Chapter 49
ROGERS
When approaching an unstable animal who is punching the shit out of a solid wall and not flinching, it’s best to use small words and not tell them to stop or no.
In the presence of mind that this could be a huge mistake, he opens his mouth anyway. “The gyms open for you.”
He’d located Sinn'ous down this corridor trying to rearrange the brick wall and made the decision to pre open the closed off gym. Shut down for ‘repairs’ the gym has been shut for what has to be close to five years. If not longer. Or maybe it’s been two years and it just feels like five.
Either way, it’s not going to be opened anytime soon.
Not with the way the prison board doesn’t give a shit about any of them, inmates and guards alike.
Sinn'ous thankfully strides down the corridor to the gym, shouldering the doors open and disappearing inside. Rogers takes a deep breath, and follows behind. His approach being more tentative.
Gym equipment scatters the room, abandoned and left to rot.
If mushrooms were growing out of the machines he would not be surprised.
The hanging punching bag is where Sinn'ous has gravitated towards.
Each swing of his fist sending the bag swinging, and leaving a smear of blood from no doubt cracked knuckles.
Rogers is here because a collection of ‘no-fucking-way-am-I-dealing-with-this-on-my-crap-pay-check’ guards had all but begged him to go see why Sinn'ous is trying to become a one man building demolisher.
A standing chair calls to him, and he grabs it by the back, pulling it over to sit close to Sinn'ous. Out of range, but close to talk while not needing to yell.
“I’ve not seen you this worked up. And no alarms. So you didn’t kill anyone? What set you off this bad?”
He dreads to think Sinn'ous killed Jasper then realised after the fact that he didn’t actually want Jasper dead. Because he has seen the way Sinn'ous has changed since Jasper’s arrival to SSC.
Sinn'ous collapses to the floor, all jelly-legs giving out, lying flat on his back, arms out, chest heaving, eyes sharp and glaring up at the paint flaking ceiling.
“Ave Satan, give me strength.”
“Guards’ informed me you were looking like you were on the verge of self-combusting and taking everything out within a five-mile radius. I must say, I can agree with them.”
It has no desired effect of opening the Satanic worshiper up. It’s just them, alone in this room of dead machinery, listening to each other breathe.
It would be lethargic, if the threat of death wasn’t looming in the air.
Rogers jumps off the bridge and hopes the fall is cushioned and not by his death. “It’s that inmate, isn’t it? What’s his name? Izz? That’s what they all call him, no?”
Sinn'ous rolls to his side, propping his head in his palm. “I think I fucked up.”
Damn, so they’re really doing the sharing thing.
“How?”
“Went to kill that fucker Vince, then Izz walks in, and I stopped.”
Okayyy. He isn’t seeing the issue in that.
Sinn'ous continues, dark eyes cold as death. “And now I can’t stop thinking about it. About blood and killing. And . . . killing.” The last word is emphasised in what could be pain, like being denied a murder is literally hurting. “If I go back like this I won’t be able to stop myself.”
“You’d kill Jasper—Izz?” He guesses.
Sinn'ous just flops back over, going back to staring at the ceiling.
Rogers settles back into the chair that digs into bones he didn’t know he had. “Do you want me to take you to solitary for the night? ‘til the adrenaline wears off and you pull yourself back under control?”
It’s a long time waiting for a response. To the point where he’s sure he’ll end up spending the night here while Sinn'ous lies on the floor burning holes in the ceiling with his glare. Until the Satanic inmate finally answers.
“I think that might be wise.”