The Angriest Angel

Chapter 9

Chase lay on the painted concrete bench of his holding cell, staring at the ceiling and doing his best to ignore the too vocal prisoner in the cell next to him. 

His room was six by eight feet, with two cement walls and one of bars.  The fourth wall was a hybrid of the two, allowing inhabitants to somewhat see and interact with each other.  Or more likely, it was used to cuff the more dangerous criminals as a way to keep them stationary. 

Unfortunately for Chase, the visible space between the two cells is where the odd fellow with thinning blond hair was babbling like a madman.  He had been laughing hysterically at nothing, sometimes complaining that 'Arthur' was hungry, whoever that was. 

"Arthur's had nothing to eat for five days!" the man said.  "Can you spare a muffin?  Or a donut?"

And then he began to belly laugh, pausing only to breathe, "Donuts!  In a police station!"

Chase was in no mood.  He tried to block out his strange neighbor, closing his eyes and mumbling, "Sarah thinks I can get out of any mess.  I create them and then I get out of them.  Somehow I doubt that's true."  She always thought he had a guardian angel, looking over him, but Chase didn't see it that way.

"Where's my guardian angel now, huh?" he said.

He thought about calling Dr. Chandrian, but explaining this to her would be even worse than explaining to Sarah.  How could he ever face her again?  She would undoubtedly learn that he tried to sell his prescription.  Yet another person that he let down.

"Add that to the list," he said out loud.  "Anyone keeping track up there?"

"Hey!" the other prisoner called out.  "Hey, you!"

 "Leave me alone," Chase said.

"No, I cannot do that at this time," the man said.  "Talk to me again in an hour.  I have a spot open then when I can leave you alone."

Chase opened his eyes and looked in the odd man's direction.

"Did you say guardian angel?" he asked.  "I thought I heard you say angel!"

Chase noticed that the other cell was larger than his.  It had a steel toilet, steel sink, and bed, none of which were in his own cell.  It was most likely an arrangement for visitors with a longer stay.

"I need to talk to someone!" the man insisted.  "I swear to God, if I don't talk to someone I am going to go crazy!"

"Too late," Chase said, closing his eyes again.

The man stopped and stood still for a few moments, and then said, "Hey! That's pretty funny!"

"I'm glad you think so.  I'll...probably be here all week."

"God, that's funny too!  Hey come over here, man.  I need to tell you about the angels."

"I'm not in the mood," Chase said.

"Don't be a baby!" he barked.  "You think you got it rough?  Hell, I would trade places with you in a second!"

"I wouldn't make that deal if I were you."

"At least you've still got your hair!" he insisted. 

Chase sat up on his bench, "Look pal.  I lost my house, my wife, my job, and probably even my doctor.  And God knows how long I'll be here."

The other man giggled.  He grasped the bars between their cells and rocked back and forth, cackling, "me too," repeatedly.

Chase's curiosity got the better of him.  He sighed and moved closer to the strange man.