Fade to Black

A reaction to a kiss-off

Fade to Black

by

William W. Wraith

 

Walking dead men are fearless creatures, as they have nothing left to lose.

      That's why Leonard Larson marched toward his cell with the gait of a prideful Napoleon, worried not one bit whether the guard at his back would discover the contraband concealed in his pocket.  The cell loomed up at the end of the long gloomy hall.  Leonard walked through the iron door, solid but for the peephole, and for once did not cringe as it clanged shut behind him.  Cringing was a sign of fear, an emotion he no longer needed.

      Nails wasn't yet back from work detail.  Good.  Leonard would have time to think, to consider his life without that noise-loving fiend around to drive him loony with his constant music and videos.  Leonard had tried to sue his cellmate and the prison, but the days were gone when consideration for prisoners' health concerned anyone on the outside.  Such a suit had forced tobacco smoke out of prison cells, but he heard tell electronic noise pollution was still a constant, even in doctors' waiting rooms.

      Goddamn, people were irritating!  Well, Leonard was through with them now.  If he were quick about it, he'd never again have to lay eyes on Nails or anyone else.

      He sat on his bunk one side of the cell, pulled out from his pocket the small water bottle he'd filled with bleach this morning down at the laundry room where he worked.  He was not ready for it yet.  As he concealed it beneath his bunk, he saw Lizzie's letter still where he'd thrown it, a crumpled ball on the cold cement floor, and the sight of it made his stomach churn with anger.

      Lizzie was the reason Leonard had occupied this stinking hole these past seven years.  He'd been a lonely, introverted Eye, Nose and Throat specialist when one night she'd let him pick her up in a bar.  The bartender had called her a "slitch," but Leonard was not convinced.  From then on, he'd wanted her more than anything else the world had ever offered him.  He vowed to her repeatedly, "I'll do anything for you."  Then the day came when she called in that promise.

      Leonard had arrived expecting dinner.  He let himself in when she didn't answer the door, and there she sat on her kitchen floor, next to the corpse of a man he'd never seen.  Its head had laid bloodied, eyes rolled back in its skull.  She had sent him to hell with anger and a rolling pin, and now, frantic, she pleaded for Leonard's help.

      In his hunger to possess her, Leonard told her everything would be fine.  He knew she would have to pay him back for such an unprecedented favor, even if she didn't really love him.

      He cleaned up the whole mess for her.  He placed the body in the bathtub.  He scrubbed the kitchen floor.  Then he drove to his house, dumping the rolling pin along the way, and picked up some proper tools.  He cut that body into eight big parts and bagged up the thousand other little parts that had separated from the gooey chaos.  He upchucked several times.  He drove for miles before discarding Lizzie's hazardous waste in a dumpster.  Oh, there was nothing Leonard wouldn't have done for Lizzie's love, and surely he had proven that to her now.

      When time came for the investigation, all the evidence pointed to Leonard.  Lizzie told him if he took the fall, she would wait for him, no matter how long.  Since winning her heart was life's only ambition, he confessed to the crime and voiced heartfelt contrition before the court.

      At first, Lizzie had come to the prison every month.  Then she moved out of town to get a job; that was completely understandable.  She wrote him often.  In the fullness of time, the interval between letters grew.

      Finally, there came the letter now crumpled on the floor.  The one that asked his forgiveness, that informed him she was getting married; that she had never loved him, that she only stayed in touch with him because she feared he would expose her for her crime.  She had to get on with her life, she said.  He would not hear from her again.

      A tear came to his eye.  He hadn't imagined that dead men still could cry.

      Well, a last tear deserved a last high.  Leonard stood on his bunk and took down from a hole in the wall a little plastic bag he had ignored for months.  He hadn't had a hit since his last cellmate, Huxley, had been released the year before.  Within it was a tenth of a joint, still in its paper, and an old book with two matches left.  He hoped they still worked.  He sat on the bunk, lit a match, but only burnt his fingers.  The roach was far too small to light while holding it.  He thought and thought what in the cell he might use for a roach clip.  He had nothing.

      Then he looked over at Nails' stuff and the answer came.  He opened Nails' crayons, thought which he would likely use least.  For Leonard had always been a goodhearted man; was compassionate even where Nails was concerned.

      Purple.  Nobody had a use for purple.  He carefully set the box back as it had been.  He sat on his bunk and broke the crayon in halves, which he used like chopsticks to hold the tiny roach.  He lit it, got one sweet puff before whatever atoms of THC were left dropped to the cell floor, like dead flowers rejoining the earth from which they'd grown.  Buzz caught, Leonard tossed the seared pieces of crayon toward the commode and missed.

      Just then, the door clanged open and shut and there stood Nails, back from his day on the rock pile.  He didn't talk to Leonard since the lawsuit.  He walked right over to the stereo and put on a piece of that Country caterwauling that drove Leonard nuts.  Leonard would have jumped up and thrown the disk player across the cell.  But in this crazy society that had TV even at the bedsides in emergency wards, every prison cell was now equipped with every kind of noisemaker, built right into the cement walls behind unbreakable Plexiglas.

      Which was one reason Leonard no longer feared the sin of suicide, though his mama raised him Christian.  He figured he was already in hell, so the threat God might send him there was greatly diminished.

      Leonard looked at Nails, sitting on his bunk, foot tapping to the country stomp, coloring in his book.  Some prisoners did crossword puzzles, some read history.  Nails was illiterate, so when it came to paper and ink he had only two loves:  looking at the illustrations in his favorite comic books, and coloring in books featuring his favorite action heroes.

      Now Nails dumped all his crayons out onto the bed, looked them over again and again.  "Damn, I used purple yesterday."  He turned a foul eye on Leonard.  Leonard pointed near the toilet.  Nails got up, saw the broken crayon and picked it up.  "Why, you b*****d."  He turned to the wall, tuned to the DVD, hit "play" and turned the volume up full.  There on the wall in high definition color stood Black Sabbath in all their glory, blasting Paranoid.  Nails returned to his bunk and lay broadly smiling at Leonard.  The noise was always his revenge.

      Nails couldn't have known this was one of Leonard's all-time favorite songs.  Leonard sat thinking that now would be the perfect time.  But the method….  He wanted to go out to this song, but not swigging bleach.  Why, what if it didn't kill him?  And Nails would surely alert the guards.  Then they'd put Leonard in solitary for who knew how long.  No.  The suffering could not go on.  Nails would have to be involved.  And why not have a little fun at the end of life.

      No, he would not have use for the bleach today.

      Leonard stood and in two strides ejected the DVD.  Nails protested loudly.  Leonard took the DVD in both hands and with all his strength bent it until it burst in two.  Shards flew everywhere and one of the halves cut Leonard's hand.  Leonard ignored Nails and looked at the oozing blood.  Oh, it was nothing compared with the blood the day he scraped that dude up off Lizzie's floor.  Nails took aim and punched Leonard in the jaw, but Leonard hardly felt it.  He looked at the jagged edge of the DVD in his hand.  Then he thought of his training in the Throat business.  He visualized the exact location of the carotid artery in his neck.

      Leonard swung the jagged DVD in an upward arc so that Nails jumped back away from him.  But Nails was never in danger.  The DVD sliced deep into Leonard's neck and he thrilled as the blood spurted out onto the wall with the force of a busted fire hydrant.  He fell forward flat on his face.  They would never be in time to save him, though Nails had already begun banging on the iron door, shouting for the guards.

      Then Leonard's eye fell on Lizzie's crumpled letter.  There it was, not six inches away.  A horrible thought for the first time crossed his mind.  The letter would convict her.

      Sure, she had spurned him.  If ever there was a "slitch"….  But he could not bear his last act ruining the only person to whom he had dedicated himself.  Thoughts of rejoining her had kept him alive in his misery.  Even now, thoughts of her were literally consuming him.

      He dragged the enormous weight of his hand up, though his strength was ebbing onto the floor with every beat of his slowing heart.  He picked up the paper ball and put it in his mouth.  They wouldn't waste an autopsy on him.  If only he could swallow it.

      If only….

 

Reviews

[Tessa]

Wow, liked this alot. You conveyed the prison mentality well, and the actions of the main character were justified, "Walking dead men are fearless creatures, as they have nothing left to lose." Great ending too, it was unexpected. Could find nothing to critique here. This was engaging and professional. :)

[Nick Anthony]

Bill,

What can I say, this really blew me away. The few passive passages worked very well with the style and to tell the truth...when your into the story like I was, they are not even noticeable unless I go back.

The only part I wondered about is the fact that he is on death row, has a daytime job in the laundry and a cellmate. From everything I have read, Prisoners on deathrow, have not cell mates, get 1 hr a day out of their cells, and do not perform any jobs in the prison what so every. But hay...the ways its told is acceptable.

As to expanding this...unless you really want to, I think the whole story is here, brief but told in full detail, so what is left to tell except maybe his previous life before the slitch.

Well done Bill, well done.
Nick.

[Zuri Amma]

This absolutely fantastic. I loved what you did with the items, and the story itself is engaging and darkly moving.

Did you actually submit this for something? If so, how did you fare?

There are instances of telling, though again this works with your style, I feel. One sentance that I wasn't sure about was...

and he thrilled as the blood spurted out

..didn't seem to make sense.

Fantastic short story.

Scribble

[The Last Wayward Son]

This reminds me of my favorite film of all time: The Shawshank Redemption. You were right in thinking I would enjoy this... I'm hoping to see a few chapters dedicated to this sometime soon. It'd be a shame not to, after all. But, as far as this goes, I'm impressed, if it matters. Unrequited love and dagger betrayal; normally an overused marriage, but with the added bonus of the whole murder/prison idea, this one finds a place in my favorites list. Again, I can't tell you how much I liked this....

-Alex B

[Richard McLin]

I love this piece. It has a cool title that draws you in, and once you start reading it you can't stop and it draws you in. This is what cool writing is all about. Great job man.

[Leah D]

Way cool, Bill.
I really mean it. Even if I could shake myself loose enough to try this, I could never do such a great job -- not nearly.
One thing -- it's the damn English teacher in me -- you need "lay" where you use "laid."
Leah