1. Orion
1
ORION
“THE REAPER”
“And how does that make you feel ?”
I shift my weight against the cracked leather sofa, pinning a glare at the tweed-covered psychiatrist opposite me. My blood's at boiling point, waiting for that spark of fire to set me alight. But there’s no oxygen in the room, nothing for the wildfire to take root in.
“Mr. Adair?”
I blink once, clearing the fog as I slide my thumb over the silver cuffs strapped to my wrists. “Yes?”
“I asked—how does that make you feel ?”
I gaze over his shoulder at the singular barred window. Just beyond the iron bars, the limb of a mighty oak juts out, blocking out the sun. And on that branch rests a crow, his beady black eyes seeming to stare directly through the window and into my soul. It ruffles silver-tipped feathers, and my heart clenches as I long to reach out. To be free of this prison.
“I don’t know,” I murmur, never taking my eyes off the small-winged omen. “I haven’t really thought much about it.”
The man looks over the top of his Coke bottle glasses, his muddy-brown eyes glinting hungrily as he shifts in his cushy plaid armchair. “Dig deep. Really deep.”
I sigh, threading my fingers together and squeezing hard. Being locked in maximum prison for the past eight years has made me feel a variety of things—none of which I would even consider sharing with this shifty medical professional. Not unless I was desperate for a one-way ticket to the chair, that is.
“It makes me feel…” Like I want to murder someone. “ Angry.”
“Hmm.” Dr. Kebler drops his eyes to his notepad, and a flurry of scribbles ensues. “Care to elaborate?”
“Not really.”
“Hmm.” Another round of furious note-taking. I flex my hand, resisting the urge to rip the little piece of plastic from his hand and shove it through his jugular.
“What the fuck could you possibly be writing?”
Dr. Kebler freezes, a small tugging at his thin lips as he raises his gaze back to mine. “Observations. Is that a problem?”
“It’s fucking rude is what it is.”
“And how does my… perceived rudeness make you feel ?”
Like I want to murder you.
“It makes me angry,” I say, grinding my teeth at the haughty expression that takes over his face. “Really fucking angry.”
Dr. Kebler puts down his pen, leaning back in his armchair and crossing his slack-covered chicken legs. “It seems many things make you angry, Mr. Adair.”
“I think it’s pretty understandable, considering the state of the world.”
“And what state is that?”
I clench my jaw. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m a psychiatrist—it comes with the profession.”
I shift my gaze to the browning plant in the corner of the room, a new wave of murderous rage pulsing through my veins. “Your Dracaena is dying.”
“My what?”
“Your snake plant.”
Dr. Kebler twists, taking in the sad state of the succulent. “Ah, yes. My wife often complains about my black thumb.” With a shrug, he turns back to me, his eyes holding a deeper sheen of interest. “I’m more interested in your use of the scientific name.”
I turn my attention to a piece of dirt lodged under my nail. “I like plants and animals. I hardly think it’s anything to write home about.”
“Hmm.”
“And that’s another thing.” I bring my gaze up to Dr. Kebler. “You keep humming .”
“Humming?”
“Yes.” I grit my teeth. “It’s distracting.”
Dr. Kebler raises one wiry brow. “Do you always change the subject this often? Or is it just when someone tries to find out something more than surface-level with you?”
I flex my hand. “Maybe I just don’t appreciate some old coot trying to get into my head.”
“Neither wishes to be here , Mr. Adair, I assure you. I find you just as—if not more—unpleasant, pestilent, and insufferable as you do me. No part of me wants to be anywhere near your head .”
“That’s what your wife said last night,” I murmur, leaning back with a smirk. “Of course right after, she wrapped her lips around my cock, so I have to assume you’re lying as hard as her.”
Dr. Kebler sighs, pulling his glasses from his face and placing them lens-down on the coffee table. “I have other patients who want to see me, Mr. Adair. Instead of wasting my time, perhaps you would like me to call Mr. Funnel to escort you back to your cell…” Dr. Kebler moves to stand, and I let out a defeated sigh, causing him to sink back into the worn leather.
“Are you agreeing to talk?”
I nod, picking at a stray orange thread hanging from the inseam of my jumpsuit. I grit my teeth as the cheap metal handcuffs scrape the inflamed skin along my inner wrists, which Dr. Kebler mistakenly takes as a sign of mental anguish.
“It’s okay, Mr. Adair. It’s okay to be vulnerable. You’re in a safe place.” He reaches for his pad and pen, then sits back with that same inquisitive gaze from earlier. Like I’m an obedient little rat in a cage. Nothing more than a test subject, a case number in his next paper.
He has me sorely mistaken.
“Forget solitary. Let’s go back to our earlier conversation,” Dr. Kebler says, flipping back a page and skimming the words hungrily. “We were talking about your mother. Her struggle with addiction, and how she was in the room with you when she overdosed… And that made you feel…?”
“Upset.”
“Upset…”
I nod. “That’s right.”
“And… would you like to elaborate?”
I shrug, drawing my brows together like I’m deep in thought. “I guess… I’m just now realizing I’ve forgotten what the sun feels like on my skin. I’ve forgotten the sound of laughter. The smell of my mother’s fresh-baked cinnamon rolls. I guess it’s just now hitting me how long I’ve been here. How long I will be here.”
“Ten consecutive life sentences is a long time.” Dr. Kebler nods, not even noticing my sarcastic tone as he scribbles in his notepad. “Have you been having any suicidal thoughts?”
“No need to beat around the bush, Doc. I can handle it.”
Dr. Kebler gives me a blank look as he underlines something he just wrote down. “I need to know, Mr. Adair. You’ve been here eight years, and already your grip with reality is starting to fade. A lifetime is a long time to spend in solitude, and it will only get worse from here.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Talking about your issues. Your thoughts and fears. Get all the repressed stuff out in the open.”
“And that’s supposed to help me?”
“Of course,” he says, leaning back with a big smile. “It helps tremendously to have someone unbiased listen to your feelings. Trust me.”
Trust me. “You know… I killed the last person who asked me to trust them.”
Dr. Kebler shifts his eyes to my cuffs nervously. “And which of your last eighteen cell mates was that?”
I cock my head, a manic laugh bubbling at my lips. “You really know nothing, do you, Doctor? ”
“Only a fool would claim he knows everything.”
My lips thin into a frown, and I lean back in my chair, my foot increasing the pace with which it taps against the floor. Waiting for him to break the silence.
“Since you clearly don’t want to talk about your mother…” Dr. Kebler regards me with a solemn gaze, glancing briefly at my file before bringing his pen to his pad. “What about your sister?”
“What about her?” My foot ceases its tapping as I sit up straighter. “They have stuff about Annabelle in there?”
Dr. Kebler sits back with a smirk. “We have all kinds of information about you, Mr. Adair.”
I have nothing to say to that.
He frowns, scribbling something on his pad before drawing his attention back to me. “She died young, yes?”
“Too young,” I say, my voice suddenly hoarse. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
“Hmm. Yes, very tragic,” he murmurs, scribbling violently with one hand and pushing up his glasses with the other. “They said you were the one to call the police.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“You were only three. I imagine that had some… lasting effects on you.”
I look out the window at that tree branch, noting that the crow has now flown away. “Now that I’ve thought about it… I don’t really think talking will help me very much.”
Dr. Kebler raises his brows. “Do you have something else in mind?”
“Maybe a change of scenery…” I glance toward the small barred window behind Dr. Kebler’s desk. “It does get a little stuffy in this place. You know, I used to love going to the ocean when I was little—the sand between my toes, the fresh air…”
Dr. Kebler laughs like I just told the greatest joke of the year. “Yes, changes of scenery can often help people suffering from mood disorders and being cooped inside for so long. However, I think we’ll need to be a little more creative given the… circumstances.”
I continue looking out that window, rubbing the raw flesh along my wrists. “Mm. I don’t know. I think a change of scenery is just what I need.”
Dr. Kebler’s throat bobs. His eyes shift nervously toward the locked door, where an armed guard is waiting on the other side. And I know what he’s thinking. Would the guard get here in the time it takes for me to lunge across and snap his neck? Probably not. The doors don’t open that quickly.
“I think I’d like to go back to my cell now, if that’s alright.”
Dr. Kebler’s complexion brightens at least three shades as he presses the call button for the guard. There’s a loud buzzer, followed by two distinct clicks as doors unlock and hiss open slowly.
I shuffle through the doorway, a manic smile spreading across my face as Joe, the security guard, leads me back to my cell. We pass through several more doors before we come to a long hallway with dozens of cells breaking up the wall on each side.
Inmates push their arms out through the bars as we pass, some trying to grab at me, others flashing vile gestures that aid the filth spewing from their mouths. I try to muster an ounce of fight, but I realize I can’t even blame them for their hatred. After all, everyone here thinks I did it. They all think I killed that little girl. Arelia.
And I’ve never denied it because… well, because it’s true. But it was in no way how the news outlets and the prosecutors made it seem. Of course, in Moriton, hardly anything is how it first appears.
Especially things that happen after dark.
“Pick up the pace,” Joe snaps, prodding me in the back with his electric baton. A violent pulse of electricity spreads through my body, causing my eyes to roll back as my body convulses involuntarily. A cruel cackle makes it through the thick fog of my mind as I writhe on the floor, thick bolts of pain causing my heart rate to spike and sweat to bead across my brow.
“That’s it, maggot. Squirm for me.” Joe sneers, digging the tip of the baton deeper into my spine. The world goes black for a few moments, and when I regain consciousness, I’m splayed flat on my side with foaming saliva falling from my opened mouth. Fucking nasty.
With a grunt, I shove myself to my feet, all the while trying to blink away the fog that’s overcome my vision. “You’re a real pissant, Joe, you know that?”
A snarl leaves his thinned lips as he raises the baton high over his head. “What the fuck did you say to me, maggot?”
I watch with glee as his thumb presses a button of the thick black stick, followed by a hum of electricity signifying he increased the voltage.
“I said…” I pause, trying to keep the manic laugh from bursting forth. “I said that you’re a disgusting piece of human refuse in dire need of an attitude adjustment.”
His eyes light with fire. “I’m going to make you regret that.” He adjusts his grip on the baton, his biceps flexing as he aims to bring it down on my head, but I’m faster than that. In an instant, I duck low, sweeping my body in a half arc and appearing on the other side of Joe’s baton. With a sick grin, I rear my head back, enjoying the startled look in his light green eyes as I bring my head forward, smacking into the bridge of his nose with a sickening crack.
“That’ll do it.” My smile widens as I watch his body slump to the floor.
I drag him by his collar into my cell, the sound of cheering and cursing growing to a cacophony as the rest of the prisoners realize what I’ve done. I rip the guard uniform from his body and replace my orange outfit with one of blue and black.
I’ve barely buckled the belt when the alarm goes off, the shrill drowning out the riotous noise from the prisoners and sending a shock of fear to my heart. But I don’t have time to be afraid. I don’t even have time to think as a swarm of guards round the corner, their batons raised with murderous snarls as they race toward me.
Instinct takes over as I grab the officer’s baton and click it on, smirking as a buzz of electricity fills the air. I raise it high, touching the tip to the electrical box just above my cell door.
There’s a blast of sparks, and then all hell breaks loose.
The cell doors throughout the hall short-circuit at once, the cheering from the prisoners overshadowing the alarm as they realize they’re free. A laugh peels from my mouth as I watch the officers’ faces fill with horror at the way they turn on their heels and try to outrun the angry mob of prisoners chasing them.
The men are angry, and they’re out for blood. I can’t blame them, but I also cannot participate. I have something more important to attend to.
Screams fill the air, thick with the tang of blood as I walk down the hallway, my eyes taking in the mass amounts of carnage with disbelief. It’s barely been a minute, and the prisoners have managed to tear the crowd of guards to shreds—quite literally. Body parts, brains, and sinew coat the walls, the floors. Hell, even the ceiling is spattered with its own mixture of human innards.
Police sirens sound in the distance, and I quicken my pace, pulling the key card from my pocket and holding it to my chest like the lifeline it is. Instead of using it on the main exit, I take a left at the end of the hall, leaving the screams and sirens behind and heading in the direction of the kitchens. With the key card, exiting the prison is a lot easier than I imagined—although, I’m sure it had something to do with the commotion I caused with the prisoners.
My hands shake as I push against the last door to the outside world, a new wave of relief filling my veins as I take back what was stolen from me eight long years ago. I step into the dusk, spreading my arms wide and marveling at the way the breeze kisses my skin. There’s a zest of cypress in the air, a faint chirping of birds as they bid adieu to the day with their joyous song.
As I look up at the purple sky, clear of the iron bars that usually impair my sight, it becomes abundantly clear.
I’m free.
My fingers find the set of car keys in my pocket, a smile breaking my face for the first time in eight years as another truth becomes clear.
I’m going to get a fucking drink.