Endangered Species Endangered Species (Time Served #1) - Onley James Page 0,49

and he swept his damp hair from his face. He rose from Cy’s bunk, relieving himself and stripping out of his wet clothes, changing into a fresh uniform before tugging Cy’s sweatshirt on, pulling it to his nose and inhaling deeply.

Cy always smelled like home to Webster. Just his scent recalled some of the best times of his childhood. Cy making them grilled cheeses while they watched Saturday morning cartoons. Cy shuffling Webster up into the attic to show him the kittens he’d rescued from the sewer. The only good childhood memories were the ones Cy had given him. He supposed the same could be said for his time in here. As much as he hated this place, he loved Cy, loved being in his arms, loved kissing him, loved how much Cy loved touching him.

Webster had no idea what time it was, but he couldn’t go back to sleep. He was wired, like his body was readying him for something bad. Maybe he was feeling the effects of the nightmare he couldn’t recall. Maybe it was some kind of trauma response or intuition. Regardless of the cause, his lids felt permanently glued open.

Instead, he sat on Cy’s bed, wrapped in his blanket, hoping he was okay. Would Webster even know if anything happened to him? The prison gossip usually came from the yard, but did they get information from the SHU? Did the guards talk? The other inmates? Would he even know if Cy was hurt? If he died? The thought of not seeing Cy, not touching him, holding him, was like a knife in his windpipe, making it hard to breathe.

The scraping of a key in the lock snatched Webster from his morbid thoughts. Four enormous guards entered Webster’s room, each seemingly bigger than the last, dressed in tactical gear, like Webster was about to start a one man riot. He didn’t recognize any of them. “What’s going on?”

“You have a meeting,” the closest officer said. He had muscles barely contained by his black t-shirt and his blond hair was in a high and tight haircut favored by most of the corrections officers.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Webster said, frowning.

Another officer stepped forward, hand on his weapon. “We gonna have a problem, inmate?”

Webster’s mouth went dry. He was outnumbered. He was screwed. He shook his head. “No, boss.”

He shucked off his blanket and hopped down onto the floor, allowing them to manhandle him, roughly shackling his wrists and ankles with far more force than necessary. Webster had imagined that when the guards finally came for him, he would be terrified. Maybe he’d cry or beg for his life, but his brain was eerily still. There was no panic, no racing heart or sweating, just a stillness in his head, like he was watching it all happen to somebody else, like a documentary or a movie.

Webster remained still and silent, a strange, almost euphoric feeling filling his core. Maybe he’d finally cracked, but a small part of him worried if he opened his mouth, he’d just start laughing and maybe never stop. That wouldn’t help the situation, regardless of what was to come.

They flanked him as they marched him from his cell and down the stairs. The inmates without rooms watched as they made a show of taking him out, like he was a violent serial killer and not a computer nerd arrested for terroristic threats. The show of force was unnecessary, and Webster was certain it would all go back to whatever lies they told to justify his corpse later.

For the first time since Webster had arrived, the guards took him from the pods back to the large castle-like building that made up the administrative offices of the prison. They loaded him onto an elevator, exiting onto the darkened second floor hallway. The cadence of the guards’ booted feet on the Spanish tiles created a rhythm in Webster’s head, combining with his chains rattling and scraping like Marley’s ghost.

Was this where they were going to do it? Take the cuffs off and tell him to run so they could shoot him and say he tried to escape. Would it even matter if he ran or not? He wondered, if any of the office doors were unlocked, would he stand a chance?

When they turned down a final darkened tunnel of a hallway, there was a door at the very end with a frosted glass window and the barest hint of a light behind it. It was only as