Page 89 of Shadowman
“Trevel…” He pouts, tone patronizing. It’s turning my stomach. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.”
“Why not??” I bark. “You said it yourself; I didn’t do whatever it is you thought I’d done. It was all a misunderstanding!”
“Yes, that’s true…”
“So thenwhycan’t I be set free??”
“Well, even if you hadn’t already seen much of our setup here…” he begins with the excuses, but I cut him off.
“I won’t tell anyone, I swear—”
“It’s a liability I’m not willing to take on.” He shuts me down firmly. “This island is kept secret from the general public for good reason. I can’t simply let peopleleave…” His eyes grow menacing and he mutters, “I’m dealing with the repercussions of too much of that as it is.”
“Who would listen to me, anyway??” I keep trying, scooting in closer to get my point across. “You clearly know about my life, my history.”
His gaze narrows, as if maybe I’m getting through to him.
“I’m a degenerate! I’m telling you;no onecares about me.”
“Trevel, don’t be silly.” He leans in, putting us nose to nose. “Icare about you.” Closing my eyes, I breathe out of defeat. “You’re right, I looked into you quite a bit. And you know what I found? A fighter. Asurvivor. Someone who doesn’t take the evil of the world lying down. I respect that.” I blink as his head tilts. “In fact, you remind me of someone…”
“So you’re not letting me go…?” I mumble.
He shakes his head, grinning wickedly.
Fantastic. So I don’t belong here, but I can’t leave.
“When you come across an unexpected gift, you don’t simply let it scamper off into the night. You keep it close. Youtreasureit.” His face is illuminated with sinister sweetness; a praising malfeasance that has every hair on my body standing on end. “Andyouare simply too special to let go.” He smirks, and I flinch when he reaches up to brush his fingers through my hair. “I have plans for you, Trevel Fenwick. My shiny… new… toy.”
Getting a proper grasp of how I’m feeling is proving difficult.
By all accounts, I’m fucking fuming. I don’t want to be here. Ishouldn’tbe here. The Warden flat-out admitted that I didn’t need to be locked up in this shabbiest of shabby prisons, miles and miles outside of civilization, but that he’s decided to keep me here for his own personal gain. Not that I even understand what he wants from me, but I can already tell he’s not the mosttransparentof individuals.
I can’t help but wonder if maybe I’m not alone… If there are others like me, whoaren’tthe worst criminals ever, rather poor blokes who wound up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Nonetheless, my mood has flat-lined, and it could be due to the all-time-low dopamine levels. But I’m choosing to believe it’s more the fault of The Ivory… and hispal, Dr. Love.
As far as I’m concerned, they’re both responsible for my current predicament. Though, if we’re being candid, I blame Dr. Lovewaymore.
Manuel Blanco is just a sociopathic monster. But Dr. Loveisn’t. He’s a regular person, adoctor; a professional caregiver. And yet he threw me right underneath the bus without a second thought.
That, as far as I’m concerned, is inexcusable.
Despite the unhinged sense of betrayal I’m feeling, thanks to my former psychiatrist, I can’t deny that being here isn’t all that different from some of the other places I’ve existed—a sad notion in its own right. Of course, the setting itself is more rundown than even the worst fleabag motel I’ve squatted in. But I’m not exactlypicky, nor have I ever been in a position to turn down four walls and a roof.
There’s freedom that comes with giving up. Wearing all of those masks Dr. Love convinced me to wear was exhausting. Working menial jobs for practically nothing, stressing myself just to pay the bills—to afford a studio apartment that was barely bigger than this bloody cell.
Fighting to deny my urges and be agood guy…It was a lot of work.
Letting go and just beingme, degenerate or not, has rid me of that heavy burden. And now I’m just… breathing.
Manuel Blanco gave me my own cell in general population, a few halls down from the others, meaning it’s a bit more secluded. It’s still a prison cell, so it’s boring as all get out, but the bed is actually more comfortable than the cot I was sleeping on in Bangkok. So… that’s something.
One thing they haven’t relayed yet is whether there’s any sort ofcommissary, though I’m assuming there isn’t, based on the state of this place. For as loud as it can be at times, it still seems like there’s barely anyone here. They don’t appear to have an office, or much staff. Just the guards. Which, once again, has me wondering… Whatexactlydoes Dr. Love do here that’s so enthralling?
For my first official day in general population, I can’t stop moving. My body is still achy and tired, but when I try to lie down, my limbs are too restless. I have to get up and move. I wind up pacing the entire circumference of my cell dozens oftimes while singing miscellaneous songs. Anything to distract from the boredom and my brain’s beckoning pleas for narcotics.
Just as I’m launching into my tenth straight rendition ofGod Save The Queen, I hear footsteps. The excitement is instant because I haven’t interacted with another person since a guard whose name tag readPetersdropped off some food for me last night. I sayfood, but really it was a bottle of water and four of those little packets of soup crackers, sans soup.
