. But she never pursued her dreams. What’s the point of having them if you fail to act upon them? Well she met someone, someone who said they could fulfill her desires, really open her mind up creatively and to new possibilities. Then everything took a turn for the worse. I never saw her anymore. She wasn’t the same woman after that. She would leave and be gone for days and I would be relieved. When I found out that she literary opened her mind of with the revolver, I was happy for the first time. I was sick of caring due to caring so much it made me sick. A widower can’t be happy after the death of his wife. However I couldn’t say that to a young boy whose mother abandoned him and his existence. Everything I did was to protect you.”

  Two nurses walk into the room, “Time for your prep,” says the plump nurse who walks slowly from arthritis. The plump nurse is the muscle of the team and grabs Henry’s dad by the shoulders, holding him still while he sits up. The other nurse pulls his long hair and starts slicing it off with a knife, yanking his head in a different directions in a quick, jerky fashion. Henry’s dad merely sits there looking up through a lowered brow and with an empty and absent minded look upon his face.

  “If we could afford razors this would be some much easier and quicker,” the slicing nurse says with a laugh, causing the other to laugh as well.

  Henry sits and watches as they slowly slice his dad’s hair with a blunt knife. More hair comes out from the pulling and grabbing than with blunt knife causing blood to slowly begin trickling down, which the plump nurse wipes with an old, torn rag.

  Blotches of hair still remain and decorate the cut and torn skull of his dad as they slowly lay him down on his bed and position him comfortably. The plump nurse stuffs a used mouth piece in his mouth, “this will keep your tongue in place,” she chuckles. They engage the wheels on the bed and begin to push him out towards the hallway as Henry helplessly watches, still sitting.

  Henry is walking towards his house, hoping to get some peace of mind, even for a moment. Peace of mind is hard to come by when walking the streets with water up to your ankles and rain still pounding. The murky water is slowly being gargled up by the sewers and vents.

  Cold, black clouds darken the skies above. No stars can be seen and darkness covers the light from the moon. The only light on the street are the old, flickering streets lights and the occasional lightning strike

  It is eerily quiet, especially for a college town. Not a soul is out. The fear of murder is lying like a tremulous blanket over the city.

  The downtown strip malls on both sides of the street used to be a likely night spot. There was a bar, two tattoo shops, antique stores, a Latin food grocery, a Radcliffe grocery, a restaurant only serving chili burgers and hotdogs, an appliance store, a hardware store, a small one dollar cinema showing old films, the town locksmith and a pawn shop. Now the strip has been abandoned, looted and abandoned again. No signs remain of what would tell a newcomer what was there, every pane of glass has been shattered and the stores have been devoured by looters and left to emptiness. The trees on the sidewalk which used to be lush green and covered in string lights have fallen over into some of the shops.

  Henry comes to his house, built by the blind carpenter and walks down the stairs only to find the door bolted shut and wood over his windows. He angrily starts kicking the door, but to no avail. Lying on the ground next to the door is a hammer which was presumably used to board up the windows. He repeatedly strikes the lock, it still will not open. He walks to the window and uses the back end of the hammer to pry the wood off the siding. It works. The glass has already been shattered, so he slides through.

  The darkness remains in the room. Nothing is visible. Henry blindly walks over to where his light switch is and flicks it on. No light. He keeps flicking it on off and gets the same results. No light.

  Lightning FLASHES. As quickly as the flash, Henry sees a pale faced man in front of him. He throws Henry down to the ground. He pounces on top of him, sitting on his chest. Henry is struggling and trying to fight back. Blackness again. With every flash of lightning Henry sees the face. Pale. Thin. Unfazed. Unmoving. Eyes, bulging from their sockets. Lips dried and wrinkled. Nose; no existent. He has one hand under Henry’s jaw pushing it upwards locking his teeth together. The other hand is pinching Henry nostrils like pliers. The intruder is cloaked in black. He looks like he is wearing an officers hat but Henry can’t be sure. The lightning reflects off of what would be a badge in the center. He is seemingly as heavy as the Hell he crawled out from. All of Hell’s weight is compressed and weighing down on Henry’s chest. Henry begins to go limp. His flailing legs and swinging arms lose power and velocity and slow down. They drag. They stop. With that, the intruder slowly crawls away from Henry on his finger tips and toes like a lizard and bounds effortlessly out of the broken window unscathed.

  Henry regains his breath, but is panting. A surge of electricity hits. His bedroom light powers on. All of the furniture in the room is rearranged and ransacked. The plastic crate night stand is lying on the ground with the drawer thrown across the room. His small refrigerator is placed in the bathroom. The sheets from his bed are ripped off and the bed is tilted against the wall. His closet is opened and all of his closes are missing.

  As Henry stands frozen he looks at the
center of the floor and sees a set of photographs. They are of him at the graveyard this morning. All in different angles, close-ups of his face, the head stone are all indicative of more than one photographer. The last photograph however sends chills throughout his body. The hair on the back of his neck is standing. He feels as if someone has just punched him in the stomach after already being sick from eating something that gives him food poisoning. It is the pictures of him and the woman that were taken by Hope. He drops the pictures and they slowly flutter on their way down to the floor. Henry doubles over in pain, and on the floor he can see the scant reflection of blue lights coming in through the broken out window. He hears officers running on the ground outside.

  “B and E, B and E. he is in there!” shouts one officer who may be standing by the window that was already broken before Henry got there.

  There is nowhere for Henry to run. They have formed a perimeter outside, but even still, his door has locked him in. He hears a loud banging on the door. They’re trying to break in. Then finally the officers slide through the broken window, guns drawn.

  “Down on the ground! Hands in the air and down on the ground! You aren’t running anymore are you?” shouts a bear of and officer.

  Henry does as he is told.

  The front door finally gives way and splinters and disintegrates as the officers pour in as if they are a rising river breaking through a levy.

  Another officer from behind Henry grabs him by the shirt, spins him around and SLAMS a worn out and defenseless Henry to the ground. His head bounces off the floor as if it were a rubber ball

  This room is bare, old and gray. The only things in the room are a table and two chairs. Bulbs are blown on the lights overhead.

  Henry is sitting in one of the chairs by the table. The entire left side of his face is swollen, his eye is black and blood has filled his eye ball, making the whites of his eye red. He is unsettled and unsure. He blinks his eyes rapidly trying to adjust them. He stares at the observation window, finally knowing where he is. Now he can only imagine who or what is one the other side of the glass. He tries taking a deep breath, knowing he needs to exude confidence as a way of showing his innocence, however, through reading his paper, he knows that in small town justice you are guilty until proven innocent. Unfortunately, that deep breath does not come.

  The door opens and a man in his mid 30s in a dress suit and badge around his belt walks into the room. He is a detective; Detective Pash. He is carrying a case file, a note pad and a small rotating fan, which he positions in front of himself.

  “Hello Henry. How are you?” says Detective Pash with a fake pleasant smile sliced on his face. He extends his hand toward Henry, which he shakes. “Rough night? I am detective Pash, I am sure you have heard of me before.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “It has been a wild few hours hasn’t it? You know, I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up Henry. I was kind of a loner in a roundabout way. Would you say the same about yourself or do you have lots of friends?”

  “I don’t have any friends. Any person my age that I may have been acquaintances with before is gone. Once they went to college and graduated, you never hear from them again. Nowadays people just annoy me. What does this have to with anything? Why am I here?”

  “Did you go to college?”

  “No sir. No college. I went to work right after high school.”

  “Man, I hate to say it but you missed out. College was the time of my life. But you know; I had always wanted to be a cop. My dad was a cop, his dad was a cop. I guess you can say I was born and bred for the badge. Was there anything you had dreams of doing?”

  “No. Not really. I would be content with whatever it was that I would be doing. One dreams as he lives and dies – alone. You stay with something so long, that is how you end up. I mean, it wasn’t a given that you would become a detective. How disappointed would you be if you weren’t one? Would you look at yourself as a failure? What about your dad? Grandfather?”

  Detective Pash has had enough of the questions from Henry, but stays calm and ends the first stage of his interrogation.

  “Tell me about the night that Hope died?”

  “Why am I here?”

  “You are here because I want to know about the young girl you killed, Henry.”

  Henry is dumbfounded but knows that this is where he has to stay calm. Everything he does is going to be interpreted in a certain way not only by the interrogator, but the people on the other side of the glass. Every moment is studied including the direction his eyes move, his posture, if he’s sweating, how much he moves or fidgets. They are all examining.

  “I have never killed anybody.”

  “We know you were the last one to see her alive. We have your blood on the floor of her work space, a picture of you that she took. Her father saw you leaving a house after you tried scoring. We also know how that your mother passed away a few years back, on this day.”

  “Yes I was with her-”

  Detective Pash brazenly interrupts, “Yes I know you were. I just said that. This conversation is going to take twice as long if you just repeat everything I say.”

  “Not when she died. I don’t even know how she died. They never said it in the papers or on news“.

  “You are really not as clever as you think you are. How about you tell me why you did it?”

  “I did not do it!” It did not take Henry long to get frustrated but he knows he has a long way to go. He unknowingly slouches in his chair.

  Detective Pash does the same. “Henry, I just want you to know that I am trying to help you, so I would like for you to help me. We know you were there. Henry your blood is there. We know there was a struggle. I can see the dent in your head where you were hit by something. I just need you to tell me the truth. That is all Henry. It is really that easy. All you have to do is help my investigation which in turn will help you later. So let’s start with the night. Tell me everything. “

  “I met her at a convenience store where she staring at me like a psycho and told me that the drug addicts outside were going to kill me. Then- “

  Detective Pash interrupts again, “Why would they want to kill you? Do they know you? Are you a person who frequents these gathering tribes of the morose?”

  “No. I don’t know. She didn’t say. Seemed strange.”

  Detective Pash is taking notes from everything Henry says.

  “But you followed anyways?”

  “Yeah. What else was I going to do? I quite frankly don’t think it mattered either way if they had wanted to kill me or not. Then she took me to this house to take pictures of these other drug addicts for her book. Then this guy who was dressed up broke into the house so we ran to the building where she works. I saw drugs in her bathroom then I left. You know she had a terrible story to tell about her dad and the sheriff, have you talked to them?”

  There’s a loud banging on the other side of the observation window followed by some muffled yelling.

  “I’m asking the damn questions here, Henry. No one at this point is worried in the slightest bit about your opinion of other suspects in our investigation. You are not telling me everything, Henry. How did your blood find its way onto her floor?”

  “Look-”

  “Let me explain to you what it means to tell the truth. By telling some of the truth and not all, that is lying. You are hiding something. Now like I told you before. We need to help each other. That starts with honesty, and a little respect. Will you start being honest with me Henry? If you are going to continue to be a pad locked chest of information, I will be a hammer and bust you open.”

  Henry knows what Detective Pash is doing so he takes a deep, labored and painful breath, knowing that not only he but everyone is taking notes on him.

  “She told me she didn’t want to go back with her dad because he was over bearing or over protective. I went to the bathroom because I didn’t feel good and I saw drugs in the medicine cabinet. When I confronted her abo
ut this, she got mad and threw her camera at me.”

  “So that is where the blood came from? Why do I have a feeling she may have done that out of self defense.”

  “Yes. It came from the camera hitting me in the head and no, she had nothing to defend herself from.”

  “How did you come to asphyxiate her Henry? There was no sign of strangulation but some how she was asphyxiated.”

  “I don’t-”

  “Where did you learn burking, Henry? The barbaric, militant method you used to kill Hope.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone!”

  “Henry, please, work with me here. We both know how and where this is going to end. What I need you to do is just truthfully tell me what you did. Honestly I know why you did it and I know how. All I want is for you to tell me. I just need you tell open up and tell me everything.”

  “I can’t tell you anything. I-”

  “Yes. You. Can! What are you trying to hide Henry? “

  The temperature is starting to rise in the room, making Henry sweat. He wipes the sweat from his face using his shirt.

  Detective Pash takes note.

  “I am not trying to hide anything, I didn’t do it. Can I have some cold milk please?” He shakes the collar of his shirt to let some hot air out.

  “I think you could ease a lot of the pain of her parents if you just told me you did it. That’s a start. The pain of losing a loved one is such that has no equal. You should know this, Henry.”

  “What are you trying to say? The loss of my mother has absolutely nothing to do with this in any way shape or form. I did not do it. I did not do it!

  “Henry I am not sorry when I say this but I think it has everything to do with this particular predicament.”

  Henry’s eyes grow. He now fully understands why the newspaper article was placed in his mail box. It was by the police department. He has been targeted from the on set. Henry leans forward in his chair, as does Detective Pash.

  “Explain.”

  Henry leans over, grimacing from pain. Detective Pash leans over as well. They are staring each other right in the eyes.

  “You are the text book example of someone with mommy issues. The loss of your protector has been detrimental to your overall psyche. It manifested itself in Hope. You took out all of the anger you have for your mommy on Hope. You watched in enjoyment while Hope struggled for her life and took her last breath.”

  Henry sits back in his chair, trying to relax. Detective Pash does the same.

  Detective Pash continues, “You try to mask your pain with drug use. That is why you visited the drug house. Also explains the drugs found in the bathroom with your finger prints all over them. I do believe however that you got upset over the picture you saw of yourself by your mother’s grave and that is why you attacked her. Those repressed feelings emerged in a blind and malicious rage.” Detective Pash pauses to collect himself, and begins to speak with a more stern tone. “She did her best to defend herself from you. She used the camera as a means to fight. The cuts on her arms show definite defense wounds-”

  “No wait-” says Henry, interrupting.

  Detective Pash blasts out of his chair like a rocket and nearly comes across the table. “You had you turn to talk Henry! This is my time!”

  Henry sits stunned.

  Detective Pash gets back into his seat and calms down. He adjusts his dress coat and loosens his tie. “You did your absolute best to make this look like an accident, like this is just another overdose by another no name drug addict. Like I said before, you are not that clever. Unfortunately Henry, it doesn’t really matter what you say. There is enough evidence here to put you away for a long time. You will never see the light of day; you will never know freedom, for all of eternity. If I were you, I would get used to small rooms without windows.”

  Detective Pash collects his notes, and walks towards the door to exit. He stops at the door and turns around. “Do you even have any remorse for what you did?”

  “Remorse? No, I have no remorse. How am I supposed to have remorse when I did not do anything wrong?”

  “Sheriff Wharton will be with you shortly.”

  Detective Pash walks out the door. The sound of the slamming echoes off the walls.

  Henry rests his arms on the table and lays his head down. His face is throbbing. He grits his teeth and feels a grinding. He sticks his hand in his mouth and chucks of his teeth fall out. He spits more pieces on the floor.

  The door rattles and a large man walks in wearing a cowboy hat, a large belt buckle, white button up shirt, bolo tie around his neck, a leather vest and a large badge that says ‘Sheriff Wharton.’ He also has a mound of chewing tobacco lodged in the side of his mouth.

  “Son, might I ask what in the hell you think you’re doing spitting on my interrogation room floor,” bellows Sheriff Wharton.

  “I’m sorry, but my teeth are falling out,” says Henry with a mouthful of blood, saliva, and chunks of teeth.

  “I don’t really give a rat’s ass. Where you’re going you won’t need them I can guarantee you that, yes sir. Now, boy, let me explain something to you, and I want you to hear me loud and clear.”

  The Sheriff Wharton moves right beside Henry, standing directly over top of him, to let Henry know exactly where they both stand. “I know you killed my town’s little girl. There’s no two ways about. Her father is on the other side of that there glass. We have officers holding him back because he wants to come in here and beat you about the head until you die. Consider yourself lucky that I don’t want your dead carcass on my interrogation room floor. Hell I might just have my officers escort you out back to my Ford pick ‘em up truck and tie your ass to the bumper and let him drag you about town. . .”

  Henry turns his head toward the glass.

  “. . .Look at me when I talk to you, boy. You’re going to prison for the rest of your natural life. What do you think about that?”

  Henry looks back at the Sheriff Wharton and then down at the ground. What can he really say that will make this any better?

  “You stupid, son?”

  “No sir, I –“

  “You are stupid and crazy. I think you are crazier than a shithouse rat. So here’s what I am going to do for you. We’re going to make this trial speedy, you understand. You will agree to this. We’re going to get you in front of a judge and jury of your peers and convict you quicker than you can say your mommy’s name. I can’t have you taking up space within my holding cells. And from there you and I go down in history as the man who killed Hope and the man who brought Hope justice?”

  Sheriff Wharton adjusts his belt, shaking his large belly around then adjusts his vest.

  “Yes sir, you just got me re-elected. Hope will lay in her grave peaceful now that justice has been served,” he says with a chuckle.

  “This isn’t justice, and Hope lies in a grave with nothing. If anything this is a miscarriage-“

  Sheriff Wharton slams both of his fat fists down on the table, gritting his teeth, in front of Henry, rattling the room. Henry can only stare at his turkey neck that is red and swinging from side to side.

  “The only miscarriage should’ve been you,” Sheriff Wharton says with a scowl.

  Sheriff Wharton motions towards the observation glass. Shortly afterwards a dopey police officer roughly puts Henry back in handcuffs and leads him out the door and down a hall towards an exit.

  Henry is sitting on small concrete block next to a toilet. The arresting officers have striped him of his belt and shoes strings so that he doesn’t try to kill himself with. An officer walks in and throws an oft white jump suit at Henry which he proceeds to put on. The same officer comes back, cuffs Henry and leads him outside where a group of officers are there waiting to lead Henry outside. One officer throws a towel over Henry’s head.

  A patrol car is parked outside with blue lights flashing. There is a crowd of people cheering the officers who lead Henry to the car. Camera bulbs are flashing and cracking. There a
re some yelling and screaming. Others are cheering. Bottles, trash and rocks are being thrown at Henry also, some connecting, other crashing into the patrol car or the road.

  “Shoot him now! Shoot him now!” shouts one heathen.

  “We want a public execution!” shouts another.

  When the officers try and throw Henry in the car, they purposely expose the swollen left side of his face so it connects with the top part of the patrol car. He lets out a loud, painful scream which is welcomed with cheers and applause by the red neck onlookers. The officer waves to the crowd, smiling, which draws even louder applause.

  Once inside the courthouse, Henry is seated at the table assigned for the defendants, next to his court appointed attorney who has been rushed into action. Henry is emotionless and distant. His attorney is overwhelmed but aloof.

  He turns his look to the jury who stares back at him in disgust and also fear. They turned a blind eye for so long because it was easy, but now with a man brought before them by someone else and in a controlled environment, they are now free to be on their high horse. This ‘partial’ jury, astonished, horrified and spellbound by the details of the crime, is listening to the Commonwealth’s Attorney Marshall Scott give a rousing closing argument.

  “…Ladies and gentleman of the jury let me open my statement by repeating an answer Henry here gave to one of Radcliffe’s finest during an interview,” he walks over to the prosecution table and pulls a paper document from manila folder and reads, “The detective asked Henry if he had any remorse for what he had done. Henry replied, and I quote, ‘I have no remorse.’”…

  The crowd and the jury collectively gasp in unison.

  “. . . This man is a cold blooded killer of the worst kind. Neither sympathy, nor empathy lies inside his body. . .”

  Henry looks over to his attorney, Counselor Lundwiig who looks as if he really wants to be elsewhere. He lifts the sleeve on his jackets to check the time on his watch.

  “. . . We have a sworn witness to the crime. He was there, outside that building. He heard it all. He heard her screams, her cries for it all to end. . .”

  The addict who was outside the building is sitting stoned in the audience without a clue of where or who he is. Eyes are glassy and red. His skin yellowed from liver damage and decorated with collapsed veins.

  “. . . She begged and pleaded to Henry for her life. . .”

  The Commonwealth’s Attorney is walking, staring Henry in his eye, delighted as he gets the audience and jury worked up.

  “. . . He watched the young woman struggle for her last breathe, not thinking of her or her family. And he tried to cover it up and ruin her families name by saying she died of a drug overdoes. . .”

  The Dean and his wife are sitting in the crowd. The wife throws her head into her husband’s chest in full blown tears that become contagious throughout the courtroom.

  “. . . There is not a doubt in my mind that if he was not in the chair right in front of us, he would be out looking for his next victim, leaving another family to deal with the lose of a loved one. . .”

  The Commonwealth's Attorney sees the vulnerability in the jury. They are wiping their eyes from being subjective. He struts over confidently to their stable, ready to attack.

  “. . . Our little town used to be peaceful. There was a time when we knew everyone by their first name. We used to be able to leave our doors unlocked while we were sleeping. Not anymore. But ladies and gentlemen, by putting people like Henry away is the first step in purifying our city. We are a tight nit Christian community; we are all God fearing people. The demons within our population should be found and brought to justice before us and God. God is testing our devotion with creations like this and we will prevail! All I ask of the jury is to make the right decision, a guilty verdict, before the eyes of God and continue our path towards righteousness. I have nothing more. Thank you very much. . .”

  The jury and the audience clap in exuberance as the Commonwealth’s Attorney walks back to his table where he sits. The claps continue for minutes, cheering starts and people slowly begin to rise and give his resounding performance a standing over. He notices and the other assistant attorneys begin to nudge him. Finally he stands up and tips his figurative cap to them all which draws more cheers.

  Henry’s court appointed attorney stares in awe, as if he were a prophet of judicial harmony. He claps under the table.

  “I believe the jury doesn’t even need to deliberate to reach its verdict?” says Judge Knox who is smiling with glee and approval.

  “Yes, your Honor,” says the jury foreman, unable to overcome his sense of euphoria. “On the count of first degree murder, we find the defendant…guilty!” he says smiling and clapping for himself.

  The courthouse is erupts. People in the crowd are overjoyed with the verdict. The prosecution are shaking hands and congratulating one another. Sheriff Wharton walks over to the Commonwealth's Attorney, they bear hug and laugh. He looks at Henry and gives him a wink and gun with his hands.

  Henry is standing like a stone statue in front of the Judge who bangs his gavel for order.

  “Henry when I look at you I see a lost soul without direction and devoid of the necessary lessons in life to succeed,” says Judge Know. “I see an individual who does not belong in civilization, a community. It is people like you, if I should even refer to you as a person who makes my belief in God more powerful. Because believing in God makes me believe in hell. And that is where you will go when you are judged by the Lord, our Savior. Fortunately I am the closest human embodiment to God on Earth, which allows me to judge you here, and sentence you to serve the rest of your physical life in Hell on Earth. Court is adjourned.”

  The judge slams his gavel to a thunderous applause. The spectacle is over. Henry is numb, but feels dehydrated and impoverished. His attorney has already left the courthouse. The bailiff grabs and cuffs Henry and takes him out of the courtroom. The media parasites are gathering around him, bumping into, shoving microphones, recorders, boom microphones and large cameras into his face. The questions they ask blur together, obscure and indescribable jabber. The caterwauling from the jubilant, unwashed cattle in the court room and the bloodsucking stringers are causing delirious nausea within Henry’s head. His brain has turned into a rat’s cage, spinning to no end without a purpose.

  The path to the North River Correctional Center is peaceful. The road is straight and narrow, only two unmarked lanes. When cars pass each other one has to swerve to the shoulder of the road. The land is flat and covered in grass until it meets the rolling hill which lay at the foot of the dead tree covered mountains.

  Henry walks off the convict carrying bus with a load of new convicts, all shackled around the wrists and ankles. He does his best to get a quick view of the facility which has a high chain linked fence with rows of razor barbed wire at the top and observation towers with armed guards, aiming and ready to fire. There are also prisoners outside lifting weights, exercising, and playing basketball. Others are either watching or socializing amongst themselves.

  Henry passes through the clunky, automatic gate and gets a full look at the prison itself. The stone building is four stories high and has been beaten by the weather and the cold like and old English castle. Rain and wind have damaged the stone foundation. The glass on the windows is partially stained from decades of dirt to the point it is almost impossible to see in or out.

  The convicts and inmates cheer ungodly loud and clap obnoxiously as each new arrival passes them by and into the doors to be checked in at the administration building.

  Once inside, Henry notices the floors are dusty and dirty, as if they have never been cleaned or buffed. The lights inside are dim and gloomy. Henry and the other inmates follow the long corridor through a doorway into something of a dark auditorium, theatre seats and all. The newly arrived inmates are on the stage. Armed guards walk out and each one grabs one prisoner at time to another room to the side. When the door opens to the Henry tries t
o peek. The room is white and there is a doctor inside. Henry waits his turn. Slowly inmates come out of the room naked and covered and white powder, shaking and shivering from the cold.

  “They took my crucifix!” says one inmate on the verge of tears. “I can’t believe they took my crucifix.” He wipes his nose with his wrist.

  Henry’s turn is next. An armed guard grabs him by the shoulders and leads him to the doorway with a rifle in the middle of his shoulder blades. Inside the door, the armed guard tells him to strip, which he does. The guard throws his clothes in a large green trash bag.

  “What’s your affiliation?” the guard asks sternly.

  “None,” answers Henry.

  “No crucifixes or rosary?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “Can you do twenty squats, please?” the doctor asks. The doctor has a clip board and begins to scribble notes on Henry’s physical form.

  Henry does his twenty squats with some difficulty due to his injuries.

  “Ok, good. Cough?” asks the doctor feeling Henry stomach and then grabbing his genitals. “Ok, very well. Say ah.” The doctor grabs a tongue suppressor from his pant pocket and sticks it in his mouth and looks inside. “Ok officer he is clean.”

  The guard throws the white powder on him also and leads him outside.

  Prisoners yell and scream at the guards who lead Henry and the other along the long prison corridor to the showers. Henry stares at the ground and makes eyes contact with nobody.

  A group of guards are in the security room atop the shower looking on as Henry is showering up with a group of convicts. Everyone looks at Henry, he is the new guy. Henry feels their looks digging into him like a dull butter knife, he glances back and a few prison thugs are staring him down. The guards begin to throw some money on a small card table in the middle of the room.

  Prison thugs, three of them, are rather large men that wear their rap sheet like a badge of honor. ‘Might is right’ for these men who try to show their prison power to any and everyone.

  Henry quickly turns his head hoping they did not notice. Unfortunately -

  “Did you see the looks that little bitch gave me?” says the enormous thug. His arms, shoulders, neck and chest are large. His head is shaved bald and he has tattoos scribbled on there as well. His legs are not close, making his body look disproportioned.

  “Damn right,” says the second thug who also has a shaved head but isn’t quite as muscular.

  “What you lookin’ at fish, you like what you see?” says the enormous thug. He cracks his knuckles by squeezing his fists and cracks his neck by jerking his head around. He circles his arms around quickly, loosening them up.

  “Answer him, mother fucker!” says a third thug who appears from nowhere. This thug is leaner than the enormous thug. He looks much quicker.

  Henry continues to ignore and merely walks away to get his towel.

  The second thug runs over to him, corrals him, and then throws him against the shower wall. “Why you being so disrespectful?” he say through clinched teeth.

  “I am not a punk man. I don’t want any trouble.”

  The second thug laughs, and let’s go of Henry who slowly turns around.

  “No trouble!” The third thug sprints over and swings his right fist across the left side of Henry’s face which is still tender. It shatters like an egg shell on concrete shower floor. Henry collapses to the ground like a bag stone and is quickly pounced on by the three thugs. Other convicts either watch or go along as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. The guards continue watching from the security room.

  The thugs are stomping viciously on Henrys’ ribs and face. The water at the base of the shower is filling with blood and turning completely red. Henry is relentlessly trying to get up but with each attempt he is stomped back down. He yells in pain as sends he first thug sends his right fist across the left side of Henry’s face again. The second thug pounces on top of Henry as grabs the side of his head and slam the back of it onto the floor violently and repeatedly.

  Feeling as though they have done enough, they back away content with the feeling as if they have conquered a new land. Henry uses all of his remaining strength the get back to his feet. Once on his feet, but still bent over he accidentally stumbles back into the thugs who were watching with amazement. The second thug looks at the first thug in amazement. However, now that he is up, their work is not done. The second thug holds Henrys’ arms behind his head in a full nelson to expose his body, which the enormous thug uses as a punching bag. His body absorbs the thunderous punches. The shower not only echoes with the sound of wet flesh hitting wet flesh, but also cracking bones. Henry’s breathing is labored as his ribs are broken and his lungs are collapsing.

  The second and third thugs are laughing at Henry who seems to bleeding from every opening in his body. The left side of his face is blackened and swollen. His body is badly bruised. The third thug finally throws Henry down to blood covered floor with a loud splash and crash.

  “Get up now bitch!” says the second thug laughing.

  The group of thugs washes Henry’s blood of them as Henry lies motionless. As they get their towels and leave, a guard finally walks and sees Henry gasping for air and trying to get up.

  “Man down in the shower, over.” says the guard on his radio.

  The guard, not knowing the severity of the injuries or not caring, tries to pick Henry up. Henry lets out a distressful, caustic scream that rattles the walls.

  Henry is seated in a chair with two armed Guards holding him up with one hand and pressing a small semi automatic hand gun to his temples with the other. He is being questioned about the fight. His face is swollen and puffy, both eyes are fused shut and blood is dripping from the wounds under his eyes and from his mouth. His left eye is practically falling out.

  “Can you tell me who did this to you?” says the fat, curly blonde haired woman behind a desk.

  Henry is in too much pain to move a single muscle fiber and cannot answer. The officer does not seem to care, just wants answers.

  “Would you be able to identify who did this?” she asks.

  Still no answer; he cannot even shake his head.

  “If he can’t help us he needs to be put in solitary. Take him away,” she says to the officers.

  The two armed guards grab Henry from underneath his arm pits, lift and drag him out of the room.

  Henry is in a small closet of a room for his actions in the fight. The room is moist and warm and seems to get smaller and smaller by the second. The walls are secreting mucus. The dark room is slightly lit by cracks alongside the door jams.

  Henry is lying weak and impoverished. Fatty, unhealthy prison food is shoved through the small food chute and thrown about on the floor, which Henry does not touch. Henry’s mind is slowly being minced and eaten away by savage-like suicidal thoughts. His anguish and pain can all be gone if were to end it all. With his breathing still labored it would not take long for strangulation to finish its job. His flaccid arms try to push his body to an upright position. He grabs the bottom of his shirt and attempt to lift the shirt over his head. Once half way there the pain in his ribs ignites like wild fire, burning his soul. Another loud scream shreds his vocal cords as he falls back down on the slimy and damp ground. The scream fades into cries. His muscles contract with every cry, causing even more pain.

  Henry finally begins to calm himself. He closes his eyes and inhales through his nose, holds it, then exhales through the nose. He tells himself that his stomach must extend past his chest as his lungs fill with oxygen. Through repetition his body takes control of the movement. He imagines the top of his skull opening and a light water fall pours in; an endless stream of rich, clean, blue water. His blood pressure and heart rate slow. He imagines the muscles relaxing to the point they could painlessly melt from the bone. The mental and physical anguish begins to fade as well. His mind, which was working against him before, has now faced the pain an
d overcome it. Rather than try and numb the pain, he faces it head on. He knows that this is integral to his survival in prison.

  VI