THE ENDING OF WESSLER
by H.T. Bachman
This was by far the best thing that had ever happened to me while I was in prison. Not that there hadn't been moments. Prison for me has been, cathartic, therapeutic. Thoroughly enjoyable at any rate. My previous residence, across the street at the Lyndon B. Johnson Institute for the Criminally Insane, was much less enjoyable. The CO's (corrections officers) have always referred to it as the "B" Ward, although it is technically a completely different institution, intrinsically tied together with ours as it is. I'm not really insane anyway. Well, not the way that I made them think I was at least. Life over on that side was boring, except for all the incessant screaming and getting to see the real effects of electroshock - "therapy". I arranged for my vacation over there because I wanted to go and visit my father, but as fate would have it, about a week after I got in he was transferred out of "B" Ward and over to this side. We crisscrossed, and I never got a chance to get to him over there. It took me nine months of acting like a perfectly normal, everyday sociopath over there in Looney Tunes land before they finally realized I was in the wrong prison and sent me back over here.
On my last day in "B" ward I was relaxing up in the holding area, waiting for the CO from this side to come over and escort me back to my real home, when they brought in their newest customer. Unfortunately I didn't have the time to really get to know the good fellow, but through careful observation of the interactions the staff had with him while they were handling him, and the short time we did have together, I was able to ascertain that he had recently murdered his mother and then lived with her in his house for the next four months or so as if she was still alive. He watched Monday Night Football with her corpse. He really couldn't understand why his accommodations were over in "B" Ward across the way, and was somewhat upset about it. After noticing that I had been quietly observing his interactions with the staff he turned towards me and asked if I thought he was crazy. I told him that really, there's no such thing as being crazy. If you go to the headshrinker and they, with their "exact" methods and infallible knowledge of all the intricacies of the human psyche as they apply to every single individual mind that walks through their door, determine that there is something wrong with you it won't be that your crazy. You'll be delusional, you'll be paranoid schizophrenic, you'll be manic depressive with violent anti-social disorder and homicidal tendencies, but you won't be crazy. Crazy doesn't exist. I looked him right in the eye, I grabbed his hand tightly with mine, and I said "Listen to me. I don't know one thing about you other than what I've learned here in the last few minutes, but there is one thing I do know. I'm getting out of here today, so there's hope for you, because I can guarantee you're just as sane as I am." I meant every word of it. I hope it made him feel a little better. That was three years ago, in possibly the foulest year of our Lord I've encountered to date, 1979.
I've been back on this side for a little more than three years now, and now, at this very second, I am thoroughly enjoying watching two of my favorite CO's, Jake Kelly and Beauford Wallace. You see, right now those two, myself and one other prisoner are literally the last four people in this prison right now, probably some of the last people on Galveston Island. I'm ecstatic inside, I'm welling up with excitement for what's about to happen, partly because of the fact that I'm really looking forward to introducing myself to everyone as the real me, and partly because I simply couldn't have imagined a better set of circumstances, a better backdrop for what I had planned, than what mother nature was giving me right now. Beauford and Kelly's rather heated argument occurring in front of me right now was no doubt exacerbated by the rapid approach of Hurricane Dean, right on time, and our lack of transportation out of the prison and off of the island. To be honest I can't really claim total credit for the little communication snafu which occurred and caused the last prisoner transport to depart a little more than 45 minutes ago while the four of us were waiting for my room search to be concluded by Beauford, but I can gloat, just a little.
"I think we should just chain 'em together and head out on foot. There's got to be some EMS, Police, something out there that can call us in a lift."
"Dude, what fuckin planet do you live on? Do you hear that wind out there? This storm is going to be on land in like 20 minutes. Nobody's out there right now. By the time we got those two idiots chained up and out the door it would already be here."
"We can't just sit here and ride it out Beauford, this place is like a hundred years old."
"First off, your boot ass is gonna start callin me Sergeant Wallace. You understand that? What if people just called you Jake while you were in the military? It's the same thing."
"We're not in the military."
"Shut the fuck up Jake! Either you shut up and start following my orders or I swear to Jesus I'm going to shank your ass and make it look like one of these two fucktard prisoners did it, you understand that? Shut. The. Fuck. Up. I don't want to hear one more word out of your young ass mouth. Go back there and unlock Boom and get his ass over here. Shackles. He needs them, and if you take your time you're gonna keep pissin me off, so hurry up. The last thing I picked up from WSAT before it went down was that Dean's up to a high CAT 4, probably gonna become a CAT 5, and they're expecting the storm surge to come in well past this prison, which means the bottom floors are gonna turn into ocean lickety split. Move your ass, now."
Ahh, the joy of being a fly on the wall. I love watching conflict develop like this, especially when I've had a hand in creating it. As I sit here and revel in this small little whirlwind of chaos I've partially stirred up, I'm distracted by the wind from the storm. It is really howling and whistling through this old building. I actually don't know if we will all survive the night, as I'm not sure this building can take a hit like it's fixing to have to endure. Even if it does I don't think this place will be able to be used as a prison anymore, not that I really care, I'm not coming back. I will miss Jake Kelly though. He's by far my favorite CO. He's only been here for six months. I know he was in the military previously, I'm not entirely sure what he did while he was in, but at any rate he seems like he tries to be fair and just with us prisoners. Unlike some of the other guards, especially that animal Beauford, he treats us with respect. He even bought my cell-mate a toothbrush one time when he knocked his off the sink into the toilet I had just shat into. Bought it with his own money, and brought it up to my cell mate so he didn't have to have shit breath for his meeting with his lawyer. Everyone always says Jake Kelly and I look like twins. I don't think so, and I don't think he does either, but people come up to us all the time talking about how if I ever wanted to break out all I have to do is get his ID. He seems like a good enough guy, but then, he hasn't been here for very long.
Beauford is the worst kind of guard. He's like 50 years old, old school, and he's worked the Texas prison system for almost 30 years, probably because he was too much of a dipshit and prick to work anywhere else and he knew it so he never tried. Rumor had it he had raped two of the female inmates over in the Jester Units he was working before coming over to our unit 16 years ago. Instead of firing him and pressing charges they just shipped him over to us, the shittiest prison in the whole system probably.
Robert E. Lee State Prison - what a fuckin joke. It's over a hundred years old, it looks like it's even older than that. This is actually the "newer" version of the original Robert E. Lee State Prison that was built in 1837. This old building is drafty, and haunted. Very haunted. It's seen a lot in its time, a lot of emotion, a lot of hate and violence, some redemption, but not much.
The catwalk we're on is about four and a half feet wide, part of the old style prison design. This prison was built with one thing in mind – housing prisoners. It wasn't built with different pods, with the input of designers and social workers and therapists. It was built back before anybody cared about any of that stuff when it came to prisoners. It's bare bones, basic, and hard, like all prisons used to be. Its interior resemblance to Alcatraz and location on an island has earned it the nickname of Galcatraz by some of the locals, although personally I think the interior is much more closely related to the interior of Sing Sing.
The prison has a large central area open in the middle and the cells wrapped around it, facing inward. It's just a big rectangle. The catwalks go all the way around the entire prison, on every floor. You can look down at your feet and see the catwalk below you, and the one below that through the metal grated floor. If you lean over the handrail far enough you can throw stuff down to your buddies in the cells below you. Don't lean over too far though, that cement floor down there tends to be quite unforgiving. If you have a strong enough arm and good enough aim you can hurl something, say a pack of cigarettes, all the way across to the other side. I know because I used to distribute cigarettes in this way. I'm very accurate. Of course, if you're on the two far ends of the rectangle you're fucked, so you better make some friends above and below you if want to get the best chances of getting your hands on some good contraband. I like this old prison, it's quaint, no frills. The only thing I can't stand is that everything is metal. The floor's made of metal grating, the handrails are metal, the cell bars are metal, the sinks and toilets and mirrors are metal - metal metal metal. Nothing but fucking metal, fucking everywhere. At least the floors and walls in the cells themselves are concrete. Well, technically speaking they're cinder block. I'm so sick of all this metal.
"Why are you staring at me inmate?"
Beauford. That nasty old horsefucker. "No reason Officer Wallace, I apologize. I'm just kind of spacing out with all the whistling from the wind. When are we leaving?"
"We're not leaving numnuts. Goddamn you are a fuckin rock aren't you. I swear to Christ you have got to be the most retarded person I have ever met who isn't actually retarded. You are the definition of a fucktard. I tell you what Thompson, you're about 20 years old right?"
"Actually I'm 22 Officer Wallace."
"22, ok great. You're young enough. I'm just gonna unlock you from that handrail and let you walk right on out of here. How's that sound?"
He started walking towards me, while at the same time removing the keys from his belt.
"Here ya go bud. You're all set. Go. I'll just tell em you got loose in here and I couldn't go looking for you cause of the storm. I'm sure your body will turn up when the tide rolls back out. Go, I'm not kidding bud. Get out of my face, maybe you'll find your mom out there and you can, what was that word that you used before,... fornicate. You can fornicate with her, degenerate."
"I never slept with my mother Officer Wallace, you know that. I don't want to escape, or to leave, I was just zoning out cause of the storm, and I thought you and Kelly had lined up a bus or something to come and get us. That's all. I don't want to go outside."
"You sure? I've already got your shackles off Thompson, this could be your big break?"
"No, thank you though, I appreciate the opportunity."
"Anytime dipshit. Wholly guacamole you're an idiot. Get your skinny ass up off that floor, we're moving."
The sun was already starting to set, and the lightning and thunder from the storm was intense. The windows wrapping around the rectangle at the top near the roof were filled with the intense, brilliant white light. The power had gone out hours ago, and as the sunlight faded the lightning began to take on a strobe light effect. The multiple strikes and flashes made our movements look robotic when they went off. Kelly was bringing up my father right now, and just as he came within a few feet of Beauford from behind him, one of those brilliant white flashes shone down from above and gave me my first real look at what this whole thing was all about. Kelly was a good CO, and he had shackled my dad, just as Beauford told him to. My father's hair was long and grey, his beard was the same, and he was as thin as a rail. I guess that runs in the family. Despite being shackled and looking his age, he seemed to have some sort of youthful streak running deep through him, he moved like a young man, his eyes were bright and alert, his neck was muscular and as he swung his head to move the hair out of his eyes I couldn't help but be mesmerized. Having never met my dad before I was focusing intensely on every detail about him. I was vehemently searching his face for contours which would identify him as my father, I was studying his mannerisms, the way he walked, the way he looked at people, everything. I was searching, I wanted that connection with him, but I couldn't see anything. He was short, he was wild, he was crazy, and he was a murderer, and he looked like one. He looked more like Charles Manson than he did me.
"What the fuck are you looking at boy?"
Aren't those the first words every son wants to hear from his father? That's the second time in five minutes someone has caught me staring at them. Note to self: make staring at people less obvious in order to blend in better.
"Uhh, nothing man, I was just trying to look through that door behind you. It just blew open."
Kelly walked over to Beauford with my father in tow. "Here's your guy Beauford. We should probably go ahead and move up to some higher ground before that surge starts getting in here."
"Oh, ya think. Thank you so very much for that amazing insight there Kelly. What did I just tell you not more than six minutes ago? It's Sergeant Wallace or I'm gonna bust your ass kid! Get it right!"
"Hey fuck you dude, you're just a fucking glorified security guard! I did five years in the Navy, three as an operational sniper in a SEAL unit, and if you think I'm ever going to address you with rank like you actually deserve it then you're smoking fucking crack! Once I'm off this island I'm not coming back to this shithole prison you think you rule somehow, so for tonight, while we all get hit unprotected by a CAT 5 hurricane less than 5 miles from the coast, I'll call you whatever the fuck I want and if you don't like it you can eat shit. Do YOU understand that? Shut the fuck up about your rank Wallace, nobody cares."
"You better not come back Kelly, cause if you do…"
"If I do what mutherfucker!? Put your disgusting hands on me, I fucking dare you! I will cripple your ass Wallace, so you just do what you need to do buddy. I'm right here."
Outstanding. I was fully expecting the tension between these two would be ratcheted up to extreme levels from the storm and circumstances, but this is far above and beyond anything I could have expected. They're going to be so preoccupied with each other that they're not even going to be thinking about me.
The sun is now completely down. The only light coming into the entire prison now is coming in from lightning flashing through the windows wrapped around the top of the building. This lightning is crazy. It sounds like a super freight train powered by jet engines and carrying tornadoes on it is running through the center of the prison right now. It's so loud now I can barely hear anything. Kelly just took out one of those green light sticks, cracked it on and handed it to Beauford in front of me.
"Take this! Lead us up the staircase to about the sixth or seventh floor! We don't want to go all the way to the top!"
He was literally screaming at the top of his lungs. Beauford didn't say anything. I noticed that as he reached across me to get the light, the look on his face was completely expressionless. I'm following him down the catwalk towards the stairs now, with my dad behind me, then Officer Kelly at the rear. As we follow the swamp waste green light stick through the almost pitch black darkness over the metal catwalk, I'm noticing that the usual familiar metallic stomp of walking is being completely drowned out by the wind. I can't hear anything. We walk and climb up stairs for a few minutes, then follow Beauford off the stairs at the seventh floor catwalk. We walk about halfway down to the middle of the unit where Beauford is waving us with the light into a cell on the right. I head into the cell, followed by my dad, and I lay down on the floor where I can get a good look at the windows wrapping around near the ceiling. Looks like Beauford and Kelly are in the cell next to us to ride it out. So far this storm is pure intensity. It sounds as if the wind is going to completely blow this building over. I know it's having an effect because as I lay here on the floor gazing up at the windows wrapped around the upper level near the roof I can see the huge, black figures of the fluorescent light fixtures swaying back and forth from their power lines. I'm praying to see one of those monstrosities fall from that height.
It's been some time now, I'm not sure exactly how long, but it seems like the storm is starting to die down. I've been noticing it for the last few minutes, at first it's almost imperceptible, but after several minutes of careful observation I can tell the storm is definitely getting quieter. Now, suddenly, everything is quiet, everything is still. I can still see lightning, but it's off in the distance now. Has the storm passed? All of a sudden Kelly is up and standing at the door to our cell.
"This is the eye. We've got about 20 minutes till it ramps back up for round two so if you have anything you need to take care of, like pissing or shitting, I suggest you do it, now."
I look over at my dad, and my heart is skipping! He's just lying there, totally motionless. I think he might have had a heart attack. Beauford walks in and kicks him square in the ribs.
"Wake up you old bastard!"
I reach over and offer my hand to my father to help him up as he lies on the floor groaning and grabbing his ribs. Whoa! Instantly he's sat up and then stood up, all in one motion. Everyone was taken by surprise, especially Beauford. He's jumped back away from my father immediately, all the way to the cell door, and now he's laughing again.
"Well well well. Wessler C. Boom. You sure are spry for an old timer, I'll give you that much. Why are you back over here anyway? I thought they finally stuck you over in that holiest grail of fucktards "B" Unit since you're mind is totally blown, and everyone knows it?"
"Beauford you should have retired. I know for a fact that you've screwed over the wrong person in here this time brother. You're a marked man. I offered to do it myself as a personal favor, but it's too personal. He wants to do it himself. I don't know what you did exactly, but knowing you I'm sure it was sadistic and cruel."
I think Beauford may actually be scared. He's looking down right now, slowly raising his gaze to meet my Dad's. "You think that's the first time I've heard that shit? Let 'em try, he won't be the first. Stupid fucktard inmates. Fuck em all, fuck you to Wessler, you mindless crackpot. I need to retire huh? You better watch your mouth or your old ass is gonna retire tonight, permanently, right fucking now."
"I'm just giving you a message man. You should be thanking me, not threatening me, but that's just the kind of dumbass you are isn't it. This guy is out for revenge man, that's all he's talking about. By the way, tell me what this tattoo says."
Boom raised is right arm up above his head so that Beauford could get a good look at his tattoo. It was a black outline, in a kind of half oval, semi-rectangular design, with the word Ranger in the middle of it.
"First Battalion Army Rangers dip shit. You want to get me, you go ahead and have at it."
That was the second time today I've heard Beauford threaten someone with violence, and the second time I've heard someone say that he should go ahead and try so that he could get his ass kicked. Ironic. When I finally get him it won't be with any threats or warnings at all. He'll never see it coming. A huge flash of lightening, lasting as least 6 or 7 seconds is going off right now. It's absolutely beautiful. As we all stand out here on the catwalk looking at each other, it is eerily silent. Now, way off in the distance, a slow rumble of thunder. It's gradually crescendoing and reverberating off the cinderblock walls. Kelly unshackled us when we went into our cell, and as my father stands here completely unrestrained, you can see in his eyes that he really wants Beauford to make a move. He's laughing again instead, more of a nervous chuckle really. Now he's turned off to his left and is walking a few steps further down the catwalk. The metallic thump of his boots, vibrations, and a slowly dimming green glow stick..
Kelly is back in a cell and sitting down. Apparently neither one of them is very worried about us escaping.
"What's your story?" Wessler asks me.
"I got into a wreck while I was drunk a few years ago. I killed an old lady."
Beauford had walked down the catwalk a little, but not out of earshot. "Basically he's just a little fucking bitch. Why don't you tell em the rest of the story there Thompson? I'm bored so I wanna hear a story, and it's either gonna be yours or we're gonna talk about Boom's little revenge theory, and I think yours sounds far more entertaining. So, why not the full story, don't wanna piss off mommy? Hey, don't worry, if you do I'm sure she'll take you out for some cocktails later to make it better… oh and then she'll rape you again – just like old times huh buddy - hey maybe I'll let her borrow this glow stick!"
As Beauford walks back down the catwalk towards us he's laughing again, this time almost hysterically. The chem light is illuminating his face and making him look a lot like Shrek as he howls.
My dad seems empathetic. Strange. "That's messed up man, you're mom used to rape you?"
"No, she didn't. I don't know how that rumor started. I loved my mother, very much."
Beauford staggered over, drunk on his outlandish laughter. "Don't lie to him man, you know you liked that shit. You probably wanted her to do it, the fuckin whore. Didn't she get killed by her pimp or something like that, or was it one of the johns that was fuckin her that did it? It was a long time ago, I don't really remember the details that much, all I really know is, your mom's a hooker and you're a fuckin bitch, and I don't like you. Once we get back in here I'm gonna spend some time fuckin with you, you can but your ass on it. That is, if you can get this glow stick out of there after your mom jams it in again!"
He's laughing at his own jokes again, that beast. I've never met anyone who gets off on pushing other people's buttons like he does. He loves making people feel like shit, and he knows exactly how to hit where it hurts. I'm not really making a conscious decision right now as I slowly take the five or ten steps up to him, I'm tapping into my subconscious and letting it take control, I'm letting my lizard brain call the shots. I am aware of what I am doing, the logical conclusion to what I have started has already flashed right in front of my eyes, and as I am now standing here, not more than three feet from him, watching him still laugh at my misfortune, and that of my dead mother, who I love very much, I take an even bigger spiritual step back. Now I feel as though I am completely outside of myself, on autopilot, leaving me free to observe what I am truly capable of. In an instant, I'm down, squatting right in front of Beauford, this rapist, this thief, he deserves to be locked up in here more than I do. He deserves a lot more than that, nobody talks about my mom like that and gets away with it. I wrap both my arms around his legs and stand up as fast as I can, and lifting him completely up and off of the catwalk I instantly swing to the side, throw his legs up in the air, and then allow myself to watch, detached from myself, in slow motion as he slips out of my grasp and starts falling the seven floors down to the concrete below. Damn this darkness. I would have so loved to see his face as his skull bursted apart hitting the concrete down there. He doesn't scream, or make any sound whatsoever, until we hear the splash down below. It seems the storm surge had finally come in, whisper silent next to the rampage of wind we were forced to endure earlier. I wonder if he may have survived a seven story fall into shallow water. Probably not. Kelly is rushing out of his cell towards me and looks over the edge. He's standing right next to me.
"Holly fuck man what the fuck did you do!? You just signed your own death warrant man, you killed him in cold blood! You're gonna get the chair for killing him like that Thompson, definitely, I'll make sure of it!"
"I respectfully disagree with your opinion regarding the outcome of the conundrum we now find ourselves in Officer Kelly. You see, there's only one creditable witness to what just happened, and, well, we are still in the middle of a very dangerous situation. Anything could happen."
He reaches down and picks up the chem light, perfectly illuminating himself. Apparently he still hasn't realized the need to perceive me as a threat, despite the fact that I sent his partner on a seven story face plant. As I bend my knees just slightly in preparation for my strike I see him start to react somewhat, but it's far too late for that already. I'm much better at killing people with my hands than he is. He's good from a distance, with a rifle, but I'm here in his face, right this second. All in one motion I push up on my legs and take my left hand and ram it right up under his chin. I am doing this in a specific way in order to minimize damage to myself. In order to do this, I strike him not with a closed fist, but with an open hand, using the heel of my hand as the striking surface which is now impacting his face. By coming straight up the middle I have circumvented the primary defense that we as humans have developed of the centuries for detecting rapid movements and reacting to them, which is peripheral vision. My first strike has snapped Officer Kelly's head back, the blow having been delivered with such surprise, and being so well placed that his entire bodyweight is now leaning backwards. I twist my torso to the left, using my hips and core to uncork a devastating right hook palm strike onto the left side of his face. In my mind I hit him so quickly, with so much power, than my hand literally blows a hole in his face and comes out the other side. His head snaps quickly to the right, his chin going past his right shoulder. His knees instantly buckle, and he drops like a ton of bricks straight down onto the catwalk. A second or two later I hear a sound like peoples being dropped into water from a bridge and realize that those are his teeth completing their seven story free fall and landing in the storm surge below. Wheee! I reach down and remove Kelly's pen from his uniform shirt along with his wallet. I've always been fond of this pen of Kelly's. What does it say on the side? Cross. This is a nice pen. Solid metal, not one plastic part. This will work perfectly. As I reach down to pick up the chem light, I hear Wessler walking up the catwalk behind me. He had gone to take a piss, but he didn't come back to the same place he had left.
"What the hell are you doing brother?"
I hand Wessler the light. "Take this. I'm going to lock Kelly in one of the cells, and then we can scout around for the best way to get out of here once the storm's over."
"I ain't goin anywhere with you crazy. I'm good right here."
"Come on man, let's go. Rangers lead the way."
"You know what, yea, Rangers do lead the way asshole, and you're starting to really piss me off. I ain't going anywhere, so you better just fuck off before I really start to get fed up with you."
"Hey, Wessler, have you ever been married before?"
"What?"
"Ever had any kids or anything? Why were you over there in the psychiatric ward anyway?"
"You're seriously pissing me off kid."
"Well I only ask because I know you were convicted for murdering Regina Hall weren't you? They put you in the psycho ward because you were crazy after the war. You were drinking your ass off, fighting with cops, stealing shit, pimping out girls, wife beating – you were having some good times man. You see Wessler, the reason I know about you and Regina Hall is because she was my mom. She never told you about me since you beat her ass all the time and once you left, before she was starting to show, she moved and tried to start a new life without you. She wanted a life with me Wessler. She had a life with me. She loved me very much, and I loved her. We were in love. I was the only man who had never hurt her she said. Of course, I was only 14 years old when you killed her so, I wasn't really a man at all yet, but she said I was. And then, one day, I come home to a kitchen that I used to love, not because of the food, but because my mom was always in it, and it's covered in blood. Blood on the floor, blood in the sink, blood inside the light sockets, blood inside the fucking light fixtures on the celing. Man, you really did a number on her didn't you? I loved my mom very much Wessler, and she loved me. We had a life together, we had each other."
"Holly shit you're a fucking nutball brother. Regina was one of my girls, how the hell you know about her, I have no idea, and I don't give two shits anyway. Back in those days when one of your girls screwed you, you dealt with it. So, she got dealt with. As far as you being my son, no fucking way. There's no way you are my son. What you are is crazy. I could tell the minute I laid eyes on you. And you wanna know something? I fuck up crazies in here man. I make em hurt - bad."
"There's no such thing as crazy Wessler. Why did you kill her? The why, is really what I'm most interested in. At least, it used to be. Now, I don't really care why. I don't really care about you, or what you had going on in your life, I just care about one thing now."
"Any what's that?"
"Getting your blood... on my hands."
"My blood on your hands - good one. I'd pay to see that. Getting even doesn't change anything crazy, you fucking phycho."
"That's because you're a murderer who's lived your whole life causing others pain and suffering. You've never needed to get even, you've always been the one someone else has to get even with! I've already told you though, I don't care about any of that. I just wanted to meet you for a second before I bleed you out, I wanted to study you, to connect with you, and to see what from you will continue to live on inside of me. Now that we've done all that, well, the eye has almost passed, so I need to get things wrapped up here."
He's laughing at me. "Do what you gotta do little man."
As I start to walk towards him I extract the pen from my pocket, and hold it in my right hand. I can feel myself slipping back out of my body, detaching. My words are slow, and deliberate. "It took her 3 days to die Wessler. She was in excruciating pain."
The chem light is starting to fade, it's only about half as bright as it was when Officer Kelly first turned it on hours ago. He's slowly backpedaling as I walk towards him. Suddenly, he drops the light and bum rushes me, he's knocked me down now, and he's instantly got his hands around my throat choking me out. I am calm, I look straight up at him, right into his eyes, and that's where I see it. That's the connection I was looking for, deep within those eyes, behind the rage and the age, I see myself, as clearly as if I was looking into a mirror. The world is collapsing, my eyes are starting get grey and then black all around the outside of my vision. He's cutting the blood and oxygen to my brain. I have full blown tunnel vision, and as I continue to stare up into the face of the man who is murdering me, the person who murdered my mother, my father, a drop of sweat from his forehead drips directly into my right eye. It burns and stings and it is wonderful. Instantly, I know I've connected, I have known my father, and as the tunnel vision closes in around me and I am just about to fade out completely, I raise my right arm and thrust my pen into the side of my father's neck three times in short, rapid succession. The result is instantaneous. His hands are off of my throat now, clutching his neck and trying in vain to stem the huge, pulsing torrent of blood flowing out of his jugular. He rolls off of me to my left, flails about for a few seconds, and then lay still. I am still on the ground recovering my oxygen, taking deep breaths and letting my blood flow resume.
Let's stand up. As I gaze down at my dead father, I can't help but think what a huge part he has played in my life, without having any part in it at all. His blood has pumped and pooled all around the chem light, and it is so thick and deep that the light looks as if it is a small boat sailing a sea of blood. It is very dim now, almost out.
The lightening is back in full force, and the wind is rapidly developing back to its former strength. I open up Kelly's cell and take his uniform off of him and put it on. He's dead. I wipe off my father's blood from his pen and stick it in my front uniform pocket and stuff Jake Kelly's wallet in the back. As soon as this storm dies down a bit I'm gonna walk right out of here with Kelly's identity. I dump his body over the side into the storm surge with Beauford's. With a little luck the tide will take them out with it when it recedes after the storm.
As I stand alone on the catwalk of an abandoned, 100 year old prison in the eye of a Category 5 Hurricane, with 3 kills under my belt, I feel as though, for the first time in my life, I am completely at peace.
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