Watcher in the Darkness, Book 3: Imprisoned

Chapter 3

I'm Back.

May 6

This post won't take long. I'm just killing time until nightfall.

After almost half a year in jail, it feels weird to be home. It feels even weirder to think of the Sanctuary as my home. My bed smells gross from all of the strange Disavowed that have been sleeping in it. Plus, my prison cell was bigger. And I had my own toilet there.

Whatever. Home, sweet home.

I've been going through the shit ton of emails I've gotten over the last few months. Thanks everybody, I guess, for your concern, but I'm fine. Really.

I would like to say, however, that the tabloid article written about me right after I was locked up was retarded beyond words. "Black Sheep Baron Considered Massive Security Threat by Prison Officials." I mean, really? Black Sheep Baron? Is that what people are calling me?

Here's the thing. Someday, Sebastian will come of age. When that happens, his Pure mate will be chosen for him by the Archduke and the rest of the High Court. His wife will come into heat, he'll do his duty, and five years later they'll give me a little brother or sister. Of course, by then, I'll be long dead of old age.

I'm not nobility. I'm not anything.

The last few months haven't been a total loss, though. I've learned some interesting things about myself. I've always known that I can choke down human food as long as it's raw and unprocessed, but I've never really tried to live off the stuff before. For the first few weeks I was locked up, I wasn't given a choice in the matter.

Turns out, replacing my blood diet made me as weak as a regular human. My body wasted away and my joints ached all of the time. Grouchy didn't even begin to describe me. I guess a human diet will keep me from going feral, but only just barely.

I'm not saying that I didn't miss my freedom. I had no idea how much I'd miss it until I gave it up, but it's the price I had to pay for what I did. What I didn't expect was just how bad the demon infestation would be in that place.

Yeah, yeah, I know we're not supposed to call them demons, anymore. God forbid, I might offend someone, blah, blah, blah. I don't care. That prison was a hive for larval Vermin. Everyone was infected, not just the other offenders. The guards, the officials, the medical staff, no one was clean. Anyone that spent more than a month or two there was going to end up with multiple parasites.

Which brings me to my point. I know everyone wants to know the full story behind my attacking that prison guard. Well, here goes.

Like I said, when I first got there, they tried to feed me the same cheap, nasty shit they fed the rest of the inmates. I couldn't digest it, so I was forced to choke down wilted lettuce and mealy apples whenever they served them. After a month or so, they were afraid I would turn feral again so they made arrangements for Michael to bring in cups of cold blood every other day or so.

Well, there was this one guard that was a total asshole. Too many of the correctional officers took their frustrations out on the offenders, but this jack-rag really got off on being a dick to the inmates. I'm lucky enough that he was always assigned to my cell block and row. We all hated him, but he developed a special hard-on for me.

His name was Officer Ochoa, and I don't know who picked on this guy as a kid, but he took it out on us every chance he got. Hell, maybe it wasn't that at all. Some people are just born sadistic. All I know is Ochoa was covered head to toe in Vermin. He had so many demons on him that the squirmy little bastards overlapped each other.

Michael would bring in the blood then pass it off to a guard, who would pass it off to another guard, who would pass it off to Ochoa. Before he gave it to me, he would always do something to it. He would spit in it, or worse. He would put mayonnaise or ketchup in it, something I would immediately puke back up. Sometimes, he would pour it on the ground just outside my cell. Every time, he would laugh, like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

I made a mental vow to never feed from another live human, but I was happy to make an exception in that fucktard's case. I laid on the ground right next my cell door, curled into a ball as though my stomach cramps were killing me. Ochoa couldn't resist the urge to reach through the bean chute so he could pour the blood out right in front of me. When he did, I grabbed him by the wrist, then twisted his arm until I heard bones crackle. I fed and fed until he stopped screaming.

So, why didn't I get additional charges thrown on me? My lawyer stepped in and demanded they go back over the security footage. I guess they were able to prove Ochoa was guilty of inmate abuse by intentionally trying to turn me feral. Except, I wasn't feral when I attacked him. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I would do it all over again. Even so, my lawyer threatened to sue unless the assault charges against me were dropped, so I got off scot-free. Again.

I was punished, though. Not officially, but that's how punishment works in places like that. They never dropped me out for rec or showers again. Their logic was that I didn't need running water to clean myself, and if I decided to jump over the fence, there would be nothing anyone could do to stop me.

No one came out and said it, but I know they were worried I would get sick of cold blood eventually. They were right to be afraid. It would've been impossible to stay on the wagon in that place. There were too many people there that deserved to feel my bite.

Well, it's nightfall and I have an errand to run. Time to go.