Weretheydoomed?
“Doomed,” the old guy whispers, though louder this time, rising to his bare, lacerated and blood-crusted feet.
He drags himself toward me, stopping a few feet in front.
His eyes are bloodshot, the thick veins in his neck corded and strained, his hands filthy, covered in dirt as he holds the blanket around him, still trembling.
And I’m shaking now too.
He edges closer and goosebumps whoosh across my skin. He speaks in riddles again, until his face is only inches from mine.
“Pray, boy, all we can do is…pray.” His words are so quiet, accompanying a tear that rolls down his stubbled cheek.
He steps back, nodding his head, whispering to himself, “Doomed, doomed, doomed.”
Then he spins around, and runs himself directly into the cinder block wall.
The thud was disturbing.
The crunch.
The splat.
The silence that followed.
My eyes are zeroed in on the old man that lay awkwardly and unmoving on the stained concrete floor.
“Pray, boy, all we can do is…pray.”
The strangers' haunting words crawl up the ladder of my now rigid spine, a deadly spider skittering across the nape of my neck, sinking its fangs.
He was trying to tell me something, his words carrying what felt like a sinister omen, or a violent truth, or perhaps, both.
I’m bent over, elbows resting on my jittery knees, chewing on my thumb as I watch his arm twitch when shuffling comes from the other side of the bars.
A cough follows a group of cacophonous laughs. One higher, one deeper and one breathier. I don’t turn to look at them; I keep my eyes to the concrete floor.
“He’s at it again,” One of them sing-songs, and I shiver at the glee that cords through his tone.
How many times has this old guy been here?
How many times has he run himself into the same wall?
What point was he trying to make?
I’m pulled from my thoughts when I hear a tap against the iron bar next to me. It follows clanging keys and a screeching that claws at my ears.
A lock opens, then another creak.
“Keller, get your ass up.”
I recognized the voice, and I waited a moment just to piss the jackass off.
My eyes remain on the old man sprawled on the floor as I push to my feet. His shallow breaths lift his chest, his limbs still jolting sporadically and erratically.
I take two steps toward the opening, pausing whenheblocks the way.
I bite the inside of my cheek, raise my chin and meet the gray-slate glare of Officer James.
