Thought i'd submit this and see if anyone liked it before i decided to continue it or not. I think this would be the prologue, and I gave it a title, which doesn't really fit with this part but i have an idea of what else might happen later on. This is my first time posting so i'd appreciate any comments.
As the car jolted to a stop, I lifted my head wearily, waiting for the car door next to me to be opened by my escorting officer. I looked distractedly out of the window, up at the dark sky above, trying to forget the very recent events that had led to me winding up here, in this police car, on my way to jail. They would lock me up for years, I supposed. I mean, after what they thought I’d done today, there was no way they were going to let someone like me roam the streets again – ever. Or, for a very long time, at least. They wouldn’t let me free straight away - not so that I could go and harm so many innocent people again, like they suspected I had done today. But, obviously, they didn’t realise that I wasn’t like that anymore – that I wouldn’t do that kind of thing. Not now – not ever again. Especially not after today.
Nobody knew who I was now, how I had changed – how much I had changed. And no one cared. Except for me, of course, but, obviously, right now, I didn’t count. But really, I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting, though. I mean, how could anyone know anything about me anymore? I wasn’t even sure that I knew who I was anymore – however much I hated to admit it to myself. People like me don’t change; people like me are murderers all their lives. And no one was going to believe me if I said that I was the exception to that rule. If I said I was different. “Hey, I used to be a criminal. Yeah, I’ve killed a lot of people. But don’t worry – I won’t do it again. I’ve changed.” Yeah, right. Who was going to believe that?
I blinked, shaking my head to try to clear it of those awful, haunting thoughts. I let my gaze drift away from the sinister-looking sky towards the wrought-iron gates that towered over me threateningly, casting dark shadows across the city and plunging it into a bleak obscurity. It all seemed so much more menacing to me than it had before – even more frightening than when I was terrified to just step outside my front door for fear of what was waiting for me on the other side. And, trust me, that was scary.
I swallowed loudly, trying to distract myself from the haunting memories, the incomparable fear that used to stalk me, follow me everywhere I went – forever terrifying me until I became so paranoid that I couldn’t trust anyone, for fear of what might happen if they let me down. That, I think, was what had scared me the most – being let down by the ones who protected me, the ones who kept my secrets. It all seemed such a long time ago to me now – a lifetime. But, in reality, that was just a few short months ago. It’s amazing how much can change so drastically in just a few weeks.
A sudden, horrifying image flashed intro my mind, a memory I had buried long ago, hoping I would never have to relive it again. It was a moment I remembered well – some of the most terrifying few seconds of my life – and it was filled with pure fear; I could feel warm hands around my throat and cold stone pressed against my back. The world seemed to be covered in a layer of darkness, hiding my attacker from me, but I could just make out a figure in front of me: the man pinning me against the wall.
I was choking, gasping for air as I suddenly became aware of another presence; someone spoke in a low, threatening voice, their tone twisted with anger. My eyes began to search the darkness vainly, desperately trying to find the person who had spoken.
“Tell me,” the voice insisted, and I felt the hands around my throat tighten until my air supply was cut off altogether and I stopped breathing entirely.
A small, sudden glimmer of light allowed me to catch a glimpse of the face just inches away from mine. The man frowned down at me and I could read the anger and frustration building inside of him from the tortured expression on his face. His vivid blue eyes appraised the terror in mine as they darted wildly, constantly searching the darkness for any flicker of movement that might give away the position of the other person. The man’s expression changed as he recognised the terror in my eyes; his mouth curved up at one corner and he smiled down at me wryly. In that second, I was incapacitated with fear, unable to think in coherent words – too terrified to properly understand what was happening…
It had seemed like that day could go in so many different directions, end so many different ways, like a spider web shooting out toward endless possibilities. Because whenever you made a choice, no matter how small, it always affected everything else: sometimes in big ways, like a tremor beneath your feet, others in so tiny a shift you hardly even noticed a change at all. Maybe somewhere in the world there was a ripple, some small shift in the universe, barely noticeable to me, or anyone else. But, clearly, it had happened – and was probably part of the reason I had come to end up here, facing a life sentence in a prison reserved for the most dangerous criminals. I hadn’t felt it then, though – I had been focussing only on the sharp pain in my throat and the numbness spreading through my entire body. My life was slowly slipping away from me as I faded out of consciousness…
I drove the vision from my mind, locking the memory away behind every bar I could create in my head. This wasn’t the time to be thinking those kinds of thoughts; I would have plenty of time to reflect on my past experiences in jail. I forced myself to stare out at the street again, waiting for the seriousness of my current situation to slowly sink in - or hit me like a slap round the face as the realisation of my desperate circumstances suddenly dawned on me. Whichever came first. Because it occurred to me that, sometime soon, I would begin to panic – and I wanted to be properly prepared. I wanted to be ready.
The darkness wasn’t helping, though; the shadows created by the thick layer of clouds swirling above me had turned the world a disturbing shade of grey, chasing the colour out of the city – it seemed like it was stopping the truth from reaching me, hiding it in the shadowy gloom that had consumed the city. Yes, it was an ominous day all round – and, in all honesty, it frightened me. It’s funny how everything always seems so much more foreboding in the dark.
It startled me when the car door beside me suddenly swung open, interrupting my thoughts. A stern looking officer with a thick white moustache and greying hair was holding my door open, waiting for me to get out of the car. He didn’t seem surprised when I just looked up at him, not moving from my seat while he stared at me with his grey eyes - the colour of storm clouds – waiting for some kind of response. I expected him to start shouting, ordering me to move, to get out of the car and into jail, where I belonged – to use force to drag me through the iron gates and into the oblivion beyond. Or at least scowl at me. But, instead, he gave me what I think was meant to be a small smile, although his mouth twisted oddly, like he so rarely made this expression that his face had forgotten how to compose it correctly. “Comfortable in there, are you?” he asked me, his voice rasping strangely in his throat.
I opened my mouth to answer him, but then thought better of it. My hands were handcuffed behind my back, the metal binding my wrists together so tightly that I would have permanent chaff marks left on skin after they were removed. The leather seats of the police car were rock hard, and the air freshener hanging from the mirror in the front of the car was giving off smell that made me gag every time I breathed in. Of course I wasn’t comfortable, and he knew it. But I definitely wasn’t prepared to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.
So I took one last, deep breath – ignoring the rank taste of the air – and climbed out of the vehicle, saying goodbye to the car as I did so, the last piece of firm reality - outside of prison - that I would probably see in years. The officer slammed the door behind me and I watched the police car drive away, leaving me standing, alone, on the pavement outside the city prison, the iron gates still towering over me as they cast their shadows across the city. It was like standing at the gates of hell, I thought. But even hell would be a better place to be going than prison. I smiled darkly to myself. Eternal damnation had never looked so good.
My escorting officer placed a hand on my shoulder, guiding me forwards as I continued to stare after the car, wishing it would stop and come back for me, wishing that somebody would tell me that this was all some sick, twisted joke; that someone was just winding me up, that this was all just a terrible misunderstanding and, really, I was free to go. That I had done nothing wrong.
But, of course, it didn’t happen. The car continued to drive down the road, increasing in speed as it moved forwards, until it disappeared around the corner. Really, though, I don’t know what I had been expecting. Because, I had done everything wrong. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been here now, facing possible life-time imprisonment, paying for another person’s crime. This time, I was the innocent party in all this. Falsely accused. Wrongly prosecuted. Whatever you wanted to call it, this time, believe it or not, they had got the wrong person. I hadn’t been involved – properly involved, I should say – in this crime.
I’m not denying that I didn’t deserve it though. I mean, in the past, hadn’t I been central to the carrying out of many felonies within, not just the city, but all over the country? It seemed fair enough that I was now getting the punishment I rightly deserved – except that, this time, it was for the wrong reasons. It is fairly ironic, though, that after all those years of escaping from being arrested for my own crimes, I had been charged for someone else’s. Typical. If I wasn’t in such serious trouble, I would’ve laughed.
I guess my luck had finally run out.
As the officer led me through the gates I kept my head down, my eyes lowered. I didn’t want to see it – the high security prison where I would be spending so much time from now on. Seeing it now would make everything seem so much more…real. Like all this was really happening. That I was really losing my freedom.
I still couldn’t believe it - not at all. Because this wasn’t really happening. Was it? I didn’t have time to consider this possibility - I was already being led up to the big wooden door on the other side of the gates. I glanced frantically around me, desperately trying to take in the last few moments of the outside world, of true civilisation, that I would probably see for a very long time.
“Keep moving,” my escorting officer rasped into my ear. I didn’t realise that I had slowed down, but as the officer spoke to me, I found that I was standing still, hesitating just inside the doorway. As I stepped forwards once more, I looked around, taking in the room I was just walking into. It looked like the reception area of a low-grade hotel; the room was empty apart from a wooden desk with an old woman sitting behind it – the receptionist, I assumed – and a small mirror hanging at head height on the wall opposite the door. There were two uncomfortable-looking chairs in one corner of the room, the fabric of which were torn and faded in places, and covered in questionable, brownish stains.
The officer pulled me forwards, leading me towards the front desk where the elderly receptionist smiled up at me. At least somebody seemed to be friendly in this place – I was afraid they would all treat me like a criminal. Which, quite obviously, I was - or I wouldn’t be in this situation.
“Name, dear,” she asked me politely, as I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot like an impatient child.
I glanced at the officer standing behind me who was staring at me intently, watching my strange behaviour with fascination in his stormy grey eyes, a sardonic smile on his face. Apparently, he found me entertaining. I lowered my eyes, staring down at my shoes. Obviously, his job was so uninteresting that he had to find amusement in the imprisonment of innocent people – half innocent, at least. Or perhaps he just had a twisted sense of humour.
But, no matter the reason, there was no possible way that he would ever be able to understand my situation. No one could understand; no one could know what had happened to me, how I had ended up in this position. They weren’t inside my head – they didn’t know what I was thinking. What gave anyone the right to judge me? They didn’t know me - no one knew me anymore. I had already established that.
But it still made me wonder why no one ever asked me any questions – asked me what I had done. I guess they didn’t really care. I was here, it was the receptionist’s job to tell me which cell I was in and it was my officer’s job to escort me to my cell. These people were so close-minded; they did their job, and nothing else. It wasn’t their job to determine whether they had caught and arrested the right person, the person who had actually committed the crime. They wanted someone to blame and, unfortunately, I was the only scapegoat they could find…
I realised I was getting myself wound up about nothing. It really wasn’t worth it – to be honest, I couldn’t care less what anyone here thought of me.
“Joe Gilder,” I said, looking up at the receptionist again, suddenly remembering that she had spoken to me after I had taken in her impatient expression.
She tapped the keyboard, entering the information into her computer, and then waited for the screen to load, tapping her fingers impatiently. As I waited for her to direct me to my cell, I looked around the room once more. I caught a flash of movement in my peripheral vision as my eyes scanned over the reception area once again. I tuned my head back, wondering if another person had entered the room without me noticing, only to see my reflection staring back at me from the mirror on the wall opposite.
At first, though, I wasn’t even sure that it was my reflection I was seeing – I looked so different from the last time I had seen myself. I tried to remember when that was; it didn’t seem that long ago, but I realised that it was months since I had set foot into any kind of suitable living accommodation - one that wasn’t infested with cockroaches or had lizards crawling up the walls. Let alone one with a mirror.
So it had been a while since I had seen myself - but I didn’t expect to have changed this much. My short hair, that had once been a light brown colour, had now grown considerably in length and been turned dark blonde by the sun. There were more lines on my face than I remembered, deeper creases in my skin that made me look so much older than I was. And I looked tired – really tired. Like I hadn’t slept for days, weeks maybe - which was the pretty much the truth. A life of villainy did that to you – the kind of life that I used to have. I guess it stuck with you though – because I looked like a criminal – like the monster everyone thought I was. Which, I guessed, was the reason why no one had bothered to ask any questions. They had just assumed. In all fairness, though, I probably would have done the same, considering the way I looked now. If it wasn’t for the fact that I knew truth, I would have agreed with them - lock me up, throw away the key. It was what I deserved. I was a murderer.
The receptionist looked up at me again, and I turned my attention back to my present situation. She motioned towards a door on her right, which had escaped my notice before, in my quick assessment of the room; it was painted a dull cream colour, blending in with the walls. She nodded at the officer, who had moved forwards to stand at my right shoulder. “Straight down the hall, fifth door on the right.”
There was a pause before I felt a hand grip the top of my arm, pulling me forwards. There was no point resisting – really. At this point, there was nothing else I could do but to let the officer drag me along beside him through the door next to the receptionist, and into a long white corridor. I stopped again, though, when I had taken my first step through the doorway – there was no point resisting, but perhaps I could prolong my freedom a little longer. The officer kicked the door shut behind him pushing me further along the narrow corridor as he did so.
I looked along the corridor, noting the strong metal doors spaced alternately on either side of the walkway, and counted five doors down. My cell was the very furthest away from where I was standing now – the furthest away from the reception area, from the only entrance to the outside world. I wondered if they reserved those cells, the ones deepest into the heart of the prison, for the worst criminals – so there was no chance of escape. I smiled to myself. The worst criminals – the people who had committed the most heinous, monstrous crimes. People like me. Because that’s what I was now – one of the worst criminals a city like this had ever seen. Even though, truly, I wasn’t.
I glanced again, nervously this time, at the officer, who now stood beside me, looking straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the door of my cell. He looked…unfriendly. That was the best word I could come up with to describe him at that moment. I thought of more later – hateful, malevolent - but right then, I was too caught up in the terror I could feel spreading through me that my mind was unable to function properly. That was how bad it was – I really was terrified.
The officer locked eyes with me, staring at me intently – waiting for me to move, I assumed. When I didn’t, he moved his hand up to my back and used fingers to push me forwards, sending me stumbling for a few metres before I managed regained my balance. I could hear him laughing quietly behind me, but I didn’t turn round. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the fear that must have been evident on my face.
I stood up straight, focussing ahead. At the end of the corridor, the closed door was waiting – waiting to trap me in that tiny room, to hide me away from the rest of the world for as many years as it was decided necessary for someone like me to “learn my lesson”. But I’d already learnt it – without going to prison. I wasn’t like those people anymore – like the thieves and murderers I was being held with here. I’d already changed. For the better, I supposed, though, right now, it didn’t feel like it. So I’d changed – but I was being punished for it? That didn’t seem right.
I was intensely aware of the officer standing behind me, breathing down my neck like he was purposely trying to make me uncomfortable – and I had no doubt that he was. I began to walk forwards slowly, the hand on my back guiding me to the end of the corridor. The white walls seemed to close in on me as I drew nearer and nearer to the end of the hallway, trapping me, oppressing me on all sides, until I started to see yellow lights dancing in front of my eyes. You’re getting paranoid, I thought to myself. You’ll go mad in here eventually. But I guess prison did that to you – even the thought of it; I hadn’t even set foot in my cell yet and I was already half-crazed with fear and anxiety.
I stopped at the end of the corridor, just outside the door of my cell, after what felt like hours of walking from the reception room at the other end of the narrow hallway. The officer selected a key from a metal ring hanging on his belt and I wanted to disappear. How could this be happening? Not me – surely not to me. Not now. I was better, I’d changed – this couldn’t be happening to me.
But it was. There was no point denying it – my time had almost run out and the seconds were flying past, dragging my freedom with them as they left me standing without hope outside my cell.
The officer inserted the key into the key hole in the metal door, sliding back the bolts at the top and bottom of the door as he did so. I heard the lock click as he turned the key to open the door and I hesitated before I took the first cautious – but inevitable - step into my cell. As I breathed in the stale air – that had probably been trapped inside this room for weeks – the door slammed shut behind me, cutting me off from the lucidity I could depend on in reality and hiding me away from the rest of the world.
