Page 108 of Babalon

The inmates are letting him run rank for the AB. Now, here he sits, his nose turned up at me as if I am the lower life form.

“What do you want, Clark?”

“You, of course.”

“I’m not your type.”

“You’re right, I like ‘em compliant but there’s something about you that I can’t shake. You have gumption, drive, a fight, and a smart fucking mouth. You demand respect among the inmates, to where only the most deranged and unhinged would even dare come near you. It’s actually quite impressive and I want to break every last strong-willed notion in your body, then donate the pieces to my men.”

“I appreciate you pointing out my good qualities but I’m not up for negotiation.”

“Oh, but you are. See, when you started playing with good ol’ Kace, you put a target on your back. The girl he killed, the Governor's daughter? Well, he is a high ranking official in the KKK.”

He drags on the cigar he lit a few times, the cringy attempt to blow smoke rings taking up time that they didn’t have. The longer the prison was in emergency mode, the closer the state Correctional Emergency Response Team gets. He knows that, he has to, but still he stalls.

“What in the fuck does that have to do with me, Clark? I’m fucking an inmate and keeping your racists bitch boys high. I don’t see where that has any ill effect on you or the AB.”

“Curiosity killed the cat Nadia, but I am glad you asked.”

“I’m not that interested so I wasn’t going to but I’m tired of kneeling here.”

“An eye for an eye. Kace killed his daughter, so we’re going to kill you.”

Chapter thirty

Lucien

I’ve never been a fan of the red and blue lights; the red and white ones aren’t any better. I let Nadia go after the pit, hoping she would do the right thing and come back to me, where I can keep her safe, but that was foolish of me. When the lights and sirens started filling the open drains from solitary, I had to stay put as the officers down there raced up to address the problem.

I saunter over to the closest cell and grab the radio I stashed down here a day or so ago and turn it on. Speaking through the receiver specifically for Nadia to hear. When I pulled her against my chest, I turned the channel knob all the way until she no longer had access to the shared station. This disabled her chances to reach out to other officers, but also kept them from hearing me when I started taunting her through the airwaves.

Cutting her off from the help she was going to be in desperate need of.

This is just part of the game.

It’s like having a mouse caught in a maze of twists and turns. She can bite and claw her way to safety, but in the end, I am going to dangle the rat by her tail. Leave her hanging above a tank of starving snakes—snapping at her, ready to bite and coil around their prey; squeeze the air from her lungs until her little heart burst from the pressure.

I was her safest option, and she ran from me, right into the trap of men who have only been held back by the thinnest of strings, but now that thread is broken.

Once I figure the coast is clear, I casually head back up the old stairs to the still open door—the wall now closed. Smart girl, trying to slow me down, but either way I’m going to catch up with her and she will be with me whether she wants to be or not.

Damaged or whole, it doesn’t matter.

Back up on Darkwater’s ground level, I stroll down the hallway, heading over to gen pop, my head turns left and right as chaos ensues around me. Officers using everything they can get their hands on to ward off swarms of inmates; trash bins, chairs, their shields, everything. Inmates snapping and cackling like rabid wolves as they circle guards, sizing them up for the final pounce.

Plumes of carbon dioxide snow bellow from the fire extinguishers and hit inmates in the face to slow them down. Deployment of smoke bombs down the D Block hall doing little to nothing to keep the monsters from plowing through the wall of officers; knocking them over like a stacked deck of cards.

Screams echo from the administration hall, the supportive staff choking on their own pleading, a trail of guards litter the floor behind a pack of inmates who were now assaulting the desk clerk and using whatever they can to break through the bars that hold us all behind the innermost checkpoint.

No one is safe, and it fills my black heart with pride.

Dragging my fifth, sixth, seventh cigarette pack from my pocket—I don’t know anymore—I calmly place one between my lips and strike a match. At the center of gen pop, I turn in slow circles, watching every interaction with slow drags. Observing the ongoing violence around me with little to no emotion; like it’s not happening right in front of my eyes.

A normal person would be panicking, calling for the authorities to help defuse the situation—to stop the pointless bloodshed but I thrive off of this. This is what I came to Darkwater for. Total upheaval and the fall of man.

It’s beautiful—the blood, the agony, the smell of death wafting over the scent of burnt tobacco. I’m right at home.

I was right, I love it here.

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