Page 127 of Shadowman
What’s the purpose of all this?
Is it just the Warden’s way of sticking it to Velle after their falling out? Or is there more to the arrival of the Officers from Hell than meets the eye?
They’ve come to fuck shit up, that much is clear. And from the looks of it, they’re getting down to brass tax.
I haven’t seen Trevel since he was cuffed and hauled off, and I can’t help the way my stomach has been bunched in concern. Not just for him… For all of them.
Luthor’s voice crying out to me that he’ssorryhas been playing in my mind on repeat; a mashup with Ren’s screams when they were ripped apart. I don’t know where they took him, but I haven’t heard his voice since that last moment of him cursing at them while he was hauled away.
Fighting or not, he’s still myfriend. It’s not like I want him to be physically harmed in any sort of permanent fashion.
I just can’t stop picturing the looks on their faces when I finally voiced my grievances and called them out—in the rec room, right before all hell broke loose.
It’d been a long time coming, honestly. They deserved to know how I feel… That I’m not going to sit by and let them use me anymore. I have fucking feelings too, and Irefuseto be some sidelined, walk-on role in theLuthor and Ren Show.
Not anymore.
And despite what I’m sure they think, my newfound friendship with Trevel has nothing to do with it. I’ve been needing to get that shit off my chest since long before Trevel got here.
Okay, maybe their incessant lecturing did sort of light the fuse on the dynamite of my aggravation. And having him on my side—as someone inmycorner for once—might have given me the courage to finally speak my mind.Just a little.But that wasn’t the whole reason I flipped out.
Could I possibly be harboring some internal guilt over blatantly lying to their faces?Sure.Because I looked them in the eye and told them Trevel and I had only spoken a few words to each other… And that’s certainlynotthe extent of our relationship. Not that what we’re doing is arelationshipat all. We’re just friends… who sort of accidentally made each othercome in the heat of a bizarre, sexually charged moment I haven’t stopped obsessing over since it happened.
But that’s our business, no one else’s. Trevel was happy to keep what happened between usbetween us, and I’ve been hiding things from Luthor and Ren for years.
What’s one more secret hookup to add to the book?
The truth is that despite how much I enjoy spending time with Trevel, and how unexpectedly fantastic it felt to come in my pants with him like a couple of horny teens, I still don’t reallyknowhim. I don’t know why he’s here, or what his connection is to The Ivory… The true nature of his disdain for Dr. Love. Those could very well be the things my friends were referencing.
But it doesn’t matter, because I do knowthem, and I don’t feel like their concerns were fully genuine. Maybe from Luthor… But definitely not Ren.
The things we’ve done together, all the ways Ren’s used me over the years…He deserves to feel bad. I hate to say it, but he needed that knife in his chest, plunged and twisted.
Still, that doesn’t make it hurt any less now that I have no idea where he is or what’s happening to him.
Eventually, after an extended amount of time and far too much stewing, I hear the door open at the end of the row. The stomping carries with it an immediate and unfamiliar voice.
“Attention inmates of Alabaster Pen!” a man shouts. I scramble up and over to the bars to peer out into the row. “This is an important announcement, so shut the fuck up and listen. You’ll want to pay attention, because I’m only gonna say this once!”
It’s one of the new guards. He’s slightly out of view, but I can just barely make him out. Large, brown-skinned, black hair, neck tattoos. I’m picking up a slight accent…Maybe Colombian, since that’s where The Ivory is from.
But the most distinguishing thing about his appearance is a uniform unmistakably different from the one Velle and his guards wear.
“Starting right the fuck now, we’re instituting a no-talking order for general population. This means that everysinglesecond spent outside of your cell should be done in absolute silence.”
Naturally, a bunch of people start barking back, arguing and cursing.
The guy roars, “That wasn’t an invitation to open your fucking mouths! The quiet game should start the moment myself or my colleagues enter this row! When you’re in the halls, showers, or the caf,you will not speak, you got me? That door opens, your mouths close! Anyone who disobeys will learn the hard way how serious we are.”
The row is quiet for a moment before someone—sounds like Simmons—calls out, “What about other noises…? Like laughing, or—”
“You shouldnotbe laughing,” the guy cuts him off with a stern glare aimed at Simmons’s cell. “I don’t know what the fuck could possibly be funny about this place, but laughter means you’re not miserable enough. And we’ll have to change that.” He pulls a billy club off of his holster and begins walking up and down the row, banging it against the wall. “Notalking.Nonoise. That meansnot a sound. You gotta shit your pants outside of your cell, you do it silently or your nasty ass will rot in the hole.Am I clear?!”
He stands still for a moment, as if he’s waiting for something. And of course, some idiot decides to say, “Yea, sure.”
The guard stomps over and whacks his billy club against the cell bars. The inmate—I think it was Fuller—wails in pain. I’m pretty sure the dude smashed his fingers.
God…
