You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison

“What? No, he’s still a client. Well no, but-“I scratch my head in frustration. I glance over at Frank, still sleeping soundly after his disturbance in the night. I frown at the imbecile on the phone pressed against my ear framed with red strands. I creep out into the corridor, a room that has creaky floorboards and a single light that casts a faint shadow down the stretch the hallway runs. There’s a little bit of a tremor in his voice; he knows my history, then.
“Well the fact of the matter is, Mr Way, Iero is a criminal. He’s mentally stable, you say?”
“He’s as stable as any man plagued by remorse.”
“Oh. Um... I’ll have to pass you over to my supervisor. Hang on…” I sigh audibly as a pause at the end of the line hangs, with hushed mutters rambling at the end of the line. I lean up against the wall, one foot leaning against the exposed brick.
“Mr Way. Nice to speak to you again.” I rolled my eyes; I knew the voice, an ex-shrink that was so useless at his job he was forced into the admin side. I don’t recall his first name, but his surname is Page.
“Page. I trust you’ll explain to me what all this nonsense of a trial is?”
“Nonsense? No, no. Mr Iero is a criminal. He murdered people, for Christ’s sakes.”
“Mr Iero stood his trial. He was found guilty but unstable on medical grounds. The agreement was that he was not a candidate for capital punishment, henceforth received three years at the current mental health hospital, plus any extra recovery time.”
“Mr Iero was granted no such-“
“You think I don’t know my own clients, Page? I’m not some pathetic piece of shit that does a piss poor job to earn a fat pay check and a respected name, just for brainwashing the vulnerable into some ‘reformed’ shadow of a person without a personality, Page.”
I just described the nervous man on the other end of the phone. I always seem to have this kind of effect, terrorising the weak and easily manipulated into awkward silences that I rather enjoy. I like smart people, people clever enough to stand up for themselves. I think of my first meeting with Frank. I liked him from the start.
“I didn’t mean to offend-“
“Get back to the point.” I am irritated, but my mind starts to race ahead as it always has, forms the beginnings of a plan.
“The point is Iero needs to be back at his cell by noon to receive his permanent sentence. His case has been reviewed; his suicidal mind set and proven remorse, via letters, has been accounted for. Good morning.”
Page put the phone down. I stood in the dusty narrow hallway for a second, the cogs in my brain whirring, predicting possible outcomes, calculating chances. My eyes narrow and the reckless smirk that I used to wear when dealing with the real evil – the ones who conformed to media and prejudice. I walk into the bedroom. The only colour is him, tangled in black bed sheets. I take a second to admire the innocence in sleep, the intricate woven lines of ink that punctuate his skin, and for the first time I allow myself to wonder if this is how I’ll see him tomorrow morning. I lean over to him, and softly shake his shoulder. I wait until his eyes flicker open, wait for his smile to grow on his face as the foggy reality that recently disturbed slumber brings to fade away. I agilely whisper the words.
“Wake up Frankie. We’re running away.”

Notes