Innocent

Chapter 13: Catching a Killer

“Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.”

~Frederick Douglass

        The silence in the FBI van was killing. Everyone was staring at me in complete awe and confusion, and I sat unsure of what to do. There were times when I wish I wasn't so socially awkward. I may have college degrees, but prison didn't teach me social skills, like how to be friendly or make a conversation with the people who put you in prison. So I sat in awkward silence. I leaned against the walls of the grey steel van, no doubt it was bullet proof. The agent across me blurted out, "What's prison like?" His brown eyes eager to find out. Suddenly everyone turned to him, some of the agents sending glares and pointed looks at him. Some were trying to contain their laughter or their smiles. There were eight of us in the van, nine, including me. Agent Collins, Matthew, the red-headed agent with a big mouth, and six others.

        "It's cold." I replied. Everyone turned their heads at my reply. A ghost of a smile appeared on my face. "Or hot. Depends on the temperature outside. The A/C sucks in my wing, so we are usually sweating, which is what gets prisoners riled up, or freezing to death, which causes fights between cellmates over the blankets. It's kinda like a cliche version of high school. Everyone's in a group. You have the mafia members who got caught, they get together and tell stories and try to intimidate each other. Then there's the junkies who hang together and take tic-tacs and try to pretend that it's some rare orange version of molly. The pitiful thieves who get caught for stealing pocket change, they like to steal stuff from the guards and other prisoners, to feel superior." I added, not telling them the real stuff, the stuff people who use to be in prison don't talk about. Just letting them chew on, the soft stuff, things that didn't make prison sound so torturous.

        I didn't tell them about the fear. The Isolation. The Loneliness.

        "What group did you belong in?" Matthew questions, clearly amused by my description.

         "I was the warden's pet. I didn't spend much time getting involved in the prison hierarchy." I suppressed my smile at my half-truth. I don't think it would be a good idea to tell a van full of FBI agents about my secret vacations across the country. Ben, always believed in my innocence, so he arranged my secret vacations, trying to give me an attempt at a normal life. Ben gave me the things no one else did at that time. He remembered my birthday, spent time with me, and was an excellent teacher to me. Because of him, I got my college degree at an early age, I learned several languages. He also taught me how to fight, which in prison was a valuable skill. He was the father figure I never had. Ben. I felt an ache in my heart at the thought of him. I mentally sighed as I thought of my real parents. How did things ever go so wrong? My thoughts were interrupted as my phone buzzed.

Blocked Number: Remind me why I have to use a different cellphone?

Me: Better safe than sorry.

Blocked Number: Did you get my last message?

Me: Yes. Are you sure there's a mole in the Bureau?

Blocked Number: Positive. You also need to know someone is trying hard to cover up Ben's death.

Me: Have you managed to find anything?

Blocked Number: No. I was going to interview the coroner who examined Ben's body, and he committed "suicide" this morning.

Me: "Suicide"?