Chapter 2 Part 2

1963

 

Shadow sensed something in the air, he hadn’t known what it was as he sat in his cell, people just walking by, not casting him a glance as they went about feeding the others in confinement. There were nights, or Shadow was sure they were nights, where he could hear them screaming, yelling in distress. That’s what solitary confinement did to a person, right? Drove you mad, no one to talk to but yourself, but you don’t want to talk to yourself because what if people are listening? They’ll call you mad. That’s why they all kept quiet, and then they would wake up the rest of the block with their screams. Shadow sometimes talked himself hoarse from muttering under his breath, it was one of the only things he could do to himself to stop him from ending up like the rest. Some days when he thought he heard a pair of footsteps walking down the isle, he would mutter, “Water, please?” and the footsteps would continue, as if Shadow had never been heard. Sometimes a person would do him a favor, and a bottle of water would skid through the slit at the bottom of the door. Sometimes it would be an empty water bottle.

Welcome to Alcatraz Island, Shadow thought to himself as people around him stirred. Home of celebrities of every shape of reputation. Al Capone slept in this bed, yes he did and he enjoyed the place so much that he vacationed here while he ran his business all the away in Chicago! Talk about connections there eh? Then we of course have the Birdman, yup crazy old Birdman. Still talks to his pigeons and the seagulls sometimes. Wait for it, the golden plate though? Jason Rowan Parker! Leader of infamous Group 87!

            “Shut up in there Parker.” A gruff voice barked from outside, and Shadow sat there in bed for a minute thinking, did I say all that out loud?

 

The operation was going smoothly; it had been gradual at first, the liquidation of the prison. It was going to close down, and the prisoners could sense it. After the slip last year, what were the odds it could happen again? Warden Jenkins took no chances, so the inmates started moving, transferring to different prisons all over the country.

            “Are all of the inmates in confinement out?” Jenkins asked, watching boats and ferries sail for Fisherman’s Wharf, which was lined with vans and cop cars of all colors with shiny license plates from everywhere from Maine to Southern California.

            “Yes sir, but there’s one question we have,”

            “What is it? This place has to close we don’t have time!”

            “We didn’t make an arrangement for Shadow.” The guard’s voice dropped several levels, and the way he spoke made Jenkins think that Shadow was listening to their very words. He didn’t see why, by he whispered back, “I thought about this, and I have a conclusion, we’ll put him in the vaults under the island. Just leave him there.”

            “But sir…!”

            “We can tell them that Shadow is dead, something. We’ll put him in a restricted area, we’ll tell the landlord that the place down there is too dangerous for renovations, it’ll make the whole island crash, and no one will ever know about Shadow! It’s as easy as that!”

The guard’s eyes widened as the Warden’s enthusiasm mounted rapidly. He looked like he was out of his mind the way his eyes widened and his voice rose from a whisper. Then the man ceased and looked at the guard as if awaiting some sign of approval.

            “Yes sir, very smart indeed…”

            “Then get on with it!”

 

 

 

 

1999

 

The house was just what Denise Parker had hoped it was. Average everything; an average lawn, with average garage, accompanied with average rooms, even an average ceiling on an average street. Cicero would have wanted to be there to see the house, but he wasn’t there. He was gone, hiding from things he wouldn’t say. She could only trust him, he asked her if she wanted to explore for a while, get an annulment, because he didn’t know if he would come back. She told him she was always going to stay true. She kept that promise, but she didn’t know if he did. There were sometimes at night when Denise sat in bed and wondered if he was playing mattress leap frog, then she told herself, “Denise, Cicero loves you!” and she would hug her pillow. She told herself she couldn’t do that last night, she woke up that day and thought out loud, “Okay, Jessica has her fieldtrip today. Right, gotta get up.” Denise pulled herself together and from under the covers. The sun was just starting to rise on a cloudy dawn, and the eggs were already on the stove as Denise walked over to her daughter’s room, which was probably hoarding illegal immigrants under the mess.

            “Jessica, are you awake?” Denise’s voice might have been muffled inside the room that stood before her, so she knocked loudly for good measure. There were subtle signs of life on the other side of the door, so Denise persisted.

Jessica took after her dad, she could have slept through a World War two bombing had she been alive then. She also didn’t like to wake up from her slumber for anything, especially if it was a school day. Then again, who did?

Today was a special school day though; it was a fieldtrip to Alcatraz Island. When Denise finally dared to open the door, she saw Jessica Eden Parker standing center stage of a shockingly pristine bedroom. She was fully dressed, but her eyes were drooping. She looked like she was fighting off a hangover. The hangover was winning. Dark circles like wet teabags sagged down under her eyes and her mouth dripped like a basset hound.

            “Still sleepy?” Denise teased and wiped yellow nuggets from the corners of Jessica’s stunning jaded blue eyes. According to Cicero they belonged to Jessica’s grandfather, or his brother.

Jessica’s reply was a groggy nod, her wheat colored hair moving with her head’s motions.

            “I had the dream again Mom,” Jessica announced and Denise gave a heavy mental sigh.

Ever since they moved to San Francisco from tiny no-name Clement Falls, Jessica was having dreams of walking down hallways and staircases. At the end of the dreams, according to Jessica, she found a man behind a locked door.

            “This time the dream seemed more life like, and the man said something, but I couldn’t hear very well.” Jessica only paused in her story to eat the served breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast.

Denise watched as her daughter’s face contorted in hard concentration. It looked like the dream was draining from her memory.

            “I think he was asking me for help. He sounded creepy, crazy, like he had been down there for a long time.” Jessica tried to recall any memory, no matter how wispy it was. The dream was gone though, and it distraught Denise that she couldn’t help her daughter. She had to go and find a counselor for Jessica.