Day One

The steel door slammed closed, throwing the cell into darkness. If anything, the small patch of cross hatched light on the stone flags made the shadows deeper. Day one. Day one of one thousand and ninety-five, unless there was a leap year. He had no idea when they happened, they just seemed to appear out of the blue and suddenly February would still be there with March waiting in the wings to start. Three years, he’d be just over thirty by the time he got out. This was the last time, the very last time they’d lock him up. He would keep his head down, engage with the programmes, get a job when he got out, it didn’t matter what it was, he wasn’t spending any more of his life in here. Sitting in the dark Ray felt old, far older than twenty-seven, he’d lived too hard, too early. Those years weighed heavy in and out of places like this.

Ray got up from the bunk and stretched, he glanced down at the folded pile of bedding and rough woollen blanket, that would be fun in the dark. His orange jumpsuit still had that ‘newly washed’ smell, in a few days that would fade, replaced by the rank odour of stale sweat, then he’d trudge to the laundry, swap it for a clean one and the whole process would begin again.

The lights blinked twice then started with a dull glow. They buzzed as they warmed up filling the cell with their inescapable flat white light. Ray threw back the blanket and eased himself to the floor, feet aching as he slowly stood up, shuffling towards the metal toilet bolted to the wall. He washed as best he could in the small metal basin, apart from the bunk that was it in his cell. He squeezed as much water from his beard and hair as he could, but it still dripped down his chest.

Sitting on the floor beside his meal tray, Ray pulled the tab on the milk carton and poured it over the dried oat dust they left for breakfast. The same crap every day, day in day out. With the knife from yesterday’s hot meal, he scratched another mark on the wall. This one a diagonal, making a five-bar gate. Today was a big day, his sixth column of gates, three hundred days in this tiny cell, barely twice the size of his bunk.

At first, he’d been happy to have a cell to himself. Last time in General you had to be real good to get a cell on your own. He’d never quite made it this far up the ass kissing tree before. Couldn’t believe his luck that first night, a cell all to himself. He was smiling right up to the point when the door didn’t open the next day, or the one after that. He’d banged on the door, shouted through the grille but nothing. No voices, no response, only the food coming daily when is tray was changed or the clean bedding and jumpsuit every tenth day. Now he would have given his right arm for a cell mate, just someone to break the solitary hours, even some of the weird ones he remembered from before.

Today was a tenth day, they were exciting, different, something to look forward to. Possibly a glimpse of a hand, something to let him know he wasn’t alone on this planet. He’d reached through and touched the hand of the person with the clean bedding once, tried to talk to them, asked when they would let him out. They left him in the dark for four days after that, at least he thought it was four days. Your mind plays tricks on you after a while in the darkness.

He stripped the bed and folded it neatly, it joined his jumpsuit on the floor by the hatch. His jumpsuit was rarely worn these days, what was the point? It stank after a while in this heat and who really cared if he spent his days naked. No one ever came in here.

His tray was on the other side of the little hatch. He licked the last remnants of food from the plastic plates. It was awful tasteless goop, but he always ate it all, they might cut off his food and light again. He sat and waited, the stone flags on the floor cold against his bare skin. It was his daily routine. Sitting there, eyes closed, he dreamed of the food they might bring. Lunch, the one hot meal of the day, the slight possibility that it might be different. Not the brown mush with unidentifiable vegetables and even more dubious meat. Taco’s, he dreamed of Taco’s, he used to eat them at the club before, well before this. Fresh salad, spices and salsa. He’d never really liked salsa before, but now he longed for the fresh taste. He’d heard a story once back when he was in General, of a guy who loved salsa, ate it every day. Always kept a little back, put it in a tiny pot, spread it on the bars of the window every night. After a couple of years, the bars rusted through and he escaped. Hell, maybe it was just a yard tale, but he couldn’t do it in here. He hadn’t seen a window in...three hundred days, no salsa either.

There was a bang on the door, the trap opened. He slid in the empty tray, it disappeared, he could hear clinking as they sorted it, counted the cutlery. Another tray slid back in, with his next day’s food. He passed through his clothes and bedding; clean laundry took its place. Ray snatched it in quickly lest they slammed the hatch with it still in the trap. He would never let that happen again. Ten days naked without so much as a blanket was a lesson hard to forget.

The hatch slammed closed. That was it, his excitement for the day, over in less than thirty seconds.

The lights dimmed, chasing the day from his cell. After a few minutes when it was almost black, they would flash brightly twice, and that would be it until morning. Lying there in the darkness, holding his breath, Ray didn’t know why he did that, it was instinctive, trying to be silent. Not attract any attention, but he never did. No one ever checked on him, apart from the night watch which came every two hours. He wasn’t sure if they actually looked through the small grille or whether they just shone a torch as they walked past. The footsteps certainly didn’t slow as the torch light filled the cell.

He slowly let out his breath, quietly, no sudden explosion of noise. It was almost like this was preparing him for what came next. The need for absolute silence as he worked. Slipping from the bed and stripping, there would be no tell-tale dirt or dust on his clothes once they hit the laundry, nothing to give away what he was doing. The knife from dinner was already under the bed, waiting for him.

When his time was done, one thousand and ninety-five marks carved in the wall, he’d sat waiting for them to come, sat on his bunk all day. When the lights dimmed, he’d laid back, a leap year, must have been one while he was locked in here. Ray waited the next day, and the one after that, but the door never opened. There were now over fifteen hundred marks on the walls, stretching around two sides of the tiny cell. They were never letting him out.

He remembered when they’d brought him in here, carrying his neatly folded pile of bedding. There had been cell doors either side of him. Rows of doors above with metal walkways connecting them. But he was on the ground floor, except it wouldn’t be the ground floor, places like this always had basement, boiler rooms, somewhere for the pipes to run.

The mortar around the stone flags was hard. It took a long time, but what else did he have? He’d worked around two sides now, never too much, making sure he didn’t damage the knife. No bends or scratches when they took it away. By morning he’d have a little more of this side finished, the dust collected, the evidence flushed away. Another few weeks and the flagstone would be out. He’d be into the basement, still locked in this place but at least out of this cell. What then? That was tomorrow’s problem.

Tonight was the night, the last mortar around the edges was gone, he’d actually felt the flagstone move under his fingertips. Half expecting someone to open the door and drag the bed out, his crimes laid bare for all to see, he’d been hopping around all day. Worse he kept thinking they might move him, change his cell without warning. But nothing, why would they? They’d not set foot in this cell since day one.

As the lights dimmed, Ray was out of bed like a shot, scrabbling under the bed, his finger straining at the tiny gap. It moved, the flagstone actually moved, the scraping unbelievably loud crammed under the mattress. Just enough for him to get his finger tips into the gap. He strained, feeling his skin tear as he levered it up on edge. It was heavy, awkward, but he lifted it aside. His hands exploring the gap, he could feel the dusty old mortar that had once been holding it down, underneath was… A hard, ridged concrete slab. He frantically scraped around the edges feeling for any chink, anything that might have been a way through. But nothing, just solid impenetrable concrete. It’d take a thousand years of careful scraping with a butter knife to get through it. He wept, lying in the dust under the bed he cried like a small child. Not caring when the torch flashed through the grille, the footsteps of the night watch clipping past the door in unbroken strides.

Ray was still there when morning came, lay there all day, there when the hatch opened for his tray and closed again without it. He felt numb, no way out, nothing to live for and no way of ending it.

Day after day, he sat on the bed, ate when there was food, slept when it was dark, he stopped exercising, stopped washing. His beard became ridiculous, hanging down in long grey tresses below his chest. Long grey hair too, almost white in places. How had he got so old so fast? He was only just over thirty, but the years in this place seemed to extract a heavier toll.

There were two thousand one hundred and ninety marks on the wall now. Twice as long as he should have been here. Tears running down his cheeks, Ray banged his head against the five-bar gates covering the walls,. Perhaps he could just keep banging until it was over, if he hit his head hard enough, would it end? He stood by the door, two paces, not much of a run up,, his head hit the blocks with a dull thud. Everything spun and he dropped to the floor. Under the bed the flagstone was still dragged to one side, his crime exposed for all to see, for hundreds of days, but no one cared. Even if they did, what more could they do to him?

As he lay there, blood slowly dripping down his face, it dawned on him. The wall, the wall had sounded hollow. Pulling himself up the steel bed frame, still a little wobbly on his feet, Ray tapped the wall. Starting from the bloody smear he’d left in the middle he tapped first one way, then the other. The wall above his bunk sounded hollow, somewhere behind the block, a narrow void running up to the ceiling and, wriggling under the bed again, down to the slabs on the floor.

The original idea had been right, below him was bound to be a basement but the floor must have been more than just these flagstones, without concrete what would hold them up? The pipes, cables, vents must all run in a void up the walls. How could he have been so stupid? Wasted so much time?

The block was out, the gaping void behind finally exposed, full of pipes and cables. After the first block the next two came easily, a hard kick and they dropped out. No carefully concealing the evidence, flushing away the dust. It was too late for that. Anything more than a quick glance through the grille would show what he’d been up to.

It was almost too tight, but gravity was his friend, dragging him through the hole and down. There was no going back, up was impossible. He slid down, claustrophobia crushing in on him in the tiny space. There was more than one level below, the void seemed to go on forever. What if it doesn’t come out into anything at the bottom? What if the void stops? He would be stuck there, crushed in the darkness until he died of thirst. His heart hammered in his chest as panic set in, the space seemed tighter and hotter than before. His foot slipped, not so much slipped as had nothing to brace on. Sliding fast, Ray grabbed a bundle of cables with one hand a pipe with the other. Stopping when only his chest remained in the void, legs thrashing in free space. There was nothing, in the pitch black it could be two feet or two hundred. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath he let go.

The drop wasn’t far, the floor soft, like a mattress.. Panting hard, he lay in the pitch-black, he was out, a grin split his face. Nearly six years in that tiny cell and he was finally out.

Bright lights flooded down from above. After so long in darkness it was almost impossible to see. Shielding his eyes with one hand, Ray looked around. The room was blinding white, about twice the size of his cell. Above the small hole he’d wriggled through gaped dark, amongst the lights. He was lying on what was unmistakably a gym mat directly below it. As his eyes adjusted, he could see a man in a lab coat behind a wall of glass. The man leaned forward and spoke into a microphone, it crackled out of a speaker somewhere in the room.

“Hello Ray.” A voice an actual human voice, the first he’d heard since day one. “Nice of you to drop in.” The man laughed at his own joke.

“Wha?” Ray croaked, his voice worn thin through years of silence.

“You took so much longer this time, two thousand, two hundred and four days. Almost twice as long as your last attempt. I almost thought you wouldn’t make it. We all worried you’d given up after lifting the flagstone. What were you thinking by the way? I mean did you think that you’d lift the flag and there’d be an escape tunnel underneath? None of us could believe it when you dug there night after night.”

“I just…”

“Quite. I mean the wall was so obvious, we put your bed there for a reason. You found the void so much quicker the last couple of times. We were only a few months off scrubbing the whole project when you started on the blocks.”

“What is this place?” Ray croaked out.

“Don’t worry about that I’m sure you have lots more questions. But by the time you wake up, you’ll have forgotten them all. Ready for round six?”

“Round six?”

The air started to smell sweet, floor level vents blowing out cool slightly misty air. The room dimmed, or was it his eyes closing, Ray couldn’t be sure. Then just at the edge of hearing the man spoke again, “Clean him up, haircut, shave, usual routine, same as the rest, then put him back in.”

The steel door slammed closed, throwing the cell into darkness. If anything, the small patch of cross hatched light on the stone flags made the shadows deeper. Day one…