Page 58 of Caged In

Izz lurches along as he’s half dragged towards the exit, the other inmates in the cafeteria are rushing out right alongside him. The trays and food are left behind on the tables—the large mess a calling card for the chaoticscramble back to their cells.

And there’s not a moment to spare—the barred cell door slamming shut behind Izz’s uncoordinated fall into his cell. He exhales a sharp hissing breath as his knees hit the hard cold floor.

~~~

A crushing anxiety is overwhelming him. His leg twitching and his foot nervously tapping. His elbows digging into his knees and his chin bouncing up and down like a wild animal in his palms.

To say he is freaking out is an understatement. He’s skirting the edges of a severe panic attack, a hair’s breadth away from losing it completely and falling off the edge. His mind racing over what could have happened.

The serial killer not showing up in the cafeteria . . .

The alarm going off . . .

Reni had mentioned something about the alarm meaning an inmate has been grievously injured or killed—

Is the serial killer dead . . . ?

~~~

They are released at the lunch bell. He’s sure it’s because the guards don’t want to feed the entire prison individually in their cells. The time locked up passing too fast and not fast enough for Izz to get his answers. He can’t remember if he talked to Reni during their forced lockdown. His mind is a muddled mess, his thoughts all over the place. Returning again and again to the same questions.

Who died?

Who was killed? And why?

Dread consumes his thoughts. Somehow he knows the unknown incident has something to do with him. He cannot shake the feeling of impending doom. He feels hollowed out as if he’s nothing but a shell—a pitifully weak and cowardly shell. His subconscious knows, he wishes it would do the decent thing and fill him in on the details. And not leave him hanging with no answers.

Izz trudges over to The Gang’s table, he’s not even going to pretend he’s hungry. He can’t stomach a morsel—his digestive tract churning and twisting.

As Izz takes a seat at the table, the first thing he hears is Erik speaking low, “. . . B-Wing was abuzz with chatter. That kitchen boss dude was killed, brutally too, his—”

Izz zones out of the morbid explanation Erik is about to go into, his concentrationdistracted by the male lowering himself into his usual place at the table in the far corner—

The male’s eyes lock right onto Izz’s. Like he was expecting Izz to look his way.

Izz tries to read the killer’s mind, scanning over the features he can make out in the shadows. Hoping something, some small tic, will tell him what he needs to know—

The serial killer—the one Reni had warned him to stay as far away from as possible—dips his chin slightly. His eyes locked on Izz . . .

His sinking heart plummets into a full-blown Atlantic Sea. His instincts had been warning him. Had known a horrendous crime was carried out.

It happened because of him . . .

The killer really did it. He killed Levis. . . for me . . .

How. . .

Oh God.

This can’t be happening.

Izz is responsible for a man’s death. It’s his fault—

No, it was Levis’s fault. That asshole never should have done the things he did. Never should have touched Izz when he told Levis that he wasn’t interested. And it was the killer who did the deed. Izz never asked, nor would he have ever asked.

This death is on the serial killer, not me—

“You have visitors, A-18910.”

---