Face your Demons

Sewell replaces Cunningham AU

Due to the fact that I am used to telling a story from the first person perspective ( I, me) I am using this as an exercise to expand my skills and will be using an omniscient viewpoint.

Chapter 1- The Bus Crash.

The sound of the alarm clock blared in his barely conscious ears. George rolled over and turned off the alarm clock before swinging his naked legs over the edge of the pillowtop mattress. He groaned and cast a sleepy glance at the still sleeping figure in his bed. He stood up with a grunt and meandered into the bathroom. The knob of the shower squealed as he turned on the hot water, once steam appeared the corrections officer stepped into the glass doored shower and stood under the scalding water.

Shit it’s going to be a long day, I hate prison transfers. He thought with a scowl. After washing himself and his hair he cut the water and stepped out before reaching for a clean towel.

“Coffee, I need coffee,” he groaned as he wandered, dripping wet into his kitchen. Once the pot of coffee was brewing, George was back in the bathroom, running a towel through his wet hair. It was a routine that he did almost every day. He pulled a uniform from his closet and dressed while he listened to the coffee pot percolate. A black comb helped slick his hair back, it was getting long again and he wasn’t sure if he needed to cut it or not. As soon as the coffee pot was done he poured the black coffee into a travel mug and put the lid on before pulling on his short leather gloves. Leather gloves meant no fingerprints, and it also meant less questions about the scars that they hid.

In the bedroom he stood and stared at the sleeping woman in his bed. He leaned over and kissed her cheek briefly before leaving the house and approaching his old pick up truck. The drive to Ryall was relaxing- it wasn’t too far, but it was long enough that he could be alone with his thoughts while he drank his morning coffee, and smoked a cigarette. He showed his badge at the gate and pulled into the employee lot, where he parked and finished his coffee before he strode in for his shift, 10 minutes early.

Murphy had been one of Sewell’s favorite prisoners, he wasn’t like the rest, he was easy to manipulate into a pawn for his own enjoyment. Sewell was able to kill his superior and blame it on Murphy, who now faced a life sentence at a Maximum security prison, and Sewell had to take him there. Karma’s a fucking bitch, He thought as he slapped his baton along the cell bars.

“Pendleton? Did I wake you? Come on, rise and shine cupcake, you know the drill,” he cooed with a sadistic yet polite taunt. He watched Murphy grit his teeth “Guess Today is the big day, sorta sorry to see you go,” he added with a smug smirk as he put the belly chain handcuffs on the other mans thick wrists. “Prisoner secure, open 302b transfer,” he called. The wrought iron door swung open and his prisoner slowly emerged. They walked silently down the halls towards the gate where the other three prisoners waited. George stopped and waved his nightstick in front of Pendelton, very briefly cradling his scarred cheek. He counted his prisoners, checked his paperwork and finally shouted “Move on out!” Running a hand through his slick black hair he scowled as he approached the bus. He hated prison transfers more than anything.

With the inmates on the bus he settled into his seat in front of the grates with a cigarette. It would be almost a six hour ride there, and six hours back. He sighed with a plume of smoke expelling from his sharp nose. The ashes were flicked to the floor and soon he spit the cigarette to the floor and crushed it with his hard soled black boots. For the longest time he stared at his gloved hands, pondering the events that led to the leather gloves. Hours passed and the sky darkened into an angry storm. Rain pelted like bullets onto the steel bus. He hated the rain, the wet, the darkness of the sky. Looking through the grates he noted Murphy tossing in his sleep. How could that man sleep with the rain smattering the bus? Soon he startled awake in a panic. Sanchez leaned over.

“You have a good nap guero? So tell me something puta, is it true what I heard about you? Did you really do it?” he asked. George knew exactly what he was talking about, a pang of panic surged through him. Questions of that nature could make his entire world crumble.

“Shut your hole churro, you fucking pedophile,” he screamed as he slammed his baton against the grate.

“Fuck you puta! you’re the reason I’m getting transferred,” he grunted back. Sweat formed on Sewell’s brow and he slammed the baton against the grates.

“Don’t make me come back there Sweetheart, you’re not gonna like what I’m going to do to you,” he hissed, the veins in his neck straining with anger. The bus swerved and Sewell fell his stomach drop before he flew forward, crashing into the drivers seat, pain bloomed in his chest before his back hit the roof and he lost his air, while the bus rolled down an embankment. He briefly registered more pain before everything went black.