2 Weeks Later

Jonathan had settled into a rhythm.

Mornings were for reading letters. Afternoons for writing. Evenings for thinking… about scenes, about structure, about how strange it felt to finally be this good at something.

He sat at the metal table in the common area, shoulders relaxed, flipping through a stack of envelopes with practiced efficiency. Some of them were obvious fans. Some are more critical of his actions. All of them said the same thing in different ways.

You’re brilliant.

He smiled to himself and set another letter aside.

Famous wasn’t the right word, exactly, but it was close enough. Known. Respected. He liked the way guards hesitated now when they said his name. The way other inmates looked at him like he was something untouchable.

It wasn’t in his head, they knew he was a big deal now. 

Things went exactly how they were supposed to, Jonathan thought.

Most of the guards treated him fine. Some even asked questions about the book. How long it took to write, whether it was based on real events. He gave them vague answers. Inspiration. Observation. You couldn’t explain talent to people who didn’t have it.

Only Rivers still acted like an asshole.

But even Rivers had limits.

Jonathan stood when the call came.

“Jonathan,” a guard said from the doorway. “You’ve got a visitor.”

That got a few looks.

Jonathan felt a flicker of excitement tighten his chest. He smoothed the front of his jumpsuit, tucked the folded manuscript pages back into his pocket.

“Already?” he said, pleasantly. “Must be another fan.”

The guard didn’t react. Just turned and started down the corridor.

Jonathan followed, hands clasped loosely behind his back, already rehearsing the interaction. He imagined the questions. The praise. The wide eyes when he signed the title page.

They walked in silence for a few steps before Jonathan spoke again.

“You like it here?” he asked casually.

The guard glanced sideways. “What?”

“The job,” Jonathan said. “You like it?”

The guard shrugged. “Pays the bills. Not so bad most days.” A pause. “Lot of former Marines work here. Got its ups and downs.”

Jonathan nodded, the word Marines sparking something sour and familiar.

The factory had been full of them too. Loud. Tight-knit. Always watching him like he didn’t belong. He’d never cared for that energy. Too much brute confidence. Too little imagination. He never could or had a desire to fit in. 

They reached the visiting room.

Jonathan stepped inside to see a man already seated, patiently waiting to meet the man who wrote the book. 

Late forties, maybe. Broad shoulders. Thick hands folded patiently on the table. He wore civilian clothes, simple and neat. His facial hair showed marks of grey. 

Jonathans smile widened as he noticed a copy of his book on the table in front of the man. 

“Well,” he said, pulling out the opposite chair. “Looks like you’ve read it.”

The man nodded once. “Sure did.”

Not much enthusiasm there, Jonathan thought. Maybe shy, but still… show some respect. 

Fans came in all types. 

He picked up the book, flipping it open to the title page and not wanting to waste a ton of time in here.  “Who should I make it out to?”

The man didn’t answer right away.

Then: “Mr. D.”

Jonathan paused.

Something about the way he said it made the air in the room feel heavier. It made his stomach turn and his senses flare up. Like his body was warning him.

Jonathan glanced up.

The man had covered his hand with something that he shouldn’t have been able to get into the jail. 

Brass knuckles.

Jonathan’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Behind him, the door clicked shut and a loud clank reverberated from the outside.

Locked.

Jonathan turned, his heart suddenly loud in his ears. His senses beyond warning and now screaming in fight or flight as he looked at the small window in the only door out to see the guard smile and step away. 

Fight or flight.

Jonathan turned back.

The man across from him stood.

“You wrote a hell of a book,” Mr. D said. “Just want to show you how much I appreciate what you did.”

Jonathan backed into the wall as the giant man walked toward him. 

“No please… wait,” he said, the words breaking. “There’s been a misunderstanding—”

Mr. D doesn’t rush. He doesn’t have to. Just closes distance until he knows he has cut off his prey. 

The first blow crumbles him. 

The inmates and guards fell silent as the hallway exploded with sound from the visiting room. 

The screams of life being ripped from a grown man.

Finally the guard walked back slowly to gather up his prisoner. 

By the time the door finally opened, the noise had already stopped.