Trapped

Part 4

Bob stared as Mark sat in the chair, tears streaming down his face.

"Mark, I'm sure Ethan didn't mean to do it," Bob started out. This caused Mark to turn his head quickly in Bob 's direction.

"NO." Mark tried desperately to make Bob understand that he couldn't possibly blame Ethan , he blamed the doctor, this had been going on well before he left the hospital.

"Yes, Mark, he didn't mean to do it." Bob patted Mark on the shoulder, talking to him as if he were a three year old in need of praise and approval.

Dammit, how can I get Bob to understand?

Mark shook his head no vigorously. "NO. NO. NO."

"Calm down Mark, I have to call Ethan's dad."

Bob picked the phone up off the table and walked into the house leaving Mark alone on the balcony, dealing with thoughts, living in a private hell.

Mark heard the phone ringing and Bob answering it. Straining to hear Bob's end of the conversation, Mark struck out. Bob appeared in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest.

"That was your Dr. Johnson. She said it was imperative that you get your medications started up immediately," Bob was sizing Mark up while he spoke. "Problem is, how am I gonna go to the pharmacy to get your meds and bring you along with me? How did Ethan do this?" Bob wondered aloud.

Mark immediately started shaking his head no again. There was no possible way to communicate his needs with Bob. God, I don't need those drugs, they are what is doing this to me! Can't anyone see this?

Bob rustled Mark's hair up before he sat down in the chair. He quickly snapped his fingers as an idea entered his mind.

"I can get Tyler to get the medicine! Brilliant idea if I say so myself," Bob smiled as he got out of the chair and walked into the house to retrieve the cordless phone.

Mark's thoughts raced. He was trying to figure a way out to let his friend know that he didn't need the drugs, that they were hurting him, not helping him!

"Tyler said it won't be a problem, he will be over here in a few hours with the medication. Now, Mark, how about some dinner? I thought I saw some of your protein drinks in the fridge, be right back," Bob turned and walked into the house.

God, not those drinks! I need Ethan , Mark thought to himself, slowly feeling the despair of the situation creep up on him.

*~*~*~*~*

Ethan looked up at the door when he heard a scraping noise. A styrofoam plate sat on the ledge. Ethan stared at the door for a few moments before deciding to get up and see what it was.

Looking at the plate, he saw a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a small handful of potato chips and an apple. A paper cup held white milk.

Ethan turned away from the door and sat back down on the bed, putting his head in his hands. He wasn't hungry. He kept worrying about Mark. Bob had absolutely no idea of how to care for him.

He realized that if he was getting served a meal that would mean that Mark would or should be getting his dinner. Ethan worried that Bob wouldn't know that Mark was able to chew, but only soft foods, he wasn't ready for things like burgers and fries.

Ethan tried to shut the thoughts out. There wasn't anything he could do for Mark, not here, not now. He laid down, trying to find solace in sleep.

He woke up when he heard the door creak open. A guard stepped inside. "Come with me."

Ethan obeyed and followed the guard. He pointed for him to walk in front of him. Ethan had no idea where he was to be going.

"The outside of the white line, boy," the guard barked at Ethan .

Ethan jumped to the outer side of the line, away from the walls and the doors. He was literally walking down the middle of the hall.

They stopped at the end of the hall where heavy metal bars separated them from entering the next set of halls. The guard at the doors opened the set with a buzzer. It made a loud noise like a stereo speaker shorting out. The guard pushed Ethan in the back to go through the doors.

Standing there waiting for the doors to close behind them, Ethan realized that he no longer had control over anything he wanted to say or do.

"Hold your hands out, palms up," the guard barked out.

Startled, Ethan did as he was requested. The short, muscular black man slapped handcuffs on Ethan 's wrists. He then bent down and slapped metal cuffs on his ankles. Then he placed a chain around Ethan 's waist and attached the chain to the handcuffs.

The other door buzzed open and Ethan was nudged out. It was ackward trying to walk with the shackles on his legs, the chains making a clanging noise with each step he took.

Walking down the long hallway seemed to take forever to Ethan until they came to another barred door. This time there was a guard with a clipboard. Another guard was standing there, evidentally waiting for Ethan and the guard.

"Nestor , 29578635," the guard crisply stated.

The guard holding the clipboard scribbled something down on the paper. He handed the clipboard to the man accompanying Ethan .

After the clipboard was handed back, the guard standing next to the door ordered Ethan through it. Ethan realized that they had just transferred responsiblity of him from one guard to another.

Transferred responsibility.

The bright Florida sunshine hit Ethan 's eyes, momentairly blinding him. After a couple of steps, he saw a white panel van with windows all around it. It had big blue letters on the side. It said, FLORIDA STATE DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS. The windows had wires running through it, there were bars separating the driver from the back of the van.

The guard dragged the side door open.

"In here."

Ackwardly, Ethan tried to get his foot up to step into the van. There were two rows of small, black vinyl seats, hooks on the floor and in the middle of the seats.

Ethan took the first seat and sat down. The guard unhooked the chain that connected Ethan 's handcuffs to his waist. With a quick motion, he took that chain and paddlelocked it to the hook in the seat. He took another strap and laced it around Ethan's ankles and secured it with a paddle lock to the hook on the floor.

The guard exited the van, slamming the side door closed.

The van was hot, and Ethan could, smell the foul smells making him start to gag. Urine, vomit and body odor permeated the air.

With a jerk, the van whipped out of the driveway heading down the highway. Ethan decided to be bold.

"Where are we going?" Ethan could see the driver's face in the rearview mirror that hung on the visor.

The driver didn't look up.

Thinking that the man didn't hear him the first time, Ethan asked a second time. "Where are we going?"

Again, no answer, the driver didn't look up. Ethan knew the man heard him, he just refused to acknowledge him.

Ethan looked out the window of the van, watching the Florida landscape slip past him. People in their cars buzzing past them, everyone lost in their everyday world. Ethan once again wondered how Mark was.