Baguette Rhymes with Dead || ONC 2024 | ✔

Chapter 10: Death Sentence

The dead equivalent of a death sentence. I'd have laughed if it didn't disturb me so much. "That's brutal," I commented, swallowing more exhaustive criticism; I wanted to remain on Uncle Richard's good side, and with his clunky English, I wasn't sure how much of what I could say he'd truly understand. In fact, I wasn't even sure he'd care to listen.

"But that assures the security of the city and its habitants." This, too, Richard announced like he'd rehearsed the French equivalent in his head far too often. He veered left, heading for one of the open cell doors. "Come, see. These cells are not very bad. There has actually been a renovation a few years earlier in your Paris."

Luc managed to shake off some of his discomfort, curiosity compelling him to trail after his great-granduncle. I followed suit, watching both of their backs, curious myself as well, even though my wariness increased little by little. I didn't know if the gloominess of this place or the grim facts I just learned did the trick, but I knew for certain I'd only feel happiness and relaxation again when I'd left this prison and the man who ran it far behind me.

"Doesn't anyone ever try to escape, Uncle Richard?" I asked. "Or try to help someone else do it? It's not too hard for an outsider to get in here. We walked in with ease, and you're here all by yourself."

Uncle Richard never broke his stride, but he did briefly regard me as if I'd grown a second head. "Why escape? Where would they go? There is nothing beyond the necropolis. A prisoner can only hide. Hide until the forces of the law find them and return them. Escape would only add time to their prison stay."

When Luc and I had first come to the necropolis, I'd thought it wonderful, a picture-perfect place. And it was. It was all those things and more; I believed that even now. But under that veneer of marvelousness loomed realities darker than black.

In a way, the whole city was a prison in and of itself.

I shuddered.

We reached a cell; Uncle Richard opened the door further so we could look inside. Luc, who'd clearly never been close to a real prison cell, gaped at it. "Woah. This is just like in The Shawshank Redemption."

I'd seen The Shawshank Redemption, too, and this cell looked like one of the old-timey cells in that movie only insofar as baguette rhymed with dead. But I bit back my not exactly and took it all in alongside Luc.

The cell was cramped and narrow, as dusty as the rest of the place, and smelled staler than my grandparents' basement. It contained a window too high up for me to catch a glimpse of the city outside, a rickety bunkbed, a sink, a toilet and a small wardrobe. On a little table that just barely still fit inside lay a modest pile of books, providing at least some entertainment for those forced to stay here for an extended period. Glued to some of the walls were sketches, pictures and a variety of magazine cutouts: celebrities, sports cars, scantily-clad people and a few Anime-style characters.

"Dude, no way." Luc wandered into the cell, apparently drawn in by these wall decorations while I lingered by the door with Uncle Richard. "Don't tell me somebody put up decorations of catgirls in afterlife prison. Are there catboys, too?"

Uncle Richard sent him a look even more weirded out than the one I'd received. "Cat... boys?"

"You don't really want to know," I replied absent-mindedly. In truth, dread coiled around my stomach the moment Luc set foot in that prison cell, but I hadn't yet put my finger on the precise reason for it. Maybe it was because La Santé's vibes were so awful. Maybe it was that we'd already been through a lot of surprising scares tonight and my nervous system anticipated more. Maybe it was because Uncle Richard, friendly or not, smelled like alcohol, because he was toying with his keyring and gripping the door tight, because he chose to waste his afterlife guarding this horrid prison all alone and I still didn't understand why.