sound all the more startling. They must be able to construct a system which would seal the doors in place more quietly. Could it be that, that sound was deliberate? Psychological reinforcement? He wouldn’t be surprised. We have you now convict. You’re not going anywhere any time soon. Klank!
The door in front of him opened and he proceeded down the long hall. The floors were polished, the walls were a clean clinical white, it smelled of pine-sol but he knew how incongruous this section of the facility was with the prison proper.
Reaching another door a female corrections officer in another small control booth nodded a hello and hit a button or a lever or whatever and opened it for him.
He passed through. Klank!
Finally he came to the third desk where yet another guard directed him to an interview room to wait for Victor to be brought in.
The room had four large plexiglass mesh reinforced windows on each wall, so the occupants could be observed from all angles. There was a single table with a chair on either side of it. Jeremy chose the farthest to the door.
A whole ten minutes went by before Matherport was finally led to the room by two burly black guards and fastened to the empty chair at the table with leg restraints.
Victor Matherport was a grizzly bear. His massive head housed two intense eyes which burned down on you, probing for weakness. His wrists were as wide as baseball bats and his arms the size of an average man's thighs. His bottom lip was bloody and gnarled, and he obsessively bit at the soft and swollen flesh, until Jeremy couldn't stand the sight of it anymore. He waved the guards back in.
“Can we have his wounds dressed please?”
The burly guards just stared, annoyed, so Jeremy was forced to insist.
“We can't proceed until his wounds are dressed and covered.”
They more than anyone most have known the statistics of AIDS amongst the prison population and Jeremy was sure they would enjoy a mouth full of HIV spat into their faces just as little as he would. They unlocked him and took him to have his cut treated.
Another fifteen minutes later they returned, his lip now dressed and covered in gauze and a band aid. They re-chained him and left.
“Hello” Jeremy said.
“I read your article” the convict said with a bit of a lisp due to the wound.
Fuck. He knew he would get his hands on it sooner or later. He was hoping for later. After the Mister copy-cat case became headline news Jeremy was approached by a major publisher interesting in him writing a book about the case. The money was right and it couldn't hurt his career so he signed on the dotted line. The article Matherport was referring to was a small piece he had written for Rolling Stone to promote the book.
“What happened to your lip?” Jeremy asked trying to side step the topic.
“Are you my friend Jeremy?”
He was not in the mood for this shit today.
“I don’t think we can call our relationship a friendship, no.”
“You made me think you were my friend.”
Victor began to chew at his lip again, the blood slowly tainted the gauze red.
“Because I was kind to you?”
“Yes.”
“I was kind to you because I wanted to help you. I still want to help you.”
“All you wanted was my secrets.”
“Where the bodies were,
The door in front of him opened and he proceeded down the long hall. The floors were polished, the walls were a clean clinical white, it smelled of pine-sol but he knew how incongruous this section of the facility was with the prison proper.
Reaching another door a female corrections officer in another small control booth nodded a hello and hit a button or a lever or whatever and opened it for him.
He passed through. Klank!
Finally he came to the third desk where yet another guard directed him to an interview room to wait for Victor to be brought in.
The room had four large plexiglass mesh reinforced windows on each wall, so the occupants could be observed from all angles. There was a single table with a chair on either side of it. Jeremy chose the farthest to the door.
A whole ten minutes went by before Matherport was finally led to the room by two burly black guards and fastened to the empty chair at the table with leg restraints.
Victor Matherport was a grizzly bear. His massive head housed two intense eyes which burned down on you, probing for weakness. His wrists were as wide as baseball bats and his arms the size of an average man's thighs. His bottom lip was bloody and gnarled, and he obsessively bit at the soft and swollen flesh, until Jeremy couldn't stand the sight of it anymore. He waved the guards back in.
“Can we have his wounds dressed please?”
The burly guards just stared, annoyed, so Jeremy was forced to insist.
“We can't proceed until his wounds are dressed and covered.”
They more than anyone most have known the statistics of AIDS amongst the prison population and Jeremy was sure they would enjoy a mouth full of HIV spat into their faces just as little as he would. They unlocked him and took him to have his cut treated.
Another fifteen minutes later they returned, his lip now dressed and covered in gauze and a band aid. They re-chained him and left.
“Hello” Jeremy said.
“I read your article” the convict said with a bit of a lisp due to the wound.
Fuck. He knew he would get his hands on it sooner or later. He was hoping for later. After the Mister copy-cat case became headline news Jeremy was approached by a major publisher interesting in him writing a book about the case. The money was right and it couldn't hurt his career so he signed on the dotted line. The article Matherport was referring to was a small piece he had written for Rolling Stone to promote the book.
“What happened to your lip?” Jeremy asked trying to side step the topic.
“Are you my friend Jeremy?”
He was not in the mood for this shit today.
“I don’t think we can call our relationship a friendship, no.”
“You made me think you were my friend.”
Victor began to chew at his lip again, the blood slowly tainted the gauze red.
“Because I was kind to you?”
“Yes.”
“I was kind to you because I wanted to help you. I still want to help you.”
“All you wanted was my secrets.”
“Where the bodies were,
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