Door Hatch

Wallace spied through a narrow slot in the thick metal door. His eyes strained as they roved from one side to the other, trying to get a glimpse of his new surroundings. His cheek stung when it touched the cold metal, and his palms pressed against the smooth bolt heads that dotted the locked barricade. He could almost see to the end of the empty, concrete lane and counted five doors, just like his, on the far wall. All grey. All locked. Everything in sight was built angled and hard. Except for the identical slot opposite his. It was open. Soft eyes appeared as if summoned by his attention, offering a single slice of evidence that the world still turned. They gazed out from behind the open hatch, perfectly positioned at head height, and unblinking, their stare never wavered. Whoever was across the hall was locked onto Wallace. Once, that kind of scrutiny would have settled a weight onto his chest and sent his knees weak. He no longer felt any fear. There was no room left for it, not on death row.

“What are ya lookin’ at!?” Wallace snapped, striking first, and caring little for the result.

“Not sure yet…” The stranger hummed, in an accent that seemed far too proper for such a place, “Terrorist? No…that doesn’t fit. Drug lord…hmm…not cruel enough. Could it be treason? Ah! I’ve got it! Those are the eyes of a killer…”

“I ain’t none of those things.” Wallace said, turning his back on the hallway, safe in the knowledge there was iron between him and the inquisition.

“It has to be one of them, otherwise you wouldn’t be here!” The criminal yelled at his back.

Wallace paused. He could pretend that he was angry, outraged or keen to defend his honour and declare his innocence. But the truth was that he felt nothing. He had long ago traded any violent emotion for a sedation of spirit. It had been such a long road, through so many court sessions and long nights of waiting. Being moved from cell to cell, avoiding the media and never once being given anything but a sneer of contempt by his guards. He was defeated, numb, and no longer cared enough to do much of anything. Let alone the wise thing, which would have been to ignore the jibe. Honest conversation, no matter how ill-advised, or who it was aimed at, was all that was left to him.

“I’m innocent…” he muttered. Wallace had forgotten how many times the words had formed on his tongue. They had long since lost much meaning.

He grimaced through the deafening roars of laughter that echoed down the hallway from the stranger. It went on forever, but he waited patiently, never feeling the temptation to smile at the man's mirth, until the eyes behind the slot were finally wiped and the creases relaxed around them.

“Ahhhh…thank you. I needed that. You’re new here I suppose.” He sighed, “Listen, I get it, even in super-max everyone is innocent. But you’re on death row now, there’s no way out and there’s no need to hide it. Give it up, man. Nothing matters any more.”

“That’s what they’ve all been tellin’ me since those cuffs hit my wrists,” Wallace explained, “but…it's the truth and I’ll stand by it. I didn’t do nothin’. Lawyer said I’ll get an appeal. So, I’ll just have to prove it when that comes around.”

“What's your name, friend?” The phantom voice said, now eerily calm.

“Wallace. Wallace Phillips.”

“Nice to meet you, Wallace. I’m Leon. I hate to break this to you old boy, but that appeal won’t do you a bit of good. See, I already heard what you did, and there isn’t a lawyer in all the world that’s going to be able to spin that kind of brutality.”

The bed was lumpy and filled with broken springs. The sheets were rough and smelled of chemicals. It sent shudders through Wallace to imagine their previous occupants. They were all he had though, so he laid back on the mattress, glad only that he wasn’t on the cold floor. Solitary had taught him the value of something soft to place your head on. It was one of only a handful of differences between the two cells. He remembered weeping and raging at the unfairness of isolation. He had battered his hands raw against several doors. All it did was reinforce his wrongful conviction in the minds of all who witnessed his behaviour. Any protest of his innocence only seemed to damn him further. He had stayed strong for so long, until one day, he quietly and without ceremony, gave up. It made the tiny cell and his curious neighbour easier to endure and so he continued to do the only thing that was available to him behind bars. He swam in his thoughts. Problem was, he had long since examined every damn second of his life that he could remember. There were plenty of blank spots, as there were for everyone he supposed. It led to something he had never expected of a man waiting to die. Boredom. The toilet, sink and two-foot length of space alongside the bed showed little opportunity for anything other than a few push-ups and the daily event of a shit. He refused to read the bible tucked under the bed frame. He rubbed his palms into his eyes and sat up again with a sigh. Wallace pressed his fingers to his lips and then to his bicep, where the tattooed names of his wife and daughter forever lived and strolled over to the open hatch in the door once again.

“Hey, Leon?” He said, his low voice echoing between the white washed walls.

Silence followed for a few minutes, before the bleary, tired eyes of the man appeared.

“What is it, Wallace?” He asked.

“How long you been here?”

“Oh, I’d say about a year now…”

“A year!?” Wallace exclaimed.

“That’s right. Just because they decide to kill you, doesn’t mean it's easy for them to do it. They still have to dot a myriad of I’s and cross even more T’s. It’s incredibly inefficient. A far cry from the world I was building…”

“What was it that got you in here?” Wallace asked before he could think better of it.

“Nothing that matters now. I try not to dwell on the past. My memories make for uncomfortable bed fellows.” Leon sighed, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“What about the good ones?” Wallace asked, “Surely they can bring a man some comfort? Ain’t like we got much else to do.”

“All of mine are good, my friend. That’s the problem. It provides a stark contrast to these walls.”

Leon said no more, so Wallace kept his lips clamped shut. He had never been very good with words. His thoughts were so fast, so well put together, but voicing them, well, that was difficult. He had been raised around people without a care for vocabulary, or much else. It had been a great hindrance before the jury. Instead, he looked over at the thin square cut out of the other mans face, and waited.

“Alright then! I’ll share! Why not?” Leon suddenly yelled, his enthusiasm returning explosively and a glint of passion sparking in his eyes, “I was building an empire, Wallace. My organisation…it was going to be the stuff of legend! Oh, how I could have used a man like you, Wallace. I’d have put you straight to work. The money was flowing, the product supply constant, and my men were loyal. Anyone wanted a piece, they soon found out what Leon’s boys were capable of! Kept my own hands clean of course, never left a trail. Turns out it wasn’t enough. Underestimated the old bill on this side of the pond. Trusted the wrong person and well, here we are!”

“You were a drug dealer? Ran a gang or somethin’?” Wallace asked.

“Oh! My dear boy! You make it sound so…crass! No, it was more than that…it was a way of life I was building. Separate from the nonsense our current landlords perpetuate. Free! Able to do what our baser instincts always push us to! Take what we need, fight for our own, put down anyone who gets in the way! But alas, deviate from society even a fraction and they’ll soon put a stop to it. Thought I’d be different, thought I was going somewhere. I should have seen it coming. Could have put that rat in the dirt so many times…”

“You…killed people?”

“No, Wallace. Never I. Did I task other people to? Sure. But I’ve never done the deed. Always found it a little vulgar. More of a working mans trade. I am curious though…what’s it like? Does it cascade relief, trigger panic…supply an ecstasy? What happens when someone ceases to be, by your own hand?”

“You think I know?” Wallace mumbled, creasing his brow in confusion, “I’ve never done nothin’ like that. Wouldn’t want to. Don’t have the stomach for it.”

“Riiiiggghhhtt…you’re innocent. I forgot.” Leon laughed, his eyes pinching, “All that evidence, all those people, they were all wrong? You’re the only one telling the truth? I told you, my friend, there’s no need for any of that now. It’s over. You lost. Just relax.”

Wallace took a deep breath and leaned his head back, casting his eyes over the white paint on the ceiling. Where he was fast with thought and slow to speak, Leon seemed the complete opposite. A mirror of himself, reversed in all ways. Something stirred in his belly, a fire long forgotten. The man's laughter was so loud, reverberating off the block walls, and his voice…he yelled rather than spoke. It was...grating.

“It wasn’t me…I loved them…I did everything for them. I grieve every day and all I want is to get out of here and find the man that ruined my life…trade places with him…” he admitted. The pain surfacing through the numbness of his mind to place a quiver in his voice.

A loud slapping drew Wallace’s attention back to the hallway. Slow, deliberate applause sounded into the empty space. Each crack sent spikes through his brain.

“Bravo! Bravo!” Leon shouted, “You’ve got that nailed down old boy! Still, need some evidence though don’t you. From what I hear there’s plenty of it, just none in your favour. So how’s about it, what really happened? Why’d you do it?”

“I’ll tell you what I told all of them.” Wallace sighed, “I can’t explain what I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I just…found them.”

A sharp banging woke Wallace with a start. He groaned and squinted his eyes open against the fluorescent lights. He did not get up.

“PHILLIPS!” The guard yelled, rapping against the metal even louder than before, “Lawyers waiting! Rise and shine princess!”

It was so loud, and the lights were so bright. Pain shot though Wallace’s head and his vision swam. His mind clawed to full consciousness, but it was like swimming in tar.

“Hey, go easy!” Leon hollered, “Don’t you know the man’s innocent?!”

“Shut your hole, Leon!” The guard said, before barraging the door yet again, “PHILLIPS! Don’t make me come in there and drag you out!”

Leon was shouting again. Wallace could not make out the words. His breath was coming heavy and the thickness in his throat felt like it would suffocate him. He knew he should get up, but all his body wanted was for everything to stop. He needed a minute, he needed to summon the energy to move. He needed to wake up from one nightmare before he could start another.

“IF YOU DON’T SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH LEON I SWEAR!” The guard was all but screaming now. He slammed the hard end of a riot stick against the door. Longer, harder and louder every time. “RIGHT, that’s fucking IT!” He squawked.

“You’re in for it now, old boy!” Leon cackled, “Both of you are! Ones getting the beating now, the other later for laying into an innocent! Aren’t you hearing me? Wallace is going free once he speaks to his lawyer! Then you’re in for it! Can’t be treating civilians like that! No sir, no you can’t!”

Leon continued babbling away at high volume. The guard ignored him but began clanging keys against each other and against the door. Then one scraped down the surface in a high pitched whine that was nails on a chalk board. Before it reached the key hole, Wallace was on his feet. He slammed into the solid door with all his weight and shot his arm through the tiny letter box opening. The metal tore at his sleeve and dug into his skin, cutting blood as he forced his limb through the tiny gap. He grabbed at the guards head and managed to grip a clump of hair, which tore free as the cretin pulled away to safety.

“SHUT. UP. SHUTUP! SHUTUP! SHUTUP! CAN’T A MAN JUST HAVE A MINUTE! CAN’T I EVER JUST BE LEFT ALONE! SHUT THE FUCK UP! I SHOULD BE ABLE TO REST IN MY OWN FUCKING HOUSE! QUIET DAMMIT! NOW! OR I SWEAR, I’ll kill you…”

“There he is.” Leon whispered, before breaking into raucous laughter that delayed the relief of silence.

Wallace was sitting on the edge of his bed when they brought his lawyer to him. Apparently, it was the safer option than opening the door. His hands were sweaty but remained pressed against his forehead. He had been staring at the floor since his outburst, tracking the drops of blood that slowly wept from his forearm. He didn’t look up when the old fool began speaking. He only waited for him to stop explaining things that no longer mattered.

“You can go.” He mumbled when things turned quiet again, “I don’t need no appeal.”

He winced and gritted his teeth when the metal plate slid across the hatch in the door. It squealed and scraped, thudding to an echoing stop, sealing him away. He had finally met the man that took everything from him. Unlocked him from where he had been caged within, and was content in the knowledge that he would never escape the cage without. Wallace reached down between his legs, under the bed, and pulled out the bible that he found there.