Slammer

When he stood from his bed, he seemed no worse for the wear, which made me wonder why he was even there to begin with.

“You’re not very smart are you, Ms. Lyla?” He started toward the door as if he were just going to leave. There were no COs around him, and I knew without asking that he wasn’t supposed to be in the infirmary. “Trust me. X cares. He cares, and it’s eating him up inside.”

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re wrong. X doesn’t care about anything. Everyone knows he’s a monster.” The words burned the back of my tongue.

He’d saved me, and I knew in the back of my mind that he was far from being a monster, but he was in prison for murder. There was more bad than good inside him.

“You’re not very observant. Do you have any idea why X is in prison, Ms. Lyla?”

“Yes. He slaughtered two people. He’s a murderer.”

“Yep. He allegedly slaughtered two people with a kitchen knife. But there’s one common factor about everyday kitchen knives—they’re dull as shit. You’d have to be one strong son of bitch to cut through bone with one of those. I’ve seen pictures of X before he was put in prison. He might be a big motherfucker now, but back then, he wasn’t much bigger than minute. I find it hard to believe that he was able to cut off one body part, much less multiple off two people, with a dull kitchen knife. Look it up.”

I’d had my own experiences with dull knives in my kitchen. I could barely cut a piece of chicken, much less a body part. But then again, I wasn’t X. However, if what Scoop was saying was true, then maybe it was something to look into.

My dad worked for the police department for many years. Set-ups happened all the time. People were arrested for crimes they didn’t commit on a weekly basis. Who was to say that didn’t happen to Christopher as well? I’d had my own doubts about the man he was. I sat on the fence when it came to X, but I couldn’t deny the desire that swam in my stomach for him. Finding out he wasn’t the monster everyone thought he was would make me feel a lot better about that desire.

Scoop smiled at me from across the room and nodded. “You’re getting it. X isn’t the monster. He does what he has to do to survive.”

And then he was gone, leaving the room silent. For the first time since I started working there, I noticed I was completely alone inside the infirmary. How had that happened? How was Scoop able to get me alone without an officer present? Obviously, the little guy had more pull in the prison than I realized.

I spent the rest of the time at work trying to figure out how to get Christopher’s file. I needed to read over it. If Scoop was right, and I had a feeling he was, something was definitely wrong.

Had Christopher Jacobs been put in prison for a crime he didn’t commit?

I administered meds and went about work in a zombie-like state, my mind running over the details of everything I’d heard about X’s crimes.

Suddenly, the bars clinked open and the buzzer sounded as four COs came in carrying X’s limp body. They moved him through the room, struggling to carry his heavy weight, and then they laid him on the closest bed they could get to.

Running to his bedside, I began to examine him. “What happened?”

There had been no lockdown—no alarms or flashing lights.

“Don’t know. Reeves found him this way in his cell.”

Opening his eyes, I flashed a light in and his pupils didn’t change. Something was definitely wrong. Rushing to the phone, I plucked the receiver from the base and began dialing.

“Transport,” the usual gruff voice answered.

“I need an emergency transport STAT.”

Dr. Giles came in then, his white lab coat flying behind him as he moved with a quick stride. “What’s going on?”

I explained as he did his own examination.

Finally, transport showed up and began to load his large frame onto a stretcher. Going to his side, my fingers ached to touch his face.

Before they began to move him, his eyes popped open. I gasped as he took in my face, his eyes scanning me with worry etched deep into his brow.

“Lyla.” My name crept from his lips in a whispered struggle.

He tried to sit up before collapsing back onto the bed. I pressed my palms into his hot chest and forced him to stay down.

“Shhh. Just relax. You’re going to the hospital. Something’s wrong. Promise me you’ll behave and I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I whispered in a rush.

His eyes cleared before he nodded his understanding.

At that, he was gone, transport rushing him from the infirmary. I had the strangest feeling that they’d taken a tiny piece of me with them, leaving me feeling incomplete and awkward.