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Chapter twenty-four

Lucien

I should have killed him when he insulted God, now he has cost me time with Nadia.

Pacing back and forth in my cell, my cellmate, what was his name again? Aleksi? Alaric? Whatever it is, sits here and watches me from his side of the room, leaning fully against the wall as we wait for lights out. The cell doors have already closed for the evening, the officers quickly completing their count.

I’m going to be up all night, pacing back and forth, worrying about her.

From the cell bars, to the back of the cell, over and over again, I walk. Some of my steps quicker than the others while the rest slow down. I have no clue what Kace was thinking, but I am going to be sitting with him and figuring it out tomorrow. Had our cells been closer together, I would have stopped by his and kicked that older cellmate of his out for a little one-on-one conversation.

He put his hands on her, in an unacceptable way. Every way is unacceptable if you ask the Lord, but he harmed her. That’s my job, I’m the only one allowed to bring her pain.

When darkness takes hold, I can’t stop my movements, I am too amped up. It has been too long since I have made a kill. When I first started, I could go almost a year without needing to feel the sticky viscosity of blood against my flesh. Now that I have killed more than my fair share, I need it more often.

I’ve been here for nearly a month, if not a little longer, and the last time I’ve come into contact with blood was that day in the cafeteria. Truth be told, I’m not impressed with the level of violence here. I was informed that Darkwater is the most notorious prison in the state, housing the worst criminals from all over the country, yet there has only been one squabble!

What a waste, no wonder God sent me here to further corrupt the people.

Maybe that is what I need to do, set myself up on some sort of routine so I can maintain watch in more than just one section of the prison. The Lord said that I can carry out his deed in whatever way I please and it seems like this may be the key.

Breathe, my son.

The Lord said unto me.

“I—I am, my Lord.”

“Huh?” my cell mate asks.

“Shut up, I’m not speaking to you.”

“Then who are you talking to? It’s lights out anyway, get your ass in bed.”

“Did you not hear me when I said ‘Lord’? I’m talking to the man himself.”

“No, you’re not, you fucking nut case, get in your bed and stop that pacing. You’re going to wear a hole in the floor before the night is through.”

Lifting a hand, I shake my pointer finger at him—still pacing.

“You should really watch what you say to me.”

Us.

The dark voice adds.

“Us.” I repeat.

“There is no us, get in your bed before I make you!”

“Hey, pipe down in there!” shouts a guard.

Sliding my hands up into my hair, I struggle to catch my breath, my eyes twitch as I shake my head to dispel the intense feelings that are racing through me. Anger, despair, restlessness, the list goes on.

You’re weak. You’re nothing. You never should have been locked up. Look how pathetic you are, sitting in a cage with hundreds of inmates to kill and you’re walking around with no direction.

“Shut up!” I yell, leaning back as I let out a scream.

“Guards!” my cellmate yelps just as my vision goes black, my hands moving of their own volition.

Wrapping my grip around his ankles, I yank him from the comfort of his bed until his backside collides with the floor. His grunts and panics, which does nothing to slow me down. Physically, I can feel him staring up at me as I linger over him, his back leaning against the frame of his bed. Lifting my foot, I bring it down on his chest over and over again—crushing his ribs beneath the force.

I can hear his bones cracking under each blow, the following stomps feeling as if they are reaching all the way through to his spine.

The Lord is always on my side, though the guards rushed in and were entirely too late to save my victim, the warden had me tossed out of the ding-wing within a few days. The nurses also had me heavily medicated, which I don’t hold against them, they were lovely and very accommodating. I was warm, comfortable, and fed the entire time. It was as if mother was guiding them on how to care for her precious boy.

I have a few lingering injuries, but they don’t matter at this point as I have more important things to take care of. Having spent the better part of the past few days, when conscious, devising the rest of my plan, I know I need to set it into motion.

First thing’s first, an assignment.

I need something to do, something to keep me occupied and a cover for my specific brand of people watching. I also need to get my hands on a few people that no one would miss. The time between my last kill and my next growing ever longer and if I’m not careful, the Lord will require my blood to make up for my stalling.

Up until this point, I have never met Rosie. She seems tolerable at best. A little too into herself and her self-imposed importance as the Warden's secretary. I will say, however, she was able to give me a list of assignments that I would be allowed to partake in—given my level of violence. Though I don’t get to choose what I am allowed to do, having a place to start is better than nothing.

No kitchen duty, no woodshop, nothing outside of the prison gates. Leaves me with cleaning duty, which isn’t safe for anyone. Do you know how much toxic gas I can create with simple cleaning chemicals? Enough to wipe out an entire cell block before they wake up the next morning. There is the library, but that has been reserved for the well-behaved inmates like goody-two-shoes Kace.

Needless to say, I am very limited but when clergy is listed as an acceptable role, I grin entirely too wide. Father would be proud if he knew I have followed in his footsteps afterall, then there is God himself. I came here to wash away the sins of these men and the Lord always provides, placing me with the prison clergy couldn’t be more perfect.

On my way to the neglected church space, I step into the musty room and look around, hands sink into the pockets on the front of my jumper as I look around the empty space. It’s odd not seeing devoted followers of Christ fill the pews. I don’t know what the current priest is doing but it is apparent that he is failing as a messenger of God.

“You must be the new guy,” a man calls out from my left. He steps through what appears to be an office door. One of those heavy wood ones with a frosted pane of glass to provide a level of privacy.

“Yes, I’m Lucien, you must be Father…” I trail off, waiting for him to fill in the gap. With a shift in my stance, I lean against one of the rear pews, gauging the interaction as it unfolds.

“You can call me William, just never Bill. That’s my dad.”

“William. You don’t prefer to use your ordained title?”

“Not at all, kids don’t partake in titles that much anymore.”

“I wasn’t aware there were children in the prison, William.”

“Obviously not, but when you have a title, outside of these walls it follows you and that’s where kids come into play.”

“Hmm.”

I follow him for a moment, he grabs a stack of worn-out bibles off a small table near the door to his office. With an arm full, he proceeds to walk right up to me, and I automatically reach out to take the load off.

“We don’t get many in here, the Hispanic crew comes in at random but usually through mass times. The black population likes to be here bright and early on Sunday morning. The warden manages to get a hold of donated bibles, so if you could go ahead and spread them out amongst the pews, we can be ready for them in a few days.”

“Of course,” I reply, taking a few steps away until I am able to round the end of one set of benches and start placing the Bibles down on the seat—one at each end of every row.

“Tell me about you, Lucien. Are you a follower of the Lord?”

“I am but not in a traditional sense.”

“Feel free to elaborate if you would like.”

I would like, as hesitant and defiant as I was when I was a teenager, this is what I know—only because my relationship differed.

“My old man is a preacher. He’s been one since I was a teen.”

“You didn’t follow in his footsteps, I take it?”

“I mean, if you want to consider that he is still a sinner despite being a religious leader, I did. I’m just a follower of Christ. I let him speak through me and lead me where he wants me to go.”

“Ahh, a free spirit. That makes more sense. There are a few of those here at Darkwater. Tell me more, if we are going to be working together, it’s only fair that we know one another.”

He’s digging. I don’t know if this is his brand of ministry but he seems more like a therapist rather than someone who spreads gospel. Interesting to say the least.

Dropping the last bible, finishing the task, I walk over to the steps that lead up to where an altar would normally be. A single wood podium stands off the right side with the son of God crucified to the cross hanging up over head. I stare up at him, it’s been so long since I’ve slowed down enough to admire my savior.

The prison may be lacking in a lot of things but the crucifix is stunning. The wooden details, the blood painted on to the wounds hammered through Jesus’s palms and feet is a deep red versus bright red like people assume blood is. His head is tilted forward, his rib bones prominent from starvation, and around his head the crown of thorns. Everything about the crucifix is mesmerizing.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” William asks, coming up behind me. For a guy not much older than me, from the looks of it, he doesn’t seem to be intimidated by men like me.

“It is. My Father doesn’t have anything remotely as beautiful as this one.”

“One of them new age takes?”

“Yeah, something like that. Just a sleek and modern cross. The Son is not present.”

I continue to stare up at the object of my obsession while he moves around the makeshift church, still rattling on about family and what have you. He can talk until he is blue in the face and I still won’t be listening, not when his words are broken up by the voices in my head.

“What about you? Siblings of any kind?”

“Huh? I—I don’t know, maybe. My mother was a whore who died from a drug overdose and complications of liver failure— consumption.”

“Wow, I am sorry to hear that, Lucien. I pray that she is with God.”

“Me too, William, me too.”

My little visit with William wasn’t what I would call memorable but it was interesting; I was able to wander around the prayer hall for a while longer before I was dismissed. With a nod of my head, and William giving a little wave, I left, stopping by commissary on my way back. I secured a little bartering system with a couple of cracked-out inmates. They assured me they could obtain a pack of cigarettes in exchange for buy-able call time—I guess they had been cut off or are being punished. Either way, I don’t have anyone to call home for so they are welcome to mine.

It is interesting how Darkwater has that system set up, you don’t get a card or anything to stick into some slot like you would a floppy disk—no, you’re provided with a one-time redeemable code that you have to try your hardest to press into the damaged screen of the call monitors.

They have a built-in camera not only for recording the call but for video calling—which the bugs are still being worked out of since it is relatively new tech.

Either way, I get what I need and am on my way to the rendezvous point with Sean, I think that’s his name.

“Ayeeeee, godly man,” he croons when I step around the corner that usually leads to the back of the vacant hallway— it’s a wonder they allowed this part of the prison to remain open. Not very smart on their part.

“That’s not my name and it’s blasphemous, so watch your mouth.”

Sean put his hands up in the air in surrender as I cut my eyes towards him— a stupid look on his snaggle toothed face.

“My man, I meant no harm. You bring what I need?”

“I did, and you? I want to see them unopened before I give you anything. I might not care about a lot but getting some disease because your filthy mouth licked the filters is not something I will tolerate.”

“Hah! Nah, friend, I don’t do all of that. I got what you need here.”

He reaches into the pocket of his jumper and when he pulls his hand out there the white and red package is—still cocooned in its cellophane. I scowl at him, watching him rigidly as he steps closer, holding out both hands. One with the Lucky Strikes and the other empty; waiting for the code he needed for the call.

I linger for a moment before snatching the box from his palm, handing him the piece of paper the commissary tenant gave me and pivot on my heel. There was nothing else to be said, I got what I want; something to take the edge off.

“See you again soon, Lucien!” Sean calls out, which I didn’t turn to acknowledge.

My hands rip and peel at the plastic wrapper while my pace quickens. I can taste the tobacco on my tongue already, the anticipation building in my body where I am fumbling the contents. Even dropping the small match book that Sean had taped to the backside of the pack. With a grunt, I lean over and snatch the little black booklet up from the ground and go on about my way.

I have stood out in the rec yard watching inmates of all sorts for the past several weeks. Observing their mannerisms and what they do when they think no one is watching; obviously they were not as alone as they thought they were. Seeing them sneak off into different blind spots hoping a guard didn’t stumble across them in any act that violates the rules established by the prison. Don’t they know that there was no means of atoning for the sins in which they have committed? Why try to hide the things about yourself that others would consider disgusting. We do not exist on this planet to please other people around us, but to serve the one true god.

People can hide and try to keep their secrets but the Lord knows better than to fall for the lies of a weak man.

Off at the far end of the yard in whole, there is a worn patch of grass that has since dried up from the lingering sun; the scorching thing holding on tight to the last remnants of summer. As I approach it, I drop down, planting my backside directly on the dried space. Then lean back against one of the chain link fences.

Beyond here, about four feet, is another fence, then another beyond that, with razor wire coiled in spools that run the entire length of the fence, topped with another layer like a copious dollop of whipped cream. While a mote doesn’t exist around the prison, there lies another barrier on the other side of the last fencing, a concrete wall that reaches up so high inmates can barely see the tops of the trees.

The warden doesn’t want any of us going anywhere, and I do not blame him. He wouldn’t get the financial payout from the government for his little vacations if he allowed any of us escape. While the prison itself looks imposing, there’s always some way out— even if it’s in a body bag.

With my legs bent in front of me, I scan the rec yard before me, hands anxiously fiddling with the pack of cigarettes and the matches. Prying the little box open, I withdraw one and place it between my lips. The object trembles as I fight the matches. Striking a few duds before one starts to blaze, I light the cancer stick and suck in the deepest breath I can muster.

Pure euphoria rolls through me at the airy feel of smoke filling my lungs, the nicotine quickly calming my frayed nerves. My heavens, a fresh puff of smoke is not what I thought I needed but I have been led astray before.

Reaching my free arm out, I drape it over the top of my spread knees, and sucked down the burn of tobacco like it’s my last gasp of air.

Imagine my surprise when several of the race groups start to rally around one another. Speaking with obvious tension that radiates off them in swaths. Until this point, I have not been curious enough to obtain their names, I only needed faces. The Lord maintains their monikers.

When you gather names, it becomes personal too.

They mull around, discussing something hush-hush until a few of them scatter off leaving the white ones lingering around in their own little circle. An urge to learn what is happening pulls me up from the sitting position I was in, then across the yard in just a few moments.

“Never thought I’d see the day where men of your complexion would have a conversation with others without some sort of threat,” I spoke, testing the waters while dropping my cigarette butt to the ground and stomping out the cherry.

“The fuck are you?” one of the shorter ones asks, standing between myself and the tallest in their group.

Pipsqueak is what I will call him.

Looking over him, I notice a pencil thin mustache and a few spry hairs trying to take over his otherwise baby face. Hair buzzed down to the scalp with fresh lightning bolt tattoos sitting over his Adam’s apple.

Poor placement if you ask me.

The two guys to my right, opposite of Pipsqueak, I decide to call them One and Two; they don’t look important enough to hold names since I can’t see any markings on their razor burned necks.

“I asked you a question, boy, you ought to answer.”

“I would apologize but I don’t care what you asked. You must be the main man, am I right?” I aim at the one with his arms crossed and an amused smirk on his face.

My cold grey eyes meet the one standing behind Pipsqueak. He has dark hair, but his eyes are an amber color that shows just how far down in the ranks of the AB he sits. They may let any white man in nowadays but ranking officials, from what I have learned, fit the profile of white, blond, and blue eyed.

The ‘perfect’ race.

“That’s me, name’s Nathan.” He rattles off, shoving his hands into the front of his pockets like he isn’t standing in front of a slice of true evil. “You? Got a name?”

“Lucien.” I reply swiftly, eyes flicking left and right to get a look at all the men. I don’t fit their requirements, nor do I want to, I’m just curious about the odd cooperation between their faction and the others.

“Care to discuss what was going on with the kinfolk you were just talking to?”

“What are you a fucking guard?”

“Hardly, obviously. I’m dressed just as ridiculously as you are. Whatever is going on, I want in on it.”

Just going to set that hook and see if it works.

“You’re not initiated anywhere so you won’t find out shit. Get lost, punk,” Pipsqueak chimes in.

“I didn’t ask you, I asked Nathan.”

Digging into my pocket, I pull out the pack of cigarettes and offered one to the larger man, hoping he’s a tad smarter than the rest of the goons standing around.

“I don’t smoke, but if you need to know, there’s a shift in power…” Nathan starts, One and Two huff to themselves.

“We have new leadership taking hold and want to assure the current agreements stay in place.”

“Care to share what those agreements are?”

He hesitates for a moment, where I take it upon myself to put another cigarette between my lips and light up. He may not smoke, but I’m going to polish off this entire pack before tomorrow afternoon.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Make it my business” I snort. “Or I can make shit very bad for the four of you.”

“Is that a fucking threat?!” Pipsqueak shouts, moving to put himself between me and Nate even more so.

“What? Me threaten you? I’d never—” I coiled my arm back and punch the kid right in the lightning bolt tattoos.

Told you, poor placement.

When he drops down to his knees, hands wrapping around the front of his neck to claw at his crushed windpipe, I pin the cigarette between my teeth and reached for him.

Both hands curl on his ears, nails digging into the flesh just before I yank and tare the protrusions from the sides of his head. They gave me a little bit of a problem at first, but within a couple of minutes, he is bleeding from both sides and screaming for pain relief.

Standing back up, I hand One and Two each an ear then grab my cigarette and pull it from my mouth, letting the smoke bellow out into the air.

“He doesn’t listen very well, consider this my show of good faith.”

Pipsqueak roll around, whining—the awful noise grating my nerves. If he continues, I’ll crush his voice box next.

“The AB has their eyes set on a specific inmate that has continued to deny the opportunity to join our ranks. Instead, he is a race traitor and spends time with the homies.”

“Why does that matter to you? There are plenty of men here that can fill his shoes.”

“Outside influences that you don’t understand.”

“You’d be surprised. Anyway, who is this inmate and what leverage do you have on him? Maybe I can assist.”

One and Two look over to Nate for a moment, having some sort of silent conversation. From the looks of it, they do not seem the type that can formulate a complete sentence, let alone make decisions.

“He has an infatuation with Officer Pierce, she’s leverage, when the time comes.”

“Interesting… tell me more.”

Even as a young boy who would watch her from afar, sneaking out after my mother passed to get a glimpse of Nadia, I never thought she would be capable of doing the things she has done in Darkwater. If I am to be an honest man, I will say that I expected more from her. She’s not the girl I thought I knew and that thought alone sends me into a blinding rage.

People don’t understand, that’s why I went silent during my therapy treatments—doctors refusing to hear what I had to say and choosing to ostracize me instead.

I needed her, longed for that dark-haired beauty, but she became something so different from what I ever anticipated.

A crying shame.

Concealing my contraband, I head back inside after leaving Nathan to pick up the pieces of his friend Pipsqueak. I don’t know if he ended up passing out or not, but the whimpers and muffled pleading went silent halfway through the details of Nathan's story.

All that I know, at this moment, with my nerves frayed and my frustrations spiking, is that I need to find my platinum-haired friend. Right after I find the prison whore .