Chapter 2: In Which We Meet Brutus

Friday September 20, 2007
Still in the cell

It was his third day in isolation. Chuck could tell that only by the fact that he'd had breakfast twice. So it was probably the third day. Unless he was being tricked. Maybe it was just the second day, and they fed him more frequently than he realized. That would be an excellent way to fatten him up, if his captor was an evil witch that intended to eat him.

But aside from that very unlikely (yet still unsettling) thought, Chuck was pretty sure it was the third day. Besides, if someone were truly trying to fatten him up for a Thanksgiving feast, they'd probably give him something better to eat. Or at least more carbs.

So it was, on this third day, that Chuck realized his verbal silence had only caused the voice in his head to talk more. And louder.

It was constantly coming up with explanations for why he was in a cell. Like, for instance, a witch had captured him and wanted to eat him. But he assured the voice that scenario was unlikely, and even if true, the witch would probably eat the guy in the next cell first, who was no doubt more appetizing.

And fortunately, Chuck had yet to meet the guy in the next cell. He'd managed to keep his silence since that first day, and the guards had never come to take them both to the shower, and despite what Chuck imagined was a horrible odor, he was grateful for that.

Still, between all the noise in his head, and his need to mend whatever fences he'd destroyed with his nerdy recitation of Star Trek movies, it was on this third day that Chuck decided to break the silence. He decided he would convince his neighbor that he was a tough guy, too. Then when they met, his dignity wouldn't be in nearly as much danger.

Chuck sat on the cold, hard floor, right next to the vent that led to the next cell over. He gathered himself, and spoke in his best impression of a tough guy voice.

"So, what're you in for?"

Chuck waited, but there was no answer. Maybe that was for the best. Or maybe he just needed to try harder to earn the respect of the big, bad dude who now plagued his nightmares.

"Me? I killed a guy. Or maybe five or six. I don't know. Sometimes I blackout and go on a killing rampage, know what I mean?"

Chuck knew, deep down, that he could never actually kill another human being. But the other guy didn't need to know that. He only hoped the quake in his voice when he talked about killing hadn't been detected. But still, there was no answer. So Chuck continued.

"Yeah, sometimes I kill people for just looking at me the wrong way. And I don't feel sorry about it."

He wasn't expecting a reply anymore, so when he received one, it startled him. No, strike that, it scared the hell out of him.

"You didn't sound like much of a killer the other day," the voice spoke.

Chuck jumped, long arms and legs splaying out as he crashed the rest of the way to the floor. The voice had spoken. It had acknowledged him. It knew he was there. And it had heard his nerdiness at work. He was already dead.

Except that…

The voice didn't sound like he expected. It wasn't a deep, calloused voice of a hardened killer. It wasn't deep at all. It was soft, and sweet, and almost…

Holy crap! Was his neighbor a woman? Was he in a coed prison? Did they even make those? And how did he even ask that question of her/him?

"Um, I'm sorry," Chuck spoke, his voice evidence of his still shaken psyche, "but are you—"

"A woman? Yes," the voice said.

Okay, so he had his verification. Not that it helped. If anything, it made his situation make even less sense, if that was possible. Why would they hold a man and a woman in the same prison? And why were they holding them at all?

And what was he supposed to say to her? It hardly seemed like the time for flirting. Not that Chuck was particularly high on his ability to flirt to begin with. And it's not like he could ask for her number. Unless it was a joke. But this was a prison woman. Would she even get the joke?

"So, yeah, I'm not really sure where we go from here," Chuck admitted.

"You could go to sleep, now that your fears of having your neighbor molest you have been allayed. Because I assure you, I have no intentions of taking advantage of you," the woman said.

"Oh, well, good, that's—"

Chuck turned those words over in his head. Something didn't quite at up. Oh yeah!

"Wait!" he said. "How did you know—are you a mind reader?"

"Hardly," she said. And just that simple word seemed to convey a lot. What it conveyed, Chuck had no idea, but there was something dark behind it. "You talk in your sleep. Apparently you thought my name was Brutus."

Chuck didn't know if he should be intrigued by the weight of her admission to not being able to read minds, or if he should be embarrassed by the fact he'd let someone hear his deepest, darkest fears. He supposed he could be both, but mostly, he was just embarrassed.

"So, I didn't get your name," Chuck said, trying to shake off the embarrassment.

"No, you didn't," the woman said simply.

That wasn't what Chuck was hoping for, but her tone left no room for negotiation. But he wouldn't be dissuaded so easily.

"Okay, name's are off the table then. But back to my earlier question. What are you in for?" he asked.

"I don't really see how that's any of your business," she answered.

"Okay, yeah, fair enough, but if we're going to be here, we may as well talk, right? I mean, it's not like—"

"Fine," she huffed. "I'm in here because I trusted someone. And here's a tip for you. Call it my one ounce of charity. Don't trust anyone. They'll just play you for a sucker."

He was tempted to ask. To dig deeper into whatever, or apparently whoever had gotten under the skin of his neighbor, but he decided against it. She didn't seem like the "talk it out" sort, and she certainly didn't seem to want to talk about whatever was bothering her. Still, he couldn't not comment.

"That sounds like a bitter way to go through life."

"It's a smart way to go through life," she snapped back. "And If I hadn't gotten stupid…"

She let her voice trail off, and Chuck was even more intrigued. There was definitely a story there. Maybe one day, he'd even get to hear it. But he knew he couldn't push.

"You can call me Chuck, by the way."

He thought he heard a laugh, but then, it could've just been his imagination.

"Oh, then I take back what I said before," she replied.

"What's that?" Chuck asked, confused.

"When I said you didn't sound like a killer. If my parents named me Chuck, I'd probably be a murderous sociopath, too."

Wow, a joke. A very mean-spirited joke. And violent. Still, a joke was a step in the right direction, he figured.

"Yeah, well my parents were sadists," was his retort.

Then he knew he heard a laugh.

"It must have been a generational thing. I don't think my parents were any better," she said, and Chuck could swear he heard her mood lightening.

"Why, what horrible name did your folks give you?"

Silence. Dammit, he'd gone too far. He had to try to save it.

"Right, sorry. Wouldn't want to spoil anything. You don't have to tell me. I'll just continue to call you Brutus, if you prefer," he said.

"I'd prefer you not," she said.

"Well then what should I call you?" he asked.

"Why do you have to call me anything? Honestly, I'd be fine with silence, but if you insist on talking, just talk. It's not as if I'd think you were addressing someone else. This isn't exactly a crowded room."

Chuck could sense her anger rising again, and he didn't want that. So he decided to just talk.

"So anyway, I've been trying to figure out how I wound up here, and so far, I've got nothing. Would you care to hear the story?"

She said nothing, so Chuck continued.

"My sister was throwing a surprise birthday party for me, and she invited a bunch of people I didn't know, which made me uncomfortable, and honestly, I just wanted to hang out in my room with my friend Morgan."

"Wait, you're Chuck, and your friend's name is Morgan? Is there some sort of bad name club, or something?"

"You're very funny," Chuck deadpanned. "Anyway, as I was saying, Morgan and I had plans to escape. We were almost out the window, well Morgan was out the window, when my sister walked in and caught us."

"Sounds like you're not very good at sneaking around," she commented.

"Well we're not spies or anything. We just work at a Buy More," he answered.

"Interesting," she said, and she didn't sound as if she was being sarcastic at all, which didn't make a lot of sense to Chuck, but he didn't have time to think much on it before she asked him to "continue."

"Right, so she caught us, and she made me go to this party, where she and her boyfriend Captain Awesome—"

"Wait a second, you call your sister's boyfriend 'Captain Awesome?'"

"Well everything he does is awesome. Climbing mountains, jumping out of planes." He paused. "Flossing."

For the first time he heard his neighbor laugh in earnest. He liked the sound of it. She sounded like someone who needed more laughter in her life. Of course, that could probably be said of anyone in their current condition. That thought darkened Chuck's mood just a bit, but he tried not to let it get to him.

"Anyway, so I was set off to talk to all these women who weren't all that interested in me, but finally, after several hours of that torture, it was over, and I could relax."

"So talking to women is torture?" she asked. "Are you not interested women in that way?"

"What?" Chuck asked, nearly choking on his tongue. "No! I mean yes! I mean I am, it's just, it was a lot of pressure, and I don't know if I'm ready to start dating again right now, and—"

"Relax, Chuck," she said. "Finish your story. I promise, I won't judge you anymore."

"Okay," Chuck said. "But I'm not homosexual, just so you know."

"I believe you," she replied.

"I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Of course not."

"It's just, I'm not," he said, still flustered.

"I already said I believe you. Now finish your story," she said.

"Well, okay. So the party was over, and I went back to my room. I was lying on my bed, when an e-mail came through from my college roommate, Bryce."

After he said the name "Bryce," Chuck could swear he heard a growl coming through the vent.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, but she didn't sound like she meant it. "It's just, this Bryce sounds like an asshole. Just that name."

"Oh, he is," Chuck said, "but that's another story for another time. Anyway, so I opened the e-mail, and it was a line from Zork."

"Zork?" she asked.

"It's this game Bryce and I used to play in college. Anyway, I answered the question, and then there were all these pictures and stuff, and then I don't really remember much after that. Well, I don't remember anything really, until I woke up in this cell."

There was more silence.

"Was the story that bad?" Chuck finally asked, uncomfortable with the lack of response.

"Why'd you open the e-mail?" the woman asked.

Not the question he was expecting, though he guessed it was a fair one.

"I'm not sure," Chuck asked. "Do you think that has something to do with why I'm here? Oh God! Did those pictures brainwash me?"

"I don't know," she answered, but her voice sounded kind of hollow all of a sudden. "Listen, we should probably get some sleep. It's been nice talking to you, Chuck."

"You too, what was your name again?"

"Nice try," she said, and Chuck could swear he heard a bit of a smirk in her voice.

"Can't blame a guy for trying. Anyway, good night."

"Good night, Chuck," she answered.

Disclaimer: Just as in the last chapter, I still claim no financial gains from this work of fiction, nor ownership of Chuck.

A/N: So, yes, the title of this chapter was inspired by the episode of Fringe that was watched earlier tonight in Castle Inanity's Fringe Rewatch 2011. Why do you ask? Oh, haven't heard of the Fringe Rewatch? Well you've been missing out. Every Monday, Frea, MXPW, yours truly, and other assorted guests chat on the Castle Inanity blog about an episode of Fringe, which we all watch together. We've started in season 1, so if you're not familiar with the show, there's nothing to fear. You should come join us. It promises to be a rousing good time.

And speaking of mxpw, I'd like to thank him for taking a look over this chapter, and catching a few of my errors. And the use of the word "few" may or may not be soaked with irony. I'll let you guess on that one.

So, three guesses as to the true identity of Brutus. The first two don't count. Unless I'm trying to trick you. And remember, I am a friend of Frea.

Good news is, I'm still ahead of the writing curve, so the updates should continue as weekly for the time being. Hopefully that will stay true. And, hey, if the power is still out at my office tomorrow, I may spend the whole day writing. Really build up a buffer. A boy can hope anyway.

So, in closing, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. You guys are awesome. Peace.