you know what they do to guys like us in prison

we're doomed after all

“What? No, he’s still a client. Well no, but-“I scratch my head in frustration. I glance over at Frank, still sleeping soundly after his disturbance in the night. I frown at the imbecile on the phone pressed against my ear framed with red strands. I creep out into the corridor, a room that has creaky floorboards and a single light that casts a faint shadow down the stretch the hallway runs. There’s a little bit of a tremor in his voice; he knows my history, then.

“Well the fact of the matter is, Mr Way, Iero is a criminal. He’s mentally stable, you say?”

“He’s as stable as any man plagued by remorse.”

“Oh. Um... I’ll have to pass you over to my supervisor. Hang on…” I sigh audibly as a pause at the end of the line hangs, with hushed mutters rambling at the end of the line. Ilean up against the wall, one foot leaning against the exposed brick.

“Mr Way. Nice to speak to you again.” I rolled my eyes; I knew the voice, an ex-shrink that was so useless at his job he was forced into the admin side. I don’t recall his first name, but his surname is Page.

“Page. I trust you’ll explain to me what all this nonsense of a trial is?”

“Nonsense? No, no. Mr Iero is a criminal. He murdered people, for Christ’s sakes.”

“Mr Iero stood his trial. He was found guilty but unstable on medical grounds. The agreement was that he was not a candidate for capital punishment, henceforth received three years at the current mental health hospital, plus any extra recovery time.”

“Mr Iero was granted no such-“

“You think I don’t know my own clients, Page? I’m not some pathetic piece of shit that does a piss poor job to earn a fat pay check and a respected name, just for brainwashing the vulnerable into some ‘reformed’ shadow of a person without a personality, Page.”

I just described the nervous man on the other end of the phone. I always seem to have this kind of effect, terrorising the weak and easily manipulated into awkward silences that I rather enjoy. I like smart people, people clever enough to stand up for themselves. I think of my first meeting with Frank. I liked him from the start.

“I didn’t mean to offend-“

“Get back to the point.” I am irritated, but my mind starts to race ahead as it always has, forms the beginnings of a plan.

“The point is Iero needs to be back at his cell by noon to receive his permanent sentence. His case has been reviewed; his suicidal mind set and proven remorse, via letters, has been accounted for. Good morning.”

Page put the phone down. I stood in the dusty narrow hallway for a second, the cogs in my brain whirring, predicting possible outcomes, calculating chances. My eyes narrow and the reckless smirk that I used to wear when dealing with the real evil – the ones who conformed to media and prejudice. I walk into the bedroom. The only colour is him, tangled in black bed sheets. I take a second to admire the innocence in sleep, the intricate woven lines of ink that punctuate his skin, and for the first time I allow myself to wonder if this is how I’ll see him tomorrow morning. I lean over to him, and softly shake his shoulder. I wait until his eyes flicker open, wait for his smile to grow on his face as the foggy reality that recently disturbed slumber brings to fade away. I agilely whisper the words.

“Wake up Frankie. We’re running away.”