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I stroll straight past him, and when he falls into step beside me, we navigate our way down the hall. The predictability of incarcerated life is treacherous for anyone who finds themselves with a target on their back. I can anticipate with great accuracy where half the pricks in here will be at any given time.
Which is how I know we have seven minutes to get the deed done from the moment we stride into the toilet block to the moment we leave.
My pulse quickens with the onset of adrenaline.
We pass one of the female guards, her cheeks pinkening when I grin at her. The door is in view, and like fucking clockwork, Mathews strolls out after his morning wank.
We step inside, ducking into a cubicle each. We wait. The pipes creak, the taps drip, the cleaning lady switches her vacuum on in the adjacent room, and I smile.
Reaching into my green scrubs, I draw out a plastic pen. It's red. I didn’t notice the colour when I snatched and stashed it three weeks ago. There was a crazy search squad trying to find this fucking pen. For nearly seven days we were in lockdown, but then they found it. They foundapen. A black pen.
This one is red.
I love you.
Ripping off the plastic plug, I draw the ink tube out with my teeth and thread it down the drain. I don't want it to be red. Now with only the clear plastic column, I squeeze it in my fist. The piece of shit we are stalking has one week left before his release, after servicing nearly thirteen years of hard time.Fuck, he was so excited when he told me. "Heading straight out to find my little girl," he said. "She's a knockout."
I grin to myself.
We wait.
The door opens and we both jump out like fucking animals. I clasp my palm over Donavon's open mouth, silencing the break of his imminent howl. Lars grabs his arms, pinning them to his sides as he helps me manoeuvre the heavy bastard. Donavon's feet shuffle, trying to stay balanced, in control, upright. We drag him into a cubicle.
Lars presses his back to the door as I force Donavon to his knees. Slamming his cheek onto the lip of the bowl, I press him into position. A good position to get drained by a Butcher. Tilting his head down, I brace his neck with my grip and stab the plastic column an inch below his ear.
The whites of his eyes scream at me.
Stab.
His body convulses violently.
Blood pisses out and into the bowl.
Stab.
My arm vibrates as he thrashes around beneath it.
Stab.
I bend to his level, making damn sure he can hear my voice as I snarl, "Konnor Butcher says congratulations on getting parole."
Stab. Stab. Stab.
Cassidy
803 I love yous later
I paddown the hallway towards Bronson's room, shaking my head through a sigh. This happens more often than I can count. I still when I see Clara with her front paws up on the windowsill. I wander to stand beside her, placing my hand on her fluffy brown shoulder as we peer through the glass together. When she rears up on her back paws like this, she is at my height. I had her DNA tested last year. She is part bernese mountain dog and part german shepherd - both big dogs. Clara is a lot of things. Playful. Loyal. Powerful.
Timid is not one of them.
She is just like Max.
I let him in. . .
I had to work hard to enjoy the thought of him, the memory. At the beginning it was impossible to love him from afar. With that affection came so much pain, so much loneliness. I was terrified for him and what he might have been reduced to. A magnificent lion in a cage, his natural instincts crushed, his every moment at the will of far less impressive beings. I was overwhelmed by sadness.
"While I'm in, I need you to be the bravest you have ever been. Don't disappear in here. Be you. Bubbly. A silly little girl. Soften my brothers' lives."
