“Fall of 1980.”
“That’s insane. That room can’t be more than ten by ten.”
“He’s got a window.”
“Overlooking what? The parking lot?”
“I heard he was out when they first brought him in, but that didn’t last long. One other time two years ago. The kid’s got a nasty temper.”
“Do you have any kids, Carl?” David said.
“Christ! Shut him up.”
“Do you want to play again?”
“Naw. I can’t focus.”
“Do you ignore your own kids, too, Carl? You really shouldn’t.”
“Fuck me.”
“I heard his dad did that to him, to his face.”
“I heard that, too.”
“Something snapped then, in his head. He’s not right.”
Carl let out a nervous chuckle. “He’s nowhere near right. That’s why they keep him in a box.”
“Still, just a kid, though.”
“What does that mean? You want to talk to him? Cheer him up?”
“Hell no.”
Carl pressed the microphone button. “Would you like Warren here to read you a bedtime story?”
Warren slapped his hand off the button. “What the fuck? Why’d you tell him my name?”
“He knows mine, only seems fair.”
“You’re an asshole.”
The room fell silent, then—
“I think I’d like that. Not Warren, though. How about you read me whatever you read your kids, Carl? What’s their favorite story?”
“Fucking little creep. That delay is weird. Reminds me of when Houston used to talk to the astronauts.”
“Yeah, like a satellite delay on the news.”
“Too fucking weird, all of it.”
“Want to play again?”
“Might as well. Change the tape first. It’s almost out.”
—Charter Observation Team – 309
