CRACKED

STILL DAY TWO, HOUR 15

How the hell did you let this happen, Ramirez? I can hear a familiar voice shout. The anger in his voice palpable.

She got in late. Maximum was changing shifts. You don’t think she remembers that do you? The man named Ramirez whimpers.

After last time, that schedule became top-secret confidential. But thank you for letting every prisoner within the tri-block area know when the guard changes shifts! The first says.

You can’t fire me over this, Sir. It was just as much O’Callaghan as it was me. Ramirez cries.

What the fuck is O’Callaghan doing in Maximum? He was reassigned now that she’s back. He’s supposed to pull double Mess hall shifts…

I don’t know, Sir, but he just showed up around midnight, saying someone let him back in… Ramirez tries to sound confident but his voice cracks.

Did HE let her out?! The shouts escalate.

No, Sir, he was with me the whole time.

You fell asleep Ramirez, I don’t think you really remember what happened last night!

I suppose not, Sir…Please don’t fire me. I need this job. With my wife and the baby-

You better believe I’m fucking considering it, Ramirez. Now get the hell out of my office. You disgust me.

I look up from the table as the door buzzes and Officer Marshall walks in. I smile, feeling the drying blood on my face stretch and crack. He flinches.

Why is it, do you think, that you guys always make these interrogation rooms so damn uncomfortable? Is it too much to ask for a Lazy Boy? Or maybe even a futon? Is it supposed to make it seem intimidating? Because honestly the “system” doesn’t scare me. I lean back in the cold metal seat.

Then what does scare you Meg? Or is Margot now? Maybe Marcella? Mariana? Maya? He leans in, his breath smelling disgustingly of stale coffee and old pastrami.

My smile comes slow, but it’s cracked under the surface. My eyes could cut diamonds. Meg, if you please. After all, Eugene, we are old friends.

Oh of course. And as old friends I want you to confide in me. I know that look. That darty-eyed, snake in the grass look. I know it because he learned it from me.

Oh really? And what would that entail, Eugene?

You answer every question I ask you, without those snide remarks of yours, and then you go back to your cell, under sedation of course, and stay there. Be the good little freak that you are. He smiles like a predator. Something in me snaps. I decide to keep it to myself.

Well, then, by all means, ask away.

You’ve been back for just over sixteen hours now, how in the world did you escape that fast? He seems genuinely curious. A six-year-old seeing a menagerie of foreign animals for the first time.

I lean forward slowly, considering what to say to this ape of a man. Shouldn’t you be telling me that? Shouldn’t you have some device of security in place over my cell to inform you of that?

His victorious smile falters. You…you cut the-

That’s right. You don’t. Because I cut the feed. Amazing how much trouble pushing a little red button can cause…tell me Eugene, what did it feel like? Not knowing where I was? I’ve never had the privilege of experiencing it, you see. What with the unfair nature of being stuck in my own body. My eyes flash. My smile widens.

You need to learn when to shut up, if you know what’s good for you Meg. His eyes narrow so much I can’t tell the difference between them and the rest of his face.

Why, Eugene, was that a threat? I laugh at the absurdity of it. This man can’t take away more than he already has.

Only if you make it that way, Meg. He stands. And I would advise not making it that way.

You’ve got me shaking in my shackles, officer. I mock him and laugh. He slaps with me such force that I’m knocked to the floor. I giggle. Good one, Genie. You’ve gotten good at the intimidation thing since we last met.

Speaking of which, where did you go? Who let you out?

What, is this an interrogation, Genie? I call him by his pet name knowing it’ll only get to him. Besides, do you really think it’s that hard to get out of this place? No one needed to help me. I’ve proved that twice now.

Well then, why didn’t you just leave?

Eugene, what you don’t understand is this: that’s just too predictable for me. And trust me, there’s no fun in predictability.