Bad Boy Benefits

(50)

Song Above: KOD J.Kole

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The prison guard was right about one thing, this guy was a hundred and two per cent on the crazy side. He had all the side effects of taking bath salts, without having to even consume them.

He was twitching like a kid after a sugar rush, instinctively reaching out and scratching his arm, which was covered in fresh and old wounds. I had to look away at one point from the scarlet blood oozing down his rusty tattooed arm. He had shoulder-length slicked black hair that would put a young Charles Manson to shame, a pointed sharp nose and a thick beard that covered most of his lower face. He'd been muttering incoherent sentences from the moment we stepped foot in the room.

I hadn't looked at Brody, despite the fact he was squeezing the hell out of my hand. If I looked down my fingers were probably purple.

We were in a small confined room, surrounded by four grey walls. At one point I found myself staring at the chipped paint, I wondered if it were a natural progression or if it had been gouged by the prisoners themselves as they tried to pass the time before the insanity stepped in line.

I pulled at a thread on my skirt, shifted in my seat and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand.

Was it hot in here?

Could they at least open a window?

Oh wait, there wasn't any.

"Red sign, blue lights, red sign, blue lights," The man repeated over and over again rocking slightly on his chair, his eyes wide and his pupils dilated to the point his whole iris looked black.

"I don't think we are ever going to have a proper conversation with him," Brody sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair.

I was surprised by his calm demeanour, it was almost too calm. I pictured him being a firework that was inches away from a flame. I didn't want to be here when he erupted.

I knew he was disappointed, sad even that he couldn't have a conversation with the man convicted of killing his mom. I think he thought this would have gone differently, but even Brody Jackson couldn't prepare for this.

I leaned towards Brody and spoke loud enough so only he could hear, "Maybe this is all an act,"

He shook his head and gestured towards the man, "That is one hell of an act, I don't think he has the brains to pull it,"

"How would they have gotten him to confess if he was this insane?"

"They said they found the gun in his apartment," He said, "Oh and the fact he was bragging about killing her to an undercover cop," He winced at the last bit and I knew it hurt him. This whole ordeal was like pouring salt in his wounds.

"How did he brag to a cop if he's insane?" I questioned, tearing my eyes away from the nut job in front of me to look up at Brody.

He shrugged in indifference, "Apparently he got into a fight with his cellmate, I think they might have hit him too hard,"

"Red sign, blue lights, red sign, blue lights.." He rocked back and forth rhythmically, whilst clenching and squeezing his fists in his lap. I mean if this guy didn't get an insanity plea I'd be surprised.

"Why does he keep saying that?"

"He's talking in some bullshit code, I don't know, I'm not a psychiatrist,"