Verdict

Michael Paced the full length of his cell, the full length being a little more than five steps before facing the peeling stucco wall and turning. His cell mate Playboy as he called himself who’s actual name was Nolan rolled over and pulled his bedding over his head. He knew his constant pacing was annoying him, he had been here eight months and had already seen what a small annoyance could lead to. He had led much of his life trying to avoid confrontation with people, today he simply didn’t care. For the first time in his life, he had abandoned his golden rule and now he was here, trapped.

He was far from the only noise on the block, the next cell over to him had been making what they called music until 5 am, banging out a beat on the metal toilet whilst another sang. It had started at lights out to immediate protest from everyone on the block. In response came a slew of every kind of insult and threat Michael could ever have imagined. Despite this the pair kept on with the music, until others began banging the cell doors with anything they had to hand. At around 10 the alarm bleared for the better part of an hour, only resulting in louder shouting and louder singing.

Michael had gotten through the night without a word, it was finally his day he was going to explain everything he needed them to know. He knew this would all be fine if he could make them understand. He had been advised against it but after he continually insisted it was agreed he would write down exactly what it was he was going to say. He had made more attempts that he could remember, other prisoners had thrown unasked for advice at him whilst he struggled, always looking for something to distract them from the monotony. In the end he decided to just keep it safe in his head.

A bell droned followed by the unlocking click of the magnetic cell doors. Michael made no move to leave, never be the first or the last to grab food was one of the rules he had learned shortly after coming here. The block was mostly ex-gang members, who always grabbed their food first. He could hear them making their way down the stairs shouting and complaining about last night’s singing. A great rattling of palms hit his cell door, Nolan jumped, Michael readied himself, but no one burst in.

“Man, stop pacing and let’s get some food.” His groggy cellmate said, standing up and stretching.

“Can you believe those two assholes last night?”

Michael shook his head, he had regretted at least not trying to get any sleep, even an hour or two may have helped clear his mind. Nolan was out first, being young he often would strut about the place fists balled up, looking for challenges. The attitude would have looked ridiculous on someone twice his size, but as usual Michael kept quiet and prayed when something did go down, he wouldn’t be dragged into it.

“So, today’s the day, isn’t it? Figured what you’ll say?” Said Nolan over his shoulder.

“Nah, just a few things.”

“Worst feeling watching them judge you for a mistake. Just tell them what they wanna hear.”

It almost sounded like sympathy before Michael remembered where he was. Under the harsh strobe lights his head felt even worse, but at least the noise level went down whilst they were eating.

“I would just tell them, when I’m up there like. Shit I don’t know.” Nolan said, dropping his plastic tray down on the table. Michael would have given him everything he had to eat if he thought it would shut him up, but he needed what little energy this breakfast would give him.

“I mean, man they can be harsher than a judge. It’s always a gamble talkin’ to ‘em.”

“I’m just gonna tell them everything I know, guess it’s up to them what comes next.” Michael said, fighting to keep down the food he had just eaten.

“Is what it is Mike.”

That sent a spike of anger through him, he was able to keep a hold of it, but he knew Nolan could never see what this meant to him. The man had been in and out six times at twenty-four years old. He had a life he needed to keep.

Thankfully Nolan didn’t ask him anymore questions whilst they ate, as he felt the time draw closer, he could feel both vomit and tears trying to rush out of him. He knew he couldn’t show any weakness anywhere in this place and now even his body was trying to betray him. He slammed his fist down hard on the table, the metal thudded, pain went streaking up his arm. He squeezed his eyes tight.

“Yo, you should maybe go back to the cell.” Nolan said under his breath. Other prisoners were already looking over in his direction, any conflict and he knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He took his tray and slid the last of his meal in the bin, all the while keeping his head down.

“Until they know what I’ve been through they can’t judge me, they can’t hate me.” He said to himself. It did nothing to calm his mind or stomach, taking the stairs two at a time he pushed open his cell door and just about made it to the toilet before throwing the contents of his stomach up. He was able to suck in a few breaths before he wretched again. By the time he stopped he was just bringing up bile. The heaving left him feeling completely exhausted, even keeping his head propped up over the toilet became a challenge. In the end he let himself collapse on to the cell floor.

They’d think I was a junkie if they could see me like this. Micheal thought to himself, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, or if he had the energy for either. He looked at his watch, in less than an hour he would be summoned. Brush your teeth, he told himself, being presentable would most definitely help his confidence he knew. He pulled himself upright despite wanting nothing more than too crawl under his bunk and never come out, he stared in the mirror. Dark red rings stained the skin around his eyes, the eyes themselves now had a strained alertness to them. When he had first met his ex-wife, she had told him she loved how warm they were, the memory was enough to set him off again. He put his head back over the toilet, but no bile came this time.

He unrolled his towel onto his bunk and picked up his toothbrush, after five minutes of continuous brushing he spat pink paste into the sink. He could still taste the acrid tang the vomit had left behind. He heard his cell door creak; his hand went to the deodorant can. The guy from next door was staring at him, the one who had been singing. Michael held the can behind his back, he’d have felt better with a heavier weapon but struck in the right place the can could be deadly.

The prisoner at the door looked frail, waxy pale skin hung off his cheekbones. He stared at Michael picking at a scab on his neck, his other hand behind his back.

“What is it?” Michael finally said, he just carried on staring. Finally, he held up a book before tossing it, Michael watched it sail through the air and land on his bunk. When he looked back, he had left the door frame he had been leaning on and was making his way down the steps to shouts and insults from other prisoners. Michael resisted the urge to look out, even to be associated with an annoyance like him could have dire consequences. Instead, he sat on his bunk and took the book in hand, “The remains of the day” its cover was a bland pepper colour with an old-time pocket watch on it. He didn’t understand, could it be a threat? Did the watch mean he was running out of time? He leafed through it before turning it upside down and shaking it, nothing fell out. He knew gifts were never given in this place, everything had its price he just couldn’t figure out what it was, not that he could think about it now.

He looked at his watch again, time to go he thought to himself tossing the book down. When he left his cell one of the officers was already at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him, he was met with a chorus of jeers as he descended. On any other day it would have terrified him but today his safety felt inconsequential. When the handcuffs snapped around his wrists, the anxiety began to resurface, he had no idea what they would think if he walked in cuffed and shackled.

He was led down a corridor at a pace to quick for the limited movements the shackles allowed him and too slow for his racing mind.

“Visitation.” The escorting officer said into his radio.

 A loud buzz rang out and the visitation door clicked open. The rooms only occupants were the three people waiting for him, his two children sat at the middle table, and his ex-wife who sat one table away. His children seemed happy; the crushing soullessness of the place seemed to be completely lost on them. His ex-wife was leaning forward with her arms crossed, watching over the kids. Bringing the children to this place had taken months of convincing but now they were here with her. Seeing them there, the bitterness he held towards her seemed to vanish. His shackles were removed at he stepped into the visitation room.

“Hey Dad!” his boy James shouted over with a clumsy wave. His younger sister Amy stared at him wide eyed, overwhelmed seeing her father after so long in this strange place. He smiled at the pair; they turned round to look at their mother who nodded. James got up and hugged him followed closely by Amy, for a solid two minutes he hugged them back, pushing his tears down as best he could. He wanted them to leave as happy as possible and seeing him cry might worry them. After the big hug they sat down at the table, Amy had gotten over the shock and seemed far more relaxed now. James had something in his hand he seemed eager to show him.

“What’s that, son?” he asked.

“I drew it for you!” James exclaimed.

“I helped colour in!” Amy piped up after him.

“I love it kids, why don’t we bring Mum over and she can take a look at it.”

His ex-wife seemed even more startled than Amy had been, but she came over and sat next to him, nonetheless, even offering him a smile.

“Kids, I know you have a lot of questions about why I’m here and I’m sorry I haven’t seen you in a long time. If you want to ask me anything don’t be afraid, no matter where I am I always love you.”