Mercy for the Wicked

One Year Later

It took eight months for me to own this wreck. I thought it would be a long battle, but it turns out the previous owner wanted to get rid of it. The moment I was able to start bidding, I did.

Technically, I still don't run it completely, because the government is paying for everything. That includes most construction and renovation, since it plays a part in safety. I have to go there early everyday to direct workers to where they need to be.

Today is another one of those mornings. I always try to remember to brew coffee before leaving, or else I'll be working on four hours of sleep. Today is sadly a day I stayed in bed for an extra thirty minutes, not allowing time for my daily caffeine. My eyes feel as if a weight is holding them down. It's probably not safe to drive, but I have no other option.

I step out of my car, and practically drag myself to the front gates. There are two barriers for security. This first one contains a P.I.N. pad for the employees. I tap in the code and scramble back into my car. The next security measure needs a badge. I don't think of this as a good idea, because there have been some...accidents. An example of these accidents is last week when a worker from the prison was attacked and someone stole the badge to get in. That plan didn't work, because the P.I.N. to the first gate was unknown to the attacker, meaning they couldn't even make it to the second gate where the badge is scanned.

Even when past all security, there is still a narrow passage to arrive at the large prison steps. When I park my run-down SUV in the parking lot, I notice the frivolous handicapped lot. The reason it doesn't have a real purpose is because the employees of my prison park there even when they're not handicapped. And none of them are.

The entry is monumental and is visible from afar. As I stand next to it, the presence of the enormous metal doors hover over me. To enter the main office, where I stay for around half my day, I need a key and my badge once again. The key has no other purpose but for this door. I have learned from my mistakes, and I now understand the first two levels of security just aren't enough.

Sometimes I forget I own the prison now, and I no longer have to press the "guest" button located on the stone wall. My finger brushes against it, but luckily I remember just in time to fetch my employee I.D. from my bag. Another successful scan marks the beginning of a stressful day.

"Heyy!" I hear as I scuttle through the door and it shuts behind me.

"Hey, Mr. Rogers! How was your long weekend?" He's one of the people I enjoy meeting here.

"Well, her wedding didn't go according to plan. She walked out and didn't come back until three hours later. Then, she married him anyway!" Mr. Rogers loves gossiping about his estranged family. I say my goodbyes for now, and then head to my office. My phone is putting up a fight as I reach for it in my bag. Finally, I grip it and dial a phone number I know all too well.

"Hello Iz, why are you bothering me at six in the morning?" Max mutters into the phone.

"You're supposed to be helping me at work today. Don't tell me you forgot." It was wishful thinking that Max would show up early. He never does.

"I had to get my beauty sleep, Iz. You wouldn't understand." Max jokes, maybe a little too much.

"Really? I sure can't tell you get it." Sometimes I play along, just to put him into place and lower his ego.

"Wooow, I'll remember that." I can hear his hurt ego through the phone.

"I'm sure you will, but right now I need you in here. Do you know when Bruce is coming in?"

"No, I don't. But I'll be in soon. After my coffee run."

"Have you ever heard of a coffee machine?"

"But it's not the same Iz."

"You make my brain hurt just talking to you, Max. Well I'll talk to you soon."

"K. See you soon." Then, there's a buzz and I set down my phone on my desk.

The door to my office slams some time later, and I realize I must have fallen asleep. My head pounds, and Max rudely comments about my eye bags.

"And that's why you should come in later like I do."

I roll my eyes. "There has to be someone like me to be in charge during all hours, or else nothing would get done."

"Oh, that reminds me. When will the first batch of prisoners be shipped in?" Max wonders this, and so do I.

"I was told they will arrive sometime today, but I'm not sure when. And don't say it like that, you make humans sound like objects." There are times when Max struggles to show empathy to others, which is strange considering he studied psychology in university as well.

"Do you know where they're coming from or which prisoners they are?" Max asks. I'm not surprised he's wondering this, because we spent a lot of time observing the prisoners' movements and actions. After that and researching their past in detail and the reason for being locked up, we got to know the criminals extremely well.

"Yes, I was informed that these people are the same as those that were in here around a year ago. The only difference is this time we're deciding if they stay in prison or are free." The thought of possibly coming face-to-face with Johnny again makes my heart beat faster, and my nerves go on edge. If I didn't know better, I would call him a sicko.

"Oh, I'm getting a call from Bruce." Max declares, as if I can't already hear the vibrant ringtone from his cheap Android phone. He scutters with quick movements to the room beside mine, and I hear commotion from the crack of the window. I glance through the reflection on the glass, barely able to make out a van. It's the prison van!

I rush out of the room, and through the main hall. I forget to tell Max that they've just been dropped off, but he's busy anyway.

"Mr. Rogers, open the gates!" I yell from down the hall. The policemen and women allow the prison guards to take control of the inmates, then they jump back into the van and drive away. Creek. The iron gate slides open slowly, and two of the guards struggle to pull open the heavy metal doors. The sound of obnoxious laughter fills the room, as an orange jumpsuit catches my attention.

Here are the first ones. These are always the worst. Prisoners compete to be known as the biggest and the strongest, also known as the top dog.

I seem to catch the attention of the large, bulky man who strutted in first. His eyes stop on me, and he squints his circular eyes on my face. I gulp saliva down my throat as we make eye contact.

"Why, hello there, pretty lady," he says, the scratchiness of his voice being most obvious. His teeth are ugly little things, ragged and disorderly.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, move along," I usher them out, or try to. But that one man and his two buddies won't budge.

" But I've seen you somewhere before, I know I have." Right as he says that, I remember. It takes me a moment, since his hair has been trimmed and his beard has been shaved since the last time I saw him. It's now clear this is Johnny. I used to be intimidated with him on the other side of bars, but now he's standing directly parallel to where I am, without a guard in between.

"Alright, I'm done playing games. Step away, or I'll call the police right back in here," I vow.

"You remind me of someone I knew," Johnny spits in my direction. "She was the best lookin' woman I've ever had. Too bad she was a pest. Always went on talkin' about raisin' a family together. Every day she talked in my ear, nagging me for something I didn't want to give her. A kid. At first she was fun, but in the end I didn't need her. She was so fragile there wasn't a chance she could feel it. A quick slit. That's all it was." Johnny vents and finishes at once.

 * * *

The guards ushered Johnny and the rest of the prisoners to their rooms. I wasn't prepared for this. I had the dream to help people who deserve to be free, but how can I help people like this? Ones who don't feel remorse, and kill their victims endlessly. Humans who devictimize and plot murder. This was never something I wanted.