Sinister [Jason McCann]

Thirty-Eight

Jason’s POV --

 

I’ve spent much of the limited time, I’ve been slowly adjusting to, thinking and those thoughts were of ways to stop thinking because for once I wasn’t safe, even in my own subconscious.

They say the truth will set you free but in the eyes of the law, the truth will only serve you time behind bars.

 

It’s been a few days since the arrest, I’d give an exact number but I haven’t exactly been keeping an eye on how many times the sunsets and rises. Since that time, I’ve either been behind bars or standing before a judge. Not like there was much of a difference. Both limited my amount of freedom and both were fairly unpleasant and as farcical as it may sound, I preferred to remain locked away.

 

Lying wouldn’t do me any good. I’d only be adding on to the amount of time I’m already doomed to serve. Besides that, what would be the point behind lying anyway? I’d simply be making an utter fool out of myself. All the fingers were pointed in my direction, even those standing in front of me bent their fingers back until each bone snapped out of place. So to save further, unnecessary, investigation I came clean with no hesitation.

 

I confessed to the distribution of cocaine to over ten states; hoarding illegal drugs; and drug abuse. That, alone, held me accountable for twenty-five years. In an odd sense, I was grateful to a god that held no remorse for me. I was thankful for the lack of knowledge circling the amount of murders I’ve committed. It was just my luck that the main focus, at this point, befell the drugs. How I got my drugs, how I passed it around and remained undetected or how it was so easy for me to become unphased by the amount of substances I’ve consumed.

 

I didn’t have a problem with coming clean. As ignorant as I appeared to be, I knew all this bullshit would come around in the end. Nevertheless, processing clear thoughts never felt like more of a challenge the minute Lea’s well-being tripped into the spotlight. The list of charges pressed against me could earn a few gasps here and there but one in particular granted not only gasps but glares filled with daggers piercing into my skin.

 

It shouldn’t have required an entire court to piece together Lea’s suicidal attempt. I shouldn’t have been framed in the first place. All the same, I’ll refrain from complaining any further because if any of these charges could grant a life sentence, it would have been that one. Still, one good deed wouldn’t excuse the fact that I was the one selling cocaine to Lea’s parents--which easily sets me as an accessory to Lea’s physical abuse.

 

Clearing my throat, I sit back against the wall. I’d shut my eyes but the darkness was equivalent to the minimal amount of excitement placed in this cell. Just a few minutes ago I was lying on a bed that is just as uncomfortable as the stool I sat on and just a few minutes ago I was contemplating ways to block out the noises coming from each of the cells around me. My cell held another prisoner but his time was served weeks prior to my arrest and since then I’ve been inhabiting this cell on my own. I won’t steady a grip on that thought because it’s only common sense to have someone else be placed in here within the next few days.

 

The chatter on this floor consisted of mild whispering. No one spoke clearly and I wasn’t sure whether it was out of fear or just something the inmates have grown accustomed to. I never paid much attention to the lack of voices on this floor until now. Anyone with a lack of common sense could easily fool themselves into believing those voices were merely in their head. I, myself, started to wonder if the whispering all derived from my inner thoughts.