Tony was unable to remember the trip back to his cell. When he next noticed his surroundings he was back in his familiar corner, head in his hands. Michelle's photo lay exposed to the full view of any passerby on his lap. Blinking rapidly, he moved the picture to his pocket. Automatically he raised his head, checking to see whether anyone had noticed the movement.
Noises floated all around him, the curses and insults that flew between the cells all day. None of the prisoners within direct view of his cell spared him a glance.
Guess they must be pretty sick of such a boring guy as me by now.
No guard stood outside his cell. It appeared the photo was safe. Slowly he placed his hand in his pocket, withdrawing the picture, taking care to keep it shielded. Michelle smiled up at him, hair hanging loose, her eyes twinkling in amusement. Exactly the way she used to look whenever he teased her, throwing her into fits of laughter until her merriment amused him too, and he would begin to laugh with her. He closed his eyes, seeing her sitting opposite him at Division.
It was eleven at night, and the meeting they were both required to attend dragged on without any sign of ending. Chappelle sat at his usual spot at the head of the table, and he had sat at his favorite place near the end. Michelle had been home to change and had slipped in late, sitting directly opposite him. The meeting had contained little of importance, and he had noticed her eyes blinking, growing smaller. 'Now what was the next item?' Chappelle asked himself, opening the second page in his folder. 'Where can it be?' Michelle looked hopeful. He had known what she was thinking – she was hoping he wouldn't find it and they could all go home. He saw Chappelle withdraw a few papers in annoyance. 'Bound to be in there somewhere, Ryan,' he heard himself say. 'Otherwise we can discuss all the notes, we got plenty of time!' Michelle had covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes betraying her amusement. Chappelle had thrown him an irritated look. 'Almeida, have you got anything useful to add? Keep quiet if you don't.' He glanced at Michelle, seeing her growing amusement and rolled his eyes at her. Her shoulders began to shake. She pressed her hand tighter around her mouth, her eyes betraying her amusement. He gazed into them, feeling an answering smile on his own face. He chewed his lips hard to settle down, but he couldn't. She was right across from him, laughing silently, drawing him along with her. In desperation he pressed his own hand over his mouth, looking firmly at the floor. 'Can't seem to find them, I suppose we'll have to adjourn for the night. Almeida, is something wrong?' He had shaken his head, unable to speak or even move his hand from his mouth. Chappelle had thrown him a truly irritated look. 'Alright, we'll meet next Wednesday, you may all go, except you, Almeida. There's something I must discuss with you.' Oh great. He nodded firmly, ordering himself to focus and nearly managed; when he felt a hand on his shoulder and saw her, noting her amusement. 'See you home sometime tomorrow, Tony.' The laughter rose inside him, until he was unable to contain it any longer. 'More likely back at the office, sweetheart.' And having managed to get that sentence out he set them both into peals of laughter. Michelle withdrew hastily, while he rushed for the bathroom, pouring cold water on his face, ordering himself to settle.
Her photo smiled at him the same way, only this time he was reminded of all he had lost. The house, car, boat, his money, and his grandfather's land were terrible enough to lose. Far worse was the loss of his ability to hold her in his arms, get fussed over by her. He really would have needed her complete support that day. Tears filled his eyes. He made no attempt to wipe them away. His head rested in his hand, the photo clutched tightly in the other. He allowed himself to remember every detail of their life, recalling her words to him – happy words, tired words, and the annoyed words she'd uttered when she was cross with him.
Dammit, I'd give ANYTHING to hear you, sweetheart. Hell, I'd even be thrilled to hear you yell at me! I WANTED you to come yell at me. I wanted to try to explain. I never got a real chance to try and tell you what I felt. I really need a chance to say goodbye.
Tears spilled from swollen eyes, flowing unchecked down his cheeks, wetting his hands. A few drops ran between his fingers, wetting his trousers at his drawn up knees. The remaining drops ran straight down his chin, moistening his t-shirt. Sobs shook him, rising from deep within his chest.
My friend, I saw your handwriting. You love me so much, and you can't even write me a private letter anymore, being forced to resort to notes smuggled in by my lawyer. How I wish I could have hugged you one final time.
He was unable to stop the tears. Every time he drew a breath to calm himself another memory would rise unbidden. He saw himself watching her struggling with her backpack on their camping holiday, lifting it off her back, groaning at the weight. 'Honey, you SURE you need to bring all these things?' She'd looked at him seriously. 'Sure, Tony, we're camping for the whole weekend.' He'd laughed at that. 'Sweetheart, I was sent into combat with a less than a quarter of this stuff, and it was for a great deal longer than a weekend!' Fresh tears filled his eyes.
Lunch appeared on a tray, pushed into the slot. He knew better than to ignore it. When the trolley had moved further along the row he pulled himself up and collected it, dumping the entire contents into the toilet. It required three flushes before it disappeared, spinning round. Once he ascertained nothing floated on the water he returned the tray to the slot, walking back to his corner.
It appeared he was out of tears. Tony rested his aching head in his hands, hearing the trolley returning to collect his tray. He didn't spare it a glance. He was broken inside, ripped apart. I'm a traitor, I'm a traitor.
'Hey Almeida, you ok? You need anything?' questioned his neighbor. Tony almost ignored him before he remembered there was indeed something he needed urgently. He asked for two pieces of paper and a pen, and wrote a letter to his parents bidding them farewell, and another to Michelle, reminding her of the fun they had together, and telling her he would love her to the end. He handed the pen back to Martins, asking if he'd keep the notes for a night. Sighing heavily Martins agreed. Tony kissed them both before handing them over.
Dinner arrived hours later, while he remained immobile in the corner. Once again he collected his tray and emptied it, flushing everything down before returning it to the slot. His head span, he felt violently sick. Everything was gone, further away than the day of his sentencing. He felt totally empty.
There was no mercy for him – everything he owned was ripped away, removed from her. His actions had lost her everything she had, her home, her husband, and her friendships at work. He should have acted differently with Saunders. He should have tried something else. Once again he ran through the events starting with Saunders' phone call, unable to think of a single action he could have done differently to save her in that moment.
The trolley was pushed back and his tray was removed. He left his head in his hands, feeling lost. Utterly, completely empty. He noticed the familiar guards standing in the middle of the floor, joined by Davis. Dully he wandered why Davis was there. He rarely visited the block apart from his weekly inspection of the cells. He returned his head to his hands. Things no longer concerned him. Tonight he would end it all.
Come on, lights out!
'Prisoner, rise and face the wall. Place your hands on your head.'
Come ON, lights out!
An awful clanging penetrated the fog inside him. Raising his head he saw Davis outside his cell with all six guards. They glared at him. 'Convict Almeida, are you deaf? Get up and face the wall. If I have to tell you one more time you'll spend the night down in the hole.'
Tony got up, struggling to bring himself back to the present. He had no wish to be locked in the hole again – ever. Certainly not tonight. Tonight he had other plans, his first real plans since entering the prison. Slowly he faced the wall, placing his hands on the back of his head, interlocking his fingers. He heard his door being opened. After four months of incarceration, two of them here, he didn't as much as move a muscle as they entered and stood around him.
'Convict Almeida, I have been informed that you have a contraband item inside your cell,' Davis told him. 'I'll give you a chance to save yourself from serious trouble. Tell me where it is!'
I haven't got anything, you jerk!
'You are aware you are forbidden to possess any personal items for the first year of your sentence. Now I ask you again, where is the picture of your wife?'
You're a real bastard, Davis! You must know I saw my lawyer today. You know I don't get good news. Why the hell couldn't you wait till tomorrow?
'Convict Almeida, you were asked a question. I want an answer immediately. Where is the photo?'
'There's no photo,' Tony said, his voice even.
'If I have to waste my time searching the cell you won't get it back until you're too old to recognize it!' threatened Davis. 'Hand it over at once, convict.'
'Search the cell – you're real welcome.'
I'm not going to grow old, you bastard! And there's NO WAY you're taking that picture anywhere. I need it with me, tonight.
'Search the cell,' Davis ordered. 'Cuff him. I won't have him move.' Tony felt one of his arms pulled tightly down and a steel cuff placed on it, then his other arm was wrenched down and the cuff was locked. 'Move as much as a muscle, Convict Almeida, you'll learn what handcuffs are capable of.'
I already learned that at Federal in LA, you jerk!
Chewing his lip, face pressed against the plaster, he listened to them moving around. One guard searched near the toilet, lifting the lid and peering into the water cistern.
Not a bad idea, really, hiding something there. I wouldn't have thought of it.
Two others pulled the blanket and sheets from his bed, shaking first one, then the other vigorously. They began a detailed examination of any loose stitching in the blanket, pulling bits of wool from it. After a while they laid them aside and examined the top of his mattress. It contained a large lump in the centre, pushed out by springs, which forced him to sleep on either side of the bed avoiding its sharp poke. There was also a thin hole where a piece of cotton poked through. Donning gloves a guard put his hand into the crack, searching the cavity.
Davis gazed with interest at the hole. 'Make sure nothing has been removed from that spring, would you.'
That's right, damage it further. Soon even you guys won't be able to call it "suitable bedding". Poke around all you like, do! Watch your fingers though, those springs are real sharp. Those gloves won't help you much.
'O shit,' swore a guard, withdrawing his hand from the mattress. 'Bloody thing cut me.'
Yes, it cut me too. It's real rusty, also, which is why I decided against putting the photo there.
'Remove the mattress. We'll search it outside. I don't get a reaction from you, Convict Almeida. You want me to believe the photo's not there, right? We'll look anyway. Keep searching.' The guards resumed their search of the iron posts that held the mattress. 'You'll answer for the condition of that mattress, convict. I've never seen prison property so abused before.'
It was like this when I got here, and you know it, you bastard! Why would I choose to damage my own bed? I only made the little crack.
'You can sleep on the floor tonight, convict. Hell you can sleep on the floor every night until one of your relatives decides to pay for the damage!'
Tony's fists clenched. He longed to turn around and kick Davis in the stomach. Maybe he would, as he intended to end it all that night. He had been responsible for the hole, removing a small piece from the springs much deeper down, ignoring his bleeding hands. It had appeared as just a little further deterioration of the bed.
The search continued while he faced the wall. Every piece of flooring was carefully covered, the walls were checked. His mind raced. Soon they would get to search his clothes, and he would have to move fast, pushing the picture from one location to the next.
'Alright, convict, I'll give you one final chance to hand over the picture, and whatever else you removed from the mattress,' Davis said. Tony remained silent, his nose pressed into the cold wall. 'Ok, you asked for it. Uncuff him. Make any move at all, Almeida, you'll feel my night stick.'
Tony seethed, working hard at keeping his face unreadable as he felt his cuffs removed and was ordered to turn and face them. He was ordered to remove his shirt. He sighed inwardly. This was not going to be easy. He had counted on being ordered to strip everything at once, making it easier to hide the picture. Well, he would just have to use all his training in protecting his things.
Slowly he removed his shirt, unbuttoning the top few buttons and flinging it behind him, moving the photo from its pocket to the floor, the shirt landing on it. 'Convict Almeida, pick up that shirt this instant,' Davis ordered furiously, 'and put it on the blanket.'
He picked up his shirt, moving his foot an inch, covering the picture, before rising and throwing the shirt across the room. It hit the bars at the front of his cell and fell next to them. Instinctively Davis and the guards watched its flight, whilst he pushed the picture behind the toilet. It lay on its back, white blending perfectly with white. His face registered no emotion as he saw Davis remove his night stick. 'Convict, step forward.'
He took two steps forward, being ordered to stop when he stood in the centre of the room.
Bastard wants to beat me and watch my reaction. He won't get one!
Davis moved to his side, raising his night stick and landing him a sound blow on his shoulders. Tony took a deep breath just before it landed, letting it out slowly. He noticed disappointment in Davis' eyes. Again the stick was raised. Tony fully expected it to land in the same position, but Davis surprised him, bending down swiftly and hitting his thigh. His leg burned, his shoulders ached. He hoped Davis was satisfied. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the stick being raised again. Rapidly he drew a deep breath, hearing the swish seconds before he received a blow across his back so hard he was propelled a step forward. Tony drew several deep breaths rapidly, keeping his eyes fixed on the same few bars he had focused on.
'Sir, he's had quite a bit now,' one of his guards protested, worried about the growl throughout the block. Davis replaced his stick.
'So he has. Let's find that picture. Remove your trousers, convict.' Tony removed them slowly, his back aching. His thigh burned as the trousers were pulled over it. He laid it down carefully, bending to place it neatly on the blanket, tucking a razor sharp grey spring into his palm. 'That's better,' Davis said, pleased. 'You're learning. Now remove your shoes.'
Tony bent down, busy with his laces, turning to cough, slipping the spring inside his mouth. His shoes were examined carefully and he was ordered to remove his underwear. He undressed slowly, feeling his shoulders protest. He placed everything on top of his trousers and watched as the guards examined his things. The sharp spring hurt his mouth, he wouldn't be able to speak while it was there. Gradually he received his clothes back, and put them on, waiting patiently for his trousers. Once they were on he was ordered back to the wall, told to place his hands above his head. He managed to slip out the spring and slide it into his hand, lowering it a moment later to rub his thigh. The spring slid unnoticed into his pocket, while Davis ordered him to place his hands on his head immediately. He did so, wishing they would go now.
'Almeida, you get top marks for concealment. Top marks.'
OK, warn me you're going to search me again soon, and go. I got things to do now.
'We'll start the search again. Leave the mattress outside, it will have to be searched in detail. Begin along the walls. Convict, you remain facing the wall. Move one muscle…'
Oh shit. They'll find the picture within seconds. Why the hell search the same place twice in a row? They're NOT searching my cell now.
'I'll move as many muscles as I choose,' Tony interrupted loudly. 'This is MY cell. And you'll move some too, as you leave.'
Davis and the guards gazed at him speechlessly. A banging began from somewhere in the middle of the block, gathering momentum. 'Who the hell do you think you are, convict?' cried Davis.
'That's LIEUTENANT to you, Davis,' Tony yelled, aware he had the attention of the entire block. The guards had also forgotten all about the order to begin the search anew. 'You want me to tell you about this guy?' Tony continued, listening to his voice echoing round.
Hell, he's caused me such trouble now, he'll get some too! He will NOT search here again tonight.
'He's Corporal Davis of the marines, responsible for hassling the entire platoon when I was a private. He was much like he is now, grabbing people and writing their names down, reporting them. But when we saw action in Somalia, where was Davis?' Tony paused, amazed at the utter silence in the block as every convict strained to hear him. 'He got sick! Real convenient, right? But don't waste your tears on him; by the time we returned, he was sooooooo much better….'
Davis hit him across the stomach with his night stick, stopping his story abruptly. 'Cuff him,' he ordered, slapping Tony across the face. Cuffs were placed on him and he was hauled from the cell, struggling with two guards, allowing himself to be knocked to the ground, rolling very slightly and slipping his fingers round the photo, hiding it in his trouser pocket.
Looks like I'm on my way to visit the warden again. Hang in there, Almeida; it's all over tonight anyway.