I hate. I hate today like no other. I hate that weak minded vindictive fools could possibly stand in judgement of me; John Orr. I'm a man in my prime. I was in full stride to success, a captain, respected and accomplished in the eyes of all. I had friends.
Sure, I'm not the most attractive guy. My hair has never done what I wanted, but it's blond. My well rounded face is cursed with a bony brow and large nose. Still, my chiseled jaw and solid chin combine for a look that makes anyone think twice before taking me on. Then again, my 250 lb classic V shaped frame may have something to do with that. My hands are thick and calloused. My legs solid as tree trunks.
Forget that. I'm damn attractive and any woman would die to be at my side. "Ha!"
I worked hard my entire life; fought for everything I have. Yet, if not tomorrow, soon all my outstanding physical attributes will lie still and ineffectual. So I've heard. My body will eventually rot away, soon to be forgotten forever.
I am Captain John Orr: killer, mass murderer, psychopath. Sure, the verdict isn't in, but I'm not contesting my crimes. I have no regrets over the lives I've taken. I'd do it again.
"Beyond the pale. Crimes beyond the pale." That's what that fool of a judge has been say'n since the trial began. I can't imagine impartiality has ever been his strong suit.
Who knows, they may come for me tonight, in the dark, unwilling to wait for the scales of justice to balance. They only await a verdict to validate my crimes before all the world before they make their move. But haven't they got that already? The whole world agrees. It's all over every news service. Why should they wait any longer? Why should I care anymore?
After I'm dead, only the virtuous acts that may have momentarily graced my life, along with my many sins, will comport my future state of being. How can I deny the justice in that?
Does the cell door really sound that loud from the inside? Or is my mind playing tricks on me? The clunking of key and lock; is it simply the abhorrence of captivity that magnifies such sounds to excruciating volumes? The noise of my door opening reverberates hollow off the walls of my cell?
"Get up Orr." Sergeant Archibald Gatsby barks in his bland unconcerned mid-western grumble.
"It's a bit early, isn't it?" I ask. The sergeant stands tall before me, his shoulders slightly hunched with age. I've known the man some fifteen years. He puts his Teutonic ancestors to shame in both build and valor. His age wrinkled face only makes his hard angular features all that more fearsome. "Are they that anxious to get rid of me?"
"You have a visitor." Gatsby answers his eyes uncharacteristically show slight signs of heartache.
Two measly examples of the county's finest step in after him, one an Asian of some sort and the other black. The two young officer's eyes widen at the sight of me. Their faces droop into an embarrassing stupor. 'If only they could see themselves.'
I'm sitting on the edge of my bunk. I leap up and take one, just one, quick lurch of a step forward. "Who are these newbies?" I sneer as the two young officers duck back out the doorway. One fumbles for his nightstick. The other drops the shackles, my shackles, in a clatter of steel upon the concrete floor of the detention facility.
"Leave them alone Orr." Gatsby sighs.
"You're not afraid of me Gatsby, are you?" I muse as I size up the two deputies.
"I've seen too much to be afraid of much of anything." He tries to convince me.
"You mean you're too old to care anymore." I huff back.
"You might have something there." Gatsby admits folding his arms across his chest as he leans a shoulder against the wall.
The two deputies re-present themselves in defiant posture. I stare them down. Their mouths open but the audible part of their words escape them.
Legs shoulder width apart. Hands out in front." Gatsby orders as if talking to himself.
The deputies proceed in their duties with obvious trepidation. Funny the things that will make you smile.
"If they take any longer with my jewelry here visiting hours will be over." I scoff at the jittery deputies as they try for the third time to secure my chains. The cold of the waist chain chills my skin through my one piece orange fashion wear.
"She'll wait." Gatsby slides a cutting look my direction.
'Note to self; I hate Gatsby.' as I feel my gut knot.
I hate shackles. I hate the shackle shuffle, yet I shuffle down the corridor. It looks like you're trying too hard to try to just plain walk, so I shuffle. My head high shoulders back I shuffle. I shuffle like no one's shuffled before. I man can feel proud over something like that.
Gatsby throws open the interview room door and steps back with a smirk.
I shuffle around into the doorway, "Hey there doll." I smile wondering if she will ever understand. I am her husband after all. I tried to tell her, but here she is again. You'd think she understand by now with her fragrant soft flowing ivory skin, ...voluptuous breasts. I see them covered only in her long brown waves of hair, her brown eyes gazing upon me in heavenly glow.
"Sit down." Gatsby shatters my dream.
I sit, leering at a memory. "Really?" I confront Gatsby as he looks to secure my chains to the table.
"Really."
I let him chain me down. "Now get lost." I rip.
"Just holler if you need me Dorthy." Gatsby consoles as he steps out.
"Thank you Archie." Dorthy answers in the soft sweetness of denial. She sits still and silent her tender gaze attempting to lock upon mine, but I wont let it. Gatsby closes the door.
I look up at the camera in the ceiling. "Just can't stay away, can you doll."
What are Captain Orr's crimes? You'll have to buy the upcoming book to find out. I hope to be releasing this collection of six short stories in September.
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