Chase the Stars

South Plymm's town prison was a smaller establishment before he was taken to the higher-security one in Gadour. Charlie had never been to prison before. He'd managed to get away with everything he did, other than the one time he got caught stealing a pear when he was twelve and they put him a holding cell for the night. Even then, he was back out without a single mark on his record in the morning.

The prison was a rusty and old place, but it still looked like a menacing place. Charlie was taken to a room where stripped him of the clothes he was wearing, putting him in a blue prison jumpsuit instead. On the back was his identification number, 82648. No more names, no identity. Just a number. His belongings were taken as well, and he watched with a grimace as one of the guards put the pocket watch Mila had given him on the table. They shoved Charlie along into the next room, where they then took mug shots for his record. He imagined he probably looked pretty badly out of shape, but they weren't exactly giving him an opportunity to check himself in the mirror.

A guard shoved a bundle in his arms, and he noticed that it was a thin, scratchy blanket wrapped around a flat excuse for a pillow. He was led into the prison then, which was just as old and rusty on the inside as it was on the outside. Charlie could hear men yelling obscenities all around and banging against the walls and metal bars. Charlie was pushed into a cell, and he jumped when the inmate in the cell next to him banged on the wall and started cackling.

"Fresh meat!" the inmate shouted.

More shouts sounded out throughout the prison, some threatening, but the guards didn't seem too concerned. They stuck by while Charlie put his bedding on the metal cot, then lazily waved him back.

"You've been called in for interrogation, Graham," the guard said. "Do yourself a favor and come quietly."

Charlie followed them back out, dodging a hand that reached out of the bars at him. He kept his eyes on the ground as he was lead out to an interrogation room. It was dark and eerie, but at least he had a few quiet moments to himself while he waited for the Regulator who was going to interrogate him. The man entered about ten minutes later, eyeing Charlie and looking unimpressed.

"Charles Graham?" he asked, looking down at the file in his hand.

"Yeah," Charlie said quietly.

"I am Captain James S. Fitzgerald," he said. "I lead South Plymm's Security and Regulation. What are you in for?"

"I don't know," Charlie lied.

"Well, you're a seasoned criminal, as I can already tell from your answers," Fitzgerald sighed, looking back to the file and listing off what was written there. "Theft, kidnapping, abuse..."

"Well, I-"

"It says here that you stole a triceratops?"

"Yeah."

Fitzgerald smirked, setting the file down and leaning forward on the table.

"I don't have to tell you why you're in trouble," he said. "You don't have to tell me why you're in trouble, either. We both already know. However, I do need to know the extent of what you've done with Amelia Harkness."

"I've said all there is to be said," Charlie told him. "Stanton Harkness should have spoken to you all by now. He's not going to press charges."

"I beg to differ," Fitzgerald said. "Stanton Harkness was very clear about how badly you tore his family to shreds. And now he wants you torn to shreds."

"What?" Charlie frowned. "No, that's not... He couldn't have told you that. You must have heard it from someone else."

"I spoke to him personally," he said, unamused. "He claims that his daughter has been sobbing night and day over what you've done to her. The horrible, disgusting ways you've violated her."

"She would never say anything like that," Charlie said, voice louder and sharper than he intended.

The outburst earned him a slap in the face, which was nothing compared to the metaphorical slap in the face he felt when he realized that he had been cheated. Again. Stanton Harkness was never on his side. He wasn't sure what side the man was on. Either way, Charlie had been used again, and now his life was over.

"Charles, listen," Fitzgerald sighed, sitting down. "Charles. Charlie. Can I call you Charlie? Listen, I'm your friend here. Harkness? He wants you dead. If you confess, I can help you with your sentence. I'm here to help you, Charlie. You just need to confess."

"Confess to what?" Charlie muttered. "I don't care anymore. Fine. I confess to everything."

"Everything?"

"Yeah."

"There's a good boy," Fitzgerald smiled. "See? That didn't take very long at all. You'll be able to make it to the cafeteria in time for dinner. There's something to look forward to."

"When is it?" Charlie asked.

"Dinner?"

"No, my trial."

Fitzgerald shifted, then shrugged.

"We'll let you know."

With that, he left. Charlie knew it meant there wasn't going to be a trial. He was led out of the interrogation room to the cafeteria, where dinner was being served. He glanced around at the massive thugs around them. Being so close to the border, most of them were vicious smugglers that were willing to do anything to anyone in order to conduct business. Charlie wouldn’t have been surprised if most of them were in for murder.

He picked up a tray and started moving along in the line, grimacing when a lump of green slop was dumped on his tray. The meal was completed with a piece of bread that looked hard and stale, but it was a bit more edible than the slop. At least Charlie could tell what it was. He managed to find an empty table so he wouldn’t have to sit with any other inmates, but the privacy was short lived.

The largest man Charlie had ever seen decided to seat himself across from him, staring Charlie directly in the eyes from the very first moment. He was covered head to toes in strange tattoos, literally. Even his bald head was covered in tattoos, all of which looked like they had been drawn up by a child.

“You’re new here,” the man said gruffly. “Graham.”

“Yeah?” Charlie said, trying not to sound as absolutely terrified as he was.

“I’ve been here a long time,” he told him. “I hear things. I hear names. And I know a face I’ve never seen before. And a face as smooth as yours is one I can’t help but notice.”

The man reached out to touch Charlie’s face and he flinched away.

“I appreciate the welcome,” Charlie said a little too quickly, his voice cracking.

“You’re with me, now,” he said. “You’re gonna call me Big Daddy. Meet me in my cell when you’re done with that dinner, babyface.”

“Oh, no thank you,” Charlie stammered. “I’m having a rough time here, I think I’d rather just go to bed. Alone. Thanks again.”

“We’ll make you feel right at home,” Big Daddy told him, standing up again and giving Charlie a hard slap on the back.

“Wow, you’re really insisting.”

“You’ll come if you want this back.”

Charlie looked up and saw Big Daddy holding up a pocket watch. Charlie’s pocketwatch. He stood up suddenly, eyes widening, but sat back down before he caught a guard’s attention.

“Where did you get that?” Charlie asked, shocked.

“I was sorting out stuff for the guards and found it,” Big Daddy told him with a sly grin. “I knew it would be important. See you soon, babyface. Can’t wait until you’re gonna be a part of my crew.”

Big Daddy made a show of sliding the watch down into his pants where it had been hidden, and Charlie winced. He waited a minute before trying to leave the cafeteria as calmly as he could, up to Big Daddy’s cell. He was up there with two other men, still holding the watch.

“Babyface, meet the rest of the crew,” he introduced. “Bruce, Killer, this is Babyface. He’s going to be a dear friend with those pretty eyes and long lashes of his.”

“Look, I really need that watch back,” Charlie told him. “I doubt I can take any of you in a fight, so I’ll just do what you want. Though I may not be any good at it, because I’ve never-”

“This means a lot to you, does it?” Killer asked, nodding to the watch.

Charlie’s arms dropped limply at his sides, and he sighed. “It’s all I have left of a woman that I have come to love. She and I are in different worlds now, and I really just need that watch if I’m going to survive a day in this hellhole.”

Big Daddy smirked, tossing the watch to Charlie. He blinked a few times, glancing between them. Bruce grinned, gesturing to the metal cot, and Charlie felt himself get tense.

“Relax, kid,” Bruce said. “The thigh-touching is Big’s thing. He'll do that later. We have a different way to bring you into the crew.”

“And what way is that?” Charlie asked miserably.

“Ever gotten a tattoo?”