#chaoticnebu

Too easy, Cabanela thought as he slipped into the dim hall. The security cameras were taken care of and the guards thoroughly preoccupied with a series of certain distractions. If he was somehow caught he had that handled as well—a surprise inspection, boooys. So far they were failing. If he gained nothing else from this excursion he at least learned he needed to order an increase in security. This was a special prison for the most special of prisoners after aaall.  Safety was paramount.

Cabanela slowed at the first cell. The prisoner was sprawled on his cot, snoring at levels likely to rival his guitar. That same guitar leaned against the wall near his head and one arm dangled to the floor nearby. Cabanela studied him and took in the drum set occupying the cell as well. Let them have their comforts. They were hardly normal prisoners after all.

This rocker had been thought to be the first of their special cases. That was wrong. Situations differed, admittance of guilt in the first case not least and just as nonsensical, but it was the only explanation that made any sense. So, second of three. The third and first waited below. He moved on.

The next cell was empty and would remain so if he had anything to say about it. If not they could at least hope for more clues from the poor soul. Passing that cell took him to the stairs below where his real target waited. A quick jaunt and he found himself at prisoner number three, C74. Another mystery. An odd fellow with décor to match. Cabanela passed a bemused glance over the contraption and the sleeping man connected to it, and continued on.

The final cell waited and within, D99. Cabanela’s pace slowed as he approached. Caution was the name of the game here. He should be asleep, but there was no telling with him. The worry was unfounded. Cabanela stopped in front of the cell and stared at Jowd’s sleeping form, breath steady, seeming quite at peace all things considered.

He thought he was prepared. He wasn’t, not for this intense wave of longing. Jowd was right there, so close. He could say a word. He could step in. He tore his gaze away. He’d come to see him, only see him, and he came with the desperate hope to find some missed clue. Anything more was out of the question.

Cabanela cocked his head while his eyes now took in a different sight. Painful longing turned to simple confusion as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. The other cells had their eccentricities but this was something else. Some sort of mural was painted on the wall. No, hang on, it was familiar. Wasn’t that…?

Mino?

That was the name. The stone statue in the park. He shot a look between it and Jowd. Why baby? Why that?

But, this was Jowd. There had to be a reason. What that reason might be was beyond him, one more thing to ask him when it was all over. One more thing to take into consideration now.  

Mino wasn’t the only thing adorning Jowd’s wall. Next to it hung a newspaper clipping. It was too dim to make out the small writing from here, but he didn’t need to. He knew the shape of those words and the accompanying image all too well. How many times had he stared at that pack of lies? And here Jowd had the damned article on display.

Below that was an album. Cabanela swallowed. There was a photo there, two faces blotted with black paint. He didn’t need to see them clearly to know who they were. Alma and little baby Kamila. He could only stare as the old questions that plagued him from the start swirled back up. What did you do? Why are you doing this?

Alma…

There was a change in Jowd’s breathing. He stirred.

Cabanela spun away and pressed himself against the wall between the cells. There was the rustle of cloth followed by a soft thump, a step… Cabanela’s breath caught at the toneless hum. There was nothing to it, not even a tune, and yet it was the first time he’d heard his voice in years.

And then Jowd spoke, voice low, curious, as achingly familiar as ever. “Is someone there?”

Cabanela’s fingers dug into the wall, resisting every urge to step out right here.

“Must be getting rusty,” Jowd muttered. A low chuckle sounded. “Ah well. What does it matter?”

Not rusty at all, baby, not at aaall.  

They could talk. If he simply stepped out they could speak at last. Two prisoners committed crimes they could never have committed. One claimed to have committed a crime he would never, in any universe, commit. Some other party, some other force was at play here. What information would reach Jowd and what might reach unwanted ears? One wrong move could bring all his work crumbling down.

Cabanela waited in a frozen silence. Maybe this had been a mistake—there was wasn’t much to find—yet he heard him. He saw him. He knew Jowd was all right. He had Mino filed away for future thought. The guards would return soon, confused and if they knew what was good for them, on high alert. This was enough; it had to be.

He waited through a long sigh and a creak. He waited until the quiet became one of stillness and he could be reasonably certain Jowd had gone back to sleep. He didn’t look back as he pulled away from the wall and slipped back down the hall toward the stairs. Jowd was there and that had to be enough for now.