Page 16 of Shadowman
Shaking off the weird feelings bogging me down, I get redressed, then follow Joy back into the rec room. If the guys noticed us disappearing together for ten minutes, they know better than to comment on it. Especially in front of Joy.
I’m certain she’d give them a nice bonk with her billy club.
“Alright, maggots.” She claps her hands together, austerity shifted carefully back into place. “Time to go. Chop chop.”
I hang back just enough, lingering by the mats where I stashed the cellphone. Tugging it out quickly, I check the screen. It has full service down here, which is a minor miracle. Without another moment of thought, I stuff it back where it was, scurrying after the others. Keeping it hidden down here seems much safer than carrying it around with me or keeping it in my cell.
As we make the long-ass journey back up to general population, I get a shove in the side from my cellmate.
“Where’d yeh put it?” O’Malley asks. I lift a brow, and he gives me a look. “You know…” He holds his hand up to his face, making the international gesture for talking on the phone.
Eyes on Joy, I whisper, “I left it down there. Tucked between those old mats up against the back wall.”
He nods, but says nothing.
I’m not too worried about it. O’Malley’s a freaking nutjob, but he’s still one of my best friends in this place. I trust him.
That might be a loaded statement, but we’ll see how things play out.
My grandfather used to say,“Our secrets are just as significant a part of who we are as anything else. The role we allow them to play in our lives is entirely up to us.”
I always found that interesting.
From a young age, we’re taught not to keep secrets. That it’s harmful and hurtful, and that keeping a secret is essentially holding on to our inner shame. But as I got older—the more truths I began to keep to myself—the more I discovered that secrets don’t automatically equal guilt. At least, they don’thaveto.
Everyonekeeps secrets. If you say you don’t, you’re a liar. Not a single one of us has shared every single aspect of our lives with someone else.Think about it. There have to be at least one or two things you’ve never told anyone before.
Why be ashamed of that? It’s our right as human beings to keep things to ourselves. Whether it’s a thought, or something you did, or something about yourself you choose not to divulge…
Imagine how crazy it would be if our minds were on permanent display, like an episode ofBlack Mirror. It would be a violation of our inherent privacy.
Not to mention,secretdoesn’t have to mean something onlyyouknow. Sometimes you can come together with your fellow man to keep a secret from someone else. Might sound fucked up, but in a way, it’s a form of bonding.
Remember,I Know What You Did Last Summer?
Sorta like that.
That’sthe kind of secret thatQuiet Nightis.
Quiet Nightwas the name given to a weekly meeting of guards and prisoners in the basement rec room. Long story short, it’s like a cockfight, only with prisoners. Organized by a few of the guards and kept heavily hidden from everyone else on the island.
Sounds like a secret society within an already mystery-shrouded prison, right?Sort of… Except that we’re not equal, because the guards oversee it and they place bets, make money, and threaten to kill us if we ever tell anyone.Like a more intense version ofFight Club.
The inmates who fight get a say in whether we want to participate, but let’s not act like saying no, backing out, or giving off even the slightest whiff of judgement won’t put a giant bullseye on your back. Still, for the most part, usNight Fightersagree to do it because we’re bored, angry, and we enjoy the act of both fucking people up and getting fucked up in return.
O’Malley and I are part of it, though I only choose to go down every so often.When I need it.O’Malley, on the other hand, would be down thereeverydamn night if he could.
The dude loves fighting, and not in the sameprofessionalway that I do. Never in my life have I seen someone take on dudes three times his size, and get his ass beat with such masochistic glee…He’s like a schizophrenic Chihuahua.
It’s actually pretty alarming.But then I like to fight, myself, so who am I to say anything?
Yes, O’Malley has more issues thanTimemagazine, andyes, he should probably be on serious medication and constant surveillance from some kind of medical professional. But in Alabaster Penitentiary, things like that don’t matter. His obvious problems aren’t seen as a liability, but rather something to exploit for personal gain.
That might be the one trulyhonestthing about this place… We’re all fucked the hell up. At least in here, we’re celebrated for our issues, rather than condemned for them.
Unless, of course, we’re talking about the East Wing. But that’s a whole other side to this sentence I don’t want to think about right now.
A select few of the guards got together and startedQuiet Night.It’s never been confirmed, but if I were to guess, I’d say they call it that because when we’re down in the basement, pummeling each other in the face, Gen-pop gets much quieter. That and the guards use it as acode phraseof sorts to let us know when it’s on.
