Chapter Thirty-Five: Beatings
Donut couldn't sleep.
He tried. He tossed and turned. He'd been happy to get out of solitary, to sleep in what he now considered his own bed, with or without the smell of vomit. But he couldn't sleep. Every time he drifted off, the same memories kept floating into his dreams.
He kept seeing his roommate's face.
Donut would wake up with a start and a whimper, and eventually fall back to sleep, but the process would repeat itself.
Kept seeing the moments leading up to the murder. Started off normally, just babbling at his roommate until normal, and then suddenly... Kept seeing his roommate trying to strangle him, kept feeling those hands tightening around his throat. Kept seeing the knife. Kept seeing the red. Not lightish red. Deep, rich red.
Donut would wake up, and go back to sleep.
He didn't just see the red... didn't just see his roommate's face. He kept hearing the screams. Kept smelling the thick, coppery blood. And worst of all, he kept feeling the blood on his hands.
Warm and sticky.
Donut woke up for the fifth time. He scratched at his hands. They weren't covered in blood, but he could swear he could still feel the warmth. Feel the stickiness. Donut kept rubbing his hands, scraping his nails along the flesh like it would remove the sticky sensation, similar to what he'd do when he got cake batter on them.
Why was the memory of the murder bothering him now? It hadn't done that for a while, and it had no reason to turn up in his head now.
Maybe his mind had just felt like it had to remind Donut of what he'd done. Just waiting until Donut started to forget there was blood on his hands, and then appeared and reminded him of that horrible warmth and that coppery smell.
Donut wondered if the others had nightmares about the people they'd killed. He sat up, clambered to his feet and shuffled closer to the wall.
"Simmons. Simmooooooons," he whispered.
"Fuck off, 'm sleeping," Simmons grumbled, his voice muffled by his pillow.
"Do you ever have nightmares about the people you killed?"
"The fuck kind of question is that? Go away, I'm not your mother..." A quiet snore after that suggested that Simmons had fallen asleep again.
Donut sat up for a while longer, still scraping at his hands. Afraid to go back to sleep, because then the bad memories would come back.
Church also couldn't sleep. But his reason for still being awake was different. Less haunting, and more plain fucking annoying.
Thump.
Church twitched and tried counting sheep.
Thump.
Counting sheep, it turns out, is too boring to put someone to sleep.
Thump.
Church didn't know what the fuck O'Malley was doing, but it sure was making a lot of noise. Other men locked in solitary were starting to get angry.
Thump.
"Hey, shut up!"
"The hell you doing, we're trying to sleep!"
"Motherfucker!"
Thump.
"You trying to get the guards to come down and hurt you?" Church muttered. "Dumbass. They're gonna beat you if you don't stop, and that's gonna keep me awake even longer."
There was a pause. Then...
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The noise just got louder. The inmates started making more of a racket. They made such a racket that the thumping noise actually seemed quiet in comparison, but Church could still hear it getting louder, like O'Malley was trying to outmatch the men yelling at him.
The door swung open. Footsteps. Church rolled off his cot and crouched down to look through his food slot as the lights came on. Church squinted through the sudden brightness as York's feet came into view. They paused, then turned back to the entrance to solitary. Church could barely hear the conversation over the noise that the other inmates were making.
"Light's on, Wash. You know, I can handle this myself, I'm not—"
"I'm coming with you."
"Okay, if you really think you have to, but he won't have anything sharp with him this time, I'm pretty sure he was checked..."
Wash's feet appeared and quickly made their way past York's.
He saw Wash's feet. York's feet trailing behind him. Wash raised his voice. Just a little.
"Be quiet."
The shouting immediately stopped, like the inmates had been turned mute.
"Nice," York said into the silence. "They're smarter than I thought." Wash had something of a reputation for being a tough motherfucker. Inmates weren't stupid enough to goad him.
Except one.
Thump.
"O'Malley, come on! Be quiet!" York said, rapping his fist on the door. Another thump was the only reply.
Wash reached down for his set of keys and paused. "I don't have the key. Not my shift down here."
York rolled his eyes. "Yeah, aren't you meant to be outside or something?"
"You can hear them from outside!"
"Move aside, Wash." He shoved Wash lightly aside, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wire.
"York, you know the warden doesn't approve of you picking open the locks. Neither do I, for that matter. It gives them ideas."
"Oh, pssh. Heard it before, man. Don't get your panties into a wad."
"I'm following regulations. Don't you have a key?"
"Not my shift either. Don't know where the hell South's gone, I'm pretty sure it's her turn. Like you said, they're noisy. Waking up guys in the smuggler's block. Besides, even if I had the key... well, keys are boring. Why know how to lockpick if you're not going to use the skill?"
"Why do you know how to lockpick in the first place? That's a bit unsavory."
"My dad was a lock-nut. How else was I supposed to break into the closet and see what the Christmas presents were?" York finished unlocking the door. "Unlocked. You're welcome. Because I know you're thinking 'thank you, York, you're the most awesome guy ever.'"
"You wish." Wash pulled the door open. "O'Malley, what are you doing?"
O'Malley was sitting on his cot, holding the side of it and rocking, continually slamming the other end into the wall. He was grinning.
"Washington. Fantastic. And York? Oh, I'm being spoiled today. Tonight. Whatever. Hello, York. How's your eye?"
O'Malley was interrupted by Wash smacking him hard with his nightstick.
"Wash, take it easy," York said quietly.
"Easy? He slashed your eye, and your only response is 'take it easy?' You're insane."
"You're the one who was going 'you can't do that because of regulations'. I think brutally beating inmates is one of those things you aren't supposed to do. Just saying."
"Yes, listen to your cyclops friend, Washington."
Smack.
"How rude..." O'Malley spat out. He was holding his nose. "That's the second time in the last week that someone has hit my nose."
"Why were you slamming your cot against the wall? Answer before I count to one." Wash asked calmly, like he hadn't just smashed O'Malley's face twice.
"I hate interrogation. Can't we just write him up and be done with it?" York sighed.
Church moved an inch away from the food slot. Wash could be reasonable up to a point, but he had no patience where O'Malley was concerned, and often things got bloody when Wash was pushed too far.
"I thought I might dig my way through freedom. Of course, I can't reach the dirt through these bricks, so I thought if I smashed my way through the wall, I might reach the dirt. Silly plan, I know. But I was bored," O'Malley said casually. "How are you? Still depressed? You were awfully distant a couple of months ago." He sighed melodramatically. "The beatings just weren't the same."
"Trying to dig your way out. Escape attempt, albeit a..."
"Half-assed one?" York suggested.
"Right. That would add five years onto your sentence and put you in solitary. But... you're in here for life and already in solitary. Hm."
"Oh, I know what this is leading up to. Can't you just punch me in the stomach and be done with it? You're so predictable, Washington. You're a violent man, and I do admire that in a person... but you have no imagination." O'Malley sighed. "Even struggling is boring. Just be done with it."
"I really can't say you didn't ask for it." Wash raised his nightstick and smashed O'Malley over the head. It was hard enough to actually knock out a grunt of pain, even though O'Malley had been fully expecting it. But not quite hard enough to knock him out. O'Malley touched his head, blinking in a disorientated way. He was bleeding, and he could swear he was seeing double...
"Ow. Think you got carried away? They won't let you off on this forever," York said conversationally.
"I know," Wash replied. He stepped back. "Lock the door."
"Uh, shouldn't we take him up to the infirmary?"
"No. We're leaving him in there."
"Wash, are you fucking insane? He's bleeding from the head. He might die! I've got no love for O'Malley, but if he dies and you're held responsible... they'll fire you if they don't outright arrest you!"
"Who's going to tell? They won't believe O'Malley. And as for the other inmates..." Church saw Wash step towards his own cell, and felt a tap on his door. "Church, isn't it? You going to squeal?"
Church snorted. "Hell no."
"You see? Even the prison snitch won't."
"I'm a blackmailer!" Church roared, as Wash started to walk away. York glanced after Wash and slid the door shut on O'Malley, locking it quickly. Church shifted, moving back to his cot. Reminding himself, not for the first time, not to get on Wash's bad side. He was one cold motherfucker.
Donut asked Simmons the same question he had asked during the night at breakfast that morning. As he was not being awoken at three in the morning this time, Simmons was a little more receptive to questioning. But his answer was short.
"No."
"No? You've never had any dreams or anything?" Donut asked, passing his fruit to Grif in exchange for Grif's cereal.
"Ah." Simmons raised his spoon and shook it slightly at Donut. "That's not what you said. See, you asked if I'd had 'nightmares' about them. To answer that, specifically... no."
"You've... had good dreams about it?" As Donut asked this, he shifted just a little bit further from Simmons. Simmons rolled his eyes.
"No, don't look at me like I'm crazy. Only dream I had about... that asshole... had something to do with robots and some farmers. He just happened to be strung up in the background with his innards hanging out."
Donut lowered his spoonful of cereal. "Oh god. That's gross."
"Oh, don't be a whiner," Grif said. "Not like we actually disemboweled him." A weird smile appeared on his face, and he added under his breath, "He wishes."
"Never mind, forget I asked! You guys are scaring me," Donut grumbled. "And now I can't eat, what am I supposed to do with the cereal?"
"Pass it back this way," Grif said, holding out his tray so Donut could put the cereal back.
"You just recounted a man strung up with his guts hanging out, and you're both still eating. Weird. You guys are weird. Seriously. Weird."
Simmons grinned. "Calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say?"
"Aw, shut up." Donut stared down at his food, then at his hands. He rubbed them a bit, before shoving his tray towards Grif. "Here, have it."
"What's up with you?"
"Nothing." Donut looked at his hands again, and shook his head. "I... I need to wash my hands, that's all."
"God, who do they think they are, bitching me out? It was North's turn to guard down here, but no, they're all 'why didn't you shut up the inmates last night, South? It was noisy as fuck, where were you?' Not my fucking fault that they only used last names on the shift list. And now, 'feed the crazies, South.' I'm not a nurse at a mental hospital... Jeez."
South pushed the tray of food and medication along, grumbling angrily under her breath. She slid a plate of food underneath Church's door before turning to O'Malley's. Of course O'Malley had to be down here when it was her turn. Jackass. He was probably going to bite her fingers, just like he always did to North. Assface.
South grasped her keys, sliding the right key into the lock and opening the door.
"Alright, O'Malley, you gonna play nicely this ti—oh, motherfucker!" South dropped the cup of pills in shock. "Shit." She approached O'Malley, wary that it was some kind of trick, but that blood sure looked real.
O'Malley's eyes were open and he was grinning, but it was a weak grin. He was chalk white and blood had dried in little rivers down his face, making him look even crazier than usual. He had wrapped his pillowcase and blanket around his head in some sort of makeshift bandage. It looked like some bizarre, blood-stained turban.
"Surprise."
South could only repeat her earlier sentiment. "Shit." O'Malley grinned before his eyes closed and he passed out.
Let it not be said that he chose undramatic moments to pass out.