Welp, here’s part 2. I feel a little silly for including two-part posts in an already lengthy series, but it’s unavoidable. You could read quite a few parts, but the only essential one is this. I can’t imagine how ludicrous this may sound without the first part’s context. Anyways, on with the continuation:
I woke up with a dizzy head. I looked over at Matvey Trotsky, who lay on the floor, left foot to the wall as he hummed another odd song. How unhygienic.
He looked up at me and smirked. My vision was slightly foggy with the night’s sleep.
“It’s funny how I wake up before you.”
I didn’t say anything. I’m aware that at this point, I need Trotsky, but I still harped on my discoveries only a few days before. What he had done was borderline irredeemable. Despite my apparent disdain, he didn’t care, and he continued to observe me with those bright blue eyes. But then he frowned, and his brows furrowed.
“Myles, you do not look so good.”
“Okay, that’s just rude. I know I’m not James Dean or anything, but I work with what I got!” I sighed, “juvie forced me to let myself go. Before this whole thing, I had a look that could sell.”
“No, I did not mean it that way. I mean that you look pale and sick.”
“Me? Pale?” I shook my head. “I wish. Look, that’s impossible; trust me on that.”
Trotsky suddenly had this look of terror on his face as realization assaulted his mind. He sprang up, pinching my neck with startling strength.
“Hey! What the hell?” I smacked his wrist, and he didn’t even flinch. “Get off of me!”
His hand pulled back, gripping something between two fingers.
For a second, all I did was stare in an attempt to make sense of what I saw.
My cellmate was holding the fattest leech I had ever seen.
It lazily wriggled around, dark brown flesh covered in a slimy substance. My watery eyes widened, and a shaky hand met my neck. Then, I put this hand to my face, examining the faint traces of blood. I nearly passed out.
Trotsky squashed the leech as I rambled about how disgusted I was. Still between two fingers, as though he were holding a cigarette and not a pulsating, bloodsucking leech. Though he killed it, and that’s all that mattered, right? Wrong. That thing had been on my neck! It had been feeding off of me! I wasn’t even the one to notice; that was the embarrassing part!
I gazed at the remnants on Trotsky’s hand. Gooey pus leaked from the wretched thing, and my cellmate flung it to the ground before wiping his hand on the wall. Then I watched as the dark brown skin disintegrated, covered in that disgusting liquid. I didn’t even have to feel the specks to know what they were—coffee beans.
I was pissed.
Trotsky noticed but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he prioritized himself. “You are welcome.”
“I’m not gonna say thanks.”
“I expected that.” He exhaled with a handsome look of consideration, “after breakfast; I will head to the library. You may join if you’d like.”
“I have other things to do.”
Any vague curiosity about the rottenness of the warden was set ablaze. His stupid coffee maker was quite literally out for my blood! It had specifically targeted me. That meant war.
Everything passed by quickly as I hyper-fixated on my frustration. I met up with Venus during free time, and she glared at my neck.
“What happened there?”
“The warden.”
“…Should I be concerned?”
“No, you should be angry.” I gestured towards the unsupervised hallway leading to the staff-only room. “Come on, let’s get this bastard.”
I walked at a pace Venus struggled to keep up with. “Can we both agree he’s an evil mastermind now?”
I didn’t care. Anger sizzled up inside me, creating a sense of determination I didn’t get often.
“Whatever makes you happy, Venus.”
“Hooray!” She jumped for joy, “taking down evil masterminds is my new favorite hobby!”
I slammed the staff-only door open, watching as the warden sprang up from his organized desk.
“What the hell-”
“Save it.”
“Yeah!” Venus chimed in, right by my side.
I pointed at him, “I know you’re a cultist.”
The warden had a displeased look on his face as he raised a single brow. “Is that what this is about?”
“You’re no good, mister warden guy!”
I nodded, “what she said. You clearly see yourself as above all these other cultists. They’re like objects to you, and you measure their worth by usefulness!”
His expression didn’t change.
I scowled, “what’s your deal, warden? What are you planning? Why’d you sell your soul in the first place?”
“So you were the ones spyin’ on me the other day.” He chuckled, “well, drop…whatever this is. You won’t get answers out of me with this stupid approach. Even if you did, they’re probably not as interesting as you think.”
Venus crossed her arms, “if you don’t speak up, we’ll tell everyone what we heard.”
“Pardon?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “‘The warden is an evil cultist who plans to use us all like pawns. He’s no better than any of us. He’s sold his soul; he’s had his wicked plans. He wants to get rid of someone. Who? Well, it could be you; it could be me!’”
“Right.” Venus wagged a finger, “it’s not like you could silence us. That would prove your guilt. You’d have to come clean eventually, and it wouldn’t be such a private event.”
She paced around, and for a moment, even I was intimidated. “So, what do you say? Tell us right now, and have your secrets be safe with us, or confess your sins to the entire prison. Your call.”
Damn.
The warden shook his head. He didn’t say anything for a while before swallowing his shame and looking us in the eyes. He still looked confident, nearly unfazed by our threats. Despite his newfound humility, he still had cards up his sleeve. The warden made a hand gesture towards the girl beside me. “Venus, if you leave the room right now, I’ll bring you lunch from a fancy steakhouse for a week.”
Venus lost her edge upon hearing those words. It was as if her fierce curiosity could be turned off with a button, and above all, the warden always knew which buttons to push.
“Fancy steakhouse? Sounds fancy!” She walked towards the door, and I stuttered in an attempt to protest.
“Sorry, Myles. I know this is a total one-eighty, but I guess I’m an evil minion now. But can you blame me? Fancy steakhouse!”
“Goddamnit, Venus…”
Her previous words became hollow. The threats were empty. Why did I ever involve Venus in this? Sure, she’s the least sinister, the most trustworthy, but she’s clearly the most bribable as well. She didn’t want answers; she just wanted entertainment. This whole thing was a mistake. As she closed the door, I turned to face the warden. He shook his head.
“I cannot wait until you’re out of this phase.”
“What phase?”
“The phase where you care. Where you ask questions and investigate, and turn any authority figure into some sorta villain.” He sighed, “everyone here goes through it, but damn, I haven’t seen it this bad since Dollina.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I realized how fragile my plan was. “What now? Are you just gonna lock me away in solitary confinement till I turn eighteen? If you keep sucking up to Venus, she won’t speak a word about what we know.”
“You know I wouldn’t do that.”
“Do I?” I threw my hands in the air, “everything I thought I knew was a lie! I mean, hell, you’re obviously stirring up some evil plan!”
“‘Evil’?” The warden snickered, “look, I didn’t make Venus leave so I could kill you, or stitch your mouth shut, or whatever you think I’m gonna do. I made her leave so we could talk. One-on-one.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
He walked over to his coffee maker, pressing a button before sitting at his desk once more. “Grab a chair. You’ll get your answers.”
I cautiously did as he said, dragging a rogue chair to the opposite side of his desk. The warden fidgeted with some of his pens, and I nervously cleared my throat.
It all felt so…jarring. To be seated in such a civil manner, when only minutes before, I had blackmailed the guy. It was easy to be scared, given everything. But I wasn’t. With how things were going, Venus leaving proved to be a blessing. She was gone. I didn’t have to worry about hurting her. If something went out of hand, I could use my trump card. My last resort. The warden spoke up.
“Yesterday, me and one of the most experienced guards were discussing what to do about this boy from Montana.” He clicked one of his pens. “This kid is a schizophrenic who killed his baby brother during a mental break, and he just so happens to be an anomaly. Apparently, he can grow wings whenever he feels like it.”
“Oh.” That was dark.
“Now, he’s supposed to be dropped off here tomorrow. You can imagine why I wouldn’t want him here, especially with your darling cellmate around. Knowing him, he would pick a fight.” He sighed, “sure, Trotsky needs help, but that other boy really needs it. That poor thing doesn’t belong here. I was plannin’ on pulling a few strings and getting him transported to a psychiatric hospital instead.”
That was…surprisingly noble. I was expecting a much more grim scenario. But the warden wasn’t out of the woods yet. “What about Trotsky and that Puck guy? You said they were too useful to get rid of, yeah?”
“Think of this place like a jungle. Everyone here plays a part, including the notoriously wicked.” He tapped his finger, “Trotsky, Plant Boy, ‘Lightning Guy,’ Big Sam. They’re all like apex predators. Necessary chaos to keep things running smoothly.”
I wasn’t entirely convinced. His previous words made them seem more like puppets in a colossal plan. The warden furrowed his brows.
“Look, if we let that Montana kid come here, a fight with Trotsky or Puck would be inevitable. Both have had some serious fights before, but I think this one would result in a downfall. It’s a hunch that I can’t shake off. I’m not willin’ to take chances. Either we keep the apex predators or let an invasive species destroy the entire ecosystem.”
I concluded that I wasn’t going to get a different story. The straightforward (potentially false) narrative was what the warden preached, and I reluctantly took it as gospel. Besides, there was still one thing rattling around in my head.
“You’ve never denied being a cultist.”
The warden sighed. “No, I didn’t.” He looked up at me with a spirited sparkle in his eyes. “You wanna know the truth? Fine. I’m a cultist.”
“And you’ve sold your soul?”
“…Yeah. I did.”
“Why?”
The warden had this wistful, wise look on his face. He tapped two fingers against the desk.
“It’s not easy being a black man, especially back in the mid-50s. I think that was just a bad time for anyone to transition from a boy to a man. You wouldn’t really understand.” He shrugged, “sure, you don’t look like an Adam or a David, but straighten your hair and put on a nice suit, and you’re basically white. Me? Not so much.”
He has this sad look in his eyes. “I tried to put on nice suits and pretend I was basically white. I did it a lot for interviews. My brother did too.” He coughed up a pity laugh, “but no matter how hard we tried, nobody would ever hire us. Nobody in that town would ever hire a black man, even in a fancy suit.”
I felt bad. I didn’t necessarily know why he brought up such unfortunate events, but I felt as though it was my fault. “Jeez, that’s awful. I’m-”
“I’m not finished.” He cleared his throat. “By my eleventh failed interview, a new fad started.” He smirked, “I assume it happened across every sleepy, rural town. It was a way to rebel. To worship the half-forgotten Greek gods; how taboo!”
He snickered. “To most, anyways. But the desperate recognize desperation, and some genius found out the gods were willing to give people amazing abilities…if they could take their souls.”
The warden looked up at the ceiling. “When even I had heard about this, I knew it was my opportunity. Even back then, I wasn’t an idiot.”
“ The handful of people that went through with selling their souls picked bold gods, but not me. The gods have themes, and one had to be intelligence. Any other gift would be too flashy, too obscene. But if I could just grasp that knowledge, taste that forbidden fruit…I-I could’ve gotten myself out of that awful town. I could’ve gotten into college! Gotten a scholarship! I was certain that if I became undeniably and truly smart, I could’ve been recognized as something else other than a black man.”
“You sold your soul to get smarter?”
“‘Smarter’ makes it seem pitiful. I was not pitiful. I was plenty smart, but after I completed that ritual?” He chuckled, “I learned ten different languages all within three weeks. I can speak them as well as natives. I memorized the death dates of anyone historians consider remotely important. Rocket science, physics, chemistry, any mind-fucking conjecture; I solved all of that shit within minutes. In my prime, I ran circles around some of the world’s greatest minds. Nobody could deny that I deserved a better life, so I got one.”
He rubbed his neck. “And that, Monroe, is why I sold my soul. I didn’t even think about it until after the ritual was done. Deep down, I didn’t care.”
I looked at him with misty eyes. He wagged his index finger.
“Oh, but that’s not it, is it? You wanna know more?”
“I mean…if I’m being honest, yeah. I have other questions now.”
Those I indeed had. The main thought occupying my spinning head was how that desperate, intelligent kid turned into the cynical warden. I would get my answer.
“Well, the future looked bright. For once, I was allowed to have goals—real ones, not just bein’ safe and earning money. And morality could shine in college. But let me tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“Selling your soul was a lot harder back in those days. Nowadays, just ask what and how to the right people, and you can do a ritual in your bedroom. Back then? Not so much. It wasn’t public…but just about anyone could walk in on the ritual. And someone did.”
Without a rhyme or reason, he stared at his palms. “This guy was no older than me, but he was obviously influential. He had this real powerful aura. And he came up to me in the library, confessing he had seen the ritual.”
He shook his head. “I was scared at first. But then he offered me a job as a prison warden. ‘We need someone smart. Someone who could control anomalies from all over the world. You would be perfect.’”
“So, what, you just…took the job?”
“Hell no, dumb boy. I spat in his face.” He laughed, “I could tell I would be going against what I stood for—dealing with those unjustly imprisoned for one reason or another. It all seemed so shady. Why try to hire a college kid? I didn’t have training. Seeking me out was too unprofessional; I couldn’t roll with that. I had just obtained an actual future. I wasn’t about to give that up for some weird prison.”
For a split second, it seemed as though he had finished talking. But his lips dropped into a melancholy frown, “…then I got a call from ma. Back home, my brother got beaten up by a group of high school students. He didn’t survive.”
A few thoughts rushed to my head; most of heartbreak. The warden sharply inhaled, sighing with sad exhaustion. I expected him to shed some tears, but he refrained, and ironically, that made him seem more miserable. He managed to look at me and laugh.
“Oh, I already know what you’re thinking. Under all the pity, you’re pointing at me in your head and saying, ‘that’s the moment he became such an uptight asshole. That’s the moment he held onto his moral code more than ever.’” He made an amused noise, “I want to say you’re right. But you’re not.”
His breath was shaky. “No, at that moment, I realized goals and morals were unobtainable. Pointless. I mean, maybe not for an Adam or a David, but certainly, goals and morals were pointless for Eddie Hawks. The only thing that was allowed to matter to him…was safety and cash.”
“So I dropped out of college and took the job. Even with powers from a goddess, I couldn’t get away from my struggles. The fact was that if I lived happily, I could be killed at any moment. Even the most brilliant mind couldn’t change that. The only way to free myself of that burden was to become an under-qualified warden. To be safe. Even if it meant throwing away everything that mattered to me.”
He chuckled. “If I was white, I could’ve been…so great. I could’ve been a CEO. Maybe even president.” The warden frowned. “But I’m not. Liberty and justice for all my ass; I had to give up everything just to be safe. All that potential thrown away for a shithole like this!”
I stayed silent.
“I’ve explained it before. Despite my job title, I’m not really in charge. I do as I’m told to do. I operate what I’m meant to operate. Sometimes I’m a messenger boy or a delivery boy. I work for morally corrupt assholes, and every day, I find new ways to betray my beliefs and let the most absurd shit slide.” He flashed a sarcastic smile, “but hey, at least I’m not getting beaten in the streets, right?”
“….Why are you telling me this?”
It was all so personal. Nearly too real, especially for a guy like the warden. He processed my words with apparent shame, shaking his lowered head.
“Shit, I dunno. Why does anyone do anything?”
“That’s a good question.” I flashed a wry smile, “hey, you’re super smart, right? Shouldn’t you know?”
“It was a rhetorical question, smartass.” He stood up, tittering, “if I gave you my actual answer, your head would probably explode.”
He walked over to the long counter in the corner, where various objects resided: a microwave, a blue telephone, a sink, and that coffee maker. And above hung a simplistic set of cabinets. The warden opened one, reaching for a minimalistic mug. I took a moment to look around.
“Has any other inmate been in here?”
“A few have, yeah. Apinya and Trotsky were in here on movie night.”
“Where’s all the other staff members?”
“Busy. You know how prisoners get during free time.”
“Shouldn’t you be out there doing…warden things?”
“I’m meeting up with someone in a few. You were peeping; you should know.” He scoffed, “for such a dopey idiot, you sure are inquisitive.”
Ding!
He looked over at his coffee maker. He poured a cup, silent and somber. Then he sat back down.
“So…” I trailed off a bit, thinking about how to phrase my next question. “What’s with that coffee maker?”
“‘The hell do you mean? Listen here, theatre junky.” He leaned in real close to my face with a mean expression, “not everything has some sort of big meaning. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, so goddamnit, let it be a cigar!”
That was strange. I had assumed the warden knew about the coffee maker’s amalgamations, yet he seemed genuinely unaware. Did he honestly not know about the creatures conjured from those coffee beans? I certainly wasn’t going to let him be blissfully ignorant.
“It’s hard to let it be cigar when it sucked on my neck!”
“What?” He shook his head, preparing to press his lips to the mug, “did Randy start sneakin’ in coke to prisoners again?”
The coffee moved.
“Don’t drink that!”
I smacked the mug out of his hand as though it were second nature. Time practically went by in slow motion as the cup fell to the floor. The shattering noise echoed, piercing my ears with an intensity I could barely register. I looked at the warden, already knowing where this was going.
He was absolutely outraged. A look of disgust was imprinted on his face, and one of his eyes twitched.
“What the HELL is wrong with you?” He grabbed my wrist with a firm hand. “I’ve told you some very personal business; let you stay for a few minutes. I’ve shown an unreasonable amount of kindness!”
I looked away from the warden out of shame. My heart froze. “Look-”
His grasp tightened. I winced.
“In case you didn’t know, rich boy, your little blackmail stunt should land you in some deep shit, but I was gonna let you off scot-free. And how do you repay me?”
“Just look!”
I frantically pointed at the spilled coffee on the floor with my unbound hand. The warden and I watched as the scorching liquid bubbled before expanding, building up into something more.
The liquid became more of a goo as the boils shriveled and deformed, metamorphosing into what seemed to be coffee beans. This mound of countless beans swelled, sturdily taking the shape of a behemoth.
You could go two ways with interpreting its form; a person or a gorilla. Maybe some sort of troublesome hybrid.
Standing at around seven feet tall with a hunchback, it towered over us like a deity hovering over ants. It seemed to have a plumper body with thin, skeletal arms that dangled near its knees. Its hands, on the contrary, were comically oversized. Larger than the entity’s supposed head. The coffee beans wriggled, looking like something akin to hundreds of bugs. My heart hammered into my chest as I watched the abomination. With a drooping face, it limped. Slowly, as if every step was some sort of miserable, agonizing feat. It approached me. I became paralyzingly petrified, trembling with every uneasy movement.
And then it reached out for my arm.
An indistinguishable mess of noises came out of my mouth, and my vision became blurry with boiling tears. The coffee beans squirmed, moving as they touched my skin. They looked like insects and felt like them too. The creature’s grasp was unbearable, and I struggled in a vain attempt to escape it. But all I could do was watch as it slowly raised its left hand closer and closer to my face. What was it planning to do?
Thankfully, I didn’t get to find out.
The warden took out that hypnotically gorgeous club, giving the coffee-made monster a firm whack on the arm. Then, with his unoccupied hand, he pushed me back. Before he withdrew, the warden gave the entity another hit; this time to the stomach.
The creature contorted for a few seconds, twitching before suddenly exploding like a pus-filled bomb. Countless coffee beans littered the floor, and pus practically rained from the sky. A small portion got on my shoe. Frankly, it was disgusting. The specks looked grimy, especially coating the indecent goop that painted the floors. I did everything in my power to avert my eyes, but the warden was less sensitive. Instead, he smirked with a knowing look.
“Yep, I knew it.” He scowled, putting his club back into its casing. “Another anomaly out to get me.” He snickered, “seriously, sentient coffee beans? What kinda deities are you kids selling your souls to these days?”
I was in utter disarray. “What the hell just happened?”
“An inmate probably cursed my coffee maker with some sort of gift.”
“How did an inmate even know about the coffee maker?”
“I dunno. You learn not to question it after a little while. You just learn to deal with it.”
I gazed at the sealed club with the taste of wonder lingering on my tongue. “…What is that thing, anyway?”
“An ancient weapon. Probably made by a demigod or some hero we deem fictitious.” He smiled, utterly confident in his words, “crafted from a teardrop of Mother Gaia, blessed by the void of Chaos. Of course, it’s only a fraction of the actual teardrop. It probably had a drastically different purpose, but nowadays, it’s used to temporarily disable gifts. Apparently, a lot were made, but only three survived the test of time.”
“Where are the other two?”
“I don’t know about the third, but the second is with Molly.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Molly?”
“Not the one you do in some stranger’s bathroom. I’m talkin’ about the warden on the ladies’ side.”
“Holy shit.” I let my mind wander for a bit, “there’s two of you?”
“You could say that. I’ll tell you right now; you are lucky you’re not a woman. She would make you wish you were never born.”
He looked over at the revolting, scattered remnants of the creature he slew all over the floor. He shivered. “She’s gonna kill me when she sees this.”
The warden dashed over to the coffee maker, unplugging the machine and tossing it in a large trash can. “This cleanup isn’t gonna be very pretty, Monroe. I’d suggest you get out of here before I make you do it.”
I got the hint. “Alright…”
I walked over to the door, grabbing the knob. “Warden?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
He laughed, “what for?”
“Everything, I guess.” I recalled all his good deeds with timid shame, “the Barclays, the journal, letting me pick the movie, telling me all those things…and, let’s be real, you basically just saved my life. I’m gonna be honest, I really hated you, but you’re right. You’ve been unreasonably kind to me. I should probably be punished for this whole thing, but you’re letting me off the hook. So, thank you.”
He looked me in the eye and smiled. “Welp, what can I say? I like doing good, especially when the people I help have witnessed some very nasty things around here.” He crossed his arms, “try to stay out of trouble from now on, ‘kay?”
“Okay.”
Like that was ever gonna happen.
I exited the room, only to see Venus leaning against the wall with a look of boredom plastered on her face.
“Hey, traitor.”
She looked up at me, eyes suddenly twinkling with innate interest. “Hey.” She cocked her head, “are you mad at me?”
I pondered that for a moment before scratching my head. “Nah.”
“Cool.”
I nodded, soaking in everything that had happened. I had zero reasons to believe the warden was evil. The coffee maker? Just the work of a troublesome inmate. That whole situation had been solved, and I had every right to feel fulfilled. I smiled, gesturing to Venus. We began walking, and she gazed back at the staff-only room.
“Did everything go well?”
“I’d say so, yeah. I accomplished what I set out to do.”
“That’s good.” I notice her peer up at me with the slightest look of disappointment, “I’m guessing the warden isn’t an evil mastermind then?”
“Nope. You were wrong about that, Miss Venus.”
“Aw…being wrong is my least favorite hobby.” She put a finger to her chin, “but if the warden isn’t an evil mastermind, then who is?”
I took a moment to think about that. “I don’t know…racism, I guess?”
“Huh.” Her brows furrowed in a bland look of disapproval. “That’s anticlimactic.”
“Yeah, but it’s the truth.”
Sometimes things aren’t as sinister as they seem. Sometimes a cigar truly is just a cigar. The warden was morally upright in his own way, which meant I didn’t have to deal with any “evil masterminds.” Yes, this place is full of fucked up wonders most will only ever dream of, but I doubt any significant threats reside here. The inmates, as wicked as some may be, are still only inmates. Malevolent plans seldom get carried out behind bars. Surely there couldn’t be anyone else making preparations for some colossal, corrupt plan.
….Right?