Devour, p.27
Devour, page 27
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“Good, good. That’s important. Gotta keep your morale up. Attitude is everything. You’ll come to learn that—in time.”
Quiet, they stared at one another. The silence was occasionally punctuated with sounds of metal clanging against metal in the distance and short bursts of loud talking.
“Quite unsettling, isn’t it?”
Michael knew there were two ways to play this: a right way and a wrong way. Neither of them was particularly good, but one would be better than the other. Therefore, he decided to play it the best way.
“Actually,” Michael said with a tiny grin, “Once you adjust—like eyes in the darkness—it isn’t as bad as you think.”
A flash of a frown crossed Dalton’s face. “Well, good. That’s admirable. I see you’re choosing to fit in rather than fight the system.”
Michael sat expressionless.
Dalton’s stomach gurgled—sounding like a sack of drowning cats. “Well, that’s rude,” he said nervously. “Before I go, I thought I’d give you two small gifts.”
“Really.”
“The first is a chance to see your father—for the last time.” He enjoyed watching Michael’s face shift. Being obsessed with seeing people suffer, Dalton relished the moment.
“Last time? How’s that?” Michael sneered. “Are you going to kill him?”
Dalton could not help his burst of laughter. “No, no, no. He’s going free today. And I’m afraid one of the agreements made—a compulsory stipulation if you will—was that you two would not speak again—ever.”
As hard as he tried, Michael could not mask his expression: part anger, part fear—both of which he hated to admit and struggled to hide.
“Is that a bad thing, Michael?” Dalton mocked. “I mean, you two haven’t spoken in decades. He killed your Mother. And is undoubtedly responsible for that loser you called a brother,” he muzzled a chuckle. “The only sibling you had and chose to kill.” He clucked his tongue. “What a sordid family you gentlemen have. Such a shame.”
Michael wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and choke the man to death. He caught himself, and in that fraction of a second, instantly understood what prison could do to a man so quickly.
“Yes, such a shame,” Dalton said as his stomach gurgled again. “I’ve got to step out for a moment,” he grimaced, “But you two can chat.”
As he stood, Michael said, “What’s the other gift?”
Dalton spun on a heel. “Yes, yes. I want you to have everything you need to plan that thing we talked about.”
Michael frowned. “What?”
“The party?”
Michael shook his head.
“You recall,” he continued to smile. “The dinner party with my good friends. Lots of fantastic food. And wine. You recall all the wine we chose, there at your restaurant?”
Michael remained expressionless as Dalton’s gut sounded as though it were about to explode. Michael enjoyed seeing his adversary in pain.
“I’ve got to run, but we can chat more, later. I’ll send Sebastian in and—”
Without finishing, he sprinted from the room.
A moment later, Sebastian arrived and took a seat. He tossed his head toward the camera in the corner. Michael’s eyes shot up to the camera and back, giving a tiny nod.
Sebastian replaced a small grimace with a large smile. “Hello, Son.”
“I hear you’re going free,” Michael said, trying to suppress the happiness he felt for his father.
“Yeah, seems all these years were in vain.”
“I heard. And I’m sorry,” he said, staring at his chained hands. “And sorry about Scottie.” He looked up, “But I didn’t kill him.”
Sebastian smiled sincerely, then shifted his face. “Really, Michael? I don’t believe you.” His eyes flicked to the camera. “And why would you kill your brother? Just tell me, so I can live my final years in peace.”
“Sebastian, you have to get hold of Kathryn and Natalie for me,” he nearly cried as he realized they were unaware of his plight.
“I’m sorry, Michael, but fuck you!” Sebastian continued the ruse. “All these years I sat in this place and rotted to death. And now, you murder your brother. What am I supposed to do; jump in and save your wife and daughter? The same daughter you never once brought to see her only grandfather? No. Fuck you,” he said, reaching under the table to take his son’s hands. Squeezing tightly, he fought the tears that begged to flow.
Michael, caught up in the moment, broke down and cried. Sebastian felt his pain and continued squeezing his hands. Michael returned the gesture.
Just as a key rattled the lock in the door behind him, Sebastian pulled his hands back and yelled, “C’mon, get me outta here, Guard. This man disgusts me!”
Just before he turned to leave—with the guard’s back to him—Sebastian gave his son a wink and a smile. Michael’s heart skipped a beat because he understood the truth.
Within moments, and for the first time in decades, Sebastian would stand on the other side of Solitary. Without chains, without razor wire, and without family, he would stand on free ground outside San Quentin—never to return again.
Dalton had watched the closed-circuit feed from his office, sipping tea and chewing Tums. He was genuinely captured by the emotional exchange.
Feeling oddly conflicted, he had to admit he was sorry to see Sebastian go. After all, they had become “friends” over the years. However, any sorrow was instantly replaced with glee as he welcomed a new victim on his watch—someone with whom he could feed his dark appetite.
Standing erect and proud back in Michael’s cell, Dalton was looking green around the gills.
“How was your goodbye, Michael? Any parting words of wisdom from dear old papa?”
Michael stared straight ahead.
With a sigh, Dalton leaned against the grimy wall. “Okay, have it your way, but I’d like to cover a couple of quick things. After all, we don’t want the goodies to spoil.”
Confused, Michael dismissed it as Dalton’s insanity.
Undeterred, Dalton blamed it on Michael’s shock.
“Michael, I have some wonderful treats in mind. They’re going to be so splendidly prepared with your crafty hands. What do you think?”
“What do you think about…fucking off!”
Grinning, Dalton pushed forward. “About those wines. If you could call Jasmine. I could get you a—”
“Fuck off,” Michael yelled—his voice echoing off the walls.
Any glimmer of kindness Dalton may have felt instantly evaporated. “Guard!”
When the door opened, Dalton turned to stare, said nothing and left. The door slammed shut, and within seconds the lights went out—leaving Michael in total darkness. With only the sound of water dripping from a lone pipe somewhere deep in the walls, he slid to the floor, buried his face, and began to whimper.
As Sebastian was being processed, Baxter arrived at the front desk. Nodding at Proctor and McKenzie, he approached Sebastian with a hug.
“I have to admit, Sebastian, I’m going to miss our games of chess.”
Sebastian grinned. “Yeah, those were a favorite, Baxter. I’ll miss the games. And you. But nothing else. You take care of yourself.”
“Will do,” he said, handing him a resort magazine. “I figured you might like to check out some places to relax. You know, before you settle back into the workforce.”
Sebastian frowned at the cover.
“Oh, yeah, about that; they let straight people like you in there, too,” he grinned. “Check out the one in Sedona,” he winked. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“Thanks, Baxter,” he smiled, looking down the hall.
“Yeah, he’s not coming,” he frowned. “But said for you to keep your nose clean.”
Sebastian turned to leave, waved over his shoulder to the guards, and followed Proctor and McKenzie as they escorted him to the front gate. Crossing the wide parking lot, Sebastian flipped open the magazine to the section Sedona and found an envelope. He opened it and read:
Sebastian, you’ve been a good friend. I wish you happiness in your new life. Take this money and enjoy a nice dinner. Imagine me across the table laughing. Also, there’s something you must share with your “two new friends.” In this envelope you’ll find a piece of paper that was an entry showing Michael came to visit you. Dalton removed it from the visitor logs. Knowing it is a crucial piece of evidence, I’ve included the original page for further proof. Second, I’m positive your son isn’t guilty. And number three. Something bizarre is going on with Dalton. I’m not sure what it is, but I’m certain he’s up to mischief that isn’t good. I trust you’ll share and destroy this as you see fit. Be well. Love, Baxter.
Arriving at the gate, he met a new face. “Hello, Sebastian. I’m Jasmine—Michael’s co-worker. Well, and a little more,” she smiled. “Very nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you. And may I say my son’s a lucky man. You’re quite beautiful. And I’m sure quite the gal. A lucky man, indeed.”
Smiling broadly, she held out an arm. “Shall we?”
He obliged and replied, “He may not feel lucky right now.”
“Really?”
Tossing his chin over his shoulder, he grinned, “But I think you and I can do something about that.”
67
Breaking Point
Another twenty-four hours passed and several things had happened—none of which was good for Michael. He had told Dalton to fuck off—for which he received complete darkness. Then, upon revisiting a conversation about Dalton’s prized party, Michael told him once again to fuck off—that brought him several additional hours of darkness. The next time the door opened, he was met with a firehose of water—all but tearing the skin from his body. After way too much of that, he was again left in complete darkness. This time, however, cold air was pumped in through ceiling vents for hours.
After a long period of shivering in wet clothes and dark quarters, he was met with Dalton’s smiling face. This time, Dalton extended a tray carrying a piping hot French press and a warm croissant with melted butter and smoked ham.
Michael replied through chattering teeth, “What’s the catch?”
“Just enjoy it. Then, I’ll tell you.”
Michael devoured both in a matter of seconds, wiped his mouth on a wet sleeve, and said, “And?”
With a phony smile, Dalton asked, “Are you ready to play nice with me? If not, this can go on for hours. Hell, it can go for days. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”
Michael tried to bury his rage, but he could not. And while he did not want to give in to this maniac, the coffee was heavenly and the croissant divine. The fact remained, he needed Dalton.
“What’s your answer, Mr. Rogan?”
Already fearing what would come next, he yelled, “Fuck off!”
Dalton glared a hole through the new convict and took an extra long breath before quietly saying, “Fine.”
The door slammed.
The darkness encroached.
Then, the music began.
Sebastian enjoyed his first good night’s sleep in a long time; in fact, he could not recall when he had slept so soundly. The night included a thick, comfortable mattress with clean soft sheets. There was no screaming, no dripping water, no yelling guards, and no nightmares waking him in the middle of the night.
Despite open windows, clanging cable cars, and bellowing fog horns in the distance, Sebastian slept peacefully in Jasmine’s Pacific Heights condo before awakening to the heavenly fragrance of baked bread and coffee.
He wondered if he had died and gone to heaven because if there was a heaven, this was exactly what he imagined it would be.
Downstairs, he found Jasmine sitting at a table in front of a window, sipping coffee and reading the paper. The way the sun shone through the window—catching her blond hair and lighting up her face—he thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. And with the bay in the background—the sparkling blue water and bright golden bridge—he could scarcely take it all in.
Getting up from the table, she saw him and jumped. “Sebastian, you startled me!”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no, that’s all right. Just didn’t know you were there. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Great, in fact. It’s just that…well, I’m mesmerized by it all. The view—I’ve never seen the bridge from this angle. And your beauty—just breathtaking.”
“Thank you,” she blushed, taking a coffee cup from the cupboard. “And how did you sleep?”
“Perfectly. And like never before.”
After an hour or so of eardrum-splitting rock ‘n roll—the likes of which Michael had never heard nor ever wanted to hear again—the music stopped, followed by another long and cold shower. Tucked in a corner, a thin mattress wrapped around his head, Michael sat shivering on the cold floor.
When the water stopped pouring and the ringing in his ears slowed, the door opened and a spotlight nearly blinded him.
Standing in front of the beam was Dalton. “Hello, Michael.”
It sounded more like “Hmmo Mmml.”
Dalton squatted to the floor so he could be eye to eye with Michael. “Can you hear me?”
Michael barely nodded.
“Are you okay?”
Another nod.
“Would you like some more? Perhaps an entire day of it?”
He shook his head side to side.
“Are you ready to play with me now?”
Michael hesitated. Dalton frowned.
Then, Michael nodded and Dalton smiled.
“Good,” he helped Michael to his feet. “That’s a wise choice.”
Jasmine and Sebastian sat on her rooftop deck admiring the scenery. Scanning from one side of the city to the other, a cool breeze blowing across the expanse, Sebastian breathed in the stunning view.
She looked at him from time to time, wondering what must be going through Sebastian’s mind. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Breathtaking is more like it. I never want to leave,” Sebastian replied.
Jasmine patted his pale hand. “I’ve lived in this neighborhood most of my life, and I’ll admit, I never tire of it.”
“No doubt,” he whispered—his mind flashing to what his son could be experiencing at that moment. His heart broke for him.
After a long silence, she said, “Sebastian, I want to say how sorry I am for everything you’ve been through. I mean, from thirty years ago to more recently, I just can’t imagine your pain.”
Without taking his eyes from the bay, he said, “Thank you, Jasmine.” Staring at Alcatraz, he said, “You know…inside you have nothing but time. And the smart ones learn early on that if you’re not bettering yourself, you’re worsening yourself. Or as—,” he chuckled, “Andy from Shawshank Redemption said, ‘It comes down to a simple choice. Get busy living or get busy dying.’”
Jasmine whispered, “That’s good.”
“And Nietzsche, who said, ‘That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.’ Another good one.”
“And so true.”
As he chuckled, she asked, “What?”
“Having read most of his work, he wasn’t what you’d call much of an optimist.”
68
Hell Hole
It did not take long for Michael to know he was not cut out for prison. His appreciation for freedom grew with each minute. With time on his hands, Michael became fixated with the fact he had not heard from either of his girls.
He pictured Natalie being completely distracted with all the sights and sounds of a foreign land. Considering she was traveling with girlfriends, he felt certain talking on the phone with her father was the last thing on her mind. He would ask Jasmine the next time they spoke to reach out to her via text since he was not allowed a cell phone.
As for Kathryn, he imagined her calling him from the set of a mega-million dollar movie in Hong Kong. But then, that was also likely to be the last thing on her mind. Nonetheless, he would see if Jasmine would send a text confirming all was well in the Far East.
During a break, where Michael was allowed into the ante room to discuss details of Dalton’s party, he waited for Baxter to return from his office. Evidently, Dalton had been called out of the office by his Superintendent. Hovering nearby was the guard they called Slack.
Michael had picked up a few things quickly, one of them being the guards actually liked their nicknames. They just did not like the “Grade-A Asshole” who administered them. That knowledge, along with what he just learned concerning the note Baxter passed to Sebastian, allowed Michael to consider several options.
Slack approached and stood outside the room—his eyes volleying from his smartphone to Michael.
Michael scribbled notes and waited.
“You took a helluva beating,” Slack grumbled without looking up. “To be a civilian.”
“Yeah, not fun,” he said, without taking his eyes from the paper, playing it easy. “Your Warden’s one first class prick.”
“Got that right,” he snorted. “I’d love to put him in that room,” he tossed his chin toward the cell. “Fuck-knuckle wouldn’t last five minutes.”
Michael let a span of silence go before he said, “I’ve got a better plan.”
“I’m all ears,” Slack growled. Then, just as Michael looked up, Slack’s body language shifted—distracted by someone approaching. “Got nothing but time.”
As Baxter nodded to be let in, Slack obliged without a word. Taking a seat, Baxter placed a folder on the table. “Looks like we’re a go.”
Slack shifted an eye from his phone, to the camera in the ceiling, then in their direction. Michael was not positive, but he could have sworn Slack gave him a nod before turning to leave. Eyeballing the contents of the folder, Michael smiled for the first time since he arrived.
