Caged In (Caged Prison #1)

17

Izz stuffs his pockets with various chocolate bars before following Reni out into the prison to go to the early morning meal. A routine he’s become used to—the early breakfast, not the chocolate community filling his pockets. The sugary treats he’s bringing outside the cell will be a new experience for him. He usually keeps his depression-slash-anxiety eating—ironically—locked up behind cell doors.

He skips the line, forgoing the somewhat nutritious meal, in favour of his sugar-filled pants. He’s having himself a healthy breakfast today, chocolate comes from a plant so he’s practically eating fruit bars.

He doesn’t even try to convince himself he isn’t scanning the room for the killer who hasn’t yet taken the usual place in the shadowed back corner. He and Reni are arriving late, breakfast had started . . . ‘bout half an hour ago? The killer is usually always early, he should have arrived by now.

Where is the killer?

He’s worried and relieved at the same time. Relieved he won’t have to pretend not to watch the male through the entire meal. Worried he doesn’t know what the killer is doing, worried that the killer had been freed, or moved prisons or been thrown in The Hole, or—

Izz groans, loud enough for The Gang to hear and look his way. He plants his ass in his usual place—pretending he didn’t utter a sound—the hard seat already driving an ache deep into his muscles. Why can’t they put cushions on the chairs or something? Every time he sits he feels like he’s going to take a metal splinter up his ass.

He worms his fingers into his tightly stuffed pocket to retrieve his fruit bar. Squeezing the little health bar open to eagerly consume its contents. Biting off half the bar in one chomp—the caramel chocolate sludge sticking on the roof of his mouth. His tongue working overtime to try to dislodge the uncooperative goo.

“How are you still eating them? Why are you still taking the bribes he gives you?”

He’d been so focused on his sticky task he failed to notice Reni sitting down with his full tray, right beside him. Reni’s regular spot is normally in front of him, not this beside-thing the other has going on today. It threw his composure off.

First, the killer hasn’t shown up, now Reni is sitting in a different place. Is it because he changed the routine by bringing chocolates to breakfast? A weird karma revenge scheme?

Is that how karma works? Probably not.

“They aren’t bribes .” Izz feels the need to clarify. “And besides, He said there are no strings attached. What were his words . . .”

Izz bites off the last of his bar, thinking back to the shower room. “Oh, yeah, it was—” Izz plays down his voice, deepening it to try to mimic the killer—failing miserably, “I’ve done a lot of bad crap, but I’ve never raped anyone. I find you intriguing .”

Sceptical, his cellmate pulls a face at him, “he said ‘crap’?”

Izz playfully punches his friend’s arm. “Alright, so maybe not those exact words but you get the point.”

Under his breath, Reni mutters something about Izz having a death wish.

Izz laughs, opening another bar and brushing off his cellmate’s worries. He has worries, sure, but he’s avoiding thinking about them. Maybe they won’t become tangible? If he permits Reni’s words to sink in, he’s afraid his own stewing concerns will gain a foothold in his frontal lobe—

The prison’s blaring alarm blasts through the cafeteria rattling Izz’s fears free. Building up their momentum—he quickly stomps them down before he begins to freak out that something has happened to the killer. Which he shouldn’t be doing, those thoughts should not be crossing his mind.

He drops the half-eaten bar in favour of blocking his ears with both hands. Sealing his palms tight enough over his ears that they’re liable to embed into his skin.

“What’s that?” Izz bellows over the shrill noise, unsure if anyone can hear him. He can scarcely hear himself.

“Lockdown,” Reni yells back, grabbing Izz’s arm to drag him to his feet.

Izz lurches along as he’s half dragged towards the exit, the other inmates in the cafeteria are rushing out right alongside him. The trays and food are left behind on the tables—the large mess a calling card for the chaotic scramble back to their cells.

And there’s not a moment to spare—the barred cell door slamming shut behind Izz’s uncoordinated fall into his cell. He exhales a sharp hissing breath as his knees hit the hard cold floor.

~~~

A crushing anxiety is overwhelming him. His leg twitching and his foot nervously tapping. His elbows digging into his knees and his chin bouncing up and down like a wild animal in his palms.

To say he is freaking out is an understatement. He’s skirting the edges of a severe panic attack, a hair’s breadth away from losing it completely and falling off the edge. His mind racing over what could have happened.

The serial killer not showing up in the cafeteria . . .

The alarm going off . . .

Reni had mentioned something about the alarm meaning an inmate has been grievously injured or killed—

Is the serial killer dead . . . ?

~~~

They are released at the lunch bell. He’s sure it’s because the guards don’t want to feed the entire prison individually in their cells. The time locked up passing too fast and not fast enough for Izz to get his answers. He can’t remember if he talked to Reni during their forced lockdown. His mind is a muddled mess, his thoughts all over the place. Returning again and again to the same questions.

Who died?

Who was killed? And why?

Dread consumes his thoughts. Somehow he knows the unknown incident has something to do with him. He cannot shake the feeling of impending doom. He feels hollowed out as if he’s nothing but a shell—a pitifully weak and cowardly shell. His subconscious knows, he wishes it would do the decent thing and fill him in on the details. And not leave him hanging with no answers.

Izz trudges over to The Gang’s table, he’s not even going to pretend he’s hungry. He can’t stomach a morsel—his digestive tract churning and twisting.

As Izz takes a seat at the table, the first thing he hears is Erik speaking low, “. . . B-Wing was abuzz with chatter. That kitchen boss dude was killed, brutally too, his—”

Izz zones out of the morbid explanation Erik is about to go into, his concentration distracted by the male lowering himself into his usual place at the table in the far corner—

The male’s eyes lock right onto Izz’s. Like he was expecting Izz to look his way.

Izz tries to read the killer’s mind, scanning over the features he can make out in the shadows. Hoping something, some small tic, will tell him what he needs to know—

The serial killer—the one Reni had warned him to stay as far away from as possible—dips his chin slightly. His eyes locked on Izz . . .

His sinking heart plummets into a full-blown Atlantic Sea. His instincts had been warning him. Had known a horrendous crime was carried out.

It happened because of him . . .

The killer really did it. He killed Levis. . . for me . . .

How. . .

Oh God.

This can’t be happening.

Izz is responsible for a man’s death. It’s his fault—

No, it was Levis’s fault. That asshole never should have done the things he did. Never should have touched Izz when he told Levis that he wasn’t interested. And it was the killer who did the deed. Izz never asked, nor would he have ever asked.

This death is on the serial killer, not me—

“You have visitors, A-18910.”

Izz jerks his head to the side to see a guard standing at the end of the table, blue eyes squared on Izz in a stern no arguments kind of way.

Visitors?

Izz trails along behind the guard, trying not to get too excited. He doesn’t want to build his hopes, only to discover it isn’t his mum and little sister.

It’s easier said than done. By the time he finds himself outside the visitation room, he is practically jumping out of his skin.

“No touching,” the guard barks before shoving Izz through the door. Izz has to hold out his hand to stop his face from crashing into the door. Even the guard’s rough treatment doesn’t dampen his eagerness.

The guard strides off to stand with the other guards, talking about whatever—probably ways to torture the inmates.

Izz grins at the sight of his family seated at one of the small plastic tables scattered through the room. Other inmates are here too, with their own visitors. But none of them matter, there are only two people in this whole room he cares about. And they’re both smiling at him, even before he weaves his way around tables to get to them.

Izz’s sister jumps up to grab at him, and he wraps his arms around her. Which earns him a reprimand from a guard, and a ‘ point’ —whatever the hell that means—he’ll ask Reni later. It was worth it, he wouldn’t have taken it back for the world.

“I love you, brother,” Lucia snivels, wiping at her red teary eyes. Her wavy brown hair sticking out at random angles, like she was so excited to come here she forgot to brush it. Or there was a tornado outside she had to battle through to reach the prison visitation door.

“I love you too, little sis,” Izz pats her head, stepping back before he pisses off the guards’ more than he already has.

The plastic chairs are comfortable, compared to the cafeteria seats, and that is saying something, considering these chairs are hard as rock with zero support for your ass bones. By the time he’s freed, he’s not going to remember what a normal chair feels like.

“What’s it like in here?” Luc jumps right in with the questions, while their mum sits quietly, blinking rapidly, trying not to cry.

“Well, little darling sister of mine. They have very loud alarms here, to wake you up, and very small beds, the size of your doll house beds. And the rooms are smaller than your doll house.”

His sister giggles, “that’s just silly. You wouldn’t fit if they were that small.”

“Oh, it’s very true. Teeny tiny barbie beds. The first day here I was not expecting the alarm, it scared me so much I fell right off the bed. Just splattered on the floor, like a human pancake.”

His sister is laughing now, a huge smile splitting her face in two. His mum on the other hand, is wearing a mask of sorrow, a dark look in her eyes. Like she knows it’s bad inside and this fake charade for Luc is just that. Fake.

Sitting quietly in her chair, his mum does not speak. Izz wants to reassure her he really is okay, but can’t do that in front of Luc, without upsetting his sister. She’s an innocent child who doesn’t need to know how dangerous it is in this cage.

He tries his best to convey what he’s thinking to his mum, willing her to see it in his eyes. He’s not sure the message is being received or believed.

“I drew you this, Izzy,” Lucia announces, thrusting a page into his chest. His breath huffing out with the impact—his sister is surprisingly strong.

He looks down to find a drawing, containing a little house and people—the three of them. Their home.

I will not cry .

That will seriously downsize his reputation. Not that he could possibly have a tough reputation. He probably has a crappy rep’ after that fight. The corridor had been filled with other inmates by the end. And even if there had been only one, gossip in prison spreads faster than in a girls’ dorm. He’s sure everyone in this cage heard about him getting his ass kicked within five seconds of the start of the attack.

“In case you miss us, so you don’t forget what our home looks like.”

Izz fights back tears, he doesn’t want to kill the moment by turning on the waterworks. “Of course I miss you, Luc, and I’ll never forget any of it. This is perfect. I love it. It’ll give me something to look at other than the brick walls and my cell—roommate’s—ugly face,” he tries to make her laugh, to lighten the mood.

Lucia sighs in frustration, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why do you have to stay here? Why can’t you come home already? You’re a nice person. You’re the best. Nicest.”

How to explain it? The reasons he’s here are not for Luc to know. It is not her fault she became sick and the doctors charged so much for her life-saving treatment. You would think keeping people alive would be a higher priority than money—it is not. Never had been. Taking and taking—from those who have nothing left to give.

Izz chose to do what he did. That’s on him, not little Luc, who never chose to get cancer. Never has a choice in the treatments that saved her life. It isn’t fair that someone so young—a child—had to go through all those tests and treatments just so she could live a normal life. A life the other children around her take for granted, they don’t know the harsh reality of life.

Of course, he would not wish his sister’s illness on anyone, he just wishes she never had to suffer it and could live like the other children in the neighbourhood. Free of sickness, free to live their childhood without worry.

“Because I broke the law, Luc. I have to make up for it. So I have to stay here until I make it right,” Izz smiles at her. He hopes his smile doesn’t convey the sadness trapped inside his heart, the grief for the sister he loves dearly.

Izz sits back and listens to the stories his sister recites. Her best friend’s new crush. The homework from school being hard and taking her forever to complete. A new girl who’s moved into the neighbourhood with curly red hair, who never stops talking, and is staying over to have a movie night on the weekend—reminding Izz that he has no idea what day it is today.

The list of stories goes on and on. He’s delighted to hear them. At least it takes his mind off how terrible he’s been doing in here. How depressed he’s been. This is the perfect medicine for him, exactly what he needed and hadn’t known it until it showed up—happy and smiling and chattering away like there isn’t a care in the world. Like she should be, without the worries and burdens of her illness.

Please God, don’t let the illness return. Don’t take this happiness away from her. She’s so young.

The visitation time eventually winds down, a guard giving him a wrap-it-up warning.

Izz utters his goodbyes—it’s tougher than he anticipates. He is not thrilled to be going back to his new life. This place is a death trap waiting to happen. Sooner or later he is going to be thrown into another fight-for-his-life situation, and he won’t have anyone close by to save him like the last time. Reni and Zidie can’t be with him 24/7, they have to worry about their own survival. Their schedules don’t revolve solely around Izz and protecting him from harm.

He knows he’s going to find himself trapped alone one of these days—it’s just a matter of time.

“Lucia, wait over by the door for a moment,” Izz’s mum speaks softly for the first time during the visiting period, “I’d like to talk to your brother for a sec.”

Luc frowns but doesn’t protest, wandering off to stand by the door. Her keen eyes tracking their movements as she waits.

Izz looks deep into his mum’s wise eyes. There are dark shadows under them, revealing the strain of the past few weeks. She’s exhausted and heartbroken.

“You’re staying safe? Not doing anything to get into more trouble?” his mum whispers, even with Luc too far away to hear anything.

“I’m keeping my head down,” at least he’s trying to, “and I’m fine. I’ve made friends, we watch out for each other. It’s going to work out fine. I’ll be out of here before you know it.”

His mum’s concerned expression does not lift, “I hope so,” she softly replies. They say tender goodbyes and his mum goes to join his sister.

He watches them walk down the visitors’ corridor—lined with glass windows—all the way to the end. His family slipping out the door, back into the real world.

When Izz arrived, he’d been taken past the front entrance, around to a side door, he has no idea what the visitors see when they enter the prison for the first time. Maybe a bunch of fake plants, some inviting chairs with soft pillows, photos of beautiful scenes covering the walls—

“Move it, inmate.”

Izz rolls his eyes—he’s not facing the guard so he is free to express his disdain. What they don’t see won’t hurt them. And if it does, they kind of deserve it. He has yet to meet one who is actually nice or at the very least treats him like a human being and not some low life degenerate.

He follows the guard back out into the corridor heading to Gen-Pop and all its assholery—is that a word? Doesn’t sound like one. He’s going to use it regardless, it fits the bill perfectly—

“You can’t take that back with you,” the guard’s grating voice invades Izz’s ears like an unwanted parasite.

And there it is— reality —slapping him on the ass. His blissful bubble—created by his wonderful sister—not so much popping but exploding into a million pieces.

“What? Why?” Izz clutches the drawing closely to his chest, trying to protect it from the a’hole guard.

“It’s contraband,” the guard smiles, literally smiles.

What an asshole.

“No it’s not. It’s a picture drawn by a child.”

There is no way this is contraband. You are allowed photos of family members, he’s sure a drawing of your family is allowed too. This guard is waving their dick around, trying to get an ego boost.

“Do I look like I care? It can’t come with you,” the guard sneers, that messed-up smile not leaving his face.

Izz’s shocked. Stunned. Outraged. Is this guard serious? Are they going to enforce it and take away the drawing? They surely can’t do this—

What is he thinking, of course they can. Because no one cares about prisoners, no one will care if Izz put in a complaint. The only thing complaining will get him will be more notice from the guards’, and that is something he does not want. He does not want an entire prison of guards’ gunning for him.

The sinister smile spreads across the guard’s face, right before they snatch the image out of Izz’s hands. He releases his hold immediately so the paper doesn’t rip.

“Unless . . .” the guard drawls.

“Unless what?” Izz snaps, irritated by this guard abusing their powers.

“. . . you suck my dick.”

Crass and disgusting.

Izz cringes and moves back, “the fuck is wrong with you? You’re seriously asking that? For me to keep a child’s drawing? Are you kidding me?” Izz throws his hands up in astonished outrage.

This guard is more than an asshole, they are a rapist asshole. There is no way he is going to do anything for this prick. They have another thing coming if they ever thought he would—

Izz’s eyes widened as the guard shrugs, lifting the picture up, holding it between two hands to rip it in half—

“No. Wait. Stop.” Izz surges forward, but doesn’t dare actually touch the guard.

He knows the cancer could return and he could still lose his sister. It might be the last picture she ever draws for him. The last gift she ever gives him. He can’t let this ego-swinging a’hole take it away from him. He can’t let them destroy it—

Izz must have paused for too long, the guard raises an eyebrow, moving his hands to show he’ll do it.

“Okay. Okay.” Izz holds his palms up, in a surrendering gesture, “I’ll fucking do it. Just give me the drawing.”

Is he truly going to do this? He regards the drawing in the guard’s clutches—his sister’s face flashes before him, her loving smile as she presented the drawing to him. How proud and happy she was to give it to him. Her joy when he told her he loved it.

“You can get it back after,” the guard’s sinister smile thickens.

Izz wants to throw up.

When the guard turns to leave, strutting off down the corridor. He has no choice but to follow, gritting his teeth to keep his anger in check. It’s the only thing he can do. The guard holds all the cards over Izz. There’s nothing he can do, no moves he can make. He’s completely helpless.

Completely . . .

. . . Alone . . .