Misdirected

Chapter 1

Dedicated for Elisakat for the amazing cover/banner on the side:))

Misdirected: Chapter 1

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" The judge wore a bored expression. I eyed my lawyer dubiously, who returned a nervous smile. My heart was pounding, and I could feel sweat making its way down my forehead.

"Yes, your honor." One of the jurors, a lady with bright curly hair and a plump figure, announced. "We find the defendant guilty on both counts of second degree murder." My heart skipped a beat. Each count was twenty years, adding up to forty years in the correction facility.

"Take him away." Two security guards escorted me out of the court room. Flashes of what the rest of my life--should I live past the first week of imprisonment--began making their way to my head. I imagined myself dying a slow, painful death in a corner of a dark room.  I shuddered at the thought, but couldn't shake it away. This is my new fate.

"Get in." One of the guards nudged me toward his car. The trip to the county jail was too fast. There, I was strip searched, photographed, and given a dark green pair of scrubs. I was then led to a cell, where I would spend the night before being transported to one of the correction institutions. It was cleaner than I'd expected, with one bed located on each side. Dark, cold, and depressing, but clean nonetheless. I gulped, stealing a glance at my escort.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Get in!" He pushed me into the cell, then slammed the barred doors shut. I got up to my feet and headed toward the bed, where I sat brooding in agony for the next few hours until another inmate arrived. He looked around fifteen years older than me, give or take a few years. A scar covered his left arm, and part of his tattoo could be seen on his neck. I couldn't tell what it was. His hair was jet black with white specks, and he wore a pair of yellow scrubs.

"What did you do?" I sounded monotone.

"Fraud." He chuckled, "took 'em ten years to catch me." At this, I let out a wry laugh.

"What's so funny?" He scratched his head.

"Nothing." I sighed, "So how'd you do it? How much did you make?" 

"I loaded viruses on people's personal computers using their IP address. Used that to hack into their bank accounts and transfer the money. I only made ten grand; it was all I needed." He could have made more money given the time he had.

"Ever heard of Richard Davidson?" His brown eyes began twinkling.

"Nah."

"Boy's a genius, and they still haven't caught him." He sighed, smiling, then continued explaining. "He's taken millions---no, hundreds of millions of dollars." The man took a seat on the bed across from me, "But when he's found..." His eyes glimmered with a sort of satirical look.

"So, what punishment are you getting for fraud?"

"Me?" The man pointed at himself, "Well, I'm supposed to go to the LCC."

"LCC?"

"Larceny Correction Center. Though I don't know why they call these facilities 'correction facilities,' considering everyone who goes there gets even more messed up." He looked down, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

"So what did you do?" He asked after a long silence.

"Nothing. I'm innocent. But I got convicted on two counts of second degree murder. I was framed." I rolled my eyes, too hopless to show anger.

Eventually, silence took over and the man's eyes became wide with terror as he stiffened. The tense atmosphere was almost suffocating. I couldn't say anything. I didn't want to think about tomorrow. I almost wished the death sentence hadn't been outlawed in 2011. I was so lost in thought that I almost didn't notice the man talking to me.

"What's your name, boy?" he asked.

"Logan. You?"

"James. But most people call me Jimmy." He smiled, "Do you know what happens in the Trials Institution?" he asked. I nodded. I didn't know the exact details, but I had an idea.

Seven years ago, in 2020, Tennessee became the last state to repeal the death penalty. In 2021, Congress passed new laws regarding what would happen to criminals. The death penalty and life in jail were too expensive, and citizens did not want their tax money to aid criminals. As a result, the government reached the decision to put criminals to "good use." Prisons were turned into different institutions that prisoners would be assigned to depending upon their crime and its severity. Murderers, for instance, were sent to clinical trials institutions, where they would be used as test subjects to test different drugs.

"I'm so sorry, kid." James gave me a look of pity. I nodded again, then laid on my bed, where I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I was woken up by the sound of James's voice.

"Hey, get up kid. They're here." James whispered as he shook my shoulder. I groaned, then got up. It took me a second to realize where I was. The cell was dark, making it hard to believe it was morning already. A security officer opened the door to our cell.

"Logan Conroy?" He looked back and forth between James and I. I raised my hand.

"Come with me." He ordered. I gave James a sorrowful look, as if to say "Farewell." He didn't respond. As soon as I was out of the cell, the guard pushed me in front of himself and handcuffed me. I winced. He led me to a grey bus. The windows seemed to be blocked by a set of metal bars on the outside, and another layer on the inside, leaving the glass in between. Inside, I could see prisoners wearing dark green scrubs, just like me. I assumed that we were all going to the same place.

"All right. Your destination is the Trials Institution." He looked around at the batch of murders, then continued, "This bus is heavily guarded." He gestured at the back of the bus. I instinctively turned to see six buff, heavily armed guards taking up three rows. "So don't even think about trying anything." He eyed the man sitting next to me, who returned a mischievous grin. He looked like your stereotypical thug, with multiple tattoos covering his body, along with piercings and a beer belly. His black hair was long and greasy, and bruises covered his face.

"All right, it's all on you Rob." The guard gestured at the driver, who curtly nodded in return.

"Think they'll give us any Red Dirt?" The man who had just grinned at the officer turned to me. His voice was unexpectedly high.

"What?"

"Marijuana, dip shit."

Wonderful.