Birth Row

Part Six

The holding cell was a small, brightly lit cement room without openings, except for the steel door and floor drain. There was a strong smell of bleach, but it couldn’t completely cover the odor of musk and urine.

Clara thought this must be a respite from Watkins’ solitary confinement. It pleased her that his time inside was as horrible as she expected.

Watkins, dressed in prison orange, sat on a steel bench with his back to the wall. His hands and feet were shackled to the floor with thick wire cables. A table and chair were placed several feet from him in the center of the room. She pulled the chair out, purposely scraping the metal legs across the floor, and dusted the seat before using it.

Watkins, as a subject, a thing taught to her by family, had been a part of her consciousness since she was a child. His, was one of the first names she recalled learning. It was strange, that she would be thirty eight the first time she met the person who was such an integral part of her life.

In silent purpose, she peered at him as if he were a zoo animal.

Staring at the floor, he returned the silence. Then he lifted his head and his eyes came into view.

Despite the formidable build-up, he appeared to her as an unremarkable wrinkled old man, with white shaggy hair, and a Santa-Claus beard. He looked similar to any number of other old men, except for the eyes. He had young, alert blue eyes that silently called her attention.

At one hundred and ninety one years, he was without a doubt, the oldest person on the planet. She tried not to look too long, but her eyes were drawn to him out of an insatiable curiosity to note the rebirther traits. They were there when she looked closely, the way he cocked his head and his unblinking eyes, she carved out as differences in a few short moments.

When their eyes met, she was surprised how quickly unease crept over her. They conveyed a sense of superiority across the table without having said a word or made a gesture. They needed no more than to be seen.

Clara knew that anyone who had lived this long had an advantage over a younger person of a single life. She had hired all the right experts to advise her on the subject before approaching him. Although it varied widely, the common thread of advice she received was not to meet face to face with him. But, she believed in her family’s mission, and her personal strength. She had an agenda and planned to stick to it.

She broke the silence and said, “Do you know who I am?”

Time seemed to stand still while he formed those first words for a response.

His spoken words traveled across the space between them and were interpreted by her brain like thousands of past conversations. Except, there was more to his message than words--a hidden resonance in his voice that entered her like the distant buzz of a fly, barely registering in her conscious mind.

Outwardly he replied, “Yes, I know exactly who you are and why you’re here.”

But something else entered her with his voice, something undefined. She could no more make sense of it than the buzzing of the fly. Nonetheless, it entwined itself into a crevice in her brain like a tendril from an unwanted vine. Though it tinged her mind, it couldn’t be brought in to focus.

As she tried to concentrate on her fleeting perception, Watkins said, “I should thank you for your persistence.”

The statement caused Clara to lose whatever connections her brain was trying to make.

She came back to her full self.

Her first thought was that he was playing games with her. Why wouldn’t he? Six days a week he spent in solitary confinement, without being allowed to speak to the guards unless spoken to. So, a conversation, any conversation was probably welcome.

     “You want to thank me for being forced to spend another lifetime behind bars?” replied Clara, “The insanity stories must be true, maybe you’re enjoying this too much.”

“True, the solitary confinement takes some getting used to. However, the privilege of being the only person to live three lives, and now be granted a fourth is a distinction that can’t be ignored, even if it is being driven by revenge.”

“Revenge!” declared Clara, “This isn’t revenge--its justice, long overdue justice for murdering my family.”

“Justice is dead, just like your thieving ancestor, George. We were partners, until he stole my work and passed it off as his own. Your family business only exists because he stole my designs for the original patents. You might not see it this way, but you owe me for your good fortune. Maybe, that’s why you have such a drive to see me live another life.”

“My God, you really are a monster. George Gannett was a good man that you murdered. You killed his whole family! And now, I’m going to make sure you serve every day of your full sentence.”

Watkins seemed unfazed by the threat and continued, “You know, during my first life in jail, I felt sorry for killing his wife and kids. They weren’t supposed to be in the car that day. But now, I don’t care. She was an arrogant bitch, and their kids were spoiled brats who would’ve bred more useless shit-birds. Just take a look at you, over-privileged and underworked. A shining example of what the world needs less of. I’ve had enough time to think about it, and given the choice, I’d kill them again.”

     “The Warden thinks I should let you die.” Clara said in retaliation, “But, now I’m more certain than ever that you deserve to suffer in jail as long as possible, and I’m going to make sure you do.”

“The Warden said you should let me die? Hmm, that’s good to know. Thank you for that information, Princess. You do what you have to, and so will I.”

“Don’t be smug. I came here to make sure you know who’s doing this to you.”

“You think that after a hundred and fifty six years in prison I don’t know who’s behind this? I know your family, Princess, and I’m not surprised they’d spend a vast fortune and sacrifice young people like you for revenge. It would’ve been cheaper for George to share the business with me, like we planned.”

“You’ve been in here too long to grasp what happens outside, so let me make this clear, old man--I’m the one pulling the strings. Everyone says they want it, but no one else in the family has the stomach for it. I’m the one who will make sure you take the long road to Hell. Take a good look at the Gannett that’s going to see you die, caged like the creature you are.”

“Wow! Princess, you’re a feisty one. You’re stronger than the others. I like that about you. Tell you what, why don’t you come back to visit after they tune me up? My equipment always works better when I have a younger body.”

Watkins held his hand to his crotch as he finished talking.

“You’re a disgusting old man.” Clara replied, “I’ve said what I had to, and now you’ll never see me again. Enjoy your last fifty years in solitary.”