Part 2:
Two psychos sharing a cell
Max
"I hereby sentence you to capital punishment"Whack!
The hammer had slammed into the polished mahogany, putting the last nail in my future coffin.
And here I was: Ryker's island. One of the most secure prisons in the world, looming in the horizon over the coast of Manhattan, like a dark shadow of fear ruining the picture-perfect scenery, constantly reminding the rest of New York what danger the everyday society could bestow upon them.
"He's here, pass it on"The hushed whispers of the inmates dwelling here were haunting me as I was escorted down the soulless cellblocks.
"He's here, pass it on"Their voices reverberated with anger and fear. They were spreading the word. No doubt they all knew who I was, and they were gonna get real bloodthirsty about it.
"He's here, pass it on"
The frightened echoes disappeared in the concrete corridors, but the eyes of the monsters followed me like vultures over a soon-to be carcass. And taking my reputation into consideration, it wasn't too far off.
"He's here, pass it on"
One thing was certain. From hereon, my life would be anything but peaceful… The monsters lurking in steel-barred crevices here would hunt me day and night, drooling predators smelling blood and wanting to taste the sweetness of my death and win the respect of the others.
At least those who dared… I could discourage them quickly enough.
The guard escorting me was a real piece of work. He was a lanky man with a face like a weasel and a nasty sneer. His long greasy hair was sticking wetly to his skull, shining in the bright halogen lights and the loose strands smacking wetly into his neck and chin in a rhythmic pace as he moved. When I had arrived here, he had been the first to crack some lame joke about my name, and since then, his awful nasal whining had been buzzing in my ear like a fly with a death wish, until I reminded him that since I was on death row, it would make no consequence whatsoever if I offed a guard or two while staying.
That silenced him.
My personal parade escort came to a halt as I stood face-to-face with a man in a similar outfit as me; Blue jeans, white t-shirt and all wrapped in chains like a birthday present from hell.. The weasel opened a cell…
"Well, Payne, this'll be yer home and yer roomie for the rest of yer life…or what's left of it"
As he snickered at his own joke I looked at the man standing in front of me.
He was at least six-foot-five, and had a physique like a brick shithouse. His jet-black hair was slicked back, his square jaw was covered with day-old stubble, he had a nose that looked like it had been broken once too many times, and his deep eyes were icy blue. Glowing with passion, yet strangely dead. He had a terrifying piercing gaze.
Every cop or criminal in America, or anywhere else, for that matter, could recognise this face, and I was no exception. I almost smiled; this was definitely not the worst cellmate I could have ended up with.
"Frank Castle"
Frank
"I hereby sentence you to capital punishment"
Whack!
It was not the first time I had heard the angry snap of the judge's hammer slamming into the polished mahogany, nor was it the first time I had been escorted down the mazy corridors of Ryker's island.
"He's back, pass it on"Nor was it the first time I had been greeted by the frightened whispers of the residents here, fading into the fluorescent void.
"He's back, pass it on"Again, they feared the storm to come. In here, I was a hurricane. There's calm in my eye, and there will be destruction around me…
"He's back, pass it on"My watchdog was a blubbering mountain of a man, only a few inches shy of standing a full seven feet tall. His giant greasy stomach was barely covered by his uniform, and he was perspiring profoundly, drops of sweat running down from his shaved scalp into his wiry beard.
But I wasn't fooled. I could see the muscles on his arms, bulging under his uniform in an almost cartoonish way.
"He's back, pass it on"With such a physique, he might even rival the kingpin…
"Get you'se movin' tiny man," He bellowed in a shower of spit and corrosive breath
…Though he did lack some sophistication.
I idly wondered how a greasy gorilla like, I looked at his nametag, Biggs could be allowed to be a senior guard here at Rykers. As far as I was oriented, the demands for being a guard at a maximum-security jail were somewhat steep. And this waddling sack of sweat looked suspiciously like someone who should be found on the other side of the bars. The same side that I was soon to inhabit.
With his grand intellect, I had no doubt that he would be on somebody's payroll.
Living at Ryker's; Rule no. 1: If you're a common crook, this is hell. If you're an influential and/or rich crook, this place is heaven. During my last visit, I leaned that nearly half of the guards' names were written on payrolls somewhere in the country, and while strolling down the concrete corridors, I even recognised some of the crooked watchdogs from my last visit. They had all survived. They had probably been warned… bastards.
It hadn't always been like this. Once, it had been a clean prison, almost free of corruption and bribery. That had all changed after a certain incident three months ago…
"Dis' be your new roomie, Punisher! Har har har!" The stink of stale beer and unbrushed teeth mercilessly assaulted my senses, and I quickly diverted my attention to my new 'roomie.'
I stood about three inches taller than him. He had an angular face, with high cheekbones and a straight nose. He might have been considered handsome, but the skin on his face looked to be stretched too tightly across his skull, giving him a sunken-in, shallow-chinned look. His body was sinewy, but like his face, it also looked shallow. As if he had once been in great shape, but had let it deteriorate from lack of training. His brown hair was neatly combed, and his deep-sitting blue-green eyes were distant. They almost looked… dead. Like my own.
As I came face-to face with him, I recognised him from the newspaper front-pages. A rare, thin smile crept upon my lips.
"Max Payne"
Max
When it came to meeting new people, I had never been the greatest icebreaker. As it turned out, neither was Castle. So several minutes passed by in silence. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to him, but what do you say to a vigilante serial killer, whose criminal bodycount outscored mine?
As I laid on the ancient spring-filled torture device otherwise known as a bed, I let my mind wander. What now? The smoke had cleared, and there were no more enemies left. My life had decreased to a very singular course, and now it seemed that I had reached the bottom of the endless pit; unable to get further down, and without the stamina to get back up. I was trapped, not only physically, but also by the apathy spreading through my brain like an aggressive virus. The ever-present survivors' guilt gnawing at my soul…
Before I could get more engrossed in my deliberate torpor, a deep voice snapped me back to reality.
"Here"
Castle stood beside my bed, the stale light casting shadows on his sharp features, making him look like the skull he brandished. He held something out to me, and slowly took it.
It was a classic example of jailhouse craftsmanship, merging an everyday tooth-cleaning utensil with and everyday razorblade, making a crude, but highly efficient knife. Great for carving sculptures or killing inmates.
I studied it intensely. I could tell that he had tried this before
"How did you smuggle the razors in?" I asked.
Even though his face remained expressionless, I could tell that being asked an intelligent question pleased him, so he pulled up the sleeve on his t-shirt, showing me a small wound on his upper arm. Then he pulled at the skin, and it peeled off in a perfect razor blade-sized flap, hanging to his arm by a single string.
So he smuggled it inside in his flesh.
Efficient.
Insane, but efficient.
"Thanks"
He just nodded. He knew I was in the firing line. He knew, because he was too. Him having made such a precious artefact, and giving it to me could only mean one thing; I had an ally. I knew that would have mortal enemies by the dozens, standing in line to get an opportunity to sink their jagged claws in me. But never in my wildest imagination had I dared hope having an ally. This could mean that my chances of survival were almost bad, instead of being non-existent.
Which was a definite improvement.
Frank
A small envelope was pushed between the bars of our cell, and I knew from past experience, that this little treasure-box, checked, double checked and triple checked, contained the few possessions the guards had allowed to keep in our cell, small things people often made the mistake of taking for granted.
Instinctively, I grabbed the brown-wrapped package, tore it open, and smiled as a little slice of heaven floated down into my waiting palm.
Maria, Christie and Junior, smiling up at me from the faded photo-paper, eternalised in less than a second, this was now one of the only things that could put my mind to rest, if only for a time.
Things like this would in time become the rocks you cling to, trying not to drown in this cold, soulless sea of grey
Then I stumbled upon something that definitely wasn't mine. A beautiful blond woman beamed at me from the Polaroid, a wedding dress flowing down her body like a soft waterfall of white. Next to her stood someone I didn't immediately recognise, a man whose warm smile and sparkling eyes stood as a stark contrast to the cruel smirk and dead gaze that had replaced them.
"I think this belongs to you" I handed him the photo.
A strange grimace crossed his face for a second, a mix between happiness and sorrow, before reverting back to the usual bored look.
"Lights out!"
With loud metallic clanks, the lights gave out one-by-one, letting the darkness sweep over us in a domino-like pattern, and as the sun ended its pendulum swing across the sky, I savioured the last fleeting rays of light, unsure how long the eternity of night would be.
Damn, the document uploader sucks. It messes my text completely up! >(
Drop a review, please.
