Caged
Chapter 3
Rule on kindness: Never take favors from anyone. You will owe them.
Because he bested Moron, Todd got a short reprieve. People knew he'd fight, fight dirty, and beat someone twice his size. He quickly adjusted to the routine of getting up early, showering, eating meals with a batch of newbies, attending group sessions for drug addiction, and spending his afternoons playing basketball and lifting weights. Always took time to sit on the bleachers in the sun, just to think. But he knew the reprieve wouldn't last. Someone was going to want to see if his first day was a fluke. He felt the tension building, the curiosity. The bets.
Moron was pissed. He'd been moved, sported a fresh mastectomy scar, and slunk around the prison, having hit a new low in his gang known as the Blue Aryans. Todd had a new cellie, a young kid who was scared shitless and had no people. But because he was with the new guy who'd eat your flesh if he wasn't in the mood for ya, people left him alone. The boy would follow Todd, but Todd would never talk to him. To do so would show a favor, a weakness.
The reprieve ended when Todd was approached by the Blue Aryans. He was sitting on the bleachers, the kid, Brayden, nearby. When Brayden saw what was coming, he got up, heading back inside. Others got up, too. When Todd tried to get up, the leader, known as Silver, slapped him back down. Two others crowded Todd and one moved directly behind him. Others sat near him, shielding the show from the COs. The challenge had come.
Silver, bald-headed and ugly as sin, grabbed Todd's hair with one hand, while the other hand held a shiv to his jugular. "I don't like you," he said, "You haven't come talk to us. You haven't shown the requisite respect."
"That's because I don't like YOU. Now fuck off."
The guy behind then punched Todd hard in the back, forcing out a loud grunt. The pain was so bad, he immediately vomited, the attacker then yanking him back and slapping a hand on his mouth, trying to get Todd to aspirate the puke. Todd coughed and choked, vomit running down his throat and out of his mouth. His head was shaken, and he jerked against the ferocious hold of the inmate.
"From now on, Manning, you're ours. We're going to have some fun with you and that pretty hair. Be on the lookout."
They rocketed him to the dirt, leaving him beaten and in mind-numbing pain. Hacking out bile, he tried to get up and collapsed back into the dirt, dust sticking to the wetness. He had work to do now. He'd gotten his lawyer to get shit on these guys, damning shit, only the right opp hadn't happened. Passing off the info was his only shot to cut the Aryans. A fucking long, long shot - but without it, he was dead. He managed to sit up, pulling himself onto a higher seat. Watched the Aryans go inside. Barely able to move, he fell back to his side, every breath a knife ripping his insides. The basketball players watched him. The Cuban Mambo Kings. His opp.
He tried to stand and fell hard, eating dirt again. The games had slowed. Got up again, walking slow like an old man. A basketball rolled near him. This was either the opp he was waiting for or the end of the road. No matter the pain, he'd fight until there was nothing left. One of the Kings came up to the ball and Todd watched him. Readied himself. They'd been up against each other on the court once or twice.
"I got water," the guy said. "Here."
Todd shook his head, putting his hand up, saying, no. The place was spinning, but god damn, you don't take anyone's help. He threw up again, falling to his knees and pausing his forward movement but the pain finally lessened. Todd sighed, breathed out at the semi-bit of relief, and got up again. Wiping his mouth, he raised his eyes to look at his visitor, nodding his head at him, out of respect.
The Mambo soldier commented, "You get props. You good on the court and you don't fuckin' squeal when you're down. You get up. You're going to keep getting up until you're dead. Fuckin' props."
Todd nodded, appreciating. Took steps... snailing his way along.
"We don't like the Blue Aryans."
After a moment, Todd took the biggest risk he'd ever taken in his life. Said quietly, "That 'cause they killed El Brujo?"
Dead silence. Todd looked into the sun, in the other direction. He stood a bit taller, straighter, and murmured, "You know who did it?"
Soldier shook his head, glancing back at the group on the court. "We gotta choose wisely. Can't go general. It'd mess up relations. Don't got the fuckin' proof."
"Check Trey Campbell's cell. You'll find what you need."
Todd looked at the guy in front of him, a hard stare. He'd just done a favor for the Mambo Kings. Now they owed him. People didn't like being given things because of the owing. But the killing needed retribution and they were in a tight spot due to prison trade deals. The man nodded. Next morning, Todd was still alive and Campbell was dead, shanked in the shower. Bloody mess with a nod to the flesh-eater: the guy's nipple had been cut off.
The Blue Aryans didn't touch Todd again for a while, not the way they'd been planning. He was back in reprieve.
But there was more.
The day after the Blue Aryan was murdered, Todd found a nice dollop of heroin-in-a-bag under his pillow. He studied it, caressed it, smelled it. He'd seen this brand being used here and there. He didn't dare use because being an addict in prison was a special kind of hell, but he coveted it like fucking Precious. Hid it inside his pillow. Undid the threads in the very corner, squeezing the bag inside. One long night, when the pain cut so deep he thought dying was a preferable option, he gave in. Snorted just enough to send him to that familiar place, that place of godliness. In the dark, in the late hour, for the first time, the thick walls felt loose, wavy, and penetrable...so easy to walk through.
There was hope for him...here.
Téa walked out of the police station to the parking lot, seeing Todd leaning against her car and smoking a cigarette. He watched her make her way across the asphalt. He stood with his ankles crossed, one hand in his pocket, the other working the cigarette. Tapping it on occasion, letting it hang from his lips. It was dark, and a street lamp lit him and the car from above, giving him a ghostly pallor.
Her shoes made a tapping sound as she approached.
She stopped short in front of him. "What happened in there, amor? I haven't seen that man in a very long time."
Puffing smoke, his face impassive, he just watched her. She reached for him and he jerked away.
"Don't," he said.
Oh, Téa was on high-threat-level warning now - she REALLY hadn't seen this kind of touchiness in some years. She studied him as he smoked, trying to gauge the likelihood of returning to the blissfulness of dinner. How quickly things had unraveled.
"I'm worried about you," she said, "worried about us. You didn't come across as innocent in there and now they're hot and heavy after you for Horenda's murder. His murder, Todd. This is serious."
Life outside the parking lot made itself known, cars whizzing past on the not-so-distant highway, a winter carnival singing its music down the block, and the city lights, red and yellow and white glimmering around them. Their house was in the hills, their beautiful, stretched-out house with the wrap-around porch and the creek in the acreage behind. She thought of the massive windows, moonlight pouring into the darkened living room. So many nights the two of them had made love on that floor, too hot, too needy to go upstairs.
"Please tell me about him, what you know."
"Et tu, Brute?" He held her gaze, his poker face on.
"I know you have something to do with it and so do they. I need to know this. I need to know what we're up against. Are people coming after us?"
"Nobody is ever coming after you or the kids. EVER. I'll get to them first." He tossed the cigarette. "I need a drink, Téa. Take me home. I need a fuckin' drink."
The idea of sobriety is a slippery one for people who have a problem only with illegal drugs. They often feel their sobriety means not using the illegal thing they were addicted to. Problem is that it opens the door for other addictions to take over. Sex, smoking, drinking, prescription pills. Even marijuana in its quasi-illegal status. So when it came to alcohol, Téa always bit her tongue. As long as he's not using the heron, he's sober, right?
But she wasn't stupid. Todd was an addict, would always be one. Heroin promised to always lurk in the background, always be part of their lives in one way or another. She'd never forget the mandatory exit drug test when he came out of Statesville… failed it hard for heroin. God damn, that hurt. Got him probation for another six months. On the other hand, she could only imagine what it was like, being in prison, bored, depressed, constantly fighting to stay alive. Given the choice, given the option… who wouldn't use inside?
But she wondered now, in a way she hadn't before, in a way she avoided… how he got it, how he paid for it, how he got high and yet still stayed safe. How had he managed that kind of power on his own, with no gang to back him up and without the support of guards? How the hell did he manage to keep that long hair, lined with white? Just like Bo asked.
Truth was, she wanted to know who her husband really was. She thought she knew… even with those stories from her clients… she thought she knew. Not so confident any more.
Stopping the car at a light, Téa commented, "We don't have anything at home to drink and I'm not stopping at a liquor store."
He huffed in aggravation and lay his head against the headrest. "How's that even possible?" he said in quiet voice.
"You know me...I de-cluttered this week."
"De-cluttered..."
He watched the light change and felt the pull of their BMW, black and sleek and quiet. He rubbed his wrists, absently lifting his wrist to his lips, licking the blood away that had dried there. He remained focused on the outside dark.
"You hurt yourself."
"I was trapped like an animal. For nothing."
It rang patently false to her. She sped along the road, her foot heavy with disbelief. He was lying to her.
"Tell me about these boys, Todd. Is it true? That you protected them?"
He said nothing, focusing only on the passing lights, the houses, the darkness. He focused on the forward movement of their car, thinking of their driveway, the darkness, the children sleeping in their beds. Thought of tomorrow morning, a meeting with the editors… forward, forward, forward, forward.
"You're not talking to me," she said. "I need to know these things. TELL me, please."
He suddenly sat up, reached his foot across to the driver's side and slammed on the brake, Téa screaming as he did that. "TODD!"
He jerked open the car door and walked away, on the isolated road that led to their house. Headed in the opposite direction of home. Téa jerked her own door open and yelled at him, "What are you doing?! WHAT?!"
He turned in the cold, hitting his chest with obvious agony, "Forward, Téa, forward!" He pointed ahead of him, ahead of them. Storming back to her, his face tight with insistence, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard, "Don't ask me to look backwards. Forward only. One day at a time, remember? REMEMBER?! This is our life! Forward! That's it!"
"Yes," she said quietly.
"I spent years of my life, threw away YEARS of my life because of the past. I paid my dues because of the past. I hate the past, Téa, I hate it more than anything in the world. I have categorized it, studied it, fucking died for it, and PUT IT AWAY. I'm all about the forward, the future… I am done with the past. Please don't ask me to go back."
She grabbed his face in between her hands, locking eyes with him, "But we're in danger now. Our future is in danger. For the love of our children, tell me what happened with Horenda, with those boys. If I know the truth, you, George and I can figure a way out. Back...to our future. I love you, I love us...I want to keep things the way they are but I'm really, really scared. You scared me."
"Why do you think I want this shit to stay buried, Téa, huh? Because I LOVE you! I love our family. These things...they'll destroy everything. Do you understand?! My past...is my past… because of what it IS. You should be scared… scared out of your fucking mind."
He pushed her away and walked again. Up the road… he needed a drink. Yesterday their life had been blissful and today… monsters were at their door and he'd lost his cool. Assuring an open door for those monsters. He kept walking. Téa hopped in the car after he'd disappeared into the dark and she drove until she saw him.
Lowering down the window, she spoke through it, "Come on, amor. Just get in."
Kept walking, without looking at her, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shivering with the cold. The dark was comforting to him. He remembered other long walks in the city, in the winter darkness. He shuddered at instant memories, others that were not so instant. They skulked in the recesses of his mind, sometimes screaming to get out, but he'd push them back, deeper, further inside of him. He thought he'd buried them good and deep, except now Bo disturbed them like ghosts in the graveyard, as if Bo had run screaming across the headstones, stomping on them at midnight. Woke them up. He'd… lost his cool because he'd made promises and he saw them through and Bo was knocking at the doors of those promises.
Todd had known it the moment the commissioner came crashing through that diner door. He KNEW the ghosts were being awakened.
Fucking ghosts in the graveyard.
"Please get in, honey."
He slowed and finally stole a glance at her through the window, undecided. He needed her, would always need her. So he opened the door and climbed in. Slammed the door shut.
Téa took a breath and ground her teeth, making a crunching sound. Todd shivered, "Quit it."
She laughed a little at how that noise annoyed him. How sensitive he was to it. She had no idea why. They made a u-turn and drove towards the house and she reached across to him, touching his leg. He held her hand, his skin icy, and pulled it to his equally cool face, kissing it. He closed his eyes and moved his cheek against the palm of her hand.
"I'm sorry you had to see me today," he said. "I wish you hadn't."
"It's good I did - now I know what I'm dealing with."
He glanced out the window and rolled his eyes at her words. She had no goddamn idea. His life was about to blow up and it made him sick.
They pulled into their driveway and she killed the engine. They listened to the outside nightlife through barely open windows. The cold felt good. She remembered when that noise kept him awake. She remembered how he couldn't sleep when he first came home from prison, that he needed the bedroom door locked. That he was ashamed. He watched the outside now, entranced, clearly someplace other than in their driveway.
Swallowing hard, Téa took a jump that she simply could not stop, her need to break open the truth overwhelming. "Todd, I heard things about you, when you were in prison."
He didn't move, keeping his eyes focused on the blackness.
"A client I represented. He told me how you saved his life. That you..." She paused, battling within on how much to say. Todd didn't move. She pressed on. "He said that you pretended to hurt him, that others thought you were very dangerous, that… by pretending that boy was yours, your… lover, your victim, that everyone left him alone."
The silence continued. The same as he'd done with Bo. He didn't move an inch, didn't react. He bit his lip though, chewed on it. Then closed his eyes. Shook his head.
"Forward," he whispered.
"You did something special for that kid, you risked your life for him and it worked. He said, that the person you created, the fiction… saved him. He said he would never forget you. That he wished you could know this. He said he's living a wonderful life, that… before you, he was getting beaten..." She hesitated. "He said he was getting raped and you stopped that. Is that what you did for the other boys?"
He rubbed his mouth with his hand and ran his fingers along the edge of the window. His hand was shaking and his breathing had changed. Téa could see he was on the edge of something and so wanted him to open up, so wanted him to tell her everything. God, she knew how he was fighting this… she wanted to leave him alone, she did, but their children inside, their own vulnerabilities, kept her going.
"Todd, Is it true? Is it?"
"Stop it..."
"And if you did all that, what did you ask of them? In exchange for that protection, for your incredible risk?"
"Don't..."
"Bo was insinuating something..."
He reached to her and put his fingers on her lips now, moving close to her. He held her hair loosely in his hand, and shook his head, "Please don't, don't be them." He paused, breathed out hard. "I need a fucking drink."
"We don't have anything to drink."
He sat in the dark, touching her hand, her fingers. Running up her arm and back down. Téa trembled, knowing where this was going. If he couldn't get booze, and if he was locked out of heroin… well… there was always sex. That twitch hit him and he grunted softly, as if a shock of adrenaline had gone through him. It probably had.
It was the rush of addiction.
He took her hand and pushed it down to his crotch, made her rub him. She shook her head, "No, no… not like this." God, she hated Bo Buchanan, hated him for waking this man up.
"You left me this morning..."
He kept her hand on him, forcibly moving it, and watched her face. She tried to pull away but he wouldn't let her. He reached across and touched her lips, sticking his fingers inside her mouth. Then he rubbed her lips, getting lipstick on his thumb. He ran his thumb on his own tongue. She shook her head away from him, trying again to pull her hand away.
"I'm not doing this," she said.
"Yes, you are..." His breathing became ragged, sped up.
Téa's own body flooded with pain, memory, and the never-ending desire to save him, to enable him, to kill… THIS man. She then gave in to her own addiction, to that ever-present codependency, and took over the job. She unflinchingly unbuttoned his jeans, placing her hand directly on him, feeling how hard he was. He groaned and moved his hips, touching her head, her hair. Watching, watching...
It hurt her through to the core. How easily he moved into this place. He kept control over her hand, still, and tried to make her move faster. She knew this was his drug. She knew it was wrong.
"Don't," she snapped. "You want this? Let me do it."
He let go of her and she started stroking him again.
He looked at her directly, watching her lips, her mouth, as she touched him. This was the best of both worlds… feeding an addiction and redirecting the conversation.
She'd caught hair in her hand and he hissed, but she knew there was a part of him that liked the pain. She knew the darker side of him that got very excited when she'd be in pain, or tied up, or anything regarding… restriction. Even the rare occasion when he was the one restricted, when he was the one in pain. That always hurt her… always… because the pain he liked was so very old, so very rooted in abuse.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and he spit in it, using a favored lubrication, a history-laden kind, returning her to the job. Rubbing now, faster now, the sound of hand strokes carrying in the small space, he rolled his eyes back. He moaned gently and she slowed, contemplating abandonment, thinking of leaving him with the uncomfortable pain of a failed orgasm. He sensed it and grabbed her hand, getting her to look at him.
"Do it… don't stop, please… I need this… I fucking need this..."
"Damn you," she murmured and gritted her teeth… and kept on, eyes on him. Like watching a train wreck… isn't that what they say?
She slid her hand up and down and watched his face and he watched hers. He reached across and tore open her blouse to touch her breast, sticking his hand into her bra and pinching her nipple. She moaned at the hurt, and he licked his lips at that.
God, she knew his weaknesses. He pinched her nipple harder and Téa's mouth parted to breathe… whimpering at the wound, sending him deeper into well-learned perversions of love. He grabbed her hair and pulled her closer, pulled her mouth closer to his. On his breath, she smelled stress, thirst, cigarettes. He kissed her mouth hard, shoving his tongue into her. Uncaring, unloving, dispassionate.
No, no, this was not about love. This was NOT the man who'd been in her bed this morning.
He moved his hips, picked up the pace of movement to match hers, but then... just as she felt his cock get harder and the wetness began coming from him, just as she heard more noise coming from deep in his throat, knowing he was an instant away, she said in a voice barely above a whisper...
"Is this what those boys did for you?"
His eyes shot open wide as he ejaculated hard into her hand, a shock of an orgasm, his expression mixed with horror, pleasure, and agonizing disappointment. He pushed her hand away, shoving her away, and he hunched over, his knee up nearly to his chest, his whole body wracked with the waves of the intense come. He squeezed his own cock as he groaned, stroking out the last spasms himself. When his body regained calm, after he furiously buttoned his jeans, he looked at her, stricken.
"Why would you do that to me?"
His voice cracked with innocence and Téa shut her eyes, her hands on the steering wheel, her head down. She pressed the leather, one hand still bearing his release, bitter and slippery.. She knew she'd betrayed his trust of her. There weren't many people he trusted and any cutting down of that was harsh. She didn't know why she'd made such an accusation. He'd never abuse a boy, or any young, delicate kid in such an outrageously vulnerable situation. He might have done so to an adult woman back in the days of Marty Saybrooke, one who wounded him in some way… he'd do more than abuse them… but… barely-18 year-old kids in prison…?
She was lying to herself. She knew why she said it. Because Bo showed her the inmate and made suggestive comments. Because Todd wasn't talking to her. Because suddenly there were a lot of goddamn secrets in the car.
"Oh my god," she breathed. "I'm sorry..." She wiped her hand on her coat, his wetness disappearing into the wool, and hated herself for being so good at abusing him, so powerful in her own abuse of him. "I'm sorry...," she said, uselessly.
"Fuck you," he growled. "Fuck you...FUCK YOU." He opened the door and stormed out, slamming the door hard.
Téa sat in the quiet and she watched him open the garage door and disappear inside. Within moments, she heard his beloved Porsche Roadster start up and she was left in the proverbial dust. He needed air. She knew he'd be getting drunk somewhere. She resisted following him. She'd hurt him… but then, he'd hurt her so many times. Perhaps that's why it had been so natural, to be so mean.
God, how easily Bo had turned him upside down, but worse… how easily Bo had turned HER upside down. Watching her husband devolve before her eyes into someone she thought long gone had rocked her soul.
How obviously close to the bones of both of them Bo had cut.
The house looked lonely and she cursed Bo for opening doors that should have stayed shut. She picked up her phone and searched through her contacts, looking up an old friend who had a very important job: warden of Statesville Prison. If Todd wasn't going to jump into saving the family, then she was.
The phone rang and a cheerful voice on voicemail responded, to which Téa said, "Shondra Dixon, this is Téa Delgado. I'd like to come visit you… I need information."
To be continued...