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THE DAY AFTER
19. Anticlimax.
[SONIC, Stephen Zacharus]
I don't bother showing Eggman's "Bwa-Ha-Ha-I-Know-Something-You-Don't-Know" notes to anybody anymore. It's obvious to me that I'm on my own.
In total, I've received four of those letters over the past two weeks. They're all pretty much just variations on the first, so they're hardly worth repeating. Anyway, the point is that Eggman is *really* enjoying himself over this… which could prove to be his downfall. I wonder if he has any idea that tomorrow I'll more than likely be battering and frying his fat ass.
Then again, since that incident in the weight room a couple days ago, I haven't been taking *anything* for granted… and right now I'm talking to Tails in the Visitor's Room--for the first time in about two weeks, come to think of it--making damn sure that everything is going to plan.
"…so then me and Kays'll be waiting at a corner in the car," he's saying, voice hushed slightly (as if the fucking dumbass guards are even awake), "hacking into the system and overriding it from my laptop. I'm gonna need to give you instructions during the whole thing, though. Have you gotten that letter from me in the mail?"
"Um… no, I don't think so…"
"You should be getting it today, then. Inside the envelope you'll find a little ear bug. It's small and it's designed to rest comfortably in your ear canal; you probably won't even notice it. I programmed it to register your voice along your jawbone, so you can just talk normally and I'll hear you. That way…"
"Hold on, now. You sent this thing to me in the mail? What if somebody gets suspicious and opens it up or some shit? They x-ray all of our mail here, you know."
"Don't worry about that, I've taken care of it. The letter is from your Aunt Martha, who found a new specimen in South America for your garbanzo bean collection."
"Garbanzo bean collection…?"
"Well, I had to think of *something*."
"I have to hand it to ya, kid," I say, laughing, "you're somethin' else. Hell, I don't even *have* an Aunt Martha."
I see in his eyes, though, that something's bothering him.
"What's the matter?"
"It's nothing," he says, waving his hand dismissively.
"It doesn't *sound* like nothing."
"Trust me, it's nothing. It's just… well, I dunno."
Uh oh.
Goddamn it, this is not what I want to hear…
"What is it?" I ask.
"Well… it's just that things are getting a little more complicated now and… I dunno. I'm just not sure if we can, you know, do this *tonight* anymore…"
No.
You're shitting me.
This can't be happening.
………
Oh, fuck, who am I kidding? I knew this was gonna happen since day one.
But I'm not giving up so easily.
"Tails, there's no question about it: I *have* to get out tonight. If I don't, it means…" Surprisingly, I have the presence of mind stop myself; the last thing I want to do is scare the kid into screwing up or something. "Well, that's not important. Let's just say that things are heating up around here. BAD. I can't *afford* to stay here after tonight…"
Tails tries to look calm about the whole thing, but he's sure doing a piss-poor job. "It's probably just… well, nothing," he laughs, albeit nervously. "It's only a little complication, that's all. A screw up. It can be fixed. The important thing's that we *are* getting you out of here sooner or later, and…"
He's hiding something.
"What the hell is the fucking *problem*?" I finally blurt out, interrupting him. "For some reason you're not telling me everything."
He looks up at me directly for the first time during our conversation.
"Well," he says quietly, "then I guess we *both* have secrets, don't we?"
________________________
When I get back to my cell I find that my mail has been kindly dumped onto the floor just inside the steel bars, courtesy of Mr. Congeniality himself. Only three letters this time, though. He could've made a worse mess, I suppose.
Oh, Christ, I'm actually thinking *optimistically*. I guess by the time that happens you know you've been in prison for a little too long.
First letter: one of my semiweekly "You suck, Sonic!" hate letters that I've grown all too familiar with. I toss it in the trash without reading too far into it. They all say the same damn thing, anyway.
Second letter: an envelope from "Aunt Martha" containing a postcard from some unpronounceable city in Venezuela--with a small, gray, bean-looking thing taped to the front and something on the back that looks roughly like Tails' handwriting:
Sonic,
Just got back from Venezuela and picked up something that made me think of you. It's the rare Gray Garbanzo Bean that can be found only in select areas in South America. I know you just love collecting exotic beans! Local legend says that if you put a Gray Garbanzo in your ear, you'll sprout into a beanstalk and soar into the sky. Whatever that's supposed to mean.
And do write to your auntie once and a while. You know very well that I miss you dreadfully.
Hugs! XOXOXO
Aunt Martha.
That letter was almost too well done. The kid scares me sometimes.
In any case, I remove the small device from the postcard and put it in my ear--which is surprisingly more comfortable than I was expecting. I didn't see any sort of on/off button or similar, so I'm assuming that the thing just turns itself on. Or something.
Third letter: a heavy parchment envelope with my name and cell number in elegant, fountainpen cursive. No return address.
Joy, another one. Lucky me.
I'm this close to just throwing it away, but curiosity gets the better of me.
Dearest Hedgehog,
Feeling the burn now? In case you haven't noticed, the body count for the Vampire Murders has increased to seven.
Thanks, asshole, but I *am* allowed to read the newspaper all by myself.
Let's recap just for fun, shall we?: Nack the Weasel, Manic the Hedgehog, Meaters Prower, Sandra Acorn, Rotor Walrus, Mina Mongoose…
Mina. Now there's a name I could almost give a shit about. We had a brief relationship a while back--nothing serious, but it was something. I guess it didn't mean much to her, though. The bitch wouldn't even talk to me at the trial. Funny how nobody ever wants to listen to *my* side of the story.
…and, just last night, Dr. Bookshire Draftwood. The heat is on, as they say. Sooner or later, as you well know, the little red slash-marks on my list will be drawn through considerably more significant names. It's only a matter of time.
Before I leave you again, however, I think I'll let you in on a little secret. You're in prison, after all, and it's not like anybody is even going to believe you if you try to tell someone. You see, as it turns out, my little assassin duo *does* have something of a weakness that I couldn't avoid…
You're kidding.
Eggman isn't *that* stupid.
…………
…is he?
Drooling with anticipation, are you?
What the hell do *you* think?
Well surprise, Hedgehog! I've seen too many James Bond films to fall for *that* one!
Fuck you too, asshole.
Well, I do have quite an agenda ahead of me today, so I'd best be concluding this letter. Do have it sent back to me, would you? Oh, wait. I didn't leave a return address, did I?
Ha, ha.
Adieu.
R.
Trashcan.
________________________
I stay up all night waiting for that little earbug to turn on--for Tails to read me the master plan, for the electric bolts on my cell to magically release so that I can get the hell outta here, clean and quiet. For a while I actually manage to convince myself that this is really happening tonight.
It's five o'clock in the morning now. Through the half-assed little window above my bed, I can see that the sun is just starting to come up.
I'm never getting out of here, I realize.
Never.
.
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