Page 56 of Caged In

Izz feels small. Shrink-wrapped into a tiny helpless form. He’s shorter and skinnier than the killer, physically weaker. His fighting skills are questionable. He wouldn’t stand a chance going toe to toe with the male. His entire body is insignificantly powerless.

“Ahhhh,” Izz can’t think of a single word to say in his defence—he’s unsure why he needs a defence . . .

I can’t think with his gaze on me.

UnconsciouslyIzz’s eyes flick over to Levis on the other side of the room—who is still glaring daggers at him. Seething on the far side of the tiled expanse. It’s a briskflick of the eyes to and from. Yet it’s enough for the killer to catch it and know his meaning. The air changing aroundIzz, stirring, constricting, cooling. As if the killer’s anger is manifesting itself so intensely the air is affected by it—

A cold deathly growl rumbles over to Izz, as the killer faces the wall, “he won’t bother you ever again.”

Despite his instincts going haywire,Izz finds himself relaxing at the statement. He’s not sure he should. But his instincts areinforming him this male is trustworthy. Half his instincts are screaming and flashing warnings at how dangerous the killer is, but at the same time, the other half are relaxing and fighting the agitated fear receptors. Trying to tell his mind to ‘calm down, there’s nothing to fear’.

So which half of his instincts does he trust? Which halfcanhe trust?

Izz’s aware that he’s probably delusional. But screw it. He’ll keep his delusions. Better than acknowledging the thought wedged in the back of his mind that this serial killer has attached himself to Izz to make him the next victim—

A flash of red at the small of the killer’s back draws his eyes. The tattoo inked in smooth skin has a word written in red ink, but it’s on a sharp angle and all he can read is the ending O US . . . What does it spell? The middle of the word is consumed in a large blood splatter. The red letters running through the blood-ink puddle fade into open skin, so you can see the writing through the blood. A finger drawn through wet blood in a killer’s written message—

Izz curses himself for falling for a predator’s charms. Smacking the shower off he storms out of the room. He keeps his eyes locked on the exit and doesn’t turn back to look at anyone. He prays no one follows him out. He wants to dress and get back to his cell to process what just happened before his mind spirals out of control.

~~~

Izz’s too antsy to think straight. This stuff he’s been gifted . . . it’s from a serial killer. A serial killer, who for some unknown reason, has formed a kind of attachment to him—

Scratch that, if Izz thought about it, he can think of the reason why—

He doesn’t want to end up the next victim, so he’s refusing to give voice to those assumptions. Leaving them to rot and fester in the back of his mind.

He decides his nerves will be soothed by a sugar binge. A sugar rush will fill his belly and take his mind far away from his anxiety. Chocolate helps with anxiety—he read it somewhere, at least he thinks he did.

Kneeling on the floor at the head of his bunk,he sifts through the large selection of snacks in his cupboard. Throwing the chocolate bars and pop tarts and a bag of potato chips onto his bunk. He’ll have a party—a party of one—to ease his nerves.

He’s sitting on his bunk—pale as a sheet—in a nest of food wrappers—when Reni arrives close to the time the lunch bellis scheduled to ring. His cellmate must be here to collect him for lunch. From the look on Reni’s face, Izz’s inner turmoil and worries are written all over him.

“You okay, man?” Reni approaches, frowning as he sits on his own bed, directly in front of Izz. “You don’t look too good. You need me to get a nurse? Or something?”

He isn’t sure how to respond. Is he okay? He’s not sure . . . Yes? . . . No? . . . Quite possibly . . . ? Not in the slightest . . . ?

Perhaps it will be better not to answer. He casts his eyes down to the wrapper mess surrounding his legs. His cellmate doesn’t deserve to be lied to, or ignored. Reni deserves to be told the truth. It’s the least Izz owes him for everything his friend has done for him.

“. . . I . . . I f-found out who the g-gifts are coming from.” Is that really his voice? He sounds timid and weak. Sounds utterly unlike his usual self. He sounds . . . vulnerable.

Reni remains silent, his gaze boring into Izz. Waiting for information. For an answer. An acknowledgement to the enquiry. Or for Izz to faint. To pass out cold.

His friend always knows what he needs. Senses where Izz’s heads at. Why did he have to meet Reni in here? He could have done with this type of friendship on the outside. Maybe thenhe wouldn’t be locked in this cage. Rotting away with criminals who enjoy tormenting him.

“. . . I . . .” Izz curses, clearing his throat. He manhandles his fear to the side, pushing through it to let his words out, “I should have listened to you. What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to pay him back? I have no money. I can’t give it back. And he—he—” Izz breaks off, running out of steam. Dropping his head into his palms, he tightens his muscles, trying to quell the urge to shake.

Why does your body shake when you’re scared? He’s sure there’s some sort of scientific mumbo-jumboto explain it—

“What’s he want.” Not a question. Reni already assuming he knows the answer.

“I don’t know. I don’t . . .” Izz trails off. Taking a deep breath to steady himself for what he has to say next. He knows he has to tell Reni everything. How else will his friend be able to help him if he doesn’t know everything . . .

Biting back a sob, Izz slowly lets the story pass his lips. His dry throat is having a hard time allowingthe words to come out clearly. He starts from the beginning. The creepy server guy. What the server demanded. What the creep tried to do. To the moment when Levis walked into the showers and turned away. The serial killer materialising out of nowhere right beside him. To the killer informingIzz that he was the one who left the gifts. Left the gifts for Izz to enjoy, no strings attached.

Reni remainsquiet throughout the whole story, nodding slowlyin places. But other thanthat, his friend keeps silent—eyes wide and unblinking, listening intently.

A lifetime passes after Izz finishes his story. A lifetime filled with him stressing over how his friend will react. If his friend will abandon him. Or turn on him like David, saying that he is the problem and David was rightall along. Or worse, go after the serial killer, like the last time Izz was in trouble. Only this fight wouldn’t end with his friend in The Hole . . .

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