20: “Please. For me.” “…okay. For you.”
Bobby waited, arms crossed as the door opened, and a pair of guards went in. they emerged a few minutes later, one on each side of the Prosecutor, each gripping an arm. heavy chains were set around his wrists and a set around his ankles as well. After three days in solitary, the man looked positively demented. His hair was no longer tied back, flying out in all directions, and his grey eyes, usually clear and bright, glaring out from the shadows cast by his bangs, stared straight forward, focused on….Bobby couldn’t tell what. The ever-present shadows under his eyes were larger and darker then ever. The guard on Blackquill’s right nodded to Bobby, who returned it, and fell into step beside them, as they headed down the hallway.
Once they reached Blackquill’s regular cell, the cuffs were removed, and he was more or less shoved inside, the door clanging shut behind him. Bobby watched him though the bars as the guards moved on, to some other inmate, some other task. Blackquill said nothing, staying more or less where he had stumbled when pushed. It was only after several minutes that Bobby broke the silence.
“Why did you do it?”
The other man did not answer, but he did finally move, sinking onto his cot, and staring once more, past Fulbright, past the stone walls, past everything. Bobby hated it, he wished Blackquill would just close his eyes, or move his gaze, or something-but he had to know. He had to know why. they had been doing so well…..
“Sir. Why did you attack a guard? you were doing so well, I really thought we were making progress-”
-He cut off when Blackquill started to laugh. a single, mono-syllabic “Heh.” followed, a moment later by a second one, then a third. Bobby frowned, and found himself holding his sleeves tighter.
“it’s not funny.”
“Come now,” The Inmate’s eyes finally focused on Bobby, and he found himself wishing they hadn’t, “Asking a prisoner why they bite the hand that beats them? You know the answer to that, surely.”
“No! No I don’t! Sir, please, rehabilitation don’t involve-”
“I’m in no mood to argue with a figment. Move on, move on, I’ve other fake beings to see.”
“w-what?”
“Do you believe yourself the only man who appears to me? the only being who haunts my subconscious? Nay, though the lack of blood is pleasant at least. a whole figment, for a change.” His eyes moved past Bobby again, and the awful, crooked grin that had formed disappeared, his brow furrowing. “it’s too soon for someone real.”
Did….Did he not think bobby was real? Suddenly Bobby’s uneasiness was replaced with-well, joined by-concern.
“what..what do you mean by that?”
“It’s too soon. No one visits directly after solitary. I won’t see anyone real until mess….or time in the yard. I wonder which is next….”
“Won’t you see the guards?”
“Oh, yes, how silly of me to overlook my escort who shoved me in a cell and walked away. Bloody hell, you’re daft today.”
“Today? Do I appear to you on other days?”
“Not usually. Come now, cease the questions. If you ARE real, tell me something I wouldn’t know.”
“like what?”
“Mm….Tell me of..Tell me of the outside world. What are the lawyers doing? the judges? the little ladies who need to cross the street?”
“I’m….not sure…”
“Please. For me.”
“….okay. Okay, I’ll tell you.”
And that is how Bobby Fulbright spent the last few hours of his day, regaling Simon Blackquill of tales of the free world, with all its mundane normalcy, While Blackquill, eyes half closed, listened to every word.
I hope you enjoyed! I had fun writing it. I don’t have a lot of practice writing scenes that take place in the prison, so I hope I did alright. Thank you again to @gigimirasol for sending an ask! I still owe you one more prompt!
