NOTE: This scene didn't really fit anywhere within the body of the story. But I decided to include it as an aside.
...
Metropolitan Correctional Centre, Chicago, Illinois, 2021
He miserably stared up at the web-like cracks in the grey ceiling tiles. Only 5 days in the clink had already confirmed what he always knew to be true - he was not a man made for prison.
Harvard educated, he was made for far grander pursuits than counting hours.
But he'd allowed things to run away with him; so close to achieving his goal.
He clenched his teeth as the lunch bell rang; too shrill and obtrusive. Its echo doubled as the sound laced down the concrete corridors.
He heard the other cell doors open; the excited chatter of the prison inmates as they made their way to the canteen.
"Move swiftly ladies! No lingering in the hallways!" a guard shouted.
He jolted as the lock on his cell clicked and the door opened.
"You too, Princess!" the guard demanded. "Time you came out to meet the neighbors!"
From the day he arrived, Charles Marsden refused to leave his cell. He was terrified. He had enemies. Many of them had good reason to hate him; none more so than the Grimaldi's and their supporters. Any one of them would love to take advantage of his exposure. There was nothing and nobody to protect him in here.
He sighed and sat up on his bed; sliding his feet into the white prison-issued trainers. No laces, obviously. He didn't bother to complain about the guard's request. He was smart enough to know his reprieve was over.
Time to face the music.
As he emerged, the inmates passing his cell paused to get a good look at him. They all knew who he was, of course. Some whistling and teasing ensued, as he followed the crowd to lunch. He couldn't help but notice the soft evidence of Chinese whispers; as his presence was quickly messaged through the population.
The crowd thickened as it reached the main entrance to the canteen. He could feel hot breath on the back of his neck as men pushed up against him; jostling for position. He kept his head bowed; hoping to avoid any eye contact.
The canteen was bigger and brighter than he expected; painted blue and white. Metal tables with attached chairs ran the length and breadth of the space. Arriving prisoners formed a long line that snaked around the outskirts of the room until it reached the food-bar; where busy kitchen staff slopped food onto outstretched trays.
Conscious of the eyes watching him, he blinked against the sudden brightness and joined the end of the queue. The others continued to cackle and crack jokes; some even shouted to get his attention. But he kept his eyes on the head of the person in front of him.
He'd started the fear-drenched shivering long before he reached the canteen. He swallowed hard.
With a tray laden with a kind of food he'd never have even feed his dogs, Charles found an empty table and sat with his back to the whole canteen.
Is this it? The rest of my life… like this?
The thought sent a chill down the back of his neck and, to his surprise, teardrops formed on his lids. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. He hardly ever had… even as a child.
It wasn't supposed to end up this way… I could have achieved great things!
A tray banged down onto the table opposite him, shocking him. It was followed by a tall figure who regarded him with a coldness that stopped his breath.
"This seat taken?" The man's southern accent held nothing but pure contempt and mockery.
Nervous, Charles shook his head.
A sinister smile spread like poison; sliding slowly across the weathered face before him. One hand reached over the table to take a handful of rice from Charles' tray.
"Name's Main," the man said, eating the rice directly out of his hand.
When Charles didn't reply, the prisoner banged a fist on the table making Charles jump and spill the water from the metal cups provided with the meal.
"It is usually customary to respond with one's own name!" Main yelled. "Is it not?"
"You already know my name." Charles tried to sound confident; but his voice squeaked on the end of the sentence
A look of evil triumph crossed Main's dark eyes. "I hear you'll be needing a cell-mate soon." Charles' head shot up and he shuddered as Main licked his lips. "Just so happens I've put in a request for transfer. My former mate had a little accident…" Main indicated his head to one direction.
When Chales found the object of Main's discussion he wished he hadn't looked. The shaking sniveling pile of what used to be a person; hunched like an old man over his food tray; left Charles with nothing but a sick premonition.
He slowly turned his attention back to Main, who ignored him. Main simply sat there eating his food as though he'd said nothing.
Suddenly the years stretching ahead of Charles seemed very long indeed.