Chapter 4
Gatsby
“Is it itchy?” Chip looked up from his card game with Scott to stare at my mask curiously. “That would drive me insane.”
Scott turned and eyed me up and down. “So this is the most popular inmate this prison’s ever seen. This is what has all the girls mailing you their panties?”
I took their comments with gritted teeth, saying nothing. Instead, I admired the blue sky and the lazy clouds. Even though my full face wasn’t exposed, it felt good to feel the fresh air on my skin. It’d been a long time.
“Girls love a bad boy with pretty eyes.” Chip laughed. “Come, sit and play cards,” he offered.
I scanned the table. I only had an hour of yard time.
“He’s too good for us.” Scott snickered. “Or are we just not cool enough?”
I glanced back at the guards watching me like hawks. I’d just earned the privilege to be around other prisoners; I couldn’t get it taken away this quickly.
Chip and Scott cackled. I stepped away from the table. I looked around the yard full of death row inmates. All of them had no cuffs. I was the only one with my wrists, ankles, and face shackled. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t take my mask off because of the padlock on the back.
Ignoring them, I walked over to a pair playing chess. I sat down and watched them silently. They were older men, presumably in their forties. I’d seen them walking past my cell before. They only glanced at me before continuing their game.
“You’re new.” The man on the left addressed me. He wore glasses and his graying brown hair was cut in a straight line. When I nodded, he hedged, “What’s your name?”
I licked my dry lips under my mask. The look on both men’s faces told me they knew but were giving me the chance to speak. “Dumas.”
“Well, Dumas, I am Hargenson. This is Cunningham.” He nodded to the Black man with tattoos on his neck. They were roses, mixed with some small script I couldn’t read from where I sat. I wanted to move closer, but given my reputation, I didn’t want to startle him.
“What did you do before you joined Row? Your job,” Cunningham asked.
I shrugged. “Nothing. I was arrested at eighteen.”
They shared a look and shook their heads.
“Well, I was a violinist for the San Francisco Symphony,” Cunningham told me. His face didn’t change as he moved his rook.
“I was a luxury architect. Shame you didn’t even get a chance to do something.” Hargenson shook his head. “I had a fun time back in the nineties.”
Cunningham chuckled. “Me too. A little too much fun.”
For the rest of our hour, I listened to their stories of the rich and famous. The women they fucked, the men they drank with. Celebrities of all types, foods and places I could only imagine experiencing. I took it all in, growing more and more invested in their lives before their crimes.
“What about you? Did you have anything you wanted to do before you... did what you did?” Cunningham asked.
“I want to be a tattoo artist,” I answered, my face growing warm underneath my mask. I bit back the urge to add that just because I was convicted didn’t mean I was guilty. Everyone said that here.
“Tattoos? You like to draw then? Well, I guess you’re in a good place for that,” Cunningham muttered.
“Why did you choose to sit with us, rather than people who’d be more interested in your passion for art?” Hargenson asked, moving a pawn.
“Because I don’t want to be like them.”
They both turned their heads curiously.
“And you want to be like us?” Cunningham laughed.
“You walk different. You talk different. I don’t want to be just another number. You’re educated. I want to sound like you sound.”
“And for what reason?” Hargenson turned to face me. “You are one of the most dangerous inmates. We’ve heard about what you did to that woman. I don’t think any type of education can fix that.”
Because I’m getting out of here one day.
A loud bell went off through the speakers, indicating that our hour was up. Groans came from around the yard as everyone started to form a line to return back to their cells.
“Well, it was good talking to you, Dumas. You’re welcome to come back tomorrow, if they let you.” Cunningham nodded.
“I will. Thank you, sir,” I said politely.
I was taken back to my cell, where my cuffs and mask were removed, and I was able to relax in my bed. I pulled out my sketchbook and continued the drawing of Daisy that I’d been working on since the day I heard of her engagement.
A few hours later, the guards came by with dinner.
“Whatcha drawing—your next meal, Emile?” He cackled.
I ignored him and waited for him to disappear before going for my tray. I ate my bland chicken, mashed potatoes, and dinner roll. When the night shift guard came by to make his last rounds, I called to him.
“Gus?”
“Yes, inmate?”
“Is there any update?”
Gus was one of the few people who had some hint of what my situation was. I could never allow anyone to know the full truth, but I needed help, and Gus seemed to like me for some reason.
“DW? He’s been permanently placed on oxygen. They say not long now, but they’ve been saying that for a while now, haven’t they?”
“That they have.” I sighed. Dennis Wolfsheim had been dying since the day he emailed me, almost five years ago. The motherfucker was hanging on by a thread, and each day he continued to breathe, the risk of them executing me grew as well.
“Have a good night,” Gus said, taking my tray and moving to the next cell.
The next day, I was allowed outside again. I went straight to Hargenson and Cunningham, my new friends.
“Teach me how to be rich.”
They shared a look, and I continued on, “Old money. Teach me how to act like I belong. Like I’ve been rich the whole time. Everything. All of it.”
They ignored me for a long five minutes, and then suddenly Cunningham spoke .
“You ever take etiquette classes, Hargenson?”
And so my lessons began. Each day, for one hour, I listened and learned everything I could about the lifestyles of the rich and the famous. They allowed me to ask questions and took turns playing chess. It was difficult for me to play, as I was never allowed out of my cuffs, but I made it work. I had to, because one day, that bastard was going to finally die, and I needed to be ready.
We spoke about everything, their lives before and after their crimes. While they were both educated men, they were still monsters in their own rights. Hargenson had murdered all of his childhood friends, who were also his business partners, and buried them underneath some of the buildings they’d designed. Cunningham had been involved in some dirty business that turned deadly. He refused to elaborate. And then, there was me, the only one of the trio who maintained my innocence.
They laughed the first time I admitted I didn’t eat anyone. Which I had fully expected them to do. They didn’t press, but I could tell they didn’t believe me.
No one did.
For the rest of my life, I would be known as the pretty boy who ate people.
But still, I was never turned away from their table. They continued to allow me space to learn from them. Soon, things began to shift in my brain. In my cell, I hosted invisible parties, interacting with pretend celebrities and the old money folk. I practiced being one of them so that the day the news came, I would be ready.
One day, months later, I sat with my two older friends, and they started their chess game.
“You hear about Dennis Wolfsheim, Cunningham? He’s some fancy pants billionaire.” Hargenson asked.
My spine went straight, and panic gripped me so hard I almost fell back. Cunningham nodded, his lips curling ever so slightly on the side.
I looked between them, and saw… amusement in their eyes. What was going on? Were they taunting me?
“Yeah, I did, actually. Guess he died,” Cunningham replied.
I blinked.
What?
“Did you know him?” My belly rumbled with nerves. My case was no secret, but was it a coincidence? Was it true? Had Dennis finally died?
“I didn’t. I just... knew of him and his sister. You know the one.” Cunningham looked directly at me, his eyes hardening.
I nodded. She was the one they said I ate.
“He’s dead?” I asked, pleading silently for it to be true.
Both men nodded and played their chess pieces.
“I hear he had an interesting will,” Hargenson said. “I’m sure we’ll see soon, won’t we?”
The look they were giving me said more than any words ever could. They knew. Steadying my hands and heart, I nodded. If Dennis was dead, then I was free.
“We will.”