I lay down on the bed, the hard, stainless steel bed, and I close my eyes. I want to forget. I want to forget everything, the whole ordeal. I close my eyes and I try to take myself somewhere else- anywhere else. I don't want to be here, I can't take it anymore. I would be content anywhere except here.
I suddenly remember Michelle's book. Reading, I figure, is a good distraction. I pat my pocket, and amazingly, the book is still there. I reach in, take it out. Her name is still there, still scratched in her perfect handwriting. I touch it softly, remembering her, remembering our last meeting. As painful as it was, it was beautiful.
I open the book. And I read. The story captivates me; maybe it is not so much the plot, but the fact that it is not here; when I am thinking about it, I am not in prison. I read, turning each page and letting myself focus on each page, on each sentence, on each word. I let myself forget, and it is the most bearable time I have spent so far. I lay there for a long time, I have no idea how long, but I am brought back to reality by the groan of the springs in the bunk above me.
I look up from the book, not daring to move but waiting for another sound, another response. I hold the book in my hands, waiting, wondering. The man above me is Columbian, I believe. From what I have heard, he murdered his ex-girlfriend after discovering her with one of his 'boys'. The man she was with received three broken ribs, a severe concussion, and stab wounds up and down his side. I fear him, more than any terrorist I have ever encountered.
Finally, he speaks. "So is it true?"
"What?" I ask, to afraid to ignore him, and not sure how to reply.
"You mess with Mac?"
I remember the conversation I had with Damian. He had mentioned someone named 'Mac'. I suppose, now, that Mac must be the guard I had hit.
"Uh, yeah. I guess," I answer, "Look, I don't want any troubleā¦"
The man gets out of his bed. I can feel the release of the springs, and I can see his feet hit the floor, dangerously close to my bed. He is wearing socks, and the standard orange pants given by the prison. I put the book down, under my mattress, never taking my eyes off of the feet. If I have learnt anything from CTU, it is to always keep your eye on the target.
"Bad move, cop. Bad move. Mac and me, we had a system going. You chose the wrong guard to mess with, cop."
He leans forward, so that his face is level with mine. His eyes are light brown, almost golden. I look at him, meeting his gaze, not allowing myself to look away. I want to. I want him to leave, go back. More than that, I want to leave. I want to go home. Back to Michelle.
"You're gonna pay for what you done, now, cop." he informs me placidly.
