Emancipation and Provocation: Pen Pals and Serial Killers - Stories One and Two

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Emancipation

Pen Pals and Serial Killers - Story One

by Jo Michaels

Copyright © 2016 Jo Michaels

All Rights Reserved

Published March 22, 2016

License Notes:

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied or re-distributed in any way. Author holds all copyright.

This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead.

Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design by Jo Michaels

Typeset for print and digital formatting by Jo Michaels

Edited by Tia Silverthorne Bach

Proofread by Karen Robinson

All of INDIE Books Gone Wild

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

***

To all the women out there:

Stay safe!

***

Wadding up the letter, Tobias used it to wipe his ass and threw the paper in the trash. Another dumb verse of gospel bullshit from another zealot right where it should be. What part of I’m searching for my soul mate did people not understand when they found an online profile? They all thought spewing scripture could save his soul; like some light from Heaven would beam down and forgiveness would be bestowed.

Fuckers.

There was no clemency for murderers, thieves, and philanderers. Never would be. Tobias didn’t want it, and he doubted anyone else did. Those holier-than-thou freaks could shove their automaton gospel straight up their asses. It was as if they hoped it would be some magical cure for his compulsions.

He shook his head.

No savior existed where he was, and the urges were there to stay.

As the doors were racked open and he was ushered into the moving line, he pulled out the second letter, praying it would contain something other than Jesus Saves. It had been carefully folded, and as he opened it, something fluttered to the floor.

Henry Beast Rowden leaned down and scooped up the errant article as he passed, turning it over in his meaty paws. Hey, she’s a looker. He stuffed it in his pocket. I’m sure you won’t mind if I keep this.

Tobias clenched his fists, the all-too-familiar sensation racing through his veins telling him he was about to do something unforgiveable. But there was a time and a place for everything. Beating the shit out of some two-bit fucker who thought he was entitled to the fresh air he took in, rotted, and belched back into the atmosphere, while twenty armed cops were less than a foot away, would be stupid. And Tobias wasn’t an idiot. The time would come.

Course not. Keep it. Enjoy. He smiled and clapped Beast on the shoulder once before continuing in the line to the dayroom.

No touching. Keep moving. A guard prodded Tobias forward.

Other guards nodded as he passed, each man tense as though waiting for the chance to strike in some way. Hell, they probably were. Still, Tobias returned the nod with one of his own to keep things as civil as they could be. He clutched the letter until he could sit down to read it.

The men of cellblock three were ushered to the middle of the building where there were several tables—all bolted to the floor, as everything was in that shithole—with four small stools at each. As soon as the guards released the prisoners, they split into their ethnic groups, lit contraband cigarettes, and fired up the music.

No one ever sat with him, and he never complained. Last guy who took a seat next to Tobias lost an ear. Since then, everyone gave him a wide berth. It was easier to have an excellent behavior record when there were no assholes pissing him off. He hunched over and unfolded the wrinkled paper, smoothing it as best as he could, trying to ignore the cacophony of a hundred men all talking at once.

~~~~~

Dear Toby,

I hope it’s okay that I call you that. I think it’s sweet.

My name is Jessica Phang.

I’m going to start this by saying I’m a lawyer, fresh out of school (I’ve been practicing about a year now). I have to be honest. I sought you out specifically. Details surrounding your case have given me a lot to think about over the last few years. You’ll probably find all this confusing, but I hope to sort it out with this letter.

I found your profile on penpalaninmate.com after performing a search for you online. I was drawn immediately to you. Your photo is wonderful. I see such depth in your eyes. There’s no proper way to express how pleased I am that you signed up so I didn’t have to do more research to find your prisoner number. While I knew where you were housed, your link made the process much easier. Besides, I got to see you outside the images in your case file (which are less than flattering, I must admit).

I’m including a picture of myself with this letter. It’s not much, but I wanted you to see me. It seemed unfair that I would be able to look at you anytime I wanted, and you’d be left in the dark.

If you’re interested, I’d like to get to know you better. Your eyes don’t say killer. I’m an excellent judge of character, and I see a person who’s deep, caring, and would have a lot of love to give if someone were there to accept it. Besides, after looking carefully at the details of your case, I’m convinced you’re innocent.

I’ll tell you a little about myself, since I feel like I know so much about you from your profile (excellent writing, by the way) and your case file.

I’m 24 years old and a criminal defense attorney in the state of Tennessee. I grew up just outside Knoxville, and I graduated from Austin East—you know, that magnet school on the upper-east side—where I studied science. I was then accepted to UT and graduated from Duncan a year ago. I’ve been in private practice ever since.

While attending Duncan, I ran across your case as part of an assignment. I dove right in and got to know a lot about you, and the particulars, along the way.

Yes, I’ve had a number of relationships over the last few years, but I’m ready for something different. Besides, most guys I dated got tired of hearing the name Toby on my lips every five minutes as I examined your case. Not only would I love to meet you in person, I think I can get your conviction overturned.

I do hope you’ll write me back. My address is on the envelope.

Yours,

Jessica

~~~~~

Tobias read the letter several times, burning the words into his mind. More than ever, he was eager to get that photograph back from Beast.

As the men were returned to their cells, Tobias spun scenarios through his head. Chow would be the ideal time to strike—assuming the fucktwad still had the photo in his pocket, and he hadn’t ruined it by getting it wet when he jacked off.

My little lawyer girl. Tobias fumed.

I saw that shit that went down when you left outta here. What you gonna do about it, holmes? Rooster had stayed behind while the others were out, and he perked up when Tobias returned.

Beast will get what’s comin’ to him. You mind your business. The less you know, the better, he said.

Sounds fierce, dog. If you need a hand, you let the cock know. I ain’t above stabbing some sick motherfucker doin’ my celly wrong.

I said leave it alone, Rooster.

Rooster put his hands up. Okay, okay, holmes. Chill.

Grabbing the paper-wrapped safety pen, a legal pad, and an envelope, Tobias carefully copied Jessica’s name and address before slipping the letter back in the original and putting it in the shoebox in the corner with other letters he’d received over the previous four years. All except Helen’s—crazy bitch. Those had been burned in the yard.

He lay on his cot and put his hands behind his head, changing his mind about writing Jessica back until he could look at her photo.

Beast was in for one hell of a surprise the next morning at breakfast. Just thinking about kicking the shit out of that smug bastard made Tobias smile as he glided to sleep.

Tobias was up before the sun, adrenaline pumping, and eager to wreak some havoc. He tried to play it cool, but he was certain the energy buzzing through him was visible to anyone paying attention. As the inmates moved toward the mess hall, he exchanged the usual nods with the COs, avoiding eye contact.

Beast was already in line, grabbing his tray of oatmeal, bread, and milk.

Tobias, hoping he looked casual, made his way up the line until he was three behind the other man. They moved to a table and sat down, luck putting them directly across from one another. A perfect striking angle.

Oatmeal day was only second best to cereal day, and Tobias shoveled food in his mouth as quickly as possible. He had seven minutes to eat, and he knew the next few days would be spent in solitary for what he was about to do. No telling if they’d bother to feed him, and even if they did, it was always a nasty ass puck shoved through the bean slot in the door. Every morsel counted. Once the last bite was in his mouth, he grabbed hold of the tray, reared back, and slammed it into Beast’s nose.

Blood showered the other men, and a couple of them groaned as their meal was covered in gore.

Tobias threw the tray aside and pulled back his fist. With a revolting crunch, it connected with Beast’s jaw, sending him spiraling to the floor. In a flash, the photograph was taken from his pocket—it still being there was pure, dumb luck—and secured under the wife beater Tobias had on beneath his blues.

He then stood back, put his hands in the air so he wouldn’t seem like a threat and end up with Taser prongs in his chest, and waited calmly.

As suspected, he was thrown to the floor, his arms wrested behind his back, and handcuffs were clicked into place.

Beast was groaning and rolling around nearby, other inmates pelting him with their maroon soaked food, teasing him for being a pussy over a broken nose.

As Tobias was pulled to his feet, he made kissing noises and threw out one last taunt. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. No one touches what’s mine. He smiled and walked out calmly.

The next three days were spent in isolation, stuffed in a crummy, six-by-six cell with no windows and only a slit in the door to pass a meal through—if you could call it a meal. Throwing everything he was supposed to consume into an oven and baking it until it was a brick had to have been someone’s idea of a joke. There was nothing else to look at, so he studied the photo he had for hours on end, memorizing every curve of her body.

Jessica was wearing a workout outfit. Tight. Bright. Sexy as hell. Her tits were huge—at least a D cup—and her curves would convince a preacher to leave the faith. There was no way to tell the length or color of her hair because it was in a ponytail and dangling behind her, but it looked dark blonde. Blue eyes that had that sex-kitten, come-hither look had his cock at attention from the first glance. Everything about her nudged the primal man in him, and he had plenty of alone time to put her photo to good use.

To his utter astonishment, he got three meals every day that he managed to choke down. It was nice to have quiet time without anyone hanging over his shoulder or talking all the fucking time. He liked to think of himself as a quiet person, a deep thinker.

When he finally made it back to his regular cell, Rooster was cocked and ready to deliver on the gossip floating around. "Hey, celly. Dude, you ain’t gonna believe what that fucker Beast was throwing around in the yard yesterday. He said you had it comin’ now, holmes. You better watch your back. That motherfucker gonna shank you, ese. He spun a finger in the air near his temple. He’s loco."

More quickly than a carefully executed attack by a chameleon, he found himself pinned to the wall, his windpipe compressed by Tobias’s forearm. "You really think he wants to take me on, ese?"

Kicking and clawing, Rooster tried to form words but ended up just shaking his head. Nothing coming out of his mouth was decipherable.

Remember our little arrangement. You stay the fuck— Tobias pressed harder "—out of my way and keep your mouth shut, and I give you alone time in the cell three days a week so you can live out your little fantasies with your fuck books. Keep spreading those rumors that I’m a j-cat the way we discussed, and I’ll keep you safe and keep your little secret. No place for a confused little Latino boy in the general population. Those prison wolves would eat you alive, and you’d be a June bug before you knew what happened. Got it?" After a confirmation nod, he pulled away and lay down on his cot.

Rooster coughed and rubbed his neck. Gee, homie, calm the fuck down.

Shut up.

Nothing else was said until the next morning at chow.

Rooster sprang from his seat. Tobias!

Sticking out of Tobias’s upper arm was a long, sharp piece of metal. Without the warning, it would’ve gone right into his lung. Rooster had crowed just in time for Tobias to turn. On the other end of the weapon was an ashen-faced Beast.

There was no waiting for him to be taken down by the guards; it was almost as though retaliation for the incident before was expected, and the guards were nearby waiting. They usually didn’t get into shit that went down in the mess hall, too many inmates and chances of being hurt or killed, but that day was different for some reason.

Beast’s body jerked and writhed as he fell to the floor, two prongs sticking out of his chest. He lay there, panting, as the guards fitted him with handcuffs and hauled him to his feet.

As he was wrested out the door, he shouted last words. I’ll be back, motherfuckers!

Tobias shook his head, wincing as the metal grated on the bone of his shoulder blade. Fire lit inside him, and he concentrated on keeping his demeanor calm and not killing someone on the spot. Fucking asshole. It was going to come down to kill or be killed. All over a woman’s picture. Thousands of contraband porn mag pages floating around, and it had to be Jessica Beast wanted. Vicious desire to take life boiled through Tobias’s veins at the thought of watching the lights leave Beast’s eyes as he was deprived of oxygen.

Slowly.

The bloodlust was a ravenous creature, chomping and gnashing its teeth, but the moment shattered when another guard approached.

Let’s get you to the infirmary. That’s gonna need stitches. He put handcuffs on Tobias and led him out of the mess hall.

Once a shank, always a shank… He wondered why he didn’t think more quickly on his feet, pull the damned thing out as the guards led Beast out, and stick it in that asshole, Ricardo, who was standing nearby. That jerkoff was due a little payback, too, for the shit he pulled in the yard over a month before.

Tobias sighed. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

What’s going on with you, Butler? the CO asked as they walked.

What are you talking about? He tried to kill me. Don’t you see the fucking piece of sharpened table in my arm?

Yeah, but you broke his nose first. What I want to know is why. Your behavior has been really good the last couple of months. Not sure why you’d risk solitary or losing privileges.

Tobias shrugged. He stole something that belonged to me.

And you aren’t gonna tell me what it is, are you?

No, sir. I’m not.

You know, we can help you if we know what’s going on, the guard said.

Laughter burst out of Tobias. There is no help for me. He shook his head. Respectfully, sir.

Painted stark white, the infirmary door stood in sharp contrast to the dreary walls. It was as though it beckoned people to come inside, promising some kind of safe place in which to be cured. Tobias curled his lip. There was no haven in prison. Even the chapel was corrupt as fuck. Deacons and ministers using donations to ease their lifestyles by selling the little donated Bibles so inmates could use the pages as rolling papers and the contributed greeting cards at a buck for three.

Bullshit. All of it.

The guard pushed a button and identified himself. A doctor opened the door and stood back to make room. His lab coat was smeared with unidentifiable substances—Tobias was pretty sure some of the offensive stuff was shit—and it reeked.

Two more COs were standing inside, and they flanked the newcomers as they made their way to the exam room.

Tobias was put on the table, face down, and his handcuffs were removed.

Don’t move, Butler. The guard stepped back and turned his head. Okay, doc, you can come in.

Vomit threatened when the doctor got close enough to permeate the air with his odor, and Tobias gagged. Hey, doc, would you mind changing that coat? It smells like a prison babe’s ass after a week-long conjugal.

Oh. Yes. Sorry. I forgot. As the doctor changed, he talked. You know, after a while, you get used to the smells. I don’t even notice anymore.

Professional hazard?

He chuckled. Something like that. After donning a clean coat and blue plastic gloves, he stepped back to the table and leaned over, prodding the piece of metal. Yup. That’s what I thought. He sighed. You need stitches and a couple of shots.

Shots? Tobias’s heart picked up speed. Needles weren’t his favorite things. They brought back bad memories of his mother’s drug addiction and the accident that nearly killed him when he was eight.

Uh huh. Tetanus and antibiotics.

He shivered, but Hell would freeze over before he gave the guards something to say about him on the block. Pushing back his fear, he tried to play it cool. Well, let’s get this shit over with, doc. I got important things to do.

***

Tobias was returned to his cell just in time to go back out to lunch. Feeling woozy, he dragged himself off his bed and through the door. He wanted time to write Jessica back, and he planned to get it by kicking Rooster to the dayroom that evening. It was an off day, so there shouldn’t be any complaining.

If there was, well, Tobias was sick of having a cellmate, anyway.

He fell into the line headed for the mess hall, every nerve standing at attention, pumping adrenalin that cleared his head. It was always like that; no matter where he walked, he had to be on high alert. Someone was always waiting to get revenge for some stupid fucking thing that happened.

Like that bullshit with Ricardo. Motherfucker got pissed because Tobias walked where he wasn’t supposed to. He got attacked from behind and punched in the kidney so hard he pissed red for three days. There was no fighting back at that point because the gang of Latino loyalists standing around would’ve made short work of him. But he’d been plotting revenge for a long time.

It would transpire; the chance would come. Patience was everything, and he had all the time in the world to wait.

Lunch was supposed to be beans and franks, but it looked—and tasted—like cardboard. Everything had the same flavor, and there was no seasoning. It had taken him a while to figure out how to stomach the vile concoctions before he starved to death. In his first month, he lost thirty pounds. But a little salt and a shit ton of hot sauce, and anything thrown at him went down smoothly. He devoured the apple—aware it would be the first thing someone might ask for and the only truly edible thing on the tray. Trouble was something he wanted to avoid for a while. After that, he attacked the other food with a vengeance, determined not to chew and get the shit stuck between his teeth so he had to taste it all day. Ideally, the apple would’ve been saved for last, but that wasn’t how shit worked.

Prison food sucked. Not even the feral cats roaming around outside would touch it. There were laws for everything else, why not on the quality of what inmates consumed daily?

He sneered. No reason for anyone on the outside to care. They lived in their posh houses, drove their expensive cars, and ate at fancy restaurants.

Thinking of fancy slammed Jessica to the front of his mind. What is she playing at? He knew he was guilty of the murders he was locked up for. Hell, he was guilty of a lot more, but no one connected the dots. No way was he about to throw her a modicum of trust, but she sounded sincere, and he was eager to see how easy she might be to manipulate.

If she could get him out, he’d roll over and lick her feet like a fucking dog.

It occurred to him she might want to be paid, so one of the first things he planned to ask was if she was willing to work pro-bono. There was a chance she’d developed feelings for him—according to her letter’s signature—so maybe that would work to his advantage. All that talk about his deep eyes, how she believed he was innocent, and how she could see a good soul gave him hope.

While he rubbed a few out in solitary, Tobias had thought about her soft skin, how wet she’d be when he fucked her senseless after he was released, and how her last breath would smell as it escaped her body when he choked the life out of her just to watch her change colors and die.

Every woman he’d killed smelled different. It was as if their souls were perfumed according to how they’d lived their lives. Co-eds smelled like different kinds of candy, whores had a paper-like scent—usually tinged with some subtle hint of fruit—and that mother he’d shot in the head after making her husband watch Tobias fuck her in the ass for an hour had a milky aroma going on. Jessica would probably be a mix between a co-ed and a whore, judging by her age and appearance. He just hoped she was blinded by whatever feelings she possibly had for him. After all, no one talked about someone to their friends and lovers as often as she said she did without the assistance of a cerebral chemical reaction.

There was a reason he was on her mind so often. Her infatuation would be her undoing.

As he walked back to his cell, he thought about what he was going to write. He couldn’t let on that he’d dreamt about killing her, how pretty the bruises on her neck from his fingers would be, but he might be able to tell her what kind of sexual fantasies he had while staring at her picture.

No. It was too soon. He needed her to want him; needed her to think he was a good guy with respectable moral values. A fucking saint locked up unjustifiably. He needed to make her fall in love. Women in love do stupid shit. All their love conquers all idiocy rendering them incapable of seeing the man those feelings attached themselves to for exactly what he is. Well, rose-colored glasses would come in handy with Jessica, and he planned to exploit it to his advantage.

Rooster was already there by the time Tobias returned. I need you to go to the dayroom later. Our rotation is at three.

Whatever you say, holmes.

In the meantime, let’s talk about Ricardo. I owe that motherfucker a Molly Whopping, and I’m gonna need your help to get him alone.

I’m in, dog. He needs a good beating, yo. He was lookin’ at my cousin the other day like he wanted to eat her face. Freaked her the fuck out, man. I almost busted him a new one.

Rooster, you and I both know you’re nothing but a cell warrior. If you came face-to-face with Ricardo, you’d pee your punk self. Let’s just have real talk and forget all the bullshit, okay?

Yeah, okay, dog.

They plotted until the bell rang to announce dayroom time.

It seemed Rooster was feeling important after their talk because he strutted out of the cell like a cock with a whole brood of chickens he could fuck anytime he wanted.

Tobias let out the air in his lungs once he was alone. It was hard being in such close quarters with the same guy all the time. Especially one who had gas that smelled like rotten eggs. There was a nickname for every malady, it seemed.

Paper and piece-of-shit, flimsy pen in hand, Tobias lay on his bed and stared at the blank page.

His dick popped a chub just from thinking of the fun he’d have playing his game with Jessica, and he wrote.

~~~~~

Dear Jess,

I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. You called me Toby. I figured little nicknames might be sweet. Damn, girl, your picture caused some serious shit to go down on my block. My ass ended up in solitary for three days when I got it back. I slammed the hell out of the dude’s nose and broke it. No one’s going to disrespect me, or you, as long as my heart beats in my chest.

~~~~~

He reread the words, ripped the page off, tore it up, and stuck it in the trash. After a deep breath, he started again.

~~~~~

Dear Jess,

I thought, since you nicknamed me like I was your boyfriend, I’d do the same. It’s a good way to start off our relationship. I really appreciated you sending me that picture of you. It’s hard to get something as interesting as your letter and not know who the face is behind the words. I’ll admit I’ve stared at you for hours on end. You’re a beautiful woman, and it’s obvious you take care of yourself. Seems like you’re smart, too (you have to be to graduate law school). I find that attractive as hell. Your last name is sexy, but you don’t look Asian. Am I missing something there?

Thank you for the compliment on my profile bio. With nothing to do around here but read and write, I like to think I’ve learned a lot over the years.

It was good to see a little piece of you, and I have to thank you for your honesty up front. It’s so rare to hear from any kind of genuine person in prison; your letter was a breath of fresh air. You and I both know I’m innocent as a newborn baby, and I’m very interested to hear what you’ve found in my case that might help my conviction get overturned.

Visiting days are Saturdays and Sundays from 8-3. I’d love to sit down with you and talk about what you’ve found. There’s a lot of stuff to go through to get you in the door unless you and I both tell them you’re my attorney (on record), but I’m sure you know how it goes. If we can manage that, you can see me whenever you’d like, and we can have a (sort of) private room.

Because you were honest, I’m going to be honest in return. I have a hard time believing you’re strictly a philanthropist. What’s in this for you? Money? Sex with a convict? The thrill of the ride? Notoriety? My case was national news because of the horrific things inflicted on that poor family, and I’m not anyone’s meal ticket to fame.

I’m hoping you plan to represent me pro-bono because I don’t have a penny to my name. I used to have a job here, but I bought a pack of Ramen off a guy for the price of spitting in someone’s dinner, and I got fired. Not like it made a difference in the taste. Prison food is really bad. If you could bring me a donut or something if you visit, I’d be forever grateful.

Since you told me so much about yourself in your letter, I’d like to return the favor. I’ve thought about it a lot (spent some time in solitary for a fight that wasn’t my fault), and I’d like to tell you about one of the prison babes I had a relationship with a while back. I’m hoping it will show you the kind of psycho I’m hoping you aren’t and the kind of guy I am. We’ll call her Helen from Hades.

Helen contacted me in 2013, a year after I joined the pen pal program. She was eloquent, attractive, and successful. I believe she said she made the money she had as a model. Anyway, we exchanged a few letters, and she came to visit me. Everything was great; we kissed, held hands the whole time she was here, and talked about everything (though, it was mostly about her).

The next week, she put a couple hundred dollars in my prison account. I had it made (or so I thought). Beautiful woman, money, and someone who genuinely seemed to care about me. Every visitation day, she came and stayed the whole time. After the third weekend in a row, things started to get weird.

I’d get bundles of letters from her, demanding I read a certain book or write her a certain letter, outlining what I’d do to her (sexually) if I ever got out. If I didn’t, she’d miss a deposit and sulk when she visited, telling me how I was ruining her life by holding out on her.

So, I busted ass writing her letters (vile stuff I won’t subject you to), and she’d correct them, add notes, and send them back with a demand for me to rewrite the whole thing the way she wanted. I did as I was told because being able to buy what I wanted from the canteen was a luxury I wasn’t used to having and didn’t want to lose.

Books I was ordered to read were by Dante, Harper Lee, George Orwell, and others. She’d sit with me and quiz me on them, asking me what I thought the words on the page meant. If I answered in a way she considered wrong, she’d order me to reread the book.

It all ended when she stalked through the door for visitation one day and saw my cousin sitting with me (she’s a beautiful girl). Helen accused me of cheating on her (like I had time, right?) and shrieked at the top of her lungs, scaring my cousin to death.

Guards stepped in and escorted Helen out, revoking her visiting privileges indefinitely. I can’t say I was upset about the loss of anything but the money. Deposits stopped the next week, and I was back to being poor.

Two things she gave me that I’ll be forever grateful for were an appreciation for the written word and the lessons on writing. But I’m thankful every day that she got herself banned.

I hope you got a laugh out of that, and I hope you’re not on her level of crazy. Not sure I’d survive another round of anything like Helen. Besides, I put on a lot of weight while gorging myself on stuff I could finally afford (like Doritos). So, I can’t say losing the money was a bad thing.

Tell me more about you. What are your parents like? Are they Asian, or is it a weird story about how they got the name Phang? Where did you like to go on vacation when you were younger? Also, may I have another photograph? A close up, maybe? With your hair down!

If you want more than one letter, I need a couple of dollars put in my prison account. I’m using my last stamp and envelope to send this to you.

I’m excited to meet you in person. I do hope we can make that happen.

Yours,

Toby

~~~~~

He scanned through the words several times, decided he was satisfied with how innocent and intelligent he sounded, carefully folded the letter, and put it in the envelope he’d scrawled her address on; it would do the trick.

Lying on the bunk, he made up stories in his head about how Jess got her last name. Most interesting was the one where her father had ended up a POW in China in one war or another, forced to change his name in order to escape. Tobias chuckled and jumped when the school bell sounded to announce the end of dayroom.

That meant Rooster would be coming back.

Because they’d served beans for lunch, the bombs were sure to start falling in a short time.

Tobias gulped at the cleaner air while he could. He’d be holding his breath a lot over the following hour as they waited to head to chow. At least cardboard meatloaf was the mystery meat of the evening meal, not beans.

Hey, celly! Did you miss my awesome company? Rooster entered, the aroma of recently released poison from his ass floating around him. Dude, you’re gonna wish we had a fan. I gotta take a shit, yo.

Tobias groaned and covered his head with a pillow in a desperate attempt at a makeshift air filter.

***

By the time the bell rang to announce dinner, Tobias felt like he was about to puke. For a full hour, he’d endured the cloud of nasty leaking out of Rooster’s ass. Flushing did no good. It was like the scent clung to every fiber, surface, and air particle in the tiny space. Even the guards avoided passing by the door.

Tobias scrambled off the bed, stuffed the letter in his pocket for mailing, and waited eagerly for the doors to open so he could escape. Finally, the buzzer sounded, and he fell into the line moving toward the mess hall. As people passed the cell he’d just evacuated, they spewed comments about the stench.

The COs were green.

Tito, a prisoner from down the row, recoiled from the cell. Rooster, something die up in your ass, holmes? Damn. That shit is nasty! Something wrong with you, dog.

A man gotta feed the warden, you know?

You gotta take that outside. You killin’ us, dog.

Laughter moved down the line, but no one bothered to call attention to the broken silence rule. Even guards needed comic relief now and again.

After dinner was choked down, Tobias’s block was led straight outside. He found the guard from the infirmary visit—feeling as though they’d built up a little repertoire—and requested the letter to Jess be mailed.

Once the exchange had been made, relaxation flowed through Tobias’s body. His favorite bench was occupied, so he walked the track around the yard to work the stiffness out of his limbs that were a result of being cooped up in solitary. He’d spent a lot of time in there thinking about Jess, but he’d also done a bunch of burpees that left his muscles kinked and sore.

Every now and then, he’d pause and pretend to stretch while he listened to conversations going