I need to make a phone call.
Sinn'ous hands his lighter over to Erik, pressed between a few chocolate bars, and sends the addict inmate back to Jasper—no, to Izz. He tries not to feel a way about it, but to have the boy removing barriers they may have still lingered between them is enough to send a thrill straight to his cock. Being given a more intimate connection to his prey. It does something to him. Lights a spark in his chest he isn’t sure how to describe, even to himself.
He thinks he likes it, but then it’s not a sensation following a murder, so it’s hard to tell.
He spends the rest of the afternoon on his back on the cold floor, to avoid sleep, arm locked in place to float the note above his face.
He studies every curve, and every line of pencil.
Drifting to and from a place outside of himself, it’s the most peace he’s had since he woke from that first dream all those days ago.
Was it days ago? It could be centuries for all his body is telling him. Exhaustion is a weight crushing his chest. In a way that has him sure he can taste his own blood.
And through it all. The note stays right there, sustenance for his starved eyes.
A connection has formed between them, Sinn'ous can feel it. Ever since Izz came to his cell to ask for help in a time of need, there has been a tether connecting them. And that string has only strengthened, to the point where a rope is closing in to replace it.
It’s not until the nightly count is announced that Sinn'ous drags his frozen stiff limbs off the floor. Each crack of joints protesting sends a tingle of pain to clear his mind further. Allowing a decision to be made.
Rogers steps to the bars, and Sinn'ous is already standing there waiting for him. The sigh the guard lets slip says he knows Sinn'ous is about to lay out orders.
“I need to make a phone call.”
Rogers’s tone is defeated, “you know I can’t let you out, not with how tight this lockdown is. Or after the last time.”
The hint at murder drags his thoughts back to the last time he saw Rogers. When the guard had been fuming over the murder of another guard. He’d given Rogers a taste of the truth, just a slice to patch any cracks between them. Can’t have a guard’s death jeopardising their relationship.
Don’t get him wrong, he would kill one, and has done so in the past. But Rogers doesn’t need to know this, he requires Rogers’s undivided unquestioning loyalty. And besides, he knows Rogers has a soft spot for Jasper.
“No need to open the cell. Just bring me a phone.”
Rogers’s eyes stay narrowed.
Suppressing an unnatural urge to roll his eyes, Sinn'ous adds. “I need to call my lawyer.”
Rogers blinks a few times. “Oh, sure. That’s an easy do. We’re required to allow access to legal counselling.” Rogers shrugs off the conversation, clicking his counter, and walks on to the next cell, barely pausing to count before continuing on.
~~~
He sort of lied, and sort of didn’t. No, he’s not calling his lawyer, but he is getting a lawyer. The call however is going through to someone else entirely.
The numbers he punches into the prison’s cordless landline is a burner number he memorized a long time ago. And on the second ring the call is picked up.
“Hello?” The soft Italian-accented voice isn’t who Sinn'ous expected. It’s not his brother’s voice.
“Who is this? And how did you get this phone?”
“Sinn'ous?”
He answers with silence. If this is a cop or worse he’s not giving them anything.
“I’m assuming that’s a yes? The owner of this phone is at work. I don’t know when they will be returning. My name’s H, I’m sure you’ve been told of me? The caller ID indicates you’re calling from Sandstone Correctional?”
Ah. So that explains it. Zayne’s hacker, Dante, or in the underworld network, H.
“I am, yes.”
“Not a secure line?” It’s spoken as a question but it doesn’t come across much like one.
“I’m calling to get in touch with a lawyer.”
“Right. We have one of those who can be in contact. I’ll let them know and send them your way. Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll let them know you called.” The line goes dead and Sinn'ous has to commend Dante on not even giving away if Zayne is a man or women.
His brother is one with a long list of charges, charges they cannot pin to him because they do not know who he is.
Charges they have placed on one invisible, deadly fucker known only as SKhorpion.
A prolific serial killer who calls himself as such.
At least in Sinn'ous’s presence he does, in the presence of outsiders Zayne comes across as a handsome charmer who would never dream of so much as j-walking.
His camouflage is something Sinn'ous never had the patience to try.
Phone still in hand he sits on his bunk to wait for Rogers to return.
All around him plunges into broken darkness, lights-out shutting off the majority of noise from the other cells. Not everything, but most. It doesn’t, however, shut off the ache behind his eyes holding back the memories trying to swarm him.
~~~
The private visitation rooms are just that, private.
And also more in line to an interrogation room.
A lack of adequate ventilation, metal table buffed to a blinding shine, and hard chairs digging into every part they touch, and no matter how you sit you can’t escape it.
All it’s missing is the wall constructed of a one-way mirror.
“This is all I require from you for now. I’ll go over both cases, start sorting paperwork and working on appeals.
” The put together professional sitting ramrod straight across from Sinn'ous stands fluidly.
His whole demeanour screams high-end lawyer from a prestigious law firm.
He smooths down his suit jacket, buttoning the expensive designer brand.
“I will need to speak to Mr Marcelo in due time.”
The lawyer, Charles Bennett, had been on point, arriving a day after the call. Arranging to meet in the private rooms used for lawyers, law enforcement, or someone with enough money and sway.
“It’ll be arranged through me.”
Charles nods, picks up his briefcase and takes his leave. Striding in a way that glides over the worn floor. His blond well-groomed locks held in the same orderly, pristine professionalism as the rest of him.
Their conversation had been long and droning. Going over his case, but more so, Jasper Marcelo’s case.
Sinn'ous will be getting them both out of here.
According to Zayne’s lawyer, Jasper’s case should be a breeze to overturn. Sinn'ous’s however will require more finesse. Seeing as how Sinn'ous was arrested under an alias.
Everyone here, guards and the incarcerated alike, call him Sinn'ous. The last guard to throw Sinn'ous’s alias name around had ceased to do so once he meant a bloody end. That particular guard blackmailing him also hadn’t helped, it’d just added fuel to the fire. The catalyst to tip the tide.
Now, any guard who doesn’t address him as Sinn'ous, uses his prison number, A-11800. They don’t know he caused the death of their colleague, but rumours spread, and it seems no one’s willing to risk it.
Another challenge to his case is the influential homeowner who has friends in high places. Sinn'ous didn’t have much of a shot when the charges came down on him. Unlawfully breaking and entering a private dwelling.
He broke into what he assumed was a run-of-the-mill mansion, at 3 AM.
The witching hour or as he refers to it as, Satan’s hour.
The time to kill and partake in ritualistic sacrifices.
What he didn’t know was that the homeowner had a panic room set up, and Sinn'ous ended up trapped in a lock box when the entire living room was shut in by heavy-duty metal shutters that dropped down from all points of exit. Over every doorway and window. He was left trapped until the police arrived to arrest him. Luckily he hadn’t begun to set up his sacrificial Satanic circle.
So the police didn’t figure out why he was actually there.
Rogers enters right after the lawyer’s departure, cuffs in hand, and twirls a finger to wordlessly tell Sinn'ous to turn around and get cuffed. He complies, spinning and placing his hands at the small of his back. The cuffs click, then they’re exiting the private room into a quiet corridor.
This part of K-Wing is barred off from the general population. All inmates who enter here have to be cuffed and escorted by a guard. For appearances sake, Rogers follows those rules.
The corridor is cleaner here, fresh and flashy. More warm and inviting for the visitors.
They have to pass through multiple locked doors, striding by the waiting area for visitation. Open to the public once they’ve been searched at the exterior doors.
Then some more doors unlock, allowing them to step back into gen-pop, and the corridors that prisoners are able to walk through unsupervised.
Once those final doors relock behind them, Rogers uncuffs him, and steps back, clipping them to his belt.
Sinn'ous’s mind is a mess of words, and tangled sentences, running over the entire meeting in his head.
Mildly lethargic from the new information, and the suppressed memories keeping him awake all night, he stumbles on his feet in his turn to leave.
He catches himself, thank fuck, and doesn’t do more than fuck up his flow, nothing that would be to obvious should someone be watching.
Rogers breaks the silence. “You’re . . . whatever he is, was looking for you. Saw him leaving your cell.”
Sinn'ous pauses, throwing a look over his shoulder.
So, lockdown has finally lifted, only took a week.
“Jasper.” It’s a rhetorical question because who else would it be? His head is a mess of fog, more unfocused than he has ever been. Letting the inside thought slip into the outside world.
Rogers gives him a quizzical look. Clearly picking up on Sinn'ous’s uncharacteristic, frazzled state, and he can’t really blame him, he feels every bit as lost as his body is displaying.
“Yeah . . .” Rogers’s word lingers, and when Sinn'ous doesn’t fill in the unasked question of what’s wrong, he continues on. “He was heading to the showers.”