The Invisible Cipher - A Jagged Journeys' Novella

  Neil awoke to a rhythmic tapping underneath the sounds of prisoners shouting at each other, metal doors squeaking open, and toilets flushing. He strained to hear the message. It seemed to be repeating itself. Scratch, tap, tap, pause, scratch, scratch, scratch... Silence. “Down,” Neil whispered. More taps and scratches, “boy.” There was a silence, Neil counted to seven. Scratch, tap, scratch, scratch... “Your.” He listened to the rest of the message, “going down boy.” Silence. “You’re going...”

  Neil shuddered. The sweat on his skin turned cold. Was this for him? He tried to focus on the other sounds around him. The tapping increased. He flushed his own toilet—once, twice, and again. The tapping didn’t quit. It seemed to be coming from different areas of the ward. He covered his ears but the message repeated like a skipping record.

  He’d always thought it cool that he and his brother could secretly communicate; now he hated the mere existence of Morse code.

  ***

  The meal cart rolled up outside of his cell. “Dinner.” A guard banged on his door and a tray with a bowl of watery soup slid through the small portal in his door.

  The smell curled his lips. “What is this?” He grabbed the tray wishing he had a table to slam it down on. Something to interrupt the message that morphed into hundreds of insects crawling the walls of his crypt.

  “Fish soup.”

  Neil straightened. “Is there shellfish in it?”

  “Yeah, buddy, this is one of those fancy restaurants that serves all those highfalutin meals like lobster bisque and oysters. Just shut up and eat it.”

  “What kind of fish?”

  “Eel.” the guard snickered and the cart squeaked down the hall.

  Neil stared at the bowl. His stomach growled despite the smell. The message crawled all around him. He grabbed a piece of stale bread and bit off a chunk. His mind focused on the sounds in his mouth. But by the third bite his teeth chewed out his message of doom.

  He ignored the meal. Surely there wasn’t any shellfish in it. The guard was right. The prison wouldn’t waste money feeding shellfish to inmates. There was so little to do. Neil took a deep breath to not smell the fishy stench and gulped down a mouthful.

  He’d only taken three or four spoonfuls when he felt the swelling, first his lips and tongue, then his throat. Neil threw the bowl and contents against the door. He struggled to stand, already feeling light headed. “Help. Help.” His voice sounded so puny. All around him toilets flushed and prisoners yelled and banged on doors. “Help.”

  “Quiet down,” a guard yelled.

  Neil staggered to the door. “Help. I need a doctor. Help.” He banged his fist against the door. “I’m dying. Help.”

  Under the ruckus from the other prisoners he could hear the rhythmic taps and scratches, You're going down boy. An eerie laugh slithered down the hall.

  Sweat blistered on Neil’s hands and face. His pulse raced and he struggled to stay alert. “Help.” His voice, weak, blended with the cacophony of sounds swarming around him. He notices the birds when they fall. Leonard’s words came to him. Neil gasped for air. “God, I know I don’t deserve your help.” His hands shook and he struggled to inhale. “Please, help.”

  Neil slumped to the cell floor, the eel soup soaking into his prison uniform. I’m gonna die in the poison that killed me, he thought. His eyes fell on the bowl with some of the soup, ironically, puddled in the bottom. He reached for the bowl, careful not to spill it and shoved it through the food portal. It slipped from his hand and fell to the concrete floor.

  Black splotches covered the walls, floor, and bed of his cell. “Help.” Neil’s voice was barely a whisper. “God. Please.” He bent to grasp the spoon with his left hand, still confined to the sling. It took all his strength to lift it to the portal. He struggled to pull his other hand out of the portal and with sheer determination Neil grasped the spoon and thrust his hand back through the small opening. He banged the spoon against the outside of the door with all his might, though the sound was a faint tink in his ears.

  The black spots spread across Neil’s cell. He closed his eyes to the growing darkness and struggled to take just one more breath. Somewhere nearby he heard keys jingle and inhaled another shaky breath.

  ***

  Muted voices faded in and out. Neil tried to open his eyes but it seemed like so much work. Where was he? His thoughts were a jumble. A caramel apple. Yes, that’s what he wanted. Where was that vendor? “Sir. Sir.” His voice sounded garbled. What did he want? He drifted back to sleep.

  “How is he doc?”

  The voice pulled Neil into consciousness with an urgency that baffled him.

  “Is he going to make it?”

  Fear strangled Neil. Who were they? He opened his eyes but quickly closed them to the bright light and white walls that reflected the light. Two forms seemed to stand somewhere beyond his feet.

  “I think so. He’s not out of the woods yet.”

  Whoever they were they were getting closer.

  “But it’s looking good.”

  He opened his eyes just a crack. Everything was bright and blurry but he could see two men. An older man wearing a long white coat and another in a guard’s uniform.

  “Do you know what happened?”

  That voice. That uniform. Neil panicked. He gasped for breath—his eyes wide open. He struggled to sit up but he had no strength. It was as though someone was pressing him down—holding him back. He looked in terror at Bear, who’d snitched on him.

  Beside the guard stood a gray haired doctor siphoning a clear liquid from a bottle into a syringe.

  Neil wrestled to sit. Why couldn’t he move?

  “Looks like he’s coming to,” Bear said. His eyes locked on Neil.

  “No. No. Get him away from me.” Neil’s voice was hoarse, his mouth dry and swollen.

  The doctor removed the needle from the small jar and held the syringe up to the light. “Relax, son.” He stepped toward Neil. The guard stayed put but wore an expression of pleasure at Neil’s anxiety.

  “We think you ate some shellfish.”

  Neil nodded. “What is that? What are you doing?”

  “Don’t worry, son. You’re going to be alright.”

  “No. Get him out of here. They tried to—”

  “Did you say he ate shellfish?” Bear interrupted.

  Neil pulled at the straps that tied him down.

  Bear smirked.

  “They tried—”

  “Shellfish?” the guard’s voice increased in volume.

  “Don’t let—”

  “Is he allergic to shellfish?”

  “According to his medical records he is.”

  Neil nodded. “Yes. In my—”

  “So what are you giving him?”

  Panic raised in Neil’s chest. “Doc, lis—”

  “Could it have killed him?” Bear interrupted again.

  “Auggh!”

  The doctor laid the syringe on a nearby table and focused on Neil.

  “Lis—”

  The guard started to speak again and the doctor raised his hand. “I need you to be quiet. He’s trying to say something.”

  “This man’s a dangerous murderer, doc. He started the fight in the cafeteria yesterday with the intent to kill some guards and escape.”

  “I’m fully aware of that.” The doctor looked down at Neil who shook his head back and forth. “But he’s strapped down and I have a job to do so if you don’t mind, please go stand outside the door.”

  “No offense, doc. But my orders are not to allow this man out of my sight.”

  “Then at least go stand by the door and let me do my job without your incessant interruptions.” The doctor turned away from the guard and took Neil’s pulse.

  Bear gave Neil a contemptuous look. “You don’t go and give this kind doctor any trouble now, you hear, boy?”

  Neil glared at the man. “I won’t.”

  The guard waited a few more seconds before retur
ning to the door.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “They tried to kill me,” Neil whispered.

  The doctor placed his stethoscope on Neil’s chest. “Breathe in.”

  “I was poisoned.”

  The doctor nodded.

  “That guard is helping them.” Neil felt so weak.

  “Have you ever had delusions or heard voices before?”

  “No. They’re trying to kill me.” Neil’s voice raised and he saw the guard take a few steps closer. He tried to calm himself and lowered his voice. “How would shellfish get into eel soup?”

  “Oh sometimes they put crawdads in the food. Whatever the state can get at a good price. Open your mouth and say, ‘aahh.’ ”

  How could he convince this man they were trying to kill him?

  “You’re throat’s still a little swollen.” He looked over Neil’s face and then his neck, arms, and hands. “And you still have some hives. I’m not quite convinced you’re home free.” He reached for the syringe on the metal table.

  Did Neil dare trust this man? Was he also on the take? “What are you giving me?” Neil asked.

  “Don’t worry. It’s just Epinephrine.”

  Neil remembered the drug from the other two times he’d eaten shellfish and reacted with hives and swelling before his father realized Neil was allergic. “You’re just now giving me some?”

  “Oh no.” The doctor inserted the needle in Neil’s arm. “This is a second dose. The guard who found you realized you were having an allergic reaction. He got you some Epinephrine right away. It’s a good thing he did too. A minute or two more and we’d have had to give you a tracheotomy.”

  “I almost died?”

  The doctor nodded. “You were pretty close. But I think you’ll make it.”

  “If he doesn’t finish me off.” Neil looked in the direction of the guard.

  The doctor followed Neil’s gaze and appeared to consider the idea.

  “Let’s take a look at your arm.” The doctor removed the bandage and cleaned the wound then re-bandaged it.

  “That guard’s going to try and kill me.”

  “Nobody’s trying to kill you.” He put the medical tape on the table. “Sometimes solitary confinement can make you think you’re hearing or seeing things that aren’t really there.”

  “But I was poisoned.”

  “It was all a fluke. I’ll talk with the kitchen and warn them about feeding you anything with shellfish in it. But I would suggest that if you ever suspect shellfish might be in something that you don’t eat it.”

  “Yeah.” It always came back to him. His choices. His actions. Why had he eaten that eel soup?

  “I’m going to keep you overnight for observation. In the meantime, get some rest. It’s much quieter here than solitary confinement.”

  Neil watched the doctor leave. The door shut and he was alone in the small room with the guard who’d shared his letter to Sunshine with J.R. The man smirked. Neil vowed to stay awake and watch the guard watching him. They’d gotten him once, they weren’t going to get him again. Especially not here, with all these needles and bottles of who-knew-what.

  The guard turned and looked out the door’s window into the infirmary's entrance. “What’s you so nervous about, boy? You just rest.”

  Yeah, right, thought Neil. I’ll rest so you can come over here and kill me.

  ***

  Neil didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when he awoke with a start. There beside him was the guard—a pillow in his hand. “J.R. will be pleased to know you got to experience your death awake. It’s just sad, due to the circumstances.” He glanced around at the sickbay. “That it can’t be more—” he paused and licked his lips. “Painful.”

  “Help. Hel—”

  The guard forced the pillow over Neil’s face.

  Neil struggled to get away but the straps on the gurney held him tight. He turned his head but the guard pressed the pillow around his face. God, please—

  Everything was going dark.

  Sunshine. He strained to conjure her image one last time. His body felt so heavy. He thought he should fight but couldn’t find the strength. Somewhere, beyond him, he heard pounding and voices.

  ***

  Neil coughed and sputtered. He squinted at the bright light and flinched as the doctor leaned over him. The straps around his arms and chest were loose.

  “Welcome back, son,” the doctor said. “Appears you were correct about that guard.”

  Neil looked around. The room was in shambles and two guards were leading Bear away—hands cuffed.

  “How?” Neil’s voice was weak.

  “A guard came in to check on you and caught that man trying to suffocate you.”

  “Who?”

  “Did you catch that guard’s name?” the doctor asked a nurse.

  “Let me look at the register.” She left and returned a moment later. “He signed in as ‘Hugh.’ ”

  Neil smiled.

  ***

  The tapping and scratches whirled around Neil back in solitary confinement. Don’t think you’re safe boy. You gonna die. Neil vacillated between fear and an odd sense of peace as he considered the events of the past few days. He’d been allowed to write Sunshine a letter while in the infirmary and told her everything, even how he’d almost died twice—but somehow survived. “It’s as though someone is watching over me,” he wrote.

  Now, as these new threats reverberated in the walls and slipped in through his meal door he tried to be cautious but not afraid. He grabbed the Bible Leonard had given him. Inside, Leonard had written a note:

  Neil,

  I don’t pretend to understand why you have been framed and imprisoned. You may feel very alone, but you are not the only person to have been wrongly accused. In the book of Genesis, a young man named Joseph was falsely imprisoned but eventually he was freed and even honored. You can read about him in Genesis 37-47. I hope and pray you too will be freed and even honored.

  For more words of encouragement read the book of Psalms and Matthew.

  I still believe you are innocent and will do all I can to see that the true killers are caught.

  Your friend,

  Leonard Black

  Neil thumbed through the pages. “A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps.” Neil considered these words. If God directed his steps, he sure had a steep path for Neil to walk.

  Keys rattled outside his door and Neil realized it was time to go to the exercise yard. The hall was loud with moans, yelling, and demands for a sundry of items. Several times he passed doors only to hear, “Snitch.” “Pig lover.” “Dead man.”

  “Knock it off,” ordered the guard.

  The door locked behind him and he stepped into the autumn sunshine. Its warmth felt good on his face. Neil inhaled the fresh air. There was the scent of dried corn leaves and a faint whiff of smoke from someone’s burn barrel. He’d lived to see another day. Maybe that was how he would survive—one day at a time.

  He stretched and was midway through one-armed push-ups against the wall when the door to the small exercise yard opened.

  Neil spun, fist clenched, ready for whatever new assault he must face.

  It was Hugh. He chuckled. “I guess if I’d been through what you’ve been through, I’d be a little edgy too.”

  Neil unclenched his fist. “What kind of trouble am I in now?”

  “Beats me. All I know is the Warden wants to see you.”

  “Is it about the attempted jail break? The poisoning? That guard trying to kill me?”

  Hugh shrugged. “I’ve got to cuff you. Procedure.”

  Neil stretched out his arms. How many times in the past months had he heard that ratchet sound? Neil caught Hugh’s gaze. “Thanks, Man. You know, for—”

  Hugh nodded. “When I heard what had happened and who was guarding you I thought I’d better check in on you.”

  “Glad you did.”

  “I owed
you one.”

  Neil bit his lip.

  “I reckon,” Hugh’s voice was quieter. “If you weren’t here, I’d be a dead man now.” He took Neil’s arm and escorted him out of the building.

  They walked across the dirt and gravel yard to the administration building. Inside a wood paneled office the warden questioned him about the riot and jail break, the poisoning, and attempted suffocation. Neil told him about the Morse code messages and how his letter to Sunshine was intercepted by the same guard who tried to kill him.

  Neil glanced at the warden’s secretary scribbling notes in shorthand on her green-paged steno-pad and wondered how deeply he was digging his grave. But the fact that someone in power was listening to him kept him talking. He shared J.R.’s threats against Sunshine and expressed his concern for her and Neil Jr.’s safety.

  The warden nodded, asked his secretary if she’d gotten it all, and dismissed her.

  “Well, Mr. Gatlin, I want to thank you for all the risks you’ve taken. Typically, all that you’ve shared with me would pose a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s obvious that your life is in danger and we should transfer you to a different prison.”

  The thought of escape from J.R. and his gang lifted his spirits. But that would place Sunshine several hundred miles away or force her to move and lose the support and help of Leonard and his wife. Besides, wouldn’t there be gangs no matter which prison he went to? The positive and negative ramifications of a transfer swirled around him.

  “Like I said,” the warden continued. “Keeping you safe would be a problem, but another situation has arisen.”

  Neil straightened in his seat. “Another situation?”

  The warden buzzed his secretary. “Mrs. Collins, can you please let those gentlemen in?”

  Neil gulped and watched the door.

  When it opened, in walked a frail, bookish man he’d never seen; followed by his lawyer, Harvey Rubens; and his brother, Ken.

  Neil stared in disbelief.

  “Mr. Gatlin,” the warden said, “this is Mr. Burns. He is a clerk of the court.”

  The clerk nodded at Neil and opened a briefcase on the warden’s desk, shuffled inside, then asked, “Has Warden Trimble given you the news?”

  Neil looked at the man and then his two lawyers. “What news?” He didn’t dare hope.

  “No,” said the warden. “I thought I’d let you break the bad news to him.”

  Neil held his breath.