HOLLOW » Zarry ✔⚠

61

Friday has come around again. Now it has been 3 weeks and 2 days since Harry had left Zayn with those men. After his visit with Dr. Kershman, Harry had gone home that Tuesday to ponder the three steps she had given him. As much as he thought it would be extremely difficult at first, it didn't take long to make his mind over. So now, after he's just left the first soccer match of the Spring season, he finds himself here, inside the city jail located about 25 miles from where he lives.

"He will be at window five soon." The guard says in a stern voice to Harry and he waits just inside the door to let him walk on his own, down past each little opening in the visitation area.

Harry notices that each station only has two things: A phone, and a gray stool which non surprisingly, matches the dull walls. He's only seen something like this in the movies, and he always found it hard to imagine how it must be for the visitor when they realize they have to go through a full body search and scan, just to get in here and see there's bulletproof fiberglass between them. But as he takes his seat at window 5 and looks at where his father will be sitting, everything makes sense. It's overwhelming to think about.

After sitting for a minute or so, he hears a buzzer off to the right, coming from the other side of the glass. By the sound of it, he recognizes it's the sound that signals a door is about to open. He's right. Because 4 seconds later, he hears the faint sound of chains jiggling and another guard is standing in front of him holding firm to his father's arm, directing him to sit on the stool.

There are a few things Harry notices about his father then. Things he's never seen, or imagined seeing. First, he sees that his dad has cut all of his hair off. He's bald now. He still looks the same for the most part, but Harry only remembers him with hair and he remembers his father saying he never wanted to go bald. Prison must have changed his mind. Secondly, Harry knows his hands are cuffed, but he realizes that the chain-like sound that he heard are shackles on his feet. More than likely so he can't so easily run away. And third, the jumpsuit he's wearing, isn't orange as TV often portrayed all jumpsuits to be, but a horrible navy blue color. It doesn't suit him. But then again it's jail. Nothing has to suit him.

When he notices his father pick up the phone on his side, so does he. It's quiet before anyone speaks.

"Harry..." His father says. "It took six years and you're finally here, huh? Oh wait. It's March. That means you're 18 now. How about that? A big boy."

Harry stares at him and when his father sees he's not speaking yet, he continues. "You see this hell hole they put me in because of you? Literally, it's a hole. I stay in solitary confinement away from everyone else. I do get one hour of recreation everyday though. But it's spent by myself and then when it's over, it's back to the cave. Ha... Can you believe it? I've got this for 24 more years. They say it will save my life because other inmates don't take too kindly when you fuck your own kid. But they may as well put me in general population and let them kill me. Because I'm probably going to be dead by the time my sentence ends anyway right?"

Harry can feel his heart split when he sees his father's sly smile.

"So what brings you here after all this time Harry? Why you want to see me for? I bet it's just to laugh at me, so you can get your feel of finally seeing me in jail. You always wanted that didn't you? Yeah, I know."

Harry is still quiet.

"Listen boy, why aren't you talking? I could have stayed where I was if I knew you were just gonna sit here and look at me. What the hell do you want? Harry sits up and leans over the small counter. He only wants to know one thing right now. "I want to know why? Why did you do it? Why did you do all those things to me?"

Now it's his father's turn to be quiet. He just stares at his son blankly.

"Just a moment ago, you couldn't close your mouth. But what?... All of a sudden, you can't talk now?" Harry asks.