Note: I've been watching American Gods.
"Honestly, just stop it"
"I love you." It was always the first thing he said when she answered the phone.
"I love you too." There was a flirtatious smile in her voice. "So five more days?"
"Five more days." Jellal sighed and closed his eyes. He tried to imagine their house as he remembered it. "I miss you."
"I always miss you." The sounds of running water and the clink of dishes took him almost all the way home. "Your mom brought over a big ass bag of corn flour today. I'm picking up the beef on Thursday."
His stomach rumbled even though all he could smell was prison. "Are you making tamales?"
"They're for the surprise party your mom is throwing and you don't know anything about it."
"You don't have to, Erza, really. I'd be happy with anything that's not on a metal tray."
"I'll make them for my boyfriend, then. How's that?"
"Is he a felon, too? Do you have a type?"
"I do have a type." He listened to her slid the lock on the dishwasher closed and twist the dial. Each click echoed in his ear. "It's you. You're my type."
"Erza –"
"Honestly, just stop it, Jellal. I've been waiting for two years, and three hundred sixty days. I'm not about to bail now."
"I just…" He trailed off and opened his eyes. The cinderblock walls were still just as bleak as they had been when he'd closed them. "It's a small town. People talk, you know?"
"Fuck those assholes."
"Right," he whispered.
"I mean it, Jellal. Fuck them. Who cares? We're married. We're a team." She paused and he listened for every breath. "Just come home, okay? Come back to me."
"I love you," he repeated. It was his hello and his goodbye and everything in between.
"I love you, too," she whispered.
Every hallway looked the same – except for this one. It was lined with offices and framed photos. There were potted plants and even a few windows. All things prisoners were denied. The warden's office had the kind of dated wood paneling that made a room seem three times smaller than it really was. He pointed at a chair.
"Sit." The warden's shoulders fell when Jellal didn't move. "Please. Have a seat, please." He shuffled through the papers on his desk before glancing up and over his bifocals. "This says you're in for Grand Theft Auto…" he trailed off and Jellal swallowed a sigh. "Looks like some other smaller stuff, too."
"Yes, sir."
"Your release is set for four days from now but we're cutting that down. You'll be heading out on the evening bus."
Jellal blinked in surprise. The warden shuffled his papers some more and blew out an awkward breath.
"Uh, look, Mister Fernandes, there's no real easy way to say this but your wife, Erza Fernandes, died in the early hours of this morning."
Jellal's chest stood flat. Empty. The room seemed to collapse around him. Every one of the dark wood panels felt like part of a coffin. All he could hear was a rush of air. It was loud. Deafening.
"What?" he managed to croak out.
"I'm told it was a car accident." The warden's eyes were a watery blue. So clear they were almost without pigment. "I'm sorry."
Jellal stood abruptly. He didn't feel the handcuffs around his wrists or the scratch of his uniform. He didn't remember washing his face or brushing his teeth. He didn't say goodbye to anyone. All he could see was red.
Their house looked exactly the same. The grass was a startlingly surreal green and the tulips Erza had coaxed from bulbs were a bright blood red. The phone in his pocket vibrated endlessly. He knew if he looked he'd see his mother's name but he couldn't look.
The front walk still had the crack running the length of the third slab of concrete. A tuft of crab grass sprouted from it. He'd shared the house with Erza for two years before his incarceration and in that time the crab grass had been his mortal enemy. Now it seemed almost mournful.
As always, there was a key under the blue flowerpot with the yellow polka dots. Jellal let the door swing open. The knob hit the wall and he stared down at the two day old pile of mail. A bag of balloons sat open on the table. Erza had inflated some of them and they floated listlessly throughout the room dragging half curled trains of ribbon with them. A list of food, drinks, and party items caught his eye. Erza's handwriting had always been damn near illegible.
Jellal's throat closed and he crumpled the list and threw it at the wall.
Their bed was unmade and he fell into it. The pillows and sheets smelled like her shampoo and he finally felt hot tears leak from his eyes.
"Fuck, Erza," he whispered into the bedclothes. The words he really wanted to say were sharp on his tongue. They wouldn't bring her back but he needed to say them. The world felt empty but heavy. His phone wouldn't stop vibrating.
"I love you."
