Since the trial, James' demeanor changed completely.
Seeing Maggie reminded him of just how much he wanted to live a free life. He knew he couldn't be with her, but that didn't change the fact that he at least wanted to be breathing the same air as her. Looking out at the same moon and stars every night. The closer he could get the better.
She had been so strong giving her testimony. Such a good girl, he thought to himself. It was all that was replaying in his mind the entire time. Such a good girl. Such a good girl. Keeping his expression cold, so she couldn't see how much she was impacting him. Although he couldn't be with her, he felt that she was still his in some fucked up way.
Thing was, all of that flew out the window when she flashed him that formidable scowl on her way out of the courtroom. She wasn't his anymore and he was instantly reminded of that. She was independent. Maybe even better off without him.
James had lost his bravado since being sentenced to serve ninety days. Sure, it was better than the ten years he could've been facing, but it wasn't exactly ideal.
Seventy-four more days to spend in that godforsaken island of concrete and pain. It had been just over two weeks. He had been counting. Carving tally marks in his cell with a piece of discarded rubble from when he ripped his bunk off of the wall.
They gave him absolutely nothing to fill the hours upon hours sitting in deafening silence. Thoughts of Maggie consumed him. Wishing more than anything that he could be there to protect her. Spiraling when he thought about what other men could be doing to her at the moment. He had punched the concrete wall of his cell so many times, leaving his knuckles constantly covered in bloody cuts. Bones nearly peeking out. Realizing he'd desperately need his tattoos touched up once he was out.
Most inmates got books or craft supplies to keep themselves occupied while in their cells, but not James. The only solace he got from his cell was his time in the yard.
He stood in the blocked off section with the most unstable, violent criminals. Surrounded by chainlink fencing, away from the other prisoners. Each of them with shackles around their wrists and ankles. Some of them with mouth masks if they were biters.
James was leaning back on the fence, breaths turning to silvery puffs in the bitter air, staring blank faced at nothing in particular. Focusing on the fresh feeling of the winter air filling his lungs. Fucking sick of the stale, recycled air of the facility.
Trying to block out the demented chatter of the lunatics surrounding him. The few times he listened in, it felt like an acid trip, the way they would jump from topic to topic. Prattling on about their hallucinations or the government or their violent acts. Muttering children's rhymes. Never making a speck of sense.
He knew he didn't belong in there. He wasn't crazy— at least, not like they were.
Ice blue eyes shifting out to scan the yard. The other inmates were wandering around, playing basketball, or a game of cards at the tables. Everyone was bundled up in the pedestrian coats they were provided. Too thin to block out the frosty wind, but better than nothing. With winter stubbornly taking its time fading away, the snow had melted away on the concrete, but stayed put on the grass surrounding the yard.
Scanning stopped short when James saw Rumlow. He was pacing back and forth by himself, head tucked into the popped collar of his coat. It was apparent he had something on his mind.
James rested his head up against the frozen metal of the fence, like he was trying to read his mind. Thinking if he was able to get close enough, he could hear his thoughts.
"Get the fuck back, inmates." A CO shouted, kicking the fence, making James step back with a glower.
The two officers were lugging a new prisoner into the enclosed area, wearing the same shackles as everyone else inside. He looked young. No older than twenty-two. His hair was wildly unbrushed. Unruly black curls matted together. He was average build, but his features were sunken in. Skin shockingly pale. It was blatantly clear he had quite the experience with drugs of some kind.
The guy wore a scowl like a mask, eyes unresponsive. Expression very much mirroring James'.
He was shoved into the enclosed area, gate locked behind him. Another man inside, like a can packed with sardines. Resting his back up against the fence, he observed the crowd of crazies with dark irises. Like shark eyes. Peeking up at James, standing beside him with an irritated expression.
"So, what's your deal?" He muttered.
James was caught off guard by the attempt at conversation. No one dared speak to him, let alone look at him. It was obvious he was brand new. He glanced down at him with a stoic expression. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, why are you in this loony bin? You seem too uptight to be in here." He held his cuffed hands to his mouth, blowing hot breath over them.
"You'll find out soon enough." James said lowly, turning back to face forward.
The kid chuckled. "The names Eddie."
Definitely new. No one went by first names at Rikers. "Barnes."
"You run this place, Barnes?"
James' eyes narrowed, looking back at him. "Why, you wanna get on my good side?"
"Nah, I'm just trying to get a check on the vibe."
"There is no 'vibe'." He stated with an edge. "I keep to myself and people that try to fuck with me rarely live long enough to regret it."
Letting out a hum, he turned to give James a once over. "Let me guess, you're a white collar killer."
James was taken aback by his perceptive nature. Eddie clearly had some kind of brain on him. He wasn't stupid or deranged like most of the other men slumped into the max security group. Ignoring his question, he tilted his head back. Uninterested in continuing a dialogue with him.
"How many people did you kill?" He pressed.
"I highly suggest you shut the fuck up."
"Wanna know what I did?" He asked with a grin.
James rolled his eyes, barely keeping a grasp on the sliver of patience he held in himself.
"I killed my dad." Flashing a wide grin. "I cut him up real small and put the pieces in a blender. Then I dissolved the gut smoothie in acid. Almost got away with it too."
James' lips curled, realizing the normal front the kid put on was really just that— a front.
"I hated him since I was a baby, but then I started hearing this voice talking about how I had to kill him. And I know it was just the guys that make the frequencies, man. They're bad news. They're putting this shit in my head."
Face contorting into a confused expression, trying to figure out what Eddie was even trying to say. Coming up short. James didn't have any fucking clue what he was on about, but that wasn't worth wasting time over. He had found a deranged freak that he would use like a pawn in his sadistic game.
Instantly coming up with a plan in his disturbingly ingenious mind. "You know who's in charge of those frequencies here?"
His black eyes widened, whipping around to face James. "Who?"
James pointed a thick, inked digit across the yard, over to his old associate, still pacing frantically.
"Him."
~
Across town, where the world was still carrying on without James, Maggie was at her gallery.
She had been painting up in her office, working on a new commission for one of her international clients between her duties down in the lobby.
Even with an apron wrapped over her blouse and slacks, she was still being extremely careful with the oil paints. Mindful that if she even got a speck on her clothing, it would ruin the garment forever.
Painting had been hard for Maggie since the split. Her work looked different than before. Darker. Intense. The entire debacle had pulled out a side she didn't know she had. Hands involuntarily reaching for the ivory black, burnt umber, and plum, rather than the blush and vermillion she usually favored. But always always always avoiding blue.
Her brush strokes were broad and aimless. Rarely having a vision in mind. Letting her movements flow until something that was almost nightmarish formed. At first she was fighting it, but not anymore.
Maggie's clients were always pleasantly surprised by her newer works. Finding the mysteriously grim nature of them intriguing and seductive.
Standing back and admiring her canvas, she smirked to herself. Satisfied with the result of her artistic inclination of the day.
After she pulled her apron off of herself, she strode down the long hallway to rinse her hands off. Scrubbing away stubborn flecks of paint.
Carefully hiking down the spiral staircase, to the second floor. She scanned the room, ensuring her staff was working well with customers. Everyone seemed to be happily discussing purchases with an associate, so she made her way down to the empty lobby on the first floor, stepping over to the front desk.
Flipping through the transaction spread for the day, scanning over the names and profits. Up on the hour, she thought to herself gladly.
"Is that a little Margaret I see?" Came a familiar voice.
Maggie snapped her head up to find August waltzing towards her front he back of the lobby. "August? What are you doing here?"
He smiled smugly, playing with the golden chain around his neck. "Stopped by to check out the competition."
She arched a brow, giving him a once over. "Is that so?"
August hummed to himself. "How has business been?"
"Booming." She stated cooly.
"Good for you, Margaret."
She gave a forced smile, endlessly annoyed by his presence, but not wanting to be blatantly rude. "How have you been?"
"You mean since your scary boyfriend assaulted me?" August rested his hands on his hips. "Never better."
Maggie nodded. She knew that was a big fat lie. There had been talk in the industry about his gallery closing soon. It was barely staying afloat since she was let go.
August spun on his heel, tilting his gaze back to admire the room, like he hadn't already taken it all in. "Nice place. Did he buy it for you? James right?"
Jaw clenching, her stare darkened. "Yes."
He frowned in thought. "You know, I read about him in the news last week. He's been incarcerated, correct?"
Maggie stayed silent. Giving him absolutely nothing.
"Shooting two men?" His eyes widened in a mocking way. "The ones that kidnapped you." He added.
She blinked at him, keeping up her steely front. "Why are you bringing this up?"
"Just found it interesting. I had no idea you're dating a mass murderer." August shrugged. "How have you been faring since he's been locked up again? Must be pretty tough be in love with someone as sick as him."
"We aren't together anymore." Maggie stated. Voice empty of all emotion.
August outright laughed. "I see you're still just as pathetic, Margaret. Not even someone as psychotic as him could want you."
Her eyes narrowed, rounding the front desk to stand right beside him. "What was that?"
"I said you're pathetic. The only reason you even got your gallery was because of him. And now you don't even have the man to go with it."
Maggie let out a humorless chuckle, stalking towards him. Face fading into a dark glare. "Funny how that worked out huh?" Hoping he would keep going. Part of her finding the anger she felt absolutely tantalizing.
August's smile fell from his face. "Yes." He said, with not a crumb of arrogance in his tone. Voice wavering with nervousness at her odd behavior.
"You know what's even funnier?" She asked. "The fact that your business is now falling apart without me. The fact that you're about to go bankrupt. The fact that even though mommy and daddy set you up for so much success, you've still run your business to the ground."
He pulled an enraged frown. "How dare you speculate that."
"It's not speculation, August. We both know it's true. People talk." She shrugged.
"You know what's also not speculation?" He leaned in close to her. "The fact that you slept with a killer so he would fund your pitiful attempt at an interesting life."
His words made her see red. Without thinking, she lifted her hand bring it hard across his cheek with a deafening slap. Her eyes widened a smidge at her action, looking back down at her hand.
Forcing a glare back over her features, she looked at August. Standing absolutely shocked, touching his scorching hot skin, now pink from the slap. "Now get the fuck out of my building."
Standing still, watching August storm out, Maggie let her actions sink in.
When you dance with the devil, he doesn't change. The devil changes you.
And no expects an angel to set the world on fire.